| How Chris Taylor Really Broke His Foot! |
The original email from Shane:
Hey everyone, I'm probably not supposed to tell anyone, but our good
friend whose identity should be kept secret and not revealed to anyone
broke his foot playing basketball with a thirteen year old. Now obviously
Chris is very embarrassed about the accident, but who could blame Mr.
Taylor, none of us want to let go of our childhood.
Now this nameless person's wife, Alicia, has informed me that Chris
(Oops! I mean this nameless person) is feeling a little self conscientious
about breaking his foot while playing basketball with a thirteen year old
and clearly "Not Having Game", so it is very important that you do not
tell anyone about this unfortunate accident. I know Chris would appreciate
it and knowing how he probably feels, he is not going to really tell you
how it happened voluntarily. If for some reason, you feel the urge to
notify anyone else, you know, in case of emergency, please keep the
number of CC's or BCC's down to the first 50 names in your email address
book.
I myself thought about copying the entire wine club, just so they
would know not to mention to anyone else that they might come in contact
with about Mr. Chris Taylor breaking his foot while playing basketball with
the thirteen year old neighbor's kid. I also feel obligated to tell you,
giving Chris's emotional state, that it would just be wrong to email Chris
at CTaylor@visionwise.com and mention to him your own very basic
knowledge of basketball fundamentals, such as pivoting, jump shots, layups,
etc... I mean, this could really ad insult to injury!
So in short, if you see a man in a boot, one that a crippled person
might wear for say six to eight weeks or so, just smile and don't let on
like you know anything. This person has to feel ashamed of what happened
and how it happened, so there is no need in further embarrassing him.
Thanks for your understanding!
Shane.......
Chris Taylor's Response:
Shane,
Well, I will let you, and only you, in on a little secret. The broken
foot is real. The story of me playing basketball is not. If you promise
not to tell anyone, and I mean anyone, I will let you know how it really
happened.
Sunday I was in my secret lab up in our attic, working on my cure for
cancer. I am obviously very close, and working on my Thank yous for my
paper to be published next month. I took a break from that to unwind and
work on my hobby of whipping Big Blue in online chess (I am on a 1,098
game winning streak). I heard a noise from the house and went to
investigate. I discovered two spies rummaging through my samples of
anti-matter I had created using only cat hair, concentrated amounts of
Febreeze and soda can pop tops (the old fashioned kind with the ring, mind
you)
Anyway, I recognized these two as highly regarded corporate espionage
experts from my days in the CIA, working as an "ambassador" to Russia.
We had had a few run-ins, and also some good times, working on a
"project" in the Congo, but that story is for another time. They obviously
were after my cure for cancer, paid no doubt by a big pharmaceutical
company who had gotten wind of my breakthrough work. I couldn't let that
happen. I snuck around the back of the house to get the drop on them, no
need for a weapon, as I am a 232nd degree judo expert.
So I make my way to an open window to the room next to my anti-matter
holding area. I jump backwards through the window and land balanced on
my left ring finger so as not to make a sound. What I hadn't counted on
was my animatronic robot assistant has just finished his self-charging, and
sounded an alarm as he noticed the intruders. Well, they bolt in a waiting
Ferrari and I take off after them on foot. No time to get to my rocket car
given to me personally by the Sultan of Brunei.
As I keep up with them with my exceptional speed, I get a call from the
Vatican, and you always stop what you are doing to take a call from the
Pope. I took out my world phone and His Holiness and I spoke in his
native tongue of Polish for a while and then switched to ancient dialect of
Chinese, in case we were being eavesdropped on. He had a complex
theological problem he couldn't solve and needed my help. "I'm sorry,
Pontiff, I can't talk now. I am after some spies who may have compromised
my work. Leave a message with my robot and I'll have to get back to you."
He stammered, but understood.
I then used my super-enhanced vision to locate the Ferrari. I found them
10 miles down the road, but fortunately for me there was a traffic helicopter
near by. It swooped in and I grabbed the landing skid. As the helicopter got
closer to the dastardly devils, I timed my jumped. 3, 2, 1, GO! Perfect!
Landed directly on the hood of their car. They were shocked, but not
surprised as my reputation told them I would not give up easily. They
swerved to the left and right to try to shake me. No dice. They skidded to a
stop and jumped onto two motorcycles that just happened to be idling
nearby. The only thing available to me was a Vespa. As they roared away,
I remembered what my old Buddhist master once told me as we sat on a
serene mountaintop in the Himalayas. "Grasshopper, if you should ever
find yourself on a Vespa, and in need of speed, the light will show you the
way." I never knew what he spoke of and in a flash it came to me. Of
course, I can add 500 horsepower to this Vespa by using the wire from
the headlight and bypassing the catalytic converter!
I am off, and catch up to the taller of the two. He gives up immediately.
Out of respect from our good times in the Congo, he tells me that he and
his partner were scared off from my lair before they found anything useful.
I use my superior hearing to determine that he is lying, judging by his
heartbeat and other factors. I frisk him and discover a mini camera the
size of a pin-head. He then swallows a red pill and... let's just say he
will not be reporting back to base.
Confident that I have recovered my work I head back to the lab. I make
my way inside and use my infrared handheld to make sure all is where it
should be. It is. I am relaxed and in that moment of calm, it comes to me
how the Great Pyramids of Gaza were actually built. I reached for a
notepad and pen and tripped over my cat.
That is the true story on how I broke my foot. Please do not repeat.
Chris
Brad Miller's Response:
As long as we're confessing secrets, Cindi and I must share. It was I who
sent the spies to your house on the ploy of pretending to steal your cure
for cancer. I admit, at first I was intrigued when I heard that you were
getting close so I instructed my agent to hide the real camera in the red
pill he so easily dispactched himself with. I can see how a trick like that
would fool most but I think you were just being lazy. It was messy but
several hours later I had the pill and reviewed your data. I must say that
while I thought your use of Adenosine TriPhosphate as a transmission to
the Mitochondrial DNA for the cancer cells was brilliant; you have not
accounted for 42 year old aboriginal women with partners who take
combination drugs of Viagra and Enzyte. To them, your medication will
prove fatal. I have already taken the liberty of notifying the law offices of
Jim Adler so he can prepare a class action lawsuit of which I have already
taken part. I stand to make millions (of which Jim Adler will only take
92%)!! Alas, that was only a side benefit to our plan. I heard that you have
recently acquired a truely classic wine which you were going to ruin by
sharing with Shane! Cindi and I had plans that night to discuss our world
domination plans over dinner with the Queen of England, the Pope (he
must have been calling you to decide what to wear), the leader of the
Trilateral Commission, and Brittany Spears. We had much to discuss and we
thought we could impress them with food, gifts, and your wine. While you
were falling for our diversion, we snuck into your wine cellar. I wasn't
prepared for such a huge cellar and I am curious how you could afford such
a collection. Needless to say, I have already emailed the accountants at
your office to pay close attention to your spending account. After several
minutes I knew I had found the area where you had your secret stash as it
was protected by the Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction. Very clever!
After dismantling the bombs (you should never wire booby traps with serial
circuits) I took a deep breath and opened the cabinet. Damnit! You didn't
have such protection because the wine was valuable but rather because you
were embarrassed to admit that you secretly stock Berringer White
Zinfandel as your prize collection... Thank God our dinner still went well. We
came up with some wonderful plans that will be obvious with Brittany's new
CD (I wrote the 3rd song!) which will have our plans clearly stated in
subliminal messages and hip thrusts. Pay careful attention to the word Blue...
Dandridge Marsh's Repsonse:
It was girl wasn't it Chris?
Clearly we have to much time on
our hands!
Hey everyone, I'm probably not supposed to tell anyone, but our good
friend whose identity should be kept secret and not revealed to anyone
broke his foot playing basketball with a thirteen year old. Now obviously
Chris is very embarrassed about the accident, but who could blame Mr.
Taylor, none of us want to let go of our childhood.
Now this nameless person's wife, Alicia, has informed me that Chris
(Oops! I mean this nameless person) is feeling a little self conscientious
about breaking his foot while playing basketball with a thirteen year old
and clearly "Not Having Game", so it is very important that you do not
tell anyone about this unfortunate accident. I know Chris would appreciate
it and knowing how he probably feels, he is not going to really tell you
how it happened voluntarily. If for some reason, you feel the urge to
notify anyone else, you know, in case of emergency, please keep the
number of CC's or BCC's down to the first 50 names in your email address
book.
I myself thought about copying the entire wine club, just so they
would know not to mention to anyone else that they might come in contact
with about Mr. Chris Taylor breaking his foot while playing basketball with
the thirteen year old neighbor's kid. I also feel obligated to tell you,
giving Chris's emotional state, that it would just be wrong to email Chris
at CTaylor@visionwise.com and mention to him your own very basic
knowledge of basketball fundamentals, such as pivoting, jump shots, layups,
etc... I mean, this could really ad insult to injury!
So in short, if you see a man in a boot, one that a crippled person
might wear for say six to eight weeks or so, just smile and don't let on
like you know anything. This person has to feel ashamed of what happened
and how it happened, so there is no need in further embarrassing him.
Thanks for your understanding!
Shane.......
Chris Taylor's Response:
Shane,
Well, I will let you, and only you, in on a little secret. The broken
foot is real. The story of me playing basketball is not. If you promise
not to tell anyone, and I mean anyone, I will let you know how it really
happened.
Sunday I was in my secret lab up in our attic, working on my cure for
cancer. I am obviously very close, and working on my Thank yous for my
paper to be published next month. I took a break from that to unwind and
work on my hobby of whipping Big Blue in online chess (I am on a 1,098
game winning streak). I heard a noise from the house and went to
investigate. I discovered two spies rummaging through my samples of
anti-matter I had created using only cat hair, concentrated amounts of
Febreeze and soda can pop tops (the old fashioned kind with the ring, mind
you)
Anyway, I recognized these two as highly regarded corporate espionage
experts from my days in the CIA, working as an "ambassador" to Russia.
We had had a few run-ins, and also some good times, working on a
"project" in the Congo, but that story is for another time. They obviously
were after my cure for cancer, paid no doubt by a big pharmaceutical
company who had gotten wind of my breakthrough work. I couldn't let that
happen. I snuck around the back of the house to get the drop on them, no
need for a weapon, as I am a 232nd degree judo expert.
So I make my way to an open window to the room next to my anti-matter
holding area. I jump backwards through the window and land balanced on
my left ring finger so as not to make a sound. What I hadn't counted on
was my animatronic robot assistant has just finished his self-charging, and
sounded an alarm as he noticed the intruders. Well, they bolt in a waiting
Ferrari and I take off after them on foot. No time to get to my rocket car
given to me personally by the Sultan of Brunei.
As I keep up with them with my exceptional speed, I get a call from the
Vatican, and you always stop what you are doing to take a call from the
Pope. I took out my world phone and His Holiness and I spoke in his
native tongue of Polish for a while and then switched to ancient dialect of
Chinese, in case we were being eavesdropped on. He had a complex
theological problem he couldn't solve and needed my help. "I'm sorry,
Pontiff, I can't talk now. I am after some spies who may have compromised
my work. Leave a message with my robot and I'll have to get back to you."
He stammered, but understood.
I then used my super-enhanced vision to locate the Ferrari. I found them
10 miles down the road, but fortunately for me there was a traffic helicopter
near by. It swooped in and I grabbed the landing skid. As the helicopter got
closer to the dastardly devils, I timed my jumped. 3, 2, 1, GO! Perfect!
Landed directly on the hood of their car. They were shocked, but not
surprised as my reputation told them I would not give up easily. They
swerved to the left and right to try to shake me. No dice. They skidded to a
stop and jumped onto two motorcycles that just happened to be idling
nearby. The only thing available to me was a Vespa. As they roared away,
I remembered what my old Buddhist master once told me as we sat on a
serene mountaintop in the Himalayas. "Grasshopper, if you should ever
find yourself on a Vespa, and in need of speed, the light will show you the
way." I never knew what he spoke of and in a flash it came to me. Of
course, I can add 500 horsepower to this Vespa by using the wire from
the headlight and bypassing the catalytic converter!
I am off, and catch up to the taller of the two. He gives up immediately.
Out of respect from our good times in the Congo, he tells me that he and
his partner were scared off from my lair before they found anything useful.
I use my superior hearing to determine that he is lying, judging by his
heartbeat and other factors. I frisk him and discover a mini camera the
size of a pin-head. He then swallows a red pill and... let's just say he
will not be reporting back to base.
Confident that I have recovered my work I head back to the lab. I make
my way inside and use my infrared handheld to make sure all is where it
should be. It is. I am relaxed and in that moment of calm, it comes to me
how the Great Pyramids of Gaza were actually built. I reached for a
notepad and pen and tripped over my cat.
That is the true story on how I broke my foot. Please do not repeat.
Chris
Brad Miller's Response:
As long as we're confessing secrets, Cindi and I must share. It was I who
sent the spies to your house on the ploy of pretending to steal your cure
for cancer. I admit, at first I was intrigued when I heard that you were
getting close so I instructed my agent to hide the real camera in the red
pill he so easily dispactched himself with. I can see how a trick like that
would fool most but I think you were just being lazy. It was messy but
several hours later I had the pill and reviewed your data. I must say that
while I thought your use of Adenosine TriPhosphate as a transmission to
the Mitochondrial DNA for the cancer cells was brilliant; you have not
accounted for 42 year old aboriginal women with partners who take
combination drugs of Viagra and Enzyte. To them, your medication will
prove fatal. I have already taken the liberty of notifying the law offices of
Jim Adler so he can prepare a class action lawsuit of which I have already
taken part. I stand to make millions (of which Jim Adler will only take
92%)!! Alas, that was only a side benefit to our plan. I heard that you have
recently acquired a truely classic wine which you were going to ruin by
sharing with Shane! Cindi and I had plans that night to discuss our world
domination plans over dinner with the Queen of England, the Pope (he
must have been calling you to decide what to wear), the leader of the
Trilateral Commission, and Brittany Spears. We had much to discuss and we
thought we could impress them with food, gifts, and your wine. While you
were falling for our diversion, we snuck into your wine cellar. I wasn't
prepared for such a huge cellar and I am curious how you could afford such
a collection. Needless to say, I have already emailed the accountants at
your office to pay close attention to your spending account. After several
minutes I knew I had found the area where you had your secret stash as it
was protected by the Iraqi Weapons of Mass Destruction. Very clever!
After dismantling the bombs (you should never wire booby traps with serial
circuits) I took a deep breath and opened the cabinet. Damnit! You didn't
have such protection because the wine was valuable but rather because you
were embarrassed to admit that you secretly stock Berringer White
Zinfandel as your prize collection... Thank God our dinner still went well. We
came up with some wonderful plans that will be obvious with Brittany's new
CD (I wrote the 3rd song!) which will have our plans clearly stated in
subliminal messages and hip thrusts. Pay careful attention to the word Blue...
Dandridge Marsh's Repsonse:
It was girl wasn't it Chris?
Clearly we have to much time on
our hands!
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
| |
 |
