Our Own War to Wage
October 14, 2001
‘I had a very good idea for a plan today,’ Adam burst into the apartment breathlessly. ‘And it involves you.’
Frowning, I was immediately suspicious. ‘Does this involve me engaging in breakfast temping again?’ I demanded.
‘No, no,’ Adam waved his hand dismissively.
‘I am worried that your plan will negate our long-held plan for the mission this Saturday,’ I warned him. ‘Will Operation: All Clean be effected by this?’ Operation: All Clean had been drafted in a last-ditch attempt to blitz our apartment away from something which caused visiting friends to ask if we’d just been robbed. We’d been planning to roll up our collective sleeves and tackle the problem head on.
‘Operation: All Clean will remain unaffected by my plan. However, I will stress that the importance of Operation: All Clean is enormously secondary compared to my plan,’ Adam continued.
‘Tell me of this plan you propose,’ I nodded, clearing the table to make way for a military conference.
‘As you know, I was hit by a waterbomb yesterday on my way home,’ Adam stabbed at the table. ‘It was ejected from the apartment building just down the road.’
‘I know all about that,’ I confirmed. ‘I saw a number of wet people walking up here that day.’
‘I have made a decision, at 0200 hours early Sunday morning, to avenge my attack,’ Adam boomed. ‘With the aid of around, oh, a dozen eggs, I shall barrage their apartment window and bring them to justice.’
‘Right,’ I stroked my goatee thoughtfully. ‘And I’m to aid in the throwing of these eggs?’
‘No,’ Adam instructed. ‘Your role is to stand around 50 metres behind me in the nearby park, and keep a lookout for passing people or cars.’
‘What if anyone sees us do it?’ I pondered. ‘See, lucky you have me. You would have just gone in there blindly and attacked without backup.’
‘All sorted,’ Adam snorted at me, now becoming quite worked up and developing a twitch in his left eyebrow. ‘We just run away.’
‘Right,’ I nodded. ‘But let’s not forget, only a few weeks ago you attempted to chase after a thief who’d nicked some woman’s handbag. You only lasted around 100 metres before you gave up, puffing and cursing your fitness. Furthermore, I’m somewhat of a fat bastard. So we’re a little fucked there.’
‘But we won’t get caught,’ Adam sneered at me, his left eyebrow and nostrils now leaping out at me in syncopated union.
‘Rightey oh then,’ I agreed.
‘I will not stand for people who plague me with waterbombs out of the blue,’ he snapped. ‘Nor those who harbour them.’ By this stage, he now looked like someone who’d been collecting facial tics as a hobby since childhood.
‘I see where this is leading,’ I cautiously spoke.
‘Damn straight,’ he replied.
‘Well, we’ve got lots to plan, not to mention many eggs to buy,’ I finished. ‘Let’s get to it.’ And thus began Operation: Infinite Poultry.
