Monday, January 29, 2007

Fake Origins of Comic Writers: Tony Millionaire

"Where's my laptop?" asked Sheila. Her eyes darted side to side, surveying her desk top.

"I dunno," Tony said, pushing his chair back from his desk.

"Well it was here - I left it here. I left it there," she said pointing to a blank, rectangular space on the wooden desk, surrounded by ruffled papers.

Tony stood up, peered over his desk, which sat back to back from Sheila's, and saw the same blank space. Then he bent over at the waist, and tilted his head so he could upside-down check underneath both desks.

"No laptop down here," he said.

"I NEED. I NEED THAT LAPTOP," Sheila barked. She smacked her open palm down onto a mess of papers on the desk, then swept them from right to left, knocking everything off the desk - including a stapler, a cellular phone, and the empty end of a laptop power cord that was dangling where it should have been plugged into the now missing laptop. The tiled floor of the little room was covered with paper.

"Roll up your sleeves and get down on your knees and look for it," Sheila stated calmly. She eerily seemed to have calmed down.

"Why do I have to?" Tony whined.

"Because I can' t do it in this dress!" Sheila shrieked, her face all screwed up. In fact, Sheila was wearing a very elegant black formal gown, complete with those elbow gloves and one of those wrappy-thingies that you hold on your arms but goes around your back to make you look fancy.
"All right," Tony moaned, and he rolled up the sleeves of a very sharp looking blue and green and white striped dress shirt. He also loosened his red tie, his power tie, because he figured if he was going to roll up his sleeves, he might as well loosen his tie and unbutton his collar to complete the look. To complete the image for you, he was wearing a handsome set of grey woolen trousers and black wingtip shoes, as well as a black belt and watchband and undershirt, becuase Tony always thought that black underneath goes well as long as you match it to everything, because if you didn't, then you looked sort of off with just a black undershirt and not a black belt but if you did match them all together the overall look was just -

"Well, get on with it!" Sheila commanded, cutting off Tony's thought process. Her blonde hair was pulled up into a braided bun and she was wearing a little diamond tiara just above her crown.

Tony bent down and pushed the scattered pieces of paper and the staple and the laptop's power cord around, but to be honest, the little room was quite fairly very little, and there was barely enough room for the two desks - you see, if you were looking down into the room at sort of a diagonal birdseye view from just behind Tony's desk, you'd see that both desks were shoved against each other and pushed up against the white brick of the left wall, and that there was barely even a walkway between the desks and the wall of two-way mirrors on the right. Through the two-way mirrors one could see that currently there was quite the fancy to-do going on outside of this little room in the main ballroom of the mansion. This is where Sheila held her parties for all the foreign emissaries to come to, so she could get them to drink champaign and tell them their countries secrets, which she documented on the laptop in the little room. Outside at the fancy ball, people were bustling about on the fancy marble floors wearing tuxedos and black gowns.

"If I don't get that laptop, I'm ruined," Sheila said, huffing back the sobs with tears forming in her eyes.

Tony shuffled through all the same papers, like he had done four times before, but he didn't really care if he found the laptop or not. He was just mad because he was Indian and that he had to help this stupid rich American with her stupid parties in the middle of France somewhere just because he was an immigrant with an IT degree from Bangalore and Sheila needed someone to wire the house on a network. In fact, he'd even seen the man who came through and stole the laptop. When the man came in, Tony had his feet up on the desk and was reading a naughty magazine featuring females, even though Tony was sure that he was more attracted to men anyway. The man slipped into the room through the door that looks like wood paneling out in the hallway, grabbed the laptop, then put his finger to his lips telling Tony to be quiet. Tony let out a guffaw, then rolled up the un-arousing magazine and leaned forward in his chair.

"She pays me a lot to keep track of this stuff," Tony said.

"Here then," the man said with a Texan accent, tossing Tony a manila envelope over Sheila's desk. It fluttered into Tony's hands. "It's a real passport with your name on it, and your place of birth - The United Fucking States of Kick Ass. Also, a million bucks. Straight cash. American. Deal?"

"You bet your sweet bippy," Tony replied nodding. Then he un-rolled the skin mag and stuck the envelope inside it.

Tony was still brushing the papers around when Sheila and Tony heard a knock on the two-way mirror wall. They both looked over, Sheila standing, but Tony from his hands and knees. It was the Texan in the tuxedo. He pulled the laptop out of his tuxedo coat and waved it to them. Behind him people bustled about in fancy clothes.

"That bastard!" Sheila screamed, but Tony just laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" Sheila shouted.

"Oh nothing," Tony said chuckling. "But I quit. Oops! Can't forget my porno."

Tony grabbed his nudie pages and walked out the fake panel door.


Sheila was hung for betraying her country. And then hung again for each consecutive country that she betrayed, in that country. She was hung thirty-two times. She was dead for at least thirty of them.

Tony, after receiving the million dollars, became Tony Millionaire and now draws comics in the United States, unaware that he ever was an Indian from Bangalore with an IT degree.

And the Texan? Why, he became president after he succeeded in stealing the laptop to fulfill the Skull and Bones society prank which let him graduate from Yale.

The End.

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