The Egg Caper, Part 1
Ivan Davidoff
no interest in my continuing efforts to save the free world, then please
direct your attention to the "Sonia is not a boiler" thread.
Part 1: The Awakening.
I was cold.
That was all I knew, at first. As I struggled valiantly to regain
consciousness, applying the formidable force of my prodigious will to
this one end, I was aware that a deep chill had permeated every one of
my perfectly formed pores. My keen mind instantly assessed the
situation, and I came to the startling conclusion that I was, to put it
bluntly, starkers. Yet, far from deterring me from the pursuit of my
goal, this realization spurred me on. With renewed vigor, I flexed my
superbly developed epicanthic muscles, and opened my eyes.
A lovely boulevard, lined on either side with luxurious Ginko trees,
tidy shops and prosperous-looking passers-by, sloped off into the
distance before me. There, where the sides of the street came to a point
in tidy perspective, like a pair of expertly wielded chopsticks,
glistened the waters of a bay stretching out to the horizon. I knew
where I was, for I could be nowhere else: Japan's ancient Water Capital
and home of pressed sushi, honest merchants and ancient castles.
Osaka.
I was sitting on cold concrete, my back against a Ginko tree. How long I
had been in this position I could not say, but the stiffness in my limbs
spoke volumes -- it must have been at least a half-hour. With grim
resolve, I sprang to my feet, and, unfolding my aching bones into an
impressively erect posture, proceeded northward, expertly navigating
through the throngs of late-afternoon shoppers. I walked briskly,
falling into an energy-efficient gait that was part walk, part skip and
part shuffle. I could see that everyone I passed was impressed by my
self-assured elegance, for the men gorped at me with unconcealed
amazement at the sight of one such as I, and the women hid their faces,
emitting tinkling cascades of giggles, obviously attracted to me in that
particular way that a woman is attracted to an Alpha-male.
Presently, I reached my destination, a small takoyaki shop on the edge
of Osaka's business district. A crowd of waiting customers was gathered
below the restaurant's flashing neon sign, which spelled out
"Medetaikanchu" in latin letters. I pushed through the crowd and peered
into the brightly-lit salon. There behind the sushi bar stood
world-famous chef Hiroyuki Sakai, or "Frenchy" as his closest friends
call him. His head was turned toward a television screen affixed on high
at one end of the bar.
"Frenchy-san!" I called out in a deep baritone.
Frenchy turned, and his face lit up with pleasure at the sight of my
visage, and, oddly, fairly overflowed with delight as he quickly
surveyed my denuded form. "Ivan-san!" he cried, and waved me toward a
seat that had a moment ago been relinquished by a sated customer. I
strode majestically toward the bar and placed my chiseled form upon the
stool. With a large pair of tongs, Frenchy offered me a steaming
rolled-up towel with which the fastidious Japanese customarily wipe
their face and hands before a meal. I did so, with zeal, removing the
grime of the city from my countenance, but did not stop there, and,
taking advantage of my state of dishabille, gave myself a delicious and
much-needed full-body towel-bath. The patrons stared at me in wonder,
noting the expertise with which I cleaned even the most hard-to-reach
parts of my physique.
My ablutions completed, I demurely draped the towel over my lap, and was
contemplating the catch of the day when suddenly everyone seated at the
bar, and even Frenchy himself, erupted in laughter. I directed my keen
eye toward the object of their mirth, and saw on the television screen
Robbie's pock-marked visage. Ah, yes, another one of poor Robbie's
escapades had amused the affluent Osakans, just as it no doubt was
amusing people from all walks of life all over the world. I smiled
indulgently and, catching Frenchy's eye, signaled that I was ready to
place an order.
Accepting my rather eclectic requests with his customary rolling of eyes
and shaking of head, Frenchy began filling a wooden sushi press with
rice, seaweed and bits of fish. I looked around me. The EastEnders
episode had ended, and the next one had not yet begun, so a happy buzz
of conversation filled the restaurant. To my right sat a distinguished
gentleman, and I could hear him energetically arguing with his companion
about whether or not Kat is a "slapper" (he pronounced it "su-lapuru").
I turned to my left and was, for a moment, stunned by the radiant beauty
of the woman sitting there -- a 39-year-old brunette with boobs. I
stared at her until she turned and looked at me. Having caught her eye,
I gave her my most devilishly seductive look, protruding my lips outward
like a fish, and waggling my unusually long tongue with breathtakingly
rapid motions. She was, of course, stunned by my erotic display, and
abruptly expelled the contents of her mouth, which I believe was Sake,
with a loud hacking exclamation of sexual arousal. I smiled
understandingly and turned my attention back to Frenchy, who was handing
me the results of his labors.
In the dreary work-a-day life of a quadruple super-agent, there are
moments like this that make it all worth it. Frenchy's sushi is the best
in the world, even when he confines himself to the rather stodgy Osakan
style. My years with the KGB, OSS, CIA, MI6, Massad, CheKa, NKVD, GRU,
and, recently, the North Yorkshire Train Spotters Club, have taken me to
the most exotic corners of this globe, and, no matter where I find
myself, I always partake of the local cuisines - so I know whereof I
speak. Frenchy is tops.
I unsheathed my chopsticks with a flourish that instantly won the
respect of everyone around me. I attacked my sushi with relish, tossing
my chopsticks into the air between bites. The chopsticks would make one,
two, three complete revolutions and drop back into my waiting fingers
with astounding precision. Without missing a beat, I would convey
another slablet of Osakan sushi into my mouth and, once again, fling the
chopsticks into the air. By the time I had finished my first order, the
entire restaurant was on its feet giving me a standing ovation. I smiled
modestly and bowed. It's not for nothing they call me the Keith Moon of
Chopstick Users.
I consumed another four orders of sushi with the same spectacular
display of chop-stick-wielding prowess -- the final order blindfolded.
My hunger abated, I relaxed, sipping hot green tea, and chatted easily
with the 39-year-old brunette with boobs. Hours passed in this manner,
and finally the restaurant was empty save for me and Frenchy. He gazed
at me with grave concern.
"Ivan-san, it is wonderful to see you. But what happened to your
clothes?"
"I don't know," I replied. "I awoke in this condition a few hours ago in
the middle of the Shinsaibashi shopping district."
Frenchy's face darkened. "Yakuza!" he hissed angrily.
"No doubt," I replied. "But I fail to see why. My mission was highly
innocuous."
"Oh? What was it this time?"
"Eggs," I replied. "I was tracking mysterious shipments of eggs. If
memory serves me, there has been a recent spike in egg shipments to key
strategic locales across the globe. MI6 was concerned, and asked me to
investigate. I had traced the source of one of these shipments to a
small hamlet in North Korea, whenů" I trailed off.
"Terrorists!" Frenchy exclaimed. "Eggs, in the wrong hands, are horrific
weapons of mass intimidation!"
"Hmm," I intoned. "I think you and MI6 are on the same wave-length. Say,
Frenchyů any more of that superb Sake?"
Part 2: London Calling.
(To be continued, God willingů)
--
ID
--
Andy Clews
Excellent stuff. I look forward to part 2.
--
Andy Clews University of Sussex Computing Service
(Remove CUTOUT from address if replying by email)
Joan
>A note of caution: this is a long post. If you are easily bored, or have
>no interest in my continuing efforts to save the free world, then please
>direct your attention to the "Sonia is not a boiler" thread.
Oh no, never.
Reading this in work had me smiling and I was once again reminded that
nothing, nothing beats a Davidoff.
--
Joan
(More of your Shakespeare will affect my brain.)
------------------------------------------------------------
"More of your conversation would infect my brain" ;D
(W.Shakespeare)
------------------------------------------------------------
Joan
Robert Graham
Robert
greg
to the stuff you did 2-3 years ago, it's really tedious. I'll give Part
2 a fair chance, but if it's boring, I'm killfiling you.
-greg
Ivan Davidoff wrote:
<much better in the past>
Jean R. Sherrard
news:3B156AAD...@home.com...
> ID, Part 1 was way too long, and never got to any point. Also, compared
> to the stuff you did 2-3 years ago, it's really tedious. I'll give Part
> 2 a fair chance, but if it's boring, I'm killfiling you.
>
> -greg
Listen, greg, I've just about had enough of you nipping at Ivan's heels
whenever he posts. Could it be you're just a tad envious? I mean Ivan's
always been The Man around here, while you're nothing more than an
occasionally clever pipsqueak!
So I say lay off Ivan, say I. Turn your green down a notch and let him post
in peace. And if you don't like it, follow his advice and check out the
"Bianca is a boiler" thread (whatever the hell that means).
Not to say you aren't more than welcome here, greg. But Ivan has more wit
in his left little toenail than you have in your entire body.
Jean
Andy Clews
> ID, Part 1 was way too long, and never got to any point. Also, compared
> to the stuff you did 2-3 years ago, it's really tedious. I'll give Part
> 2 a fair chance, but if it's boring, I'm killfiling you.
I'm sure Ivan will be devastated :-)
Rosie
Ivan Davidoff <ivanda...@yahoo.com> wrote
. If you are easily bored, or have
> no interest in my continuing efforts to save the free world, then please
> direct your attention to the "Sonia is not a boiler" thread.
Can't we just combine the two, and have boiled eggs?
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
Or perhaps we could combine the Sonia is a boiler
with the Barry is a Chicken threads......
Mind you with his bald head he does look like
a soft boiled egg.
bfn
BobR
Rosie
Jean R. Sherrard <sher...@spamzapzipcon.net> wrote
> Not to say you aren't more than welcome here, greg. But Ivan has more wit
> in his left little toenail than you have in your entire body.
There again, it's often just a yeast infection.
<Rosie, having dipped her toenail into the deep blue, then scarpers off
to the shallows in search of an argumentative Shell>
truebrit
Tracie
Tracie
Bob Rumsby wrote in message <3b16b049...@news.nni.com>...
>>>
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
>I've heard better yokes from you Bob!
>
Om-letting that one go by, well at least for now.
bfn
BobR
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
Why is that when i am cooking 2 fried eggs, that evey time i look down
at them they remind me of Lisa?????
bfn
BobR
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
>I've heard better yokes from you Bob!
>
I am scrambling to come up with a reply :)
bfn
Bobr
Tracie
as you don't poach them from elsewhere :-)
Tracie
Bob Rumsby wrote in message <3b17ab72...@news.cybernex.net>...
truebrit
Bob Rumsby wrote in message <3b17ab3c...@news.cybernex.net>...
Because they're sunnyside 'up' and not easy-over?
Mrs H
Andy Clews
I would not advocaat continuing with this pun thread for too much longer...
--
Andy Clews University of Sussex Computing Service
(Remove DENTURES if replying by email)
truebrit
truebrit wrote in message <67QR6.276$xe1....@dca1-nnrp2.news.digex.net>...
oops, of course you know I meant over-easy.
Mrs H
Who knew what I meant......OK, they've come to take me away, they say I have
finally cracked up, and they refuse to molly-coddle(d) any longer.
>
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
>
>>
>>Why is that when i am cooking 2 fried eggs, that evey time i look down
>>at them they remind me of Lisa?????
>>
>>bfn
>>BobR
>====================
>Because they're sunnyside 'up' and not easy-over?
>Mrs H
>
With a response like that and Joan E response to another thread
I think that this group is in need of help.
Oh and by the way i am available to help out :) :)
bfn
BobR
Bob Rumsby
wrote:
>Thus spake Bob Rumsby unto the assembled multitudes:
>> On Fri, 01 Jun 2001 06:15:10 GMT, "Tracie" <jsba...@cableinet.co.uk>
>> wrote:
>
>>>I've heard better yokes from you Bob!
>>>
>> I am scrambling to come up with a reply :)
>
>I would not advocaat continuing with this pun thread for too much longer...
>
>--
Egg'actly what I was thinking.
bfn
BobR
Sam
Bob Rumsby <rru...@cybernex.net> wrote in message
news:3b18530f...@news.cybernex.net...
Me too! In fact I find it eggtremely over eggagerated eggchange of words
which is an eggample of the eggcentricness of some people here ;-)