You got a light for a lady spy, Blog Guy?

July 10, 2010

Blog Guy, I may have the strangest fashion request ever.

FASHION-FRANCE/I doubt that. I’ve heard it all.

We shall see. My friends and I are World War I spies, um, in the Balkans. Yeah, that’s right, the Balkans.

Wait a minute. That’s almost 100 years ago. How are you talking to me?

Is complicated. There is no time. Please, it is urgent. Where can we find 1914 fashions in your world today?

This is just too weird, lady. I’d say go to Paris, where the current Haute Couture show looks like it’s right up your spy alley.

Is too dangerous for us in Paris. We cannot go there. Please buy us some pretty dresses and shoes and take the night train to Sarajevo. We will meet  you in the….

Stop. Time out. Listen. If you’re really back in World War I, then how do you even know to CALL it World War I? There was no World War II yet.

FASHION-FRANCE/Oh. Crap. A lucky guess?

Okay, is this a bunch of my regular blog commenters, out to get free clothes for yourselves? Is THAT what this is about? I recall you’ve all been to France.

How nice, you remembered. But of course, that was the day the Germans marched into Paris.

Well, now you’re just quoting lines from Casablanca. This is pathetic. I mean, just sad, ladies….

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Models present creations by French designer Jean-Paul Gaultier as part of his Haute-Couture Fall/Winter 2010-2011 fashion show in Paris July 7, 2010. REUTERS/Benoit Tessier

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About time… I must say, very nice hair…. 😀

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Wow! Another sequel to Aliens! Only this time it is set in France and the aliens pop out of their hosts’ heads. Brilliant! I thought only Coneheads were in France…

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Ah, this so reminds me of my days in military intelligence in cold-war-torn Germany….

There I was on the night train to Munich. I met this woman named Miss Froy. She talked a lot about it being “cold.” I knew what that meant. That was our duress code. It meant things were hot for her, and they were hot for me, too. I had key information about the identity of sleeping Soviet spies working in MI6 in London.

I had just fled East Berlin after calling my contact and recognizing the voice that had answered in German. It was that of Richard Muntz, the East German counter-intelligence head in Berlin. That meant my contact was kidnapped or murdered. Or worse. Or was she?

We talked, she whistled a short tune for me, and the next morning Miss Froy was nowhere to be found. Everyone claimed she had never been on the train. The circus Magician, his Romanian wife, the Hungarian diplomat, the American businessman — all claimed Miss Froy was imaginary, the result of the bump on my head after that flower pot fell two stories onto my head in the Berlin Bahnhof.

But I knew she was more than just a bump on the head.

This meant that Miss Froy had been kidnapped, or worse, murdered. It also meant that, unless I acted quickly, I would suffer the same fate before the sun set. I had moments to formulate a plan for how to get my information to my Chief in Munich.

Quickly, I examined the contents of my pockets: a revolver with one bullet, a pencil stub, and two West German coins. I formulated my plan.

The train stopped briefly on a siding in the Bavarian countryside. Just as the train started to move and gained speed, I saw a car pull up. Stepping out of the car and running after the train was Richard Muntz.

I sank into my seat. I was lost in a maze. I recalled the old rule of thumb of always turning left when lost in a labyrinth. I also recalled how the Minotaur with its advice only had at heart one’s getting lost.

I would

–I’m sorry to interrupt folks, but the “Doctor” needs his medication and some rest. He can work more on his “Memoirs” later.–

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Doc: when the book comes out I want a signed copy. Very creative.

Shra: what you can see of their hair does look nice. Normal, too!

Which is thinner: the models’ faces or their cigarette holders? Is this a quit smoking campaign? I am feeling down right curvaceous after looking at them!

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I would disembark at Augsburg. I knew I had a contact there, who was posing as an American military police officer. He really worked with American Military Intelligence and with the the Augsburg Polizei, and he lived at a safe house located at 2 Tal Strasse.

Suddenly, the American business man sat down next to me.

“Do you find it cold?” He asked?

I said nothing.

“Why don’t you come in out of the cold?” He asked.

“Yes.” I said. “I would like that very much.”

Across from us, a menacing, chortling fat man watched me with beady eyes.

The American said: “Augsburg is the next stop. It’s a warm there day, but not too hot. I live there. At Number 2 Tal Strasse.”

The train slowed to stop in the Augsburg Bahnhof. I noticed that the Magician and his Romanian wife were getting ready to disembark with their equipment. The fat man watched me.

The American and I got off the train, so did the Magician, his wife, and the Fat Man. We climbed aboard the Number 2 Strassenbahn, and the American leaned toward me and whispered: “Fat man Nazi. He wants the box. Magician KGB. He wants you and the box. Take this to the last stop. Get off. Turn right. Turn right again. Walk past the cemetery and the FLAK Kaserne. Turn left. Walk up the hill. I will meet you at the Kobel Cross.” The American got off at the Dom, the Cathedral.

The street car rattled on. I noticed the Magican was gone. The fat man appeared to be asleep.

The street car stopped. “Bitte alle austeigen.” The driver said. “Everyone please exit.”

I got off and walked up the street. At the first intersection, there was a statute of a boy. I patted his head for luck and turned right. I passed a cemetery. I passed what looked like the walls and gate of a military kaserne. At the next intersection, I turned left.

A man approached me: “Kann Ich Ihnen hilfen?” He asked? “Are you looking for the Kobel Cross” He asked in English.

“Yes.” I answered.

Turn left here. And at every crossing turn left again. And you will find the Kobel cross.


“Dr. Doll” has to bathe the dogs. He’ll be back when he finishes his chores!

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The man turned and walked away. The sun shone down on me. I felt hot. I looked at my watch. It was pushing 11:00. I fingered the coins in my pocket. My finger found the trigger of my revolver. Questions poured down like rain.

The American had told me to go up the hill to the Kobel Kreutz. This man said take every left. Why had the American said the address of the safe house in front of the Fat Man. He had given it away. Why couldn’t we meet at the safe house? The answer hit me like a .45 slug. The safe house was compromised.

I kept walking up hill. I was in a maze. The maze was in me. Pine trees fell away on the right side of the road. I came upon an intersection. “Kobelweg” the sign read. I kept walking up hill. At the top, on the left, was a huge cross. Lawn fell away. At the bottom of the hill, The doms and spires of Augsburg glistened in the bright morning sun.

I waited. I was as nervous as a longtailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Where was the American? I thought of his drawn, but very handsome face. He was quite a good looking chap. Broad-shouldered, deep-chested. Tanned. I guessed he didn’t have much trouble with the ladies. He had appeared very athletic. Where was that son of a bitch!

Down the lawn, I saw a young, pretty woman pulling a young man toward the cross. They were obviously very much in love. He was offering a token resistance. She put her legs into it and pulled him towards the cross. Towards me. It was the American.

They approached within feet of me. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the Magician’s wife coming up the hill the way I had come.

“Yes,” the young woman said to me, quietly. “That’s Bismarck Tower there, on the hill, about a mile away. Quickly!” She said. The girl pulled the American towards the Magician’s wife. I saw a box laying on the ground. I picked it up. It was heavy, filled with paper, I thought. I ran down the hill, on the road beside the lawn, and towards Bismark Tower.

Behind me, a brief, shrill scream sounded. Then, I heard nothing but my own pounding footsteps and the beautiful sounds of a May morning. “Hot day in Augsburg,” I thought.

Dr. Doll needs to do his chores… LIKE A GOOD HUSBAND!

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I ran as fast as I could down the hill. I wondered if I would ever see the American again. “Probably not,” I said aloud.

I came to an intersection and turned right. I kept running, keeping the Bismarck Tower in sight. I came to a dirt road running up the hill to the Tower. Gasping, I ran to the top. I doubled over, gripping my trouser legs, gasping for air. At the top of the hill, there were two young men flying a model airplane. They turned and looked me over curiously. And turned away. I saw no one else. I waited, listening to the model airplane whine and buzz. Again, I looked out over the domes and psires o fAugsburg. It was a beautiful day.

I turned and looked back at the young men. I couldn’t see them anymore. I didn’t have time to think anymore, because the whining model airplane was flying straight towards me, right at my head. I ducked it, and ran to the Tower. The plane followed me, and buzzed me again. I ducked inside the Tower. The plane flew away. I climbed teh stairs and waited.

A car drove up the dirt road, and a man in a brown Macintosh got out. He came to the Tower and climbed the steps. He came over to me and said: “Welcome in out of the cold.” I said nothing.

“Was this the Russian’s hand?” I wondered. Who could I trust? He reached for the package. And I pulled it away. He pulled out a pistol and swung it at my head. I pulled away, but a black pool opened at my feet. I dived in. It had no bottom.

“Doc,” someone said. “Doc, wake up.” “DOC!” It was the voice of the girl who had been with the American. I woke. But my brain felt like a plumber’s handkerchief. “Doc, where’s the box? WHERE IS THE BOX?”
“I don’t know.” I said. “Wait here. Right here.” She said. I’ll send a taxi for you to take you to the Bahnhof. It’s safe for you to go onto Munich.”

She ran down the hill. I knew I would never see the Magician’s wife again. Or the Fat Man. They were in good hands. Too bad I couldn’t say the same thing about the box.

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Okay, The End.

I have to read all this stuff, you know, and it’s almost like a weekend.

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The taxi pulled up in front of the Bahnhof. I went to pay the driver, but a hand came in through the Driver’s windown and handed him a 20 Mark note. It was the American. I got out of the Taxi.

“A train for Munich leaves in 5 minutes,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s not a night train. “Richard Muntz won’t be on it, neither will the Magician, nor his wife, nor the Fat Man. And we have the box.”

“Thanks for everything” I said.

“No problem, Doc,” he said.

“Wait.” “Why do you call me Doc? I’m not a doctor.”

“You will be someday,” he said.

“How do you know that?”

The American smiled. “See ya, Doc.” He turned and walked away.

I walked into the Bahnhof. I looked behind me. I felt like I had lost soemthing, there. Like I had left something behind, there in Augsburg. Something I would never get back. The American had looked familiar, and so had the girl. I looked behind me again. All I saw was the American and girl, walking hand in hand up the street. She wasn’t pulling him this time. He was going willingly enough. I knew I would see them again. Someday.

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I was waiting in the Bahnhof for the train, and

Suddenly, a man approached me.

“You the guy they call the Doc,” he asked?


“I’m Bob. You got this coming to you sad, sadistic SOB” he said, and pulled out a huge pistol. A big black pool opened at my feet again, and I dived in.”


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Humphrey Bogart and Cary Grant aren’t around, so Doc and Bob, you will have to find someone else to play your roles. Unless you choose to take on the assignment, in which case, the blog will self destruct.

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I was transported to Nazi Germany and back…. write a book, Doc!!!!

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Did I say Nazi? I meant cold.. coold…. very cold… Germany…

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I like that the second lady has hair that looks like one of those fox fur stole things.

Doc – was it a formal or a casual duress code ?

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One, I’m thinking maybe Will Ferrell and Jim Carrey, with Nicholas Cage thrown in for comic relief. Crowy, in this case, it was definitely a causal duress code.

I’m surprised no one has asked about Miss Froy. Well, you have to ask the true villain of the time, the Russian double/triple agent “Bob,” although he pronounced it with a Russian accent — “Bop.”

Of course, no one really knew who “Bop” was. Even in the CIA, agents would sing “He Bop, They Bop, Everybody Bop.” There were rumors that Bop was a female, or could be either male or female. Cyndi Lauper memorialized the angst of the time about Bop’s identity in a song, “She Bop.”

I’ve heard rumors that Bop is still in the counter-intelligence business, plying his trade disseminating propaganda. Perhaps, even now, he has infiltrated the corridors of power in Washington D.C. Of course, for all I know, he’s just a washed up “has been” writing an obscure blog. But that could be a clever cover, one in which Bop communicates in code with his masters in Russia. Who knows?

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Working Title: “The Man Who Goofed Around Too Much.”

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What’s that you say, Doc? It’s a nice day so you’re gonna work on those purple carrots in your garden instead of writing another 60,000 words that I have to read and post?

Well, enjoy yourself, and don’t be a stranger.

Posted by rcbasler | Report as abusive

I call Shananigans. The whole first section is the plot from The Lady Vanishes by Alfred Hitchcock. Still, not bad after that, although for all I know the rest is stolen too. Shame on you, sir, shame and reprimand!

Oh, and Basler, thanks for making such a great blog.

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Thanks, NeverPostAgain. That’s just old Doc, he steals everything. Don’t pay him no never mind. Please come back often…

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No kidding NeverPostAgain. There just isn’t very much that gets by you! What was it that gave it away? Miss Froy? (Hitchcock took the name from the novel The Wheel Spins). Or was it the allusion to the companion film to The Lady Vanishes, Night Train to Munich. Do you get it now? Or do I have to print it in Braille for you to sit on? Well, at least you are culturally literate enough to recognize one film. But, what you call theft, I call homage.

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By the way, NeverPostAgain, the whole first section does not come from The Lady Vanishes.

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Three sentences come from The Lady Vanishes.

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By the way, Bob, didn’t you like the spoof of North by Northwest (the model airplane, which spoofs Cary Grant being chased through the cornfields by the crop duster)? I thought that was hysterical.

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I spent far too long trying to work out if Miss Froy was a pun. But I had just worked a 16 hour day.

Posted by CrowGirl | Report as abusive

I figured ifly could handle any plane duties for your movie.

BG, “and don’t be a stranger.” Silly you. Most of your readers are a tad strange, in such delightful ways.

Just a spoonful of sprinkles
helps the blog posts go down,
the blog posts go down,
the blog posts go down.
Just a spoonful of sprinkles
helps the blog posts do down
in the most delightful way!

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Wait a minute, Onedoor. I think you stole those lyrics from Albert Hitchcock!

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Yes Doc, I did like the spoof, but some of it may have gone right past me because I’m not as big a Hitchcock fan as everybody else seems to be.

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Ah … killer looks 😉

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You work too much, CG.

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Yeah, that’s the downside of having a fabulous job that I love and believe in. :)

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If you love it…. then make it a 12 hour job…. and spend the remaining time on the blog… then BG would love and believe in you….

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CrowGirl is unavailable for comment at this time due to working another stupidly long weekend away.
I am pig sitting on Sunday, which I’m quite looking forward to. :)

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