Iffyleaks

Wednesday March 15, 2017

On March 9 a couple who somewhat resembled Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip unveiled a new monument to “honour the duty and service of both UK armed forces and civilians” in Iraq and Afghanistan. Once again, Iffyleaks attended the occasion.

“Gad, Brenda, what a monstrous carbuncle. Really, the things one gets wheeled out for . . . You! Butler, waiter, or whatever you are. Yes, you with the slitty eyes. Who put this ghastly object here, and why are we looking at it?”

“Hush, Flip. One is not amused by your remarks. It is a most solemn occasion.”

“What, a few dead darkies? Foreigners, aren’t they? Why on earth should one take an interest? Did you know, those clever boffin chappies have invented a wonderful thingy called the internet. One may find all sorts of jolly splendid naked la–”

“Hush, Flip, there’s a dear . . . has one been sampling mother’s gin cellar again?”

“The old bat’s hardly likely to want it.”

“And another thing. Where is our Prime Minister? Did we not summon him?”

“What? Him? Who? Tawny Blur? Dreadful man, simply dreadful.”

“No, no. That nice Mr. Colonel.”

“Major?”

“Did we demote him? Oh dear. We wonder why. Such a pleasant, unassuming man. Did one know, one was conversing with him once and he turned invisible. Completely transparent.”

“Oh yes, happens all the time, especially the peasants. Pretty much everyone in fact. I think the wallpaper has something to do with it . . . now, duchess, the question remains, why are we standing here, contemplating this hideous pile of . . . is that a military band? Are we at Bognor? Bugger Bognor. The place is stiff with seagulls, simply stiff with them. And speaking of stiff, I find myself becoming rather–”

“Flip, one has never been to Bognor in one’s life. Do at least try to pay attention.”

 

Friday March 3, 2017

Somewhere in London, not long ago, in a room concealed from public gaze, the movers and shakers of the BBC gathered for a crisis meeting. Iffyleaks has obtained a transcript of their ruminations.

“Well, chaps, chapesses … Is everybody here? Good. First item . . . erm, does anybody want that last chocolate digestive?”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Me!”

“Erm, yerss . . . To business then. Look, the fact is, we’re simply not being tough enough on the world’s evildoers . . . Excuse me a moment, word in my ear don’t you know . . . What? . . . Oh. Right … Ahem, our lords and masters advise me it’s not good enough just to say they’re evil, we need to show how evil they are. Any ideas?”

“We could run a video of a nuclear explosion in the background, you know, add some devil horns, glowing eyes, that sort of thing . . . “

“Erm, you do realize we’re talking about radio here?”

“Lots of noises off, you know, tanks rumbling, jackboots crashing down, sieg heils?”

“Yes, good, no, people will think of the Krauts, erm, sorry, Wolfgang, our friends the Germans, we don’t want to upset them, what with the Brexit thingy and all.”

“What’s that thing where you mumble in the background, and everything you mumble goes straight into your listener’s brain. We could mumble ‘Evil Rooskies’ and ‘Vladbad the Bad.’”

“Earworm?”

“No, no . . . sub-something . . . sub . . . “

“Submarine!”

“Heavens no, we can’t mention that, nor Florida, it would give entirely the wrong impression . . . ”

“Subterranean!”

“Isn’t that like miners or something?”

“Subeditor?”

“You never did like old Jonesy did you?”

“Subaru!”

“No . . . ”

“Substances!”

“Those might liven things up a bit.”

“Subversion?”

“Isn’t that the whole point?”

“What say we all chip in a couple of bob for another packet of chokky bikkies?”

“Excellent suggestion. I’ll ring for more tea.”

“Subliminal!”

“Isn’t that something to do with shorelines . . . or beaches . . . “

“Oh god, no, no, no, we can’t mention the beaches. All that pollution . . . “

“I thought it meant ‘under the tongue’. I’m sure I heard it the other day on one of those hospital dramas.”

“Hospital? Now listen, people, do try to stay on message, that is numero uno on the verboten list.”

“Perhaps it would be better to look at the list so we can pick a topic that’s not on there.”

“Yes, good, no, bloody no, the list is on the list, you know, ‘usual channels’, wink-and-a-nod sort of thing . . . Is there enough dosh in the hat for the bikkies?”

 

Friday February 17, 2017

Iffyleaks can now reveal part of a conversation between a certain retired vice-admiral and the administration’s handlers-in-chief.

“So, Bobby, what’s the story? We have a deal or what?”

“Guys, it’s a fine offer and I’m flattered. But, but, um, my family wouldn’t like it  . . . ”

“Kidding, right? I mean, who cares what they think? And who would want to spend more time with them? Personally, I’m always trying to find new ways to not spend time with them.”

“Yeah, kidding . . . damn, I thought you’d go for that . . . oh, it’s only for moronic politicians who’re deep in the shit and facing prosecution? . . . right, right . . . So, fellers, the truth is, the truth is . . . erm, um . . . the truth is . . . I like the job I’ve got.”

“What? Seriously? We’re offering you a plum Washington insider job with a crap salary and zero job security where the press will be screaming at you non-stop and the spies will be crawling all over you and everybody and his mother will be second-guessing you and you’re forced to make idiotic speeches denouncing the Evil Rooskies and Bad-Bad Iran and how much we love Israel? You’re turning all that down? You’d rather stay where you are making yuge piles of dough and getting set up for the rest of your life with the richest and most impregnable defense contractor in the world?”

“Well . . . look, guys, given a choice between serving your country inside the Beltway and staying outside to make massive, I mean really yuge, stacks of cash, what would you do?”

“Oh . . . yeah, when you put it like that.”

Friday February 3, 2017

Somewhere, a few days ago, in a secret room shielded from all forms of espionage, the titans of western civilization gathered to discuss world affairs. Somehow, somebody has leaked their deliberations.

“Okay guys, listen up. Trump’s threatening the ‘Evil Rooskies’ meme, I don’t need to spell out what that means for our defense contractor partners. We need to boot it up. Any suggestions?”

“Bomb the crap out of the damn Rooskies!”

“Invade Siberia!”

“Shoot off some nukes!”

“Guys, guys, these are all excellent suggestions, but we need something, how to say it, subtle. Kapeesh?”

“Well, there’s always Ukraine.”

“Yeah, what the hell did we get for our five billion, oligarchs, chocolate, and a bunch of crazy Nazis.”

“Yeah, well . . . so what’s your idea?”

“See, we send over a couple of clowns, you know, ‘Killer’ McCain and ‘Mr. Fickle’ Graham. Those two’ll stir up Porky to start shelling the damn Rooskies in Donbass. We can say that the Rooskies started it, of course. If the Ukies cause enough damage, Vladbad will be forced to send in the tanks.”

“Wait, wait, we already said the Rooskies sent in tanks. We said it over and over and still nobody believed it . . . Why didn’t we fake up some satellite imagery? Jeez, we can take pictures of Pluto but we can’t spoof some tanks?”

“We could shoot down an airliner and blame the Rooskies.”

“Didn’t we try that? And it’s all gone quiet. We need to move faster. Get the stuff out on Facebook and cable news before the facts show up.”

“Okay, okay, mistakes were made . . . Where’s the damn coffee and donuts?”

“What are those crumbs on the plate in front of you? And the stain in your cup? And the powdered sugar in your mustache?”

“Hey, you ate the Boston creme!”

“Who took the one with the sprinkles?”

“Oh yeah? Sez who?”

“Calm down, we’ll just order some more sent in.”

“I want a muffin.”

“Crullers!”

“How about a ham sandwich?”

“And a macchi . . . frappa . . . tall thing with whipped cream and pumpkin spice.”

“Why don’t we get an espresso machine?”

“So, okay . . . what were we talking about?”