Crack

Excuse me; did we meet in Bangkok in April last year? I don't know about April, but I was in Thailand in May of that year.

No, Grey Squirrel, Dom Jolly hasn’t been hired to do an American remake of his classic but mildly repetitive show Trigger Happy TV. This is a real transcript of a “brush pass” meeting between Russian spies who were living double lives in America for up to a decade.

What were they doing there? Trying to infiltrate policymakers and gather information apparently, but they were relying on invisible ink and Morse Code, so we think they weren’t very successful. What we do know is that they lived in suburbs and worked as bankers, stay-at-home dads and travel agents...

Essentially the Russian government was playing a cruel game of hide and seek with its ten-year-old cousins, in a nod to it’s now faltering Cold War expertise; “Comrades, you must go deep, deep undercover, get married, get passports, have children and wait. In a decade we’ll err, come and find you.”

Shortly after the 10 captured sleeper spies were arrested for (amongst other charges) conspiracy to act as unregistered agents of a foreign government, they were whisked to Vienna and exchanged for four Russians accused of spying for the west.

Alex Chapman, unknowing husband of accused spy Anna “90-60-90” Kushchenko, confessed he was worried she was being brain washed towards the end of their romance. And apparently “Red hot“ Kushchenko wore no knickers and went in for 2-and-a-half-hour romps. That’s according to the Sun’s reliable source – a “geeky looking… bespectacled student” called Charlie, who the temptress later dumped with the old not returning phone calls and changing one’s number trick, anyway.

And while Obama successfully negotiated a Cold War-esque exchange, his own personal Katrina continued to ravage the Gulf Coast.

The broken well in the Gulf had spewed enough oil, at time of press, to fill Chew Valley Lake, (Bristol’s biggest with a surface area of more than 1,200 acres), three times over. Enough to give the entire population of New Orleans metropolitan area, which sits right in the centre of the coast line affected by the spill, three barrels each, and enough oil, taking the median approximation of the spills total surface area, to cover London 10 times.

A shit load of oil in fact, the kind of oil we could go to war for. But the sabre rattling and jingoism, which saw the company’s old name ‘British Petroleum’ ring out a few times and the US media highlight fumbling CEO Hayward’s Britishness, died down faster than the leak itself that is.

The well's blowout preventer failed immediately. A containment dome placed over the spewing well was clogged by frozen hydrocarbons. The "top kill" stuff-loads-of-heavy-liquids-and-then-cement solution couldn’t stand up to the pressure, and we were on day 28. BP then tried another capping strategy but had difficulty cutting off a “leaking riser pipe.” A super tanker converted into a "super skimmer" begins tests, but eventually fails. BP installs a "capping stack," which has a better seal than the last cap, but that starts to leak - day 83. Then the company sent in specially trained breath-holding dolphins with laser-equipped headbands, only to discover marine life is allergic to oil.

The mess, which looks like a Clinton-made cum stain nestling in the folds of a black satin skirt in the latest satellite photos, threatens to be one of the worse environmental disasters in living memory. And Transocean, which licensed The Deepwater Horizon well to BP, is currently in the throes of developing another well for ExxonMobil, a well that once complete will be 35,000ft deeper than the one currently spewing oil into the Pacific.



Words: Christopher Goodfellow

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