Day 2 With Dad
—by Nathan on April 19, 2009—
Today, we were scheduled to go to a agent-introduction seminar, where we learn of our duties as agents, learn the rules, and get our code names. However, we woke up late and missed it. Uh-oh. We were lucky to find the tutorial at their website (Which IS NOT "AmericanTopSecretConfidentalWeShallKillYouIfYouTellAboutUs.com"). and watched it. It told of the greatest menace to American kind and that all of us should be out on the lookout for them. The threat? ALIENS! OHH...SPOOKY! Anywho, after the video, we received an e-mail telling us our new secret nicknames (Which ARE NOT (By age) mr. lag, garret, and LiL BiT!), and our assignments:
- We must practice daily at agent skills (Such as sneaking, weaponry, dissarming security systems, etc.)
- We must exercise.
- We must accept any duty given to us.
- We must write up lab reports on each mission we do... whether we succeed or not.
After earning this e-mail, LiL Bit (FALSE NICKNAME!) and I proceeded do our weapons training. After that, we got a few hours to relax and watched TV. Then I played Wii... until my Dad got a call. Aliens were attacking a supermarket! He went out and fought them off while Abby and I faced dangers of our own: Commander Fixxo Largan Han Snickrekcpinziem (Or is it "SnickrekcpinzieN"?) attacked our household. His mission?
"To eliminate all agents," he said with a Western accent. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA-(Cough)(Cough)ACHOO!"
"Blesh you, sir," one of his men said.
"Thank ya. And it's 'BLESS ya,' Volgenwiger."
"I'll remember that, sir."
The battle began. It was our furious fighting skills against their high-quality "Made In Vergaf" (I don't know where Vergaf is. I just know that's what the guns said) weaponry. Oh, wait. Abby and I don't have fighting skills. Crud. So, what could we do?
"Wait," I said before Snickrekcpin-something could blow our brains out. "How about we settle this in a dual of honor? You win, we...die. We win, you leave."
"How's 'bout double or nothin'?" he hissed. "Ya win, we skedaddle. We win, we kill ya AND get the house?"
"Do I have any other choice?" I asked.
"Ya can die now."
"Fine. I'll play."
"Ah get ta choose da game."
He chose a racing game "Petz Dogs 2" ("I just love them cute lil' doggies," was his response). I won. Easily (Mental Note: Aliens are terrible at video games). They flew off just as mr. lag pulled into the driveway... with an armload of groceries. We ate a dinner that tasted really funny... and it turned our that we ate fried alien brains (OK, this is too much. We really can't rely on dad for dinner anymore. We need a chef). I made up my mind that I'm going on a hunger strike until I get some decent food. Alien pates. YUCK! "Really good with sugar," says he. Yeah right. You just keep thinking that, man. The rest of the night was quiet. After a movie, we all fell asleep, wondering what tomorrow would bring (Such as an explanation of why the living room is trashed. Oh, no).