Got Ghand - Episode 2
by -Ghandaiah-
Egad!
After my very first installment of "Got Ghand?", I had expected the gates of my mail address to be filled to the brim with curious readers' questions, comments, and "whatnot". And they were! But, after sifting through the numerous pr0n ads, reminders that I haven't paid the last three years' worth of taxes, and copies of most horrendous "Guar" songs... I realized that I had no messages regarding my column at all!
Perhaps I have rubbed off as a bit too odd... a bit too nutty... a bit too desperate? Whatever it takes, I want your letters! My column is not my column until I receive letters to base my column upon, and if I don't receive those letters sometime soon... MJ12 could realize what's going on, and have my head on a spork! So remember, kind readers, to send all thoughts regarding this fine feature to my new address (which PDX has been so kind enough to provide for a poor, suffering NSF employee like myself), here.
Speaking of MJ12 and things that are suffering, there's a lot been going on down in my little alcove of joy. I've now cleaned through my jungle of dazed thoughts clearly enough to be able to explain more thoroughly how I ended up here in the first place.
It goes like this: Some fellows and I were relaxi- err... hard at work in a secured NSF base of operations late one night. I've recovered a photograph from the depths of my pants. How it got there... I'll explain that in a bit.
That's when our hard work was interrupted with a strange radio transmission. We had learned that JC Denton, himself, had brought down Mr. Page, and unraveled the entire conspiracy to conclusion. Oh, how happy we were! We immediately proceeded to open bottles of wine. People started popping out of nowhere and dancing, like in a Rodney Dangerfield movie.
We all partied, and I think somebody spiked the punch (which also came out of nowhere. I think I remember it dancing, too - then, maybe that was just the alcohol.) This would explain how the pictures I've shown ended up in my trousers. I don't really remember much about that night...
So, as the story goes, one thing lead to another, me streaking naked across lawns, playing games like Daikatana. Yeah, I got pretty wasted that night.
Then it happened. I was tricked! There were spies among us! These villains, using their clever disguises, manipulated and deceived me in the most cunning and intelligent of ways...
I was simply not sober enough to resist their ploy, and BOOM, before I knew it, the enemies had captured their victim, undoubtedly to use me in many, many ways. But, as I have explained before, I am too smart for my own good. MJ12 will never realize that I'm simply using their own plot against them; They'll never get me to turn on my own and reveal vital information to whatever shards of their faction they have left. Never!
So, faithful readers, help me out of here! I'm doing all that I can to find a way out of this forsaken place, but you all must remember to send me everything your large-or-perhaps-sometimes-undersized brains can comprehend, here. I need your help! And, most importantly, I need your letters!
We shall speak again,
-Ghandaiah-
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