8/23/11 - Who Are the Lizard People in Your Neighborhood?

It's a boring day, and nothing happened except for that earthquake that didn't have anything to do with us fighting Underman, again.

I know what it sounds like, son, but you're just going to have to take it on faith that he didn't even get to use that fancy, tectonic-plate shattering superdrill of his this time around. That's because some patriotic citizen called us up with a tip when he saw the aforementioned superdrill parked outside a Dunkin Donuts. And by the time Underman came out with his pre-terror sugar and coffee supplies in hand, we'd already surrounded his portly, donut-stuffed !@#$ with enough firepower to turn him inside out about a million times over, to say nothing of that !@#$ science terror relic he still thinks can score him chicks when the Legion throws a mixer.

I tell you, the standards of science terrorists and supervillains has just gone down the toilet, recently. Is it too much to ask for for competent yet cartoony villainy that doesn't involve nasty leftovers from World War II?

Anyway, speaking of patriotic citizens, 1st Class SPYGOD SCOUT CJ Tremlett of Lansing, Michigan recently asked the immortal question: "Who all is actually a lizard person?" 

I told her, at the time, that the answer was way the !@#$ above her current paygrade, but that I'd see what I could do. "What I could do" is tell you a few things that may help answer the question on your own, without me having to come right out of my office with a metric !@#$ton of paperwork for her, her family, and her as yet unborn descendants, and her !@#$ cats to sign stating, effectively, that none of them will even think about thinking about thinking about the answer I might give, ever again, on pain of being grabbed off the street, kidnapped, and forced to watch Hee Haw reruns until all trace of memory goes away for good.

Hee Haw is !@#$ evil, kids. You can trust SPYGOD with that much, at least.

So, Lizard People. Yes, they are real. When I talk about the fact that there are several alien races currently living on the Earth at any given time, they are one of the ones we know about. 

In fact, we actually have a decent working relationship with them, given that they can't hide from us worth a !@#$. Their pathetic attempts to infiltrate the great royal families and power structures of the world all failed badly, centuries ago, and they've been relegated to dependent status ever since.

So, rather than telling you who is a lizard person, because we do value their privacy as long as they don't try to do anything stupid ever again, let me tell you how to detect them.

1: They don't blink. At all. Either that or they blink way too !@#$ much to make up for it. 

2: They smell a little funny. Like wet dog, only with scales. They often wear lots of cologne or perfume to mask the scaly dog smell, also, so this can be a dead giveaway.

3: Their skin looks way too perfect. This is because it is. They wrap themselves in vat-grown skin suits that were engineered from the finest families the world had to offer in an attempt to infiltrate them. The bad news is that it doesn't heal worth a !@#$ because they're essentially wearing a skin condom. So if you prick them, they'll bleed, and then wear a bandaid from now until doomsday, or until they can save enough lizard dollars to buy a new suit.

4: Some of them have never mastered the intricacies of human speech. Their sense of conversational timing is way the !@#$ off. Sometimes they pepper their conversation with phrases they think are appropriate, but really aren't. The last time I had an extended conversation with one, he kept slapping his knee and saying "breakfast cereal!" over and over. So I !@#$ him with my foot.

5: Lizards do not have human genitals. If you get one in the sack they won't know what the !@#$ they're doing, except from a sheer textbook standpoint. If they ask who gets to lay the clutch, you need to fake an emergency phone call and run. 

6: Oh yeah, and they're cold blooded, so playing havoc with the air conditioner will usually smoke them out. 

Lizard people can be found in numerous urban habitats. They usually hang out at places where they're only marginally welcome, trying to ingratiate themselves with up and coming folks who may or may not have a good idea as to who's a star!@#$, who's a friend in need, and who's a lizardman trying to hustle their way up the ladder. 

When in doubt, see if they'll open a tab for you, and keep the beer going into the wee hours of the morning. If it gets to be 4, and they still haven't complained about the four-figure tab, then you've got a lizard on the hoof. Turn up the heat, sneak off to the bathroom, jump out the window, and run like !@#$.

So yeah, Lizard People are harmless. It's the Spider People you have to watch out for, but I am in no mood to talk about those !@#$ tonight. I have a broken down super-drill to find a way to dispose of, and an aging, portly supervillain who needs some more donut holes crammed down his throat, Se7en-style.

Goodnight, sweet world. Goodnight.

(SPYGOD is listening to Eating Donuts (DJ Coone) and having some yummy coffee) 

5//8/11 - SPYGODMAIL - Fly the Friendly Skies

IT’S SPYGOD SCOUT MAIL TIME!

3^rd Class Scout Jimmy Purdy of Winsome, Nebraska, asks:

Dear SPYGOD: Why don’t we see you driving around in your super-cool flying car that much anymore?

Also, how can I get one? I’ve been saving my lunch money since 1^st grade to buy one, and I have about 55 dollars and 34 cents. I would like to know how much more I have to go.

Dear Jimmy

First off, go spend your !@#$ money on some SPYGOD action figures or something. Maybe a girlfriend or two. You can never have enough cover stories. 

You can’t !@#$ing buy a flying car like mine, son. It has to be given to you by a grateful government that’s !@#$ scared of you missing another !@#$iing intelligence meeting because of a god!@#$ DC traffic snarl. 

Because once you’ve been screamed at for an entire !@#$ing hour and a half over a car phone because the idiots in front of you just will not get the !@#$ out of the way, no matter how many !@#$ shots you fire into the air or in their general !@#$ing direction, you’ll give that very angry person anything to get him to calm the !@#$ down. 

Anything at all.

Secondly, this is a question I get a lot, son. It’s usually phrased in the form of “Hey, SPYGOD! Let’s jump in your car and fly to Thailand, pick up some street food and a katooey, and bring them back to THE B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G for a night of unbridled Asian-style hedonism! I’ll bring the Singha…”

If only! The reason you don’t see me !@#$ing driving around in my super-cool flying car that much anymore is because I don’t feel like !@#$ing living that part of the lie, anymore. In fact, most of the photos you have seen of me flying it into action are composited promotional photographs that bear no god!@#$ resemblance to reality, which is what we used to call “Photoshopped” before there actually was a Photoshop.

(That you knew of, anyway.)

And that’s because my flying car  is a sorry piece of !@#$.

There exists within the general populace this highly-inaccurate idea that flying cars are like the ones you saw four-color super-spies flying around in comic books in the 60’s. Either that or they imagine the ones from that !@#$ movie where Indiana Jones keeps getting his ass handed to him by the guy from the Guinness commercials. Neither depiction is remotely !@#$ing accurate. 

Here’s what a flying car is like. Take the chassis for an Aston Martin Spider, which was all the rage amongst flashy intelligence people, back when I spent that hour and a half destroying some poor secretary’s !@#$ eardrums back in the day. Then have some of Dr. Yesterday’s eggheads yank out a lot of the !@#$ things that make it a high-performance sports car, and shove in a bunch of sliding-panel, extending jackknife mousetrap clap-trap under the !@#$ hood, in the !@#$ing trunk, and on the sides so that when you press the big !@#$ red button under the dash, a bunch of rockets, wings, and stabilizers pop out so you can actually get the !@#$ing thing off the ground.

But what’s !@#$ing missing here? Well for one thing, it’s about as aerodynamic as a !@#$ brick, so forget high speed chases and !@#$ing evading missiles and bullets. So they add on some big !@#$ armor to compensate.

And... that makes it even !@#$ing slower.

What else? Well, cars !@#$ing require fuel. Rockets require even more !@#$ing fuel. And an Aston Martin Spider is not !@#$ing big enough to house a !@#$ antigravity generator and all the other !@#$ing things you’d need to get it to fly. And even if it was, there’s no !@#$ room for the power plant you’d need to !@#$ing power the generator in the first place.

This is why THE COMPANY takes agents from place to place in proper !@#$ aircraft, instead of !@#$ing flying cars. They’d need to be flying busses to be of any !@#$ use, and busses are even less !@#$ing aerodynamic than Aston Martin Spiders. You might as just get a !@#$ jet. 

So here’s how we do that Asian Hedonism thing, SPYGOD flying car style. 

I call the FAA and spend fifteen !@#$ing minutes explaining to some poor soul how I’m going to screw up Neo York City's flight traffic for maybe ten, if I’m !@#$ing lucky. Then I get in the car and fly off the side of The B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G., go down about ten !@#$ blocks to the Bangkok Eight, who always have my order waiting on Wednesdays.

Then I drive to where the ladyboys walk the streets and see if I can find someone who isn’t a godforsaken replicant with a !@#$ing bomb on board, because my enemies are too !@#$ clever. Then I refuel the car at the gas station, fly the !@#$ back up to the car park, and have to !@#$ing call to have someone helicopter up a full !@#$ tank of gas so it’ll be ready for next Wednesday.

It can wait until tomorrow, though. Tonight I’m !@#$ing partying at taxpayers expense. With Thai hookers.

Yes, son -- that’s it. Ten !@#$ blocks and a stop at the other other meat market destroys a full tank of gas. How am I supposed to go !@#$ing blazing into New Jersey to save the world from HONEYCOMB if I can’t even make it further than that? Some great !@#$ photo ops there, son, let me tell you. 

But I will tell you one !@#$ thing. Since they couldn’t give me better mileage, and the handling’s a doozy, and you can never get happy Katooey stains out of the !@#$ing upholstery, I made !@#$ certain they made up for it by putting every weapon known to man, alien, and god under the hood. 

There’s things in there that no one understands, Jimmy. And I get to be the one to press the button.

So if you see me behind you, honking my !@#$ing horn and telling you get your fat !@#$ out of my way in the name of America, you got five !@#$ seconds to run up on the sidewalk, and then I’m gonna fly right over you and !@#$ing rain acid bomblets on the top of your edsel.

For America, and at taxpayers’ expense. 

Your Commander 

SPYGOD

ps. Also remember that, if you're wanting something to spend your money on, SPYGOD 2 comes out next week for the WHEE. It's hands-free fun for the whole family!!! (Rated M)

SPYGOD is listening to Jesus Built My Hotrod (Ministry) and drinking Singha.