Barnes, that wasn’t Noble. Powell, leave Elliot alone.
So much to cover that the blog has been divided into two man teams. The Forty Third Earl has his copy of Fan-Tan hidden in a garden shed. He reports from the roof of the shed by satellite phone: “Out here in the fields, I fight for my meals, I get my back into living…”
Okay, who’s next? Arch Duke? Listen up, people. Barnes, you’re walking point, Noble, you’re walking slack. I don’t want any bickering out there today. The target is a middle aged bald guy who hasn’t read a book since high school. He’s snoozing on his Barcalounger where the patio meets the grass. His wife thinks he’s mowing the lawn. His kids understand his computer in a way he never will, but he’s okay with that. It’s just a tool. Okay, Powell and Elliot establish a perimeter. Yeah, he’s reading Sports Illustrated. Wait, I’ve got it on the scope: it’s the Swimsuit Edition.
Adjust mission parameters: no harm must come to the Swimsuit Edition. Barnes, suck it up. Extract SI and replace with Little Women. Who brought the book? Powell? What do you mean you sold it? On that trip to Seattle…Elliot, I told you to keep an eye on Powell.
This is Joe Queenan’s review copy of Fan Tan. Yeah, Marlon Brando is the co-author. Don’t read it now, Barnes. Be careful. After we insert you, be advised the subject has an automatic sprinkler system. Do not engage the teenagers…everyone ready? Boo-yah.