View Full Version : A Diplomatic Rodent 2 0f 2 = Adult, 2,000

September 30th, 2014, 09:25 AM
Oscar Rat's 2nd trip to the Middle East.
Warning! Sprinkled with politics. One rat's opinion, of course.
Synopsis: Oscar Rat was unexpectedly chosen as the President's representative to fly to Georgia (the Country, not the State) to bribe rodents there and in neighboring Azerbaijan. It was to let Israeli warplanes through in case of war with Iran. He's accompanied by an Israeli diplomatic representative, a rat named Iyana Ratcohen. At the moment, they're meeting with a local union leader at a major airport....

“His name was Ivan Pavratneli, a huge brown rat and a fervent Russian," Oscar told me, then continued.

“‘No way I"m going to let those dirty Zionist humans bomb Iran,’ Ivan said. ‘How could I face my family?’

“‘It would be to the best interests of your country, Mr. Pavratneli, to avoid a disastero--’ Iyana started.

“‘What do you Jewish rats know of my country, young lady?’ he broke into her prepared speech.

“That's when I stepped in, mentioning, ‘I know your family would be proud of you bringing 10,000 dollars American home,’ I told him in common rat language. The way Iyana looked, I could see they didn’t teach that language in Israel. Diplomacy, hell. Money talks louder.

“Whenever she’d make a point, I’d enhance it by raising my bribe a bit, just a bit. Before long, Ivan agreed with me, that his country’s best interests would be served by him moving into a nicer house closer to the base. That a chauffeured auto would give him more energy to prevent terrorist rats damaging those nice shiny Israeli aircraft.

“In two days I promised over a million to rodents around that country. Then came the time to come through with the money.

“I met my human accountant in a fancy hotel. Me, I’d been sleeping on that fancy couch at Iyana’s that I mentioned earlier. Not trusting me, she locked her bedroom at night.

"I’ll tell you, Charlie, that rat girl drove me nuts. Without a knowledge of the town or official language, I couldn’t even step out to find a hooker. Since Iyana didn’t drink, neither could I.

“I could tell someone was sneaking around behind us, trying to subvert our efforts, but never saw them. All too often I’d have to redouble my efforts, and bribes, as though someone was making counter-offers. Nobody, though, had the deep pockets of our Uncle Sam.

“And that damned human accountant. He was a bastard, and didn’t trust me.

“‘Oscar,’ he told me, “I know all about you steal ... misappropriating that fake Iranian money on your last trip to the area. That’s why I was sent along this time. I want receipts for every cent I give you.’

“Now, I ask you, old buddy, how can a rat work under such constrictions?

“I was glad when we were finally driven to the coast of the Caspian Sea to catch a boat to Baku, in neighboring Azerbaijan.

"At last, I could drink. From the start of the three-day trip down the coast I left Iyana alone in our cabin. While she simmered there in her fancy suit, I hung out and drank with the crew.

“On the second morning at sea, I staggered into the cabin to find lovely Iyana as drunk as I was. Turned out she was a closet drinker. Left alone for all that time, she hit the booze.

“‘Osscarr. Wheres you been,’ she said. ‘I’m lonee, loonly, lonely, Osscarr. Hol me, Oscar.’

“I guess the old Oscar Rat charm had been working, after all. We tore up that cabin, making wild passionate love for the next day and two nights. Oops! Lost a day in there somewhere, he-he. After that, we got along much better."

I brought Oscar his portion of pizza, first laying a sheet of plastic on a coffee table. Oscar’s not known for his table manners. We sat and ate for awhile, Oscar scattering crumbs as he tore his pizza apart, stacking pepperoni in one pile, onions in another while playing with the crust.

“I don’t like this white cheese,” he said, tossing a piece onto the floor.

“Stop that. Put it in the ashtray or something.”

“I don’t like to look at it.”

“Tough shit. Not the fucking floor.”

Finally, I gave up, picking the white cheese from the rest and throwing it into a wastebasket. Damn it.

“Thanks, Charlie, old pal.”

Finally, he got back to his story.

“Our mission in Azerbaijan was different. Humans had already bribed the authorities not to make a fuss and shoot at Israeli planes if they flew over their country or along the coast on their way to Iran.

"We promised to use their roads to bring Israeli supplies and troops to the war front once it was started. The US and Israel had already started to improve the roads from Georgia, through Azerbaiijan to Iran in order to resupply in case of an invasion.

"The natives there don’t get along all that well with Iran in the first place. It’s an ethnic thing. It seems there’s a break-away province, Nagorno-Karabakh, of ethnic Armenians from next door. Although officially part of the country, it has never been assimilated into Azerbaijan proper.

"The Armenians are Christian. In case of war, our country is afraid of terrorist attacks by Iranian-sympathizing rodents."

“Armenians are Christian?” I asked. I had no idea. "I thought all those countries there were Muslim."

“Na, Charlie. They’ve been Christian since the fourth century BC, were the first nation to adopt Christianity as a state religion. Even before the Romans did.

“Our mission, Iyana’s and mine, was to bribe Armenian rodents not to interfere with the resupply trucks. For that task, Iyana was coming along for the ride as an emissary of her country. Besides paying them, I was to make false promises of uniting those Armenian rats with Armenia itself. They didn’t know I had no such clout.

“That’s the way it’s done among us diplomats. Promises that are not meant to be kept, only to buy time. Their politicians knew it, and I knew it, but their common rats didn’t. Those wealthy humans in power wanted two things, money and status quo. If they were united with Armenia, they knew they’d be out of work. The Armenians would push them aside to take over their lucrative positions. No doubt the Iranians also knew that last point.

“I won’t bore you, Charlie, with the minutes of a half-dozen meetings with supercilious rodents. You’ve probably never thought of how much damage us guys can cause if we try hard.

"Rats trained to use explosives are rare in the US, but not in many countries. Four-legged ratties can’t carry as much weight in explosive devices as the two-legged kind, but we do have strong teeth and can place them easier. A dozen half-ounce charges of C-4 have the same power as one six-ounce one. A suicidal rat jumping onto a truck hauling gasoline and carrying a grenade is very dangerous. And there are millions of rats in any country.”

“Where does the second rat lady come in, Oscar?” I asked, bored by the politics. “You said there was two of them.”

I’d swear Oscar wiped a tear. “I -- I don’t really want to talk about that, old friend. It hurts too much.”

“Come on, Oscar. Let it out. You"ll feel better for it.”

He wanted another drink first. He drank it down while silently looking out the window at a sunset. Then came a second saucer of vodka and soda before he continued.

“One night I came back to the room we were renting in Baku. Iyana said she had something to do, so I returned by myself. It was unexpected. A meeting had been canceled at the last minute.

“Anyway,” he paused, seemingly trying to catch his breath. “Anyway, someone was in our room. It was a female rat bent over my suitcase.

“When I grabbed the intruder and spun her around I was face to face with ... with ... my God, with Rava Kargoosh. When I’d left her in Iran a couple of years before I thought she was dying. You remember that mission for Georgie and Dick?”

I reached over to scratch him behind the ears. “Yes, old friend. The one where you were sent to find evidence of Iranian bomb-making, and found none at all. The one where Rava saved you and that American Special Forces officer by biting an Iranian soldier on the nose and getting shot while doing it. And where you appropriated and sent me a million fake Iranian Rials to hide for you.”

“She didn’t die after all.”

Oscar seemed to shudder, concentric circles forming in his vodka saucer. “And now she’s after me. I"ll tell you how it happened.

“‘Oscar!’ she said, jumping back a step. ‘It is really you. I heard there was an American secret agent working with the Zionist Entity, but couldn’t believe it was you.

“‘We were lovers. I even saved your worthless life, and this is how you repay me? By fighting against my country, the country that I love.’ she said.

“She opened her beautiful mouth and ... and ... and spit in my face. A knife appeared in her hand, ready to skewer my precious hide. That’s when I grabbed her, pinning her to the bed on top of the suitcase.

“Although she struggled, I kept her down, the knife falling to the floor, and kissed those lips that once were mine. No female can resist my practiced kiss, no matter how incensed. I could feel anger flow outward, even as the struggles lessened.

“We made love on an open suitcase, Iyana's. Never try it, Charlie. Afterward, while we lay in semi-delirious post-ecstasy, I glanced upward to see Iyana standing in the open doorway.

“Almost instantly, there was a cat ... I mean rat fight. I was ejected from the pile of female fighting flesh and found myself on the floor looking upward at thrashing tails and teeth.

“Enough of this shit, I decided. Foregoing the baggage, including my suitcase, I headed for Baku Port to stow away on the nearest freighter for a trip north to Russia.

“It took a month, but I finally made it back to America. Because of a lack of funds, my longtime skills as a merchant sea-rat helped immensely.”

“Whooo! You've had quite an adventure, Oscar. But what are you doing here? Why don’t you go down the hall to your own apartment, including wife and daughter? And,” I asked, “what does Obama think of you abandoning your mission?”

My old buddy dipped his shaggy head, whiskers drooping. “I’ve been afraid of trying for Obama. A friend in Washington told me those girls made up for a common cause ... castrating me. Spies from both Israel and Iran are posted near the White House, waiting to kill me. Can I stay here tonight while you check to see if my wife has found out ... yet?”

“Sure, old pal. I"ll get you something to sleep on.”

Well, Malodor did find out. Right now, Oscar’s hiding in my bedroom closet. He’s fairly comfortable with a television and his other old buddy, Jim Beam.

The End.