Monthly Archives: March 1999

Anarcho-Syndicalist

Mr. Ersatz,

I can only assume your warning to be another ploy since you know all too well that Inkling will have Mrs. Perezprieto-Padmanabhan at the airport to intercept any influx of fair Spanish ladies (oh you ladies of Spain). Casually mentioning the possibility that Spanish turpitudes might be committed at the rate of a double dozen in what may or may not be designer dresses brings out the martinet in her. Therefore, when you say “Spanish Eldest Sisters” I will assume, through my acquaintance with a certain quizzling flight attendant at Aeroflot, that you mean “long-bearded, hard drinking, former Bolsheviks.” My guess is that you will go to Pinsk for your Bolsheviks as they come extra-smelly there, but I have quizzlings watching the airports at Minsk and Omsk, just in case. Bolsheviks are extremely difficult to deal with, especially when combined with strippers, enough room to dance and a combination of overproof rum, Cream of Tartar and WD-40 (for smoothness). It worked so well for you in Vienna, or did you think I had forgotten Vienna? Fortunately, I was alerted to a sudden paucity of g-strings in the vicinity of Dulles International Airport by the quizzling biceps muscle of Rudy “Big Rudy” Rudolph, easily the most vicious and cunning strip bar bouncer in Northern Virginia.

For these reasons and others, I have taken the precaution of dressing my attorneys in babushkas and long skirts and teaching them extremely sentimental Russian songs . Moreover I have stocked the conference room with pictures of smiling collective farm workers next to enormous stacks of grain and potatoes (they’re very keen on grain, Bolsheviks) along with a slide show describing how the current five-year plan has increased steel production over 47%. Forget the fact that there isn’t a five year plan to be found on a drawing board east of Tivoli and that the lawyers look pretty silly wearing long skirts over their pin-stripe suits with babushkas on their heads, these Bolsheviks are so greased all the time, they couldn’t tell a Kulak from an Anarcho-Syndicalist. What you’ll throw at me next is anybody’s guess, but these two holes in the dike are filled.

As for my counter-ploy, well let’s just say that it’s a little easier to get a Guatemalan Colonel on retainer than it used to be and things have been pretty slow around the topless bars in the Ginza.

yours as ever,

Emanuel T. Fink

42 inch hips, and Chanel No.5

Mr. Mitriosis-

Hello? Jewish ladies? Even I am not that cruel (there is a little thing called the Geneva convention you know). No, I’m afraid you’ve been duped – something which I’d have to think you must be getting rather used to – or you would be getting used to if you weren’t too senile to remember from one short con to the next.

No, my dear boy, I must assure you that all the aunts, great aunts and cousins in my employ have been Catholic of Italian descent, and make their homes primarily in Seaside Park, where they are far more likely to be shooting pinochle than stacking the bones at Mah Jonng.

However since my agents have clearly been compromised I have no choice but to take drastic measures. Yet, the humanitarian in me demands that I give you ample warning. So prepare yourself, I have just dispatched twenty-seven Spanish, unmarried, eldest sisters from good homes. They will be arriving at your lawyers offices in the hour packing Double-A narrow pumps, 42 inch hips, and enough Chanel No.5 to once again level Dresden. May Blessed Mary have mercy on their miserable souls.

-O. De La Renta

Cunning, beautiful, and flawed

Mr. Director (bah),

Your ploy of overwhelming my attorneys with nice Jewish ladies was a cunning and brutally effective one, but flawed. Hearing of the invasion through a quizzling stenographer, Anders Inkling was at first shocked, then panicked, then sweaty, and then he knew his course was clear. He arrived that the offices of my attorneys with herring snacks, celery soda (diet and regular) and a thick packet of Mah Jong tiles. Naturally the ladies sat down to play, stopping all the remaining legal business being conducted at the office and blocking the main exit. The attorneys began to show real fear at this point but Inkling had an ace up his sleeve. The tiles were marked, you see, and several ladies picked up on the fact, right about the time the refreshments ran out. Naturally recrimination followed recrimination, loose words flew and old family disagreements were revisited. Now the lawyers were in their element. Within the hour they had three lawsuits, a tax shelter, and a trust fund for grandbaby Sheldon working (nothing too much, but it might help when he’s in college. Just so he remembers me fondly, which is important because with my metabolism you never know when something, God forbid, might happen).

The ladies left, in separate groups, happily litigating and off for an afternoon’s shopping. At that point the attorneys put in a new phone system so daunting that no person born before 1960 will be able to deal with it.

yours as ever,

Mr. Tyrannical