Strictly for the Inner Circle

Sorry, kind readers, but I haven't the time to waste writing for you this week. I have managed to get back on track with the Biggest Conspiracy in the World (BCW, for you conspiracy fans) after losing my foot in the door so tragically this time. I speak metaphorically, of course, and my literal foot suffers nothing more than a dangly, unclipped toenail and a stark and pungent odor. But why am I wasting time like an unaccredited Dr. Scholl's? I have to catch up with all my new contacts, and my column is the quickest and safest way to do. But just in case someone is actually reading it, I'll do everything in the agreed-upon code for all my compatriots.

To the kind and stealthy Mr. Humphrey: It's all set for Tampon, right around Fluff-fifteen. Check the code book I gave you on how to translate those times. But I was lucky to get it set up, so don't go showing up at 4:30 or too early at 4:10. Thursdays are always hell in doctor's offices anyway. Oh, that's right, I forgot to tell you where it is! It's at Pigeon Michaels' office. Remember? Pigeon Michaels, the Ear, Nose and Throat Pigeon?

For Willie and Sanchez: I'll be there at midnight tonight, in the agreed-upon location. And I'll have my bass with me. That's not code. I will be bringing my bass, since my band is rehearsing shortly before the meeting.

Turnip, or Mrs. Turnip: Make sure you have the Glockenspiel properly lubricated. I don't want another rash on my sensitive parts because you didn't do it right.

Anthrog Baker, Esquire: The Cake did not rise. Repeat, the Cake did not rise. Cancel the party.

Shaolin Henry: We're turning away all guests that don't know the Piper. If the Piper hasn't been paid, kick their ass to the curb. Forget them. Don't let them in if they got their hand stamped last night. It's a new night, a new Piper to be paid.

Ronald McDonald and the Hamburgler: The paddies are hot. Don't touch them. I'm not responsible for what happens if you grab the paddies.

Mrs. Turnip: I forgot to ask, can you show me how to bake a proper Cake? Ours didn't rise. It really sucks, because we had to cancel our party and everything.

Fantasia Martin: If you must, you must. But watch out if the dog is outside. He's sitting in the water dish.

Dickless and Assmunch: In regards to last week's queries, no, you can't have your nicknames changed. It serves you right for taking a smoke break while we were assigning names.

Pedro: The border is wide open and fully unguarded. Come home, and come home quick.

Bundles, a.k.a. Monsignor Bundles: Study the Rubicon. We have a schedule to keep, and every day those Chocolate Chips don't come in we lose another 5 million Cancers.

Og the Hog: Call me sometime. Remember me? This is Red Bagel, from Kappa Delta. We need to catch up sometime.

Franco and my Publisher Harold Mortensen: The book is finish and ready to be published. That's code for you, Franco. Normal talk for you, Harry.

Omar Bricks: Get your dead fish out of my office. This is not code, but I can't stand the wait anymore. I've measured it and you're not anywhere near the world's record, even for clear water pond catches.

Blanche: See what you can do about getting me a cell phone. I can't keep in touch with any of the gang. I've had to resort to using my column to keep up the conspiracy messages.

Everyone else: Bugger off. I'll have more to say to you next time.

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