Quality FilthSkitsMr. Winston Black-SkitsWorld War III is minutes away.
World War III is minutes away.

World War III is minutes away.

Please click on the link below to hear my introduction, and/or just read along:

Introduction 

World War III is minutes away. Two boyhood friends from Brighton Beach, Brooklyn, say they have a plan to prevent it. One is now an American spy, the other Russian. I should know. You see, one of these chaps is my grandson. But shh! Please don’t tell a soul, cause loose lips sink ships, or don’t they teach you Yanks that? In any event, a few minutes before the first missile is shot, the President makes a shocking discovery. Does it show these Brighton boys are dangerous losers who made the global holocaust inevitable, or quiet winners that miraculously prevented it? Find our on September 1st when you read the novella Confessions of Quiet Winners, which is in essence a long “satirical crime skit” featuring my grandson. In the meantime, below is a sample of Chapter 2 of the novella and you can read all of Chapter 1 by clicking HERE.

Chapter 2 — Vodka Jalapeno 

Dude, can’t wait until we get back to Tijuana! It’s colder than a witch’s tit here in Kiev.

                       So reads this e-mail from agent Wilson to one Sasha Stravinska on February 15, 2014, the day after Wilson arrived in Kiev. According to Wilson’s file, him and this Sasha were boyhood friends from Brighton Beach, Brooklyn. The e-mail string continues, this time from Stravinska to Wilson.

No way dude, witches have hot tits. Anyway, I guess we won’t be able to get back to Tijuana until what, like 2017, or something? Bummer!

            The e-mails, alone, would have been harmless.

But Sasha is no regular Brooklyn native.

According to Wilson’s file, at the time the e-mails were exchanged, Sasha, who has aliases like “Vodka Jalapeno,” was “this totally handsome (for sure a model on the side) all-star agent of the Great Red Underwear, or G-R-U, Russia’s version of the CIA.”

A little more than a month after the largest leak of CIA’s hacking technologies in history, on March 7 of this year, agent Wilson was forcibly admitted to this hospital. According to this e-mail I received from CIA Director Stan Still shortly after Wilson’s Easter admission:

They were obviously planning something nefarious, un-American, which would had been easy to do cause this Wilson was but a useful idiot for this Russian commie bastard. It is no coincidence that CIA just had the biggest leak ever. Do you dig what the hell is going on here, doctor? A perversion of our security all because this Russian has raped Wilson’s mind, used their childhood friendship from Brooklyn as a way to crowbar his way into Wilson’s soul, his spirit, his psyche, and, who knows, maybe his ass? Get him deemed sane, so we can try his ass for treason. Wilson’s the one who leaked our files.

            Of course, there is a lot more evidence to support the charges that Wilson was a “useful idiot” for his Russian friend Sasha, including Wilson’s diary entries. But e-mails like the one above between the Brighton boys “were just the tip of the commie iceberg,” according to Director Still. I flip through some more e-mails on my laptop, sipping a green tea in my home office, and find this one between the two Brighton Boys, using their nicknames – “Dodgy Bond” for agent Wilson, “Vodka Jalapeno” for agent Stravinska:

            From: Dodgy Bond    

            To: Vodka Jalapeno

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

             Can’t wait to play our dirty tricks on those kinky American chicks once we get back to Tijuana. You know how it’s going to go.

            From: Vodka Jalapeno   

            To: Dodgy Bond

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

Hot! You know they are going to love it. They won’t be able to get us out of the history books.

I peek back at the CIA analyst’s report in Wilson’s file. It reads:

            Obviously, these e-mails show, with a high degree of reasonable, rational, and circular reasoning, that the Russians were using this Wilson as their useful idiot, and have been planning for years on putting those missiles in Tijuana.

            Wondering if Wilson’s diary entries would really make things worse, I flip to them before I go to bed. I open up this one, dated February 16, 2014, and I shake my head:

            Man, going out with Ilia tonight to some “hot night club,” in his words, outside of Kiev, but exchanging these e-mails with Sash yesterday got me thinking about Tijuana. People are going to flip the fuck out when I head back there. I think chicks are going to be shaking in their boots, especially ones who live close to the border, when they see me and Sasha walking around, back on the circuit, cause this time they’ll see our manly missiles are like so ready to burst all over them.

            In still another diary entry that I have here on my laptop, and which I peer at, Skip remembers back to his feelings of inferiority when he was young, and how having these “manly missiles” will get him and Sasha more respect:

            Those assholes outside Tijuana didn’t respect me and Sash before, looking down on us, calling us “twats” and “good for nothing dorks.” Even those filthy rich women inside sometimes made fun of us, pinching our cheeks like we were just little children to be played with, not to be respected, like the men we were.

            It doesn’t matter. Cause Sash and I are going to go back there, to Tijuana, with those manly missiles we grew and fostered for so many years, and these women from the border will be on their knees, mouths open, waiting for us to give it to them, the biggest explosions they have ever seen, ones their nice little boxed in worlds along the border won’t give to them. Ooh, can’t wait for that T-Day, kind of like D-Day, but only in Tijuana.

            Hoping that there may be something in Wilson’s other e-mails to Sasha on February 15, 2014 that would help his case, I get discouraged when I read this string of e-mails:

            From: Dodgy Bond    

            To: Vodka Jalapeno

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

            Dude, so can’t wait to get those women wet with our secret missiles, especially those stuck up ones from California, do you remember them when we used to hit up Tijuana when we were younger? When they see what we’ve been working on, they are going to be falling over themselves to get on their knees when they see our rad hot rods — especially mine, needless to say.

            According to the flight records from United Airlines in Wilson’s CIA file, it appears that the two boys’ families had in fact traveled to Tijuana for vacation, or at least flew into the airport on previous occasions when they were younger. I peek at another e-mail between them that day:

            From: Vodka Jalapeno

            To: Dodgy Bond

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

             Da, the pussy with the military man is going to be wanting more of me, but you for the seconds, cause I the taller and have the more experience, you remember this times I having with that one in Tijuana? Is the very funny. I not think they going to be expecting these missiles we having, cause I remembering when they look at mine, say the thing like “oh little boy got the very small missile, going to write a crayon story for me?”

             This was the very embarrassed, even though is the night that ending on the good note, remembering this bullshit bleached women with their attitudes cause they go to the pretty schools, thinking this making them the pretty women? They going to love it when they have my Ivan the Irritable missile there, cause you know this is what they needing, not the kissy bank boy they ordering around, this American puritan that does not see what we see, da?

            Turning the page on my computer, I checked out another e-mail between the two agents, this one copied to one “Bill Bakes”:

            From: Dodgy Bond

            To: Jalapeno Vodka

            CC: Bill Bakes

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

            Dude, your written English has gotten fresh off the yacht sounding – take some brush up English courses. Anyway, so, all I know is that we won’t have to worry about any more attacks, cause, as I understand the Me So Boring technology, they won’t want to come around us anymore when we are with the women in Tijuana. I mean, before when we went to Tijuana, they always threatened us with their bigger missiles, always totally making us not in the mood to have any good times. But the Me So Boring is so cool! I can’t believe we’ll be able to finally have fun in Tijuana without worrying about being bullied all because of our puny hot rods, cause the Me So Boring technology will make up for it. 

            From: Vodka Jalapeno

            To: Dodgy Bond

            CC: Bill Bakes

            Re: Tijuana

            Date: February 15, 2014

            Da, da, my written English is getting super shitty, but who cares? What are we, in Dead Poet’s Society? Anyway, is the very funny, this Me So Boring software. I not believe nothing when we make this, is the very, how you say, guard of the front? Nyet, avant garde is what I mean. When I seeing it, all I could think about is when they seeing us, they not going to be thinking we the easy prey no more, cause Me So Boring going to make Me So Horney in the Tijuana, nyet? Da, da, is the rhetoric question, is how you say.

When I flip back to Wilson’s diary entries, I find that they confirm CIA Director Still’s suspicion that he thought of this Me So Boring technology as something they would use to “make their big massive hot rod” work all the better, according to Wilson’s following entry:

            Oh man, so stoked about this software me and Sash wrote, going to be like totally cool when they check it in Tijuana, cause those chicks were all like doubting us before but now they’ll be all like drooling all over our grown up missile silos when we go back there. They’ll finally take Sash and I seriously for once, with their big cars, hair, nails, bank accounts, especially those loaded border women.

            They would always be all pinching us in our cheeks, thinking we were too small and too young to make them happy. Whatever! They are going to see how wrong they are when they see how the software works when we get back to Tijuana. They’ll will be leaving their older sugar daddies for us, wanting to pay me and Sash our properly fair free market value, not this crony capitalist bullshit, cause they’ll know more why quiet winners do it best.

             Reading the diary entries, and e-mails, makes me sort of depressed. I feel like it is going to be an open and shut case against Wilson, and that insanity would not likely be a defense given his obvious ability to engage in means-end reasoning. Sick of reading this stuff, I close my laptop and go to sleep.

Two days later, on Thursday, October 19, 2017, it’s about 10:00 a.m. and I am about to go and see Wilson in his room for our second session during this Tijuana missile crisis. Then, weird, I get this bizarre text from Director Stan Still:

From: Stan Still          

            To: Dr. Liam Egan

            Re: Agent Wilson

            Date: October 19, 2017

             Doctor, I know you are just trying to do your job, but we are getting antsy, not in a kid waking up on Christmas morning fun (!) type of antsy, about this agent Wilson. Dig me? We need some confirmation of his sanity—now–so that we can get him in prison sooner rather than later. I mean, come on doctor, it’s not going to do any good when they world is blown up, right? Don’t need to go to Harvard Medical School to figure this one out. Thanks for hurrying it up, and doing your duty to your country.

            Sincerely,

            SS

How could I carry out my ethical duty and properly evaluate this patient, in an unbiased way, when Director Still was breathing down my neck for the answer he wanted? I thought to myself: Isn’t such tell you what you want to hear, not what you need to hear, intelligence what got us into that war in Crack and ousted Sandy Hussy?

Walking through the hospital hallway to Wilson’s room, I come across a brunette nurse, country French looking, with freckles and slightly pink lipstick, who smiles at me. I wonder to myself when I’ll get a date with a woman like her.

Must have been a new nurse, or one transferred in from somewhere else, cause I don’t think I’d seen her before. I shrugged, not thinking anything of it, cause the Brooklyn VA hospital is massive, and there is big time turn over of nurse personnel.

I walk into Wilson’s room and he is wide-awake, sitting reading a Carnegie Mellon Today magazine through his sunglasses. I think I smell perfume in the air.


Find out more on August 1st, ladies and gentlemen. In the meantime, read more about my spook skills on behalf of the Queen Mother during World War II in Dirty Quiet Money, in which I am an English butler in 1960s New York City.

 

About the author

Mr. Winston Black

Butler/Painter/Corporate Strategist/Legendary Spook