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Comedy
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| Operation Jet Set | |
| By Leo | ||||||
| 21 May 2006 | ||||||
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my attempt at a topical piece... hats off to people who do this for a living Somewhere in the mountains of Afghanistan, a number of camouflaged tents stood billowing in the cruel, vicious wind. This is the mobile headquarters of The International Terrorist Society (T.I.T.S.) A ring of grizzled, evil looking, bodyguards had it surrounded; AK47’s, catapults and water bombs at the ready. Agent DD pulls back the tent flap and enters the darkness. All that is visible is a small table lamp sitting atop a huge carved desk, that dominates the middle of the empty space. The unmistakable mew of a very contented cat can be heard faintly. “Sit down double D” , a raspy voice calls out from the darkness. As he sits in the chair, a deathly white albino hand with long gnarled fingers materialises from the shadows. It slides a manila dossier across the desk. “We have need of your services… we require a nullification” “The usual fee? “Of course. Your target..” DD then flipped open the file and stared at the picture. “You want Mr Blobby nullified?” “No. Eamon Holmes..” “But why? “Double D, you ask too many questions… for a man in your business such a habit could prove a liability…”. The threat hung in each and every word. “You’re right, I’m sorry, forget I asked..”. A sweat broke out on his top lip. “However on this occasion I will make an exception to the rule…Double D, the greatest trick the devil ever pulled was convincing us he didn’t exist…. To the rest of the world Holmes is a fat, vacuous, overpaid, under talented stand in for Des Lynham who has a penchant for reducing female co-presenters, such as poor, poor Anthea to tears….” DD listened intently. “But we at T.I.T.S. know otherwise…. Beneath that bullet proof fat suit is a man with the physical prowess of an Olympic athlete.. he completes 1000 sits ups every morning before he consumes a pint of organic prune juice. This incidentally goes someway to explaining his limited appeal to radio producers… spending time in such a confined space with Mr Holmes is deemed…. dangerous” DD looked on aghast. “His IQ is over 200, he can piss all over Dr David Starkey in any pub quiz. And, most importantly of all, to us, he has been confirmed as head of tactical operations for the Federation Against Real Terrorists. Our sources suggest that he will soon be appearing on Celebrity Love Island, and use this as an opportunity to launch a scuba attack on our Australasian cell…” “ I see…” DD offered earnestly. The battle lines had been drawn. “This will be an unusual operation…”, he continued, “our paymasters have two conditions. One the operation takes place publicly, in order to maximise the humiliation to F.A.R.T., and secondly Mr Holmes is not eliminated, merely winged. We want to render him useless to the resistance, and for his continuing presence to become a burden as well as an embarrassment….” “I understand and accept… do you have any preferred method of ‘dispatch’?” The albino sniggered in the darkness. “Our research scientists have created an evil little device…”, with that a small plastic pebble bounced across the table top and came to a stop in front of DD. “A cunning little radio receiver. Our boys and girls have implanted a fierce little sound wave magnification device. When it is switched on, direct feed from a selected source will drive a hugely magnified sound wave through the brain of the wearer.. turning his or her brain to semolina… ha ha ha…” DD winced. This was evil personified. The albino carried on. “The scheduling gods have been kind, this Saturday the lottery Jet Set and Eurovision song contest warm ups coincide… there is a particularly fiendish Finnish entry….” DD’s mind began to feverishly plan. “oh and Double D, if you use contractors make them expendable…..” Saturday night.. Eamon steps onto the stage and welcomes in the audience and viewing public to tonight’s little extravaganza. Moments later, operation Jet Set unfolds. People are up on stage, as chaos reigns. An under cover SAS officer attempts to bundle Eamon to safety, another knocks the camera to one side. The lights dim. Darkness descends on a million screens across the nation. Several moments later, an inanely grinning Eamon re-materialises…. Sunday morning.. The thin gnarled albino hand slammed the rubber stamp down onto the cover of the dossier. ‘MISSION ACCOMPLISHED’ “ha ha ha ha ha ha..” the evil cackling sent chills through the hearts of the gumen outside of the tent. Evil was winning…
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