Monday, September 3, 2012

7/2/12 - A Weak Sun Hanging Low

So, in a nutshell, son? We're !@#$ed.

GORGON has succeeded where I don't know how many !@#$ing other groups of science terrorists, super villains, and would-be world-conquerors failed. They took over the !@#$ing world, while I was away rescuing the !@#$ing President from Alter-Earth.

Not that I hadn't intended to get back and kick their !@#$es in time, of course. But then my !@#$ing trans-dimensional taxi had to go and blow a !@#$ing brain-gasket on me, do who knows what to poor Mr. USA, and toss me and the President into the !@#$ing future, making sure that I missed any and all chances to stop the takeover.

While I was away, the past and present American Presidents, and probably 9/10s of their Cabinets and various Agency Directors, were all tried for their supposed crimes against humanity and shot into !@#$ing space in their gods!@#$ space elevator. They also turned the entire world into a !@#$ing labor camp, too, and gently held their kids hostage against their continued good behavior.

I've come back to a world in chains with no heroes. There's no masses of American Strategic Talents, anymore. They all either ratted on their bosses, and got !@#$ing ratted out in return, or got killed for holding the line.

And I know some of them were probably smart enough to !@#$ing duck and cover. And I know I left instructions with some of them, but...


Yeah, son. No COMPANY, no Super Soldiers, no Liberty Patrol, no nothing.

And maybe that wouldn't be so bad, except that the global satellite communications grid is !@#$ing down, too. So I have no eyes in the sky, anymore. No ears, no ways to ping for info I'm not supposed to have. No nothing.

I don't even have any !@#$ing tjbang sticks left, son. And with all that radioactive kumis I drank I think I really should be clearing my head, right about now.

But you know what? !@#$ it.

Exactly one year ago, today, I was waking up in a !@#$ty little room in a private hospital in Jakarta, after narrowly surviving a really !@#$ing bad run-in with GORGON. I made the mistake of trying to take them on their own turf, with minimal planning and prep, and hardly enough people. I paid the !@#$ing price for that stupidity, too, but worse than that?

They almost !@#$ing killed me. 

I lucked out, son. There's no other way to say it. If they hadn't obeyed what could have been my final instructions, right when I told them to, and sent that plowshare's payload down onto West Papua like I said, I'd be rattling around in a very nasty skull, right now.

They almost killed me, son. And that made me really !@#$ing mad. And when I get mad, I make really !@#$ing stupid mistakes.

And everything I did after that to try and take down GORGON was a !@#$ing stupid mistake, son. I'm not going to mince words, anymore.

I should have been sneaky. I should have been slow. I should have crept up behind them, at night, with a knife in my hand.

What do I do instead? Kick in their front door dressed in a bright yellow rubber Issey Miyaki suit, shooting a gun the size of !@#$ing Rhode Island, and screaming some number from 'Guys and Dolls' at the top of my lungs.

And I don't know how much you know about wetwork, son, but take it from SPYGOD: that does not !@#$ing work.

So I !@#$ up. I fail. I get my !@#$ and my job handed to me on a plate. And then, while I'm in the middle of feeling !@#$ing sorry for myself and trying to figure out what to do next, all the little things I didn't notice while I was really !@#$ing mad all come up and make themselves known to me at last.

And you know what that makes me? Really !@#$ing mad. So I make another really !@#$ing stupid mistake, and... well, I figure you know how that ended up, son. Wrong place, wrong direction, wrong time.

And because of that, the President paid a terrible price. And things spiraled right the !@#$ out of control.

Now, I don't need my ears all up in some mother!@#$ing satellite to know what you're going to ask, next. "But SPYGOD, you say that every time you get really !@#$ing angry, you make really !@#$ing stupid mistakes. Doesn't that mean that, now, you're !@#$ing doomed to make yet another big !@#$ing mistake?"

And you know what, son?


You're right. You're totally, absolutely right.

I am not merely really !@#$ing angry, right now, son. I am so !@#$ing angry it's a wonder I'm not eating sand and pounding rocks into powder with my !@#$ing space alien love penis. I have never !@#$ing been this !@#$ing angry in my entire !@#$ing life, and all I want to !@#$ing do is grab the !@#$ing neck of the world and !@#$ing squeeze it until it stops !@#$ing moving through space, leans sideways, and !@#$ing dies.

I want to gun-!@#$ the brains of the world out its !@#$ing skull, son. I want blood and veins in my teeth. I want brains in my hands. I want a line of organs stretched from here to !@#$ing Pluto and back ten !@#$ing times over.

I want to break reality in half and !@#$ in the wound. And...


And it still won't change anything.

And it still won't bring those people back.

And it still won't stop GORGON, or save the world, or free everything they've taken prisoner.

All it will do is leave me holding an even bigger !@#$ing mess than before. And this time, it'll all be on me.

All on me.


God help me. What have I done?

What have I done?


I need to go beyond anger, son. I need to get my !@#$ing head clear, or I'm going to be !@#$ing useless.

So I hope the President can fend for himself for a day or two, son. Because I need to go out into the desert with as much booze as I can carry, and go rip!@#$ until this white hot anger I'm just barely holding onto can be turned into something else.



You're going to have to excuse me, son. I don't want you to see me like this. Just go away, please.

Just let me go away.


(SPYGOD is listening to Love is a Catastrophe (Pet Shop Boys) and is about to drink things you never want to hear about)

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