THE SEARCH FOR THE VENEZUELAN

THE SEARCH FOR THE VENEZUELAN

HAVE YOU SEEN THIS... THING?

DAY ONE- 6/19/99: I arrived on the coast of Mujibwambala, Africa late last night, and barely had time to get checked into the Ritz before I fell asleep. My party and I got an early start at 8 AM on the trail, because it would be tough, daunting times ahead. But I am getting ahead of myself. First, allow me to introduce my party.

PHAT CHEOPS

Of course, there is me, the dashing, square-jawed hero of the bunch. Armed with an impressive array of machetes, rifles, and pith helmets, I am leading this band of misfits into the jungle to bring the Venezuelan back... alive.
JULIE A sultry, seductive woman from the heart of California, she posesses a sharp intellect and razor wit that will help us get out of many a jam, to be sure... and, unbeknownst to her, she's the bait.
THE KERRICK A dark, mysterious man, Kerrick is from parts unknown, with a past... erm... even more unknown. He's a deadly, accurate ninja assassin, sure to come in handy, should the Venezuelan turn against us.
PAUL ANOMOLY A weapons expert from Toronto, Paul is the one to count on if we ever need to blow up a bunch of stuff. Guns, explosives, and everything in between are his domain. A bit of a loose cannon, but I really can't see that being a problem.
ADDRIANNA She can't really do much. She can act. I made her come along in exchange for promising to go back and spell her name right.
MR. PINK He won't talk to us, really. He's a very weaselly looking guy. I hired him because I didn't want Paul to be the only loose cannon. He keeps muttering about diamonds and a botched kidnapping... and something about a mulcher. Weird.
CAKEMIX POZZUTO An ex-pimp from New Orleans, his motives for joining us are as unclear as his ethnicity. Seriously, this guy could be white, black, hispanic, chinese... you'd have to see him to know. All he carries with him are his Glock and a big cane with a silver knob on it.
HERR STARR We found this guy wandering the New Mexican desert. He's missing his right eye, his left ear, and his right leg. Plus he's got a big cut down the middle of his bald head that makes it look like a foreskin. He's constantly grumpy.
JAR JAR BINKS & WICKETT We found these two hanging out in a cantina in French Guinea, where we left North America from. One is a tall, lizard-like thing that speaks in pigdin English, the other is a short, teddy-bearish kind of thing. I can see them bringing many valuable assets to this party.
ZIRIJUL Our fearless tracker. We found him strangling some Apartheidists in a South African bar. Once we heard he was a tracker, we had to have him on board. Good God, this man is huge. He also has quite a few machetes.
SEVERAL NAMELESS, FACELESS LACKEYS AND HANGERS-ON Zirijul referred to these guys as "cannon fodder". I wonder what he meant by that.
Anyway, we all started on the trail at 8 AM this morning, shortly after a warm breakfast of ham, bacon, eggs, pancakes, waffles, toast, french toast, donuts, kolaches, bear claws, strudles, tarts, turnovers, biscuits, sausage, and cereal. Zirijul did not join in, choosing to sit by himself in a corner laughing grimly and munching on what he jokingly calls "leopard jerky". Jar Jar fell in the fire, but quickly extinguished himself with Cakemix's orange juice. Cakemix then bitch-slapped him. "Mesa sorry!" indeed. Paul and Mr. Pink exchanged some friendly gunfire over toast. Soon, it was time to begin the expidition.

We're trying to reach the Congo (or is it the Nile?) this week, but things may get bogged down. Apparently, a Mala Mala tribe is refusing to budge from their place to make way for our convoy, so that could be any number of problems there, but I'm pretty sure we can handle any of them as long as they don't get their hands on a lawyer. On the plus side, The Venezuelan was recently spotted by the Naihimbu tribe, kayaking like a madman down the Congo, so he apparently doesn't have much of a head start on us.

The day went rather well, until one of our lackeys was chased, killed, and devoured by a pack of hyenas. We didn't know how to handle this sort of thing, so we let Zirijul take care of it. I have no idea what he did with the body, but we haven't seen another predator all day. As for my plan, I still believe it to be a nearly infallible one. Julie looked very fetching in her halter top and upper-thigh shorts, boasting a shape like no other, the sweat glistening off her... but enough of that. She will be more than enough to draw in the Venezuelan and, hopefully, make him lower his defenses.

And so, a rather uneventful first day drew to a close with a supper of steak, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, sauerkraut, pork loin, macaroni and/or cheese, spaghetti, caeser salad, grilled salmon, hoagies, lima beans, and triple-deck French cheesecake for desert. Zirijul again sat off in a corner, munching some sort of new jerky that he'd just aquired today, and muttering to himself in another language. Paul and Mr. Pink exchanged friendly gunfire over the cheesecake. The Kerrick left sometime after dark and returned right before I nodded off with three dead cheetahs.

DAY TWO: We ran into another problem. Apparently, as a young child, Mr. Pink was locked in a greenhouse for three days, and now he is deathly afraid of what the sceintific community calls "lictus grenus", or the Lantern Fern. It's a kind of fern that grows near the rivers over here, and they get really thick. Mr. Pink can take one or two, but if confronted with a bushel of them, he opens fire fairly indiscriminately. He killed three faceless lackeys just yesterday, in his terrified zeal. This morning, we came upon an entire field of Lantern Ferns, and he pissed his pants and cried until Zirijul found him and slapped him around. Hopfully we can find a way to deal with this problem before we get on the boat, as the banks of every river are crowded with Lantern Ferns.

On a much happier note, The Kerrick has supplied us with great amounts of wild beast to eat, to make up for our dwindling supply of modern food. Why, this morning, I had to go without my daily eclair! But that's all OK, I can adjust, if it means getting my hands on that elusive Venezuelan. I just wish I knew who this "unknown party" is who's offering us this substantial reward. This definitely doesn't sound like something that will come up ever again and surprise the hell out of everyone.

Speaking of surprising the hell out of everyone, Addrianna turned into a carrot this morning. No one could have possibly predicted that she would do it, and she claims that's exactly why she did it. She looked fairly embarrassed, though, so that leads me to believe that perhaps she has no control over this odd power. I will be sure to document it if Addrianna ever spontaneously turns into any other sort of vegetable.

Zirijul, Julie and I went to look for a boat captain to drive us down the river. We found one who simply went by the name of "Big A". He was a big man, too, although he didn't act like it, constantly chiding us not to touch anything in his office. He says he will take us down the river on his boat, the "Anal Retentor", in a few days time. Meanwhile, we're camped out by the banks. Mr. Pink continues to cry himself to sleep every night we're within a hundred yards of Lantern Ferns, and Paul has to exchange friendly fire with him to cheer him up.

Jar Jar and Wickett seem to be getting along rather well, judging from the noises coming from their tent last night. I've heard the words "Yub yub" emitted from little Wickett before, but never with such emotion and passion. All day today, Jar Jar went around mispronouncing the word "uvula", even if there was no reason whatsoever to say it. Cakemix spent a lot of time bitch-slapping Jar Jar.

DAY THREE: well it seems things haff takken a tern for the more interestingg. i have spint the last three hours bawling like a madman, it seems to com and go. zirjul said i got hit by a dart by some tribe who lifes aroun hear somehwere shot at me, but zirijul said he killd em. so thats good. but aparently the dart was coverd in some sort of halllusinodrug that makes me freak out every now and then they set up a bummer tent, like they had at woodstock snoopy charlie brown. so i supose one might could might could say im fucked up prettty bad right now. but it comes and goes and one minute maybe worst then the next. fuck all i can hear is low rider, that one song muffin with the all myt freinds htyeno th low rider doo doo do do do od odo do doo doo do do with the horny section. jarjar hit with a dart to and hes just ben huddledd aginst a tree rocking back adn fourth and crying a lot, an i think caxemik bich slapped him some bunch. evrybody else is fine mother theyre fine cuz thers no blood here norman bates master bates in the new one. julie finally hit on me yesterday but i think she was just being polite cuz she did th same thing to the kerrick and addrianana. stil a striptees is always nice. mr paul and pink are shootin at each othr bam bam bam boom like that. i gotta go sleepy cuz im all froofy with flump jits gettin dakie won time. caml ndow for offfor ing not me. try otto to fine me. venezwelln.

DAY FOUR: Whew! Was THAT ever a creepy experience! I mean, here's poor Julie trying to have a serious discussion with me, and all I see are little baby flaming giraffes running in and out of her ears and nose! And Big A needs me to tie a sheepshank knot to anchor the lift barrels, and all I'm seeing are the decomposing skulls of dead relatives singing "O Danny Boy"! Quite a set of pipes on my dead relatives, too, I was moved to tears of red hot blood. But, as usual, a good night's sleep, and I'm right as rain! Apparently, I didn't miss much. We set sail two days ago, as you know, and have seen hide nor hair of neither the Venezuelan or that pesky Mala Mala tribe we're going to cut a swath of death through. Oh, yes, one minor detail: apparently the hallucinogen had a much more profound effect on Jar Jar, because he bit both of Wickett's ears off and stuffed them into his "nipple pouch", and hasn't removed them since. Wickett, striken by the sign of aggression, mainly sits around softly cooing and stroking his spear. He and Jar Jar stare at each other for hours on end. Even Paul and Mr. Pink's exchanges of friendly gunfire won't make them turn their heads! Oh, what hijinx! All else is well. We are eating quite well, as the Kerrick routinely catches loads of piranha for us using only his bare hands. Also, we ran into some guy with a huge scar on his face, blithering about some sort of "humongous anaconda". So we killed him.

DAY FIVE: We had our first casualty. Cakemix was bitch-slapping Jar-Jar, when Jar-Jar fell over and crushed one of Big A's slinkys. He, Big A, I mean, has a big collection. Big A punted Jar-Jar overboard, and we haven't seen him since. He then ripped Cakemix's head off with his bare hands and hung it up on a pike on the top of the boat. "Don't fuck with my shit!" were his words to the rest of us. Paul and Mr. White were so scared, they didn't even exchange friendly gunfire all day. We're all a bit rattled. Even the Kerrick paused a moment before running down and killing a cheetah for us to eat. Only Julie remains unaffected, laughing sardonically every time she sees the head. Addriana won't stop throwing up. I'm not sure I made a good choice in personnel here. On the up side, we should be at the Mala Mala grounds tomorrow, where we can hack through them and make our way to the Venezuelan, God willing.

DAY SIX: Well, we saw our first squadron of Mala Mala today; about 30 tall, hairy, skinny guys as black as the night itself. They were painted all over in symbols, and carried weapons of intricate design. A few of them (we suspected these to be tribal elders) wore jewels and lionskins, a magnificent presence, each one of them. It was truly amazing and awe-inspiring. It almost seems like a tragedy that we had to kill all of them. Paul hurled a few frag grenades at them to start things off. The tribesmen picked them up, studying them quizzically, and then BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! Body parts everywhere. After that, they were terribly confused and horrified, so it made it quite easy for Mr. Pink, Zirajul, and Herr Starr to pick the rest of them off. Mostly they just ran around screaming what Zirajul told us were prayers. So, in about, oh, five to ten minutes, we'd killed all of them. We didn't need to go through that particular part of the jungle, but it was good practice.
In other news, Addriana turned into Cakemix for about ten minutes, then turned back into Addriana. It was nice to see ol' Cakemix again, I mean, other than stuck on that pike, but it was really odd, considering he had seconds ago been Addriana. Wickett stares over the side of the boat mournfully for Jar Jar, whom he misses despite the ear thing. Cakemix is, as we mentioned, dead, so The Kerrick had to bitch slap him. Turns out, The Kerrick has quite a flair for it. Hmmm, what else, what else.... oh, yes! Mr. Pink made some improper advances on Julie, and she stabbed him in the heart with a switchblade. She carries at least five, I found out. Mr. Pink was hurt at first, but is up and around now, and even exchanging friendly gunfire with Paul.

DAY SEVEN: Well, it's been about three weeks since my last entry, and a lot has happened, so I'll sum up the important parts in brief.
We carved a swath of death, much as predicted, through the Mala Mala tribe. All of their efforts to fight us off were laughable; to all of us except Herr Starr, of course, who caught a spear in the groin. It hasn't done much to improve his overall demeanor, either, let me tell you. Zirajul, Kerrick, and Paul Anomoly were the greatest warriors in our battle, though Julie and I are not to be discounted. Many a tribesman fell before my mighty machete and shotgun, and Julie distracted them with her exotic feminine wiles as she sliced them to ribbons with her switchblades. The woman is breathtaking, even covered in blood. The battle only lasted about forty-five minutes, until we had killed every man, woman, and child on the riverbank. Ah, we do our country proud!
Just after we had set up camp on the shore, we received word from a Wahibian scout that the Venezuelan had set up camp a few miles down the river, and was accompanied by a strange-looking figure. Well, we'd never known the Venezuelan to be accepting of partners, and so we were extra cautious when we snuck downstream to face our foe for the first time.
The Venezuelan was hunkered by the fire in the dim morning's light, gnawing on a hunk of meat. Someone was rustling in a nearby hut, but we didn't see who on first approach. As deft as we were, the Venezuelan still detected us and howled a shrill, death howl into the air, before drawing an enormous fucking claymore and charging our party. Paul, Herr Starr, Mr. Pink, and Zirajul all emptied several clips on him, to no effect. He knocked me and Paul aside with one swoop of his mighty fist and beheaded Zirajul in one swoop of his mighty sword. Did that last sentence read well? Whatever. Anyhow, we had all been looking to Zirajul as our resident bad-ass, which made his arbitrary decapitation all the more demoralizing. Someone near me screamed like a little girl and ran, and we were all encouraged to do the same. Except for the Kerrick, who stayed to fight the Venezuelan.
The Kerrick lept upon the Venezuelan, his slim katana held high, and the two engaged in a rocket-paced swordfight that made the final lightsaber-fight in The Phantom Menace look like a poorly choreographed 6th grade production of "Peter Pan". Their fight carried them under a waterfall, over a rocky precipice, and out onto a grassy cliff, when who should run screaming from the hut, a primitive battle-glaive poised in rage, but JarJar!
A very different JarJar, too. He had gone completely white, and his eyes were red, and he was totally covered in pirhana bites. The Gungan had clearly gone insane and had reverted back to his neanderthal, bestial roots. Herr Starr and I fired several rounds into him, my shotgun knocking him back a few feet, but he just laughed maniacally and continued his charge. We ran from him.
Meanwhile, as our party retreated from JarJar and the Kerrick continued his fight with the Venezuelan, a helicopter landed several yards away on the grassy cliff. A tall, dark stranger got out and waved his hand, and the Kerrick seemed distracted long enough for the Venezuelan to knock him off the cliff. We were amazed. Mr. Pink was amazed. Paul was amazed. I almost shit myself. The tall, dark stranger escorted the Venezuelan onto the helicopter, and it flew away, as we gaped in awe. So much for bravado.
Well, the party disbanded, and we went home. That was two weeks ago. Yesterday I recieved an e-mail from someone named "Tank" explaining to "follow the White Rabbit; all will be revealed". So, here I sit, alone, typing on my computer, wondering just what the hell is going on.

DAY EIGHT: Well, I'll be dipped in shit. No sooner had I finished typing that last entry, when Julie shows up at my house holding a big, white, fluffy bunny! She gave it to me to hold, and it got away from me and started running down the hall, so I had to pull out my shotgun and shoot it dead before it got into the garden. Julie and I had a nice, 30 minute fistfight, then a 2-hour cry, and then she left and I checked my e-mail. I had another message from "Tank" that said "Please don't shoot the bunnies." Creepy, huh? The next day Julie showed up with another big, fluffy white rabbit and this time we let the little guy roam around, and followed him to this great big floating submarine-type thing that I pass every day on my way to work. So we followed the rabbit inside and found- lo and behold!- the cast of "The Matrix", minus, of course, Dozer, Apac, Cypher, and Switch. Julie and I were thinking we'd wandered onto "The Matrix 2"'s set, but we were wrong.
Dead wrong.
Actually, we were only kinda wrong, but it's a lot more of a grabber if you say "dead wrong".
So anyway, Neo and Morpheus quickly explained to us that the Matrix movie was simply the only way they could get through to those of us trapped in the Matrix. I asked Morpheus why he looked so much like Laurence Fishburne, and he said that he had always been Laurence Fishburne, even in his other movies (Boyz N The Hood, Bad Company, Othello), and Neo had likewise always been Keanu Reeves. They had merely built a semblance of a movie carreer to throw off the Agents on their tail. I just thought it was a nice touch. But I was wrong.
Dead wrong.
The crew of the Nebuchednezzar told us all about how the Venezuelan was in the "Agent Smith-in-training" program, training to be a martial-arts bad-ass with a funny speech pattern like those other guys. Within the Venezuelan lies to the secret to Life, the Universe, and Everything, known as The Razz.
OH NO, NOT THE RAZZ!!!!
So, now we have to find the Venezuelan, who is hiding with the Smiths somewhere in the Matrix. Should be easy enough. Then again, I could be wrong.
Dead wrong.

DAY NINE: I spent the day in the Brain-o-Waxer and learned 215 different kinds of kung fu. I also learned how to play the piano and juggle, because you just never know. After that, I helped Trinity hook Julie up to it, and then left to go get a few buddies out of the Matrix. Lo and behold, almost immediately I ran into Paul Anomoly! I knew checking that crack house would pay off. He picked up his bag o' goodies and joined us immediately. I didn't think I could get any happier, when who should walk up but The Kerrick! Turns out that after his fall from the cliff, he spent a week in intense meditation mentally knitting his bones! He seemed a bit stiff, but other than that, he was fine. We went to find Addriana, too, but turns out she hung herself in her apartment. Man, talk about your bummers. It didn't help either when I asked what Paul had been up to and he said "just hangin' around". We all felt really bad about it, even though we laughed our asses off. So, I got back to the ship and Julie said she wanted to challenge me to a cyber-fight. So we both strapped in to the Brain-o-Waxer and did battle. She beat the shit out of me, but it didn't last long after she found out I wasn't fighting back. Sometimes I think my masochism is more than just a guilty pleasure. So she quit and Morpheus fought me, and he kicked my ass, too, but not because I let him, just because he thought I really deserved it. Looking back on it, I guess he was right. Especially since all I really tried to do was knee him in the balls. Neo, Trinity, and Morpheus were pretty disgusted with me, but I assured them that when it really came down to it, I could be counted on to help out. Especially if Neo needed any... help with Trinity. You know. Neo apparently didn't think he needed any help, judging from how quickly he, too, beat me to within an inch of my life. Then Paul beat the shit out of me, just because he felt left out. So all in all, it was a pretty good day.

DAY TEN: Good God, someone help me. They're just beating the shit out of me, over and over and over. They're pounding me merciless. I think I've begun to hemorrage. They say it's training, but they're just smacking the holy fuck out of me! Oh, I hurt too much to type.

DAY ELEVEN: Well, I've got good news and bad news. The good news is, I was only getting beat down so much because the Ass-Kicking chip in my brain-jack had been turned off. So Trinity turned it back on. The bad news is, I promptly beheaded Neo. I didn't mean to. A solid month of getting my shit smashed apparently made me incredibly tough and quick, so I threw a kick at him and knocked his head clean off. It was really embarrassing. I tried to stick it back on, but it didn't work. Neo's not dead, of course; I don't think he can be killed in the Matrix. But he's not happy. He has to carry his head around with him wherever he goes, and it really puts him at a disadvantage in a fight, not to mention it just looks really uncomfortable. I wanted to spar some more, but no one would fight me, not even the Kerrick. I guess we'll see how good I am in real combat tomorrow, when we finally go after the Smiths. We're gonna get that Venezuelan! Which is, in case you have forgotten, the point of this whole thing.

DAY TWELVE: The fight with the Smiths went pretty well. I have faith in my allies and friends, but nonetheless, I felt like I should be in the lead. The others seemed to mutter a bit of disagreement, but no one could really challenge me. There were only three Smiths guarding the Venezuelan's room, and I took them all down in less than two minutes. I mean, really, and it took Neo a whole movie. And that was back when he had a head! Anyway, after I iced them, I kicked down the door, and that vicious, slobbering beast of a Venezuelan leapt on top of me. I called to my friends for help, but none of them lifted a finger. I think they have begun to resent me. Anyway, he sunk his fangs and claws into my neck and chest, and I had no choice but to wet my pants. Fortunately, the Venezuelan has an acute sense of smell, and he lifted off of me immediately. That was when I leapt to my feet and began to kick the shit out of him. But it didn't work! Every time I threw a kick at him, he just looked at me, dumbfounded. My shins and feet were getting redder and redder, and I didn't even give him a nosebleed! By that time I was getting pretty tired, so he bitch-slapped me and I spun around three or four times and hit the dirt. I guess Julie finally felt sorry for me, because she sauntered up to the Venezuelan with that sexy walk of hers, and began cooing softly in his ear. But he batted HER away, too! "Nice try, wench," he said, "but my heart belongs to another." And then he looked dreamily away into the distance. I took that opportunity to kick him as hard as I could in the testicles. Hey, nobody bats away my co-author, folks. He crumpled up on the floor and started crying. I got up and started kicking him in the face again, and he kept crying. It was really sad, actually, not the bad-ass kung fu fight I had expected at all. Soon, though, he regained his composure and bit me on the foot, and I had no choice but to drop a load in my pants. He fled the scene after that. Everyone but Julie and I were laughing hysterically. Julie might have too, but she was unconscious and face down in the Venezuelan's trough full of Mexican beer. I pulled her out and we began to search the Venezuelan's quarters, after I put on some fresh pants. We found only a small photo, of a brown-haired girl with a friendly smile and a truly adorable set of ears. On the back it said, simply, "There, you have my picture, now leave me the fuck alone. Cindy."
And once again, the chase was on.

DAY THIRTEEN: Trinity jacked into the Matrix early this morning (which was thankfully still working, even though I had spilled bean dip into it the night before) and located the Venezuelan's "Cindy" for us. I guess she was a bit surprised at the sudden appearance of myself, Julie, the Kerrick, and Neo, especially since she was using the bathroom at the time. We all quickly excused ourselves and went outside. She met with us a little later in the den, and was polite enough to fire a warning shot into the air before demanding we leave. In a very clever move, Neo knocked the shotgun out of her hands with his head, and Julie subdued her with her jiu-jitsu. After we had tied her to the kitchen table with duct tape, she seemed to be more open-minded about hearing us out. We explained that we weren't after her at all, that we were in fact looking for information about the Venezuelan, and she seemed to loosen up. She explained to us that the Venezuelan had been in her Wreaking Havoc class at U of H and had fallen desperately in love with her. He ignored her attempts at rejection (some of which involved explosives) at proceeded to become her #1 stalker. I reassured her that, though she was certainly very charming and attractive, I frankly didn't see what the big deal was, and that the Venezuelan would probably move onto another target before long. She sort of glared at me and muttered a very curt "thank you" before explaining to us the maddening extent of the Venezuelan's devotion. For Christmas, he had erected a life-sized replica of the bull-sacrificing scene from "Apocolypse Now" in her front yard. For Valentine's Day, he had left her boss's heart nailed to her door along with a cute little Hallmark card. For her birthday, he had urinated around the entire perimeter of her house, claiming her "his territory". Ever since the Venezuelan developed this crush on her, property values of nearby houses have spiked downward. Having gained her trust and co-operation, we untied her from her kitchen table and apologized profusely. She agreed to aid us in a stakeout, which will hopefully trap the Venezuelan when he comes to visit her again. If anything goes wrong, of course, dozens of innocent civilians could die. But don't worry; I probably won't get hurt.
DAY FOURTEEN: All right, I hooked up a SWAT throat-mike to myself, so when I, ah, speak, it'll go... back to a relay I have hooked up to my belt, and into this, uh... program I have, in my computer, that types out vocal shit. Right. So. We're outside Cindy's house on stakeout, and I'm trying to be as quiet as possible... the Kerrick is sharing the watch with me right now, it's about 11 at night... don't see much of anything yet. Huh? No, no thanks, man... Kerrick just offered me a protein bar... I think it was apple-barley-beef flavored. What... no, I don't think it was... OK.... shit... there he is. What's he... what are those? They look like... I dunno, ah... hairy, peeled grapes... he's not even 20 feet away, what... he's pelting Cindy's house with them... oh my god... oh my god, I think... they're testicles... oh Jesus...the smell... I don't know where he got... unk... blaaaauuuuuughckckghck.... uhuh... shit. He heard me harf! Gun it! After him! Ok, uhm, the Venezuelan took off down the road, running... faster than I've ever seen anyone run in my life... we're trying to catch up to him in the Kerrick's El Camino... left! Left! Oh, Christ, we ran him o... he's OK! Jesus, we just ran him over in a fucking El Camino, and he got back up, and... the hell? SHIT! Aaaaa.... another car just cut us off! Get out! Run... what? No, take the left... get her! *sounds of gunfire, screeching tires* No! NOOO! GOD DAMNIT! All right... um, some blond just drove up in a black cadillac... with a license plate reading "A5K"... the Venezuelan hopped in and they drove away... SHIT! Back to square one.

DAY FIFTEEN: Well, it's been a real sack slap of a day. The Kerrick, Julie, and I tracked the car to a Texas Art Supply on Montrose in downtown Houston, and a rather colorful area of downtown Houston, if you get my drift. We watched the driver of the car drop the Venezuelan off there and speed away. The Kerrick and Julie went after Nava, and I went after the car, because I didn't think we should allow Nava's accomplice to get away. I also noticed the driver was a young blonde female with bodacious tah-tahs. I followed her for eight blocks until she got to her house. I went through her mail, all of it addressed to April 5000. No shit, that's what it said on the letters. So I crept into her house, where I soon found myself looking down the unpleasant end of a Colt .45, and I don't mean the beer. She was upset. She asked who I was, who I was working for, where I was from, who I was, what business did I have with her, and just who the fuck was I, anyway? Fortunately, I was well trained to deal with situations such as this; I begged for my life and wet my pants. Then, when she threw back her head and laughed, I knocked the gun away. She started beating the crap out of me, but got horrified and threw up when she discovered I was enjoying it. She heaved over and over, and I was free to search the house. Nothing there, just a bunch of guitar stuff, magazines, and cigarettes. So, I drugged her and took her back to headquarters because, um... I thought she might know something. Yup. So, I met up with the others there, where I discovered that the Venezuelan had again eluded my teammates by distracting them with a drunken homeless man. Why he was at that particulat art supply, I'll never know. Oh, hey, but maybe we can ask April 5K when she comes to! ...Which is exactly what I had planned all along, of course.

DAY SIXTEEN: Well, bad news. April 5K bit down on a poison capsule and killed herself in order to prevent the extraction of further information. In good news, I got a spiffy new haircut! And, oh yeah, we finally captured the Venezuelan. I'm really not that interested in what happened since it didn't involve me, but apparently The Kerrick, Neo, and some guy named Sam stumbled in on The Venezuelan while he and Cindy were having "naked time". Not to go into details, but it turns out she's much more affection towards him than she let on. She tried to distract our agents until the Venezuelan could escape, but The Kerrick cut her in half. Shame, really, she was nice. He didn't do it the horizontal Darth Maul way, either; he did it vertically. Quite a mess, I understand. They shot him full of horse tranquilizers and brought him back to the base, where we have commenced performing tests on him. Right now we're seeing how well he functions without eyelids. In other news, I have procured for myself a Slinky.

DAY SEVENTEEN: Well, just when I was getting disinterested with this whole affair, we get stabbed in the back. It turns out The Kerrick has been in league with The Venezuelan all along. That explains why their swordfight in the jungle was so well-choreographed. Hey, they also both have "The" before their names... huh. Just noticed that. Anyway, The Venezuelan had just finished his Ammonia and Glass Cleaner Aromatherapy when The Kerrick snuck him out of the compound. That really pissed me off. I broke my Slinky, I was so upset. Turns out, The Kerrick lied about the circumstances of the Venezuelan's capture as well; there was no break-in, no "naked time", and Cindy and April 5K are still very much alive. Neo, Trinity, and Morpheus were stunned. Needless to say, Julie and I have had it with these morons. We can't trust or depend on any of 'em. So, we told the crew of the Nebuchednezzar and everyone to fuck off, we'd take care of it ourselves. So now Julie and I are incognito, keeping an eye on the city for clues as to The Venezuelan's and The Kerrick's whereabouts. It's only a matter of time.

DAY EIGHTEEN: What a shitty fucking goddamn place this is. Reduced to living out of an office in the backmost room on the sixth floor of the crappiest brownstone in downtown Houston. We'd all freeze to death in the winter if it wasn't for the protective insulation of homeless. Well, Julie and I have staked out several of the Venezuelan's haunts, and we've only got minimal leads. Some mook named Davenport says he gets his hair cut at the same place the Venezuelan does, and this punk Mickey "Shoeshine" Villenaise told me the Venezuelan paid him 20 large to whack a duece of bozos he saw pokin' around his summer estate. Villenaise was less than co-operative, so I had to treat him to a little chin music with the butt of my .45. He was only too happy to spill the beans and some teeth after that. The trail that began with "Shoeshine" led straight to Little Willie "Two Guns" Matarazzo, who makes all kindsa weapons. He holed up with his brother Tommy in a villa uptown when he heard I was after him, but it's only a matter of time before I flush him out. Julie's going after leads on this "Cindy" character to see what she can dig up. So far, all she's got is a quaint little townhouse in Clear Lake registered under Cindy's name. I think this warrants looking into, right after my gin and tonic.

DAY NINETEEN: Well, I finally caught up with "Two Guns" and, after a bit of interregation from a couple of my friends I like to call Officer Blackjack and Detective Fist, he wised up and spilled everything. Seems Maybe The Kerrick wasn't lying about everything after all... seems the Venezuelan and Cindy might have had something going. So, Julie and I went on over there with our binoculars and, sure enough, the first thing we see is Cindy come to the window, wearing nothing but a smile. Behind her we could see the shadow of the Venezuelan. After Julie managed to pry the binoculars from me, we snuck up the fire escape and let ourselves in the old fashioned way. Needles to say, The Kerrick had been telling the truth about the whole "naked time" thing. Julie leapt on top of Cindy and subdued her, and while I was watching that, The Venezuelan took off down the hall. Hey, first things first. I eventually chased after him, and caught up with him in an alley I knew was a dead end... and he didn't. I jumped down from the fire escape and landed in front of him, felling him with a well-placed haymaker to the jaw. He fell down on the ground and looked up at me, rubbing his jaw.
"Look, what the FUCK do you want, anyway?" he asked me. "You've been chasing me for almost two years now. Why?!"
I had to admit, he had me stumped. Between the safari and the Matrix and everything, I'd sorta lost track of why I set out after him in the first place. I shrugged. "I don't know," I answered.
"Well, couldja stop?" he asked, getting to his feet.
I mulled that one over. "Sure," I said. He nodded, smiled, and turned around, walking out of the alley, out of my life forever.
Right before he turned the corner, I blew his goddamn brains out. Hey, I must have had SOME reason, right? I lit a cigarette and headed back upstairs to watch Julie and Cindy some more. Sometimes life is pretty damn good.

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