ICBIFEWNsA Story by J.V. Stanley(pronounced: ick-bafoons) this story is a political satire based on an inside joke from my ex-husband's old roommates. This is a tribute to them and this joke.ICBIFEWNs (pronounced-ick-bafoons) “Dan, this is
Nexus. We have a mission for you.” “Yes, what is it,
sir?” Dan replied, running his hand over
the dark stubble upon his head as he spoke into the receiver. “We need the
ICBIFEWNs ASAP!” “Right away sir, I’ll
do what I can.” He closed the phone
briskly and walked to the narrow entrance to the armory. Gathering the flamethrower, cannon, MASER,
TNT, and miscellaneous surgical tools, he made his way down to the Van Riper Campground
in search of weasels. Setting down his equipment
upon a rickety old picnic table, he grabbed the first instrument he needed to
construct the ICBIFEWNs: TNT. He came
across a promising weasel, hiding within the brush behind a large oak
tree. It sat there innocently gnawing on
the bark of the tree sharpening its teeth.
Lighting the wick of the dynamite and letting it burn almost to the end,
Dan threw it into the brush toward the unsuspecting weasel. The sound of the explosion was heard for
miles, and the scent of burnt fur filled the afternoon winds. “Ha! I got him!” Dan exclaimed as he watched the
weasel crawl pathetically from under the burning oak that now lay charred and
splintered. The weasel, though wily and
stealthy in nature, did not expect to be detonated by a bald-headed metallurgist. Scowling, the weasel brushed its tousled,
singed fur and fled underneath a thicket of wild thimbleberry bushes. Dan walked briskly
to the picnic table where his arsenal lay splayed out upon a canvas tarp, and
eagerly picked up his next weapon of choice: the flamethrower. Creeping toward the Thimbleberry patch he
peered through the twisted brambles at the weasel that sat pathetically licking
its singed fur. He lit the pilot of the
flamethrower and aimed it at the weasel that looked up at him with a scathing
look that said, “Go ahead, I dare you.” Always
obliging, Dan pulled the trigger and suddenly a burst of liquid shot from the weapon,
the whole thicket engulfed in flames. The
entire thatch was incinerated within a few minutes, but the weasel still
trudged on, its fur now nonexistent replaced by blackened soot and burnt
berries. Its vain cries of agony and
rage echoed through the woods and caught the attention of innocent campers. “Ma ma, wa is dat
man dooooin’?” said a little girl with curly blonde hair. “I’m not entirely
sure, honey, but he looks kinda dangerous.
Let’s pretend we didn’t see him and maybe he’ll leave us alone.” Replied
the mother as she gathered her child and quickly moved toward their Winnebago,
looking over her shoulder as she walked. Dan eyed the weasel
that now scampered up a tree, thinking it’ll outsmart the crazy human by gaining
height rather than distance. Dan took
this opportunity to replace the flamethrower with a high tech MASER. The weasel bared its teeth and spat at him as
it watched Dan circle the tree to get a clear shot, cursing him out in its own
weasel dialect. “Ahhh…my favorite,
Radiation!” uttered Dan as he aimed for the weasels’ targeted possessions. Without any hesitation, he took aim and let
loose a burst of microwaves that shot through weasel instantaneously. The weasel began to twitch and convulse like
it were experiencing epileptic seizures.
Its eyes bulged as it fell from the tree into a pile of charred
leaves. It lay there motionless, eyes
vacant, its hind legs kicking absently at the ground. Dan laughed heartily
as he gathered the now vegetative, drooling weasel in his hands and placed him
upon the picnic table to perform the surgery.
From the depths of the duffle bag, he could hear the muffled sound of
that familiar ringtone. “Yes?” he asked. “This is Nexus,
are the ICBIFEWNs completed yet? “I’m just now
performing the surgery sir.” “Good, meet us at the rendezvous point in half an hour to complete the mission.” “Sir, yes sir.” After Dan completed
the surgery, he placed the quasi-coherent weasel upon a bed of clean, dry
leaves and gave it some cool water to boost its strength. Arsenal in hand, Dan hurriedly trudged
through the battle zone and into his Ford Bronco, looking back once to see the
weasel, fully alert now flipping what seemed to have been the finger as Dan
sped off toward the rendezvous point. “I’ve done it, I’ve
got the ICBIFEWNs, shall we load the cannon?” “Yes.” Replied the
man with the trench coat, face shadowed despite the afternoon sun. “We have declared war on Romania, our only
chances of winning are the ICBIFEWNs. We
must launch now and prove to the American people that our weapons of mass destruction
are far superior than that of any other country.” “Cannon ready on
the mark….three….two….one….fire….” said the man with the trench coat after Dan
had it loaded. The shot blasted through
the air on an arch and headed toward the unsuspecting country of Romania. “So, why did we
declare war on Romania anyways, sir?” Dan asked. The man with the
trench coat simply shrugged. “Eh, their
beer sucks.” He replied as he dusted off his coat and walked away. © 2011 J.V. Stanley
Author's Note
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3 Reviews Added on October 16, 2011 Last Updated on October 16, 2011 Tags: politics, weasels, war, beer, humor, satire, parody, weapons, explosives, things that make you go BOOM AuthorJ.V. StanleyThe Upper Peninsula of Michigan, MIAboutJ. V. Stanley is the author of two books (both available on amazon). She is also the CEO and Founder of Writerz Block editing service where she has worked with authors such as Kandice C. Mason, John .. more..Writing
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