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“Secure My Ass”

by Kelly Anneken, managing editor

 

Oh, hey, everybody. Nice of you to stick around until we had a new issue. I’ll have you know, I was 100% ready to go on the National Security theme, and then, on May 1, when we were supposed to go to press, motherfucking Barack Obama killed motherfucking Osama bin Laden, so the Department of Homeland Security needed to find someone else to harass. Guess who they picked? That’s right.  Motherfucking me.

For two years, I’ve been sending death threats to Rebecca Blank, Acting Deputy Secretary and Under Secretary of the US Department of Commerce.  It’s just no fucking fair that she gets to be both Under Secretary and Acting Deputy Secretary when certain people named Kelly Anneken aren’t the secretary of anything!  But I guess they were too busy worrying about domestic terrorists to care that I was threatening to kill the woman who saved the US $1.6 billion during the 2010 census.  I used to knock Frye boots with this guy who’s a janitor at DHS headquarters now, so he tipped me off that they were coming for me and I was like, “Holy shit, I need to find a cave to hide in, stat!”

Turns out, my neighborhood is really lacking in caves, and the DHS operatives found my hiding place in the tubes of the McDonald’s Play Place up the street in under 45 minutes.  They tried to kill me, but I shoved my husband down the slide in front of me like a human shield while I crawled away. He’s dead now, but hey, the good news is that I’m back on the market, boys!

They caught up with me in the ball pit, even though I had strapped a smelly baby to my chest to mask my scent. I was all, “You’ll never take me alive!”  So they punched me in the face a bunch of times until I passed out.

When I woke up, I had a split lip, a migraine and a hell of a bone to pick with the Department of Homeland Security. Because I was unconscious when they brought me in, I did not get to make my one phone call.  My captors told me that that rule is for regular criminals, not terrorists, but they finally gave in after I sang Lou Bega’s “Mambo Number 5″ on a continuous 10 hour loop.

I called Isa, of course, even though she had abandoned her duties to go abroad in South America and find herselfand learn Spanish.  You know, standard snooty intellectual code for “I hate you and look down on you in a major way.” So I called her, like, “You gotta spring me, homes, they’ll never let me outta here without a smart person’s consent!” But she was doing Spanish immersion like a jackass and she wouldn’t talk to me in English! I think she said something like, “En el Ãltimo, se han contestado mis rezos. Puedo funcionar con este compartimiento sin su buffonery. Le espero que los protectores pongan un bolso sobre su cabeza y violo y despus le entierro en el sea.”  I’m pretty sure that means, “Oh, no, you’re my best friend and the backbone of Hobo Pancakes!  I’ll do whatever it takes to free you!”  And then she hung up.

It took two months, but I’ve finally been released under strict instructions to never, ever write another death threat, which, I don’t know. Once you start making death threats, it’s really hard to stop.  Isa is back from South America, but she said she couldn’t publish the National Security issue because right after I called her, some guys in suits showed up and snatched her laptop. I bet it was the Men in Black, from that movie, I forget the name of it, but when I asked Isa if one of them was Tommy Lee Jones, she just punched me in the face a bunch of times until I passed out. The DHS guys must have taught her that while she was negotiating my release.

 

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