Damn You, Wikileaks


Mantracker. Hot on my Trail

Location: Somewhere in the Long Range Mountains. Newfoundland and Labrador.


     I am awoken at six in the morning by chirpy and gleeful voices outside my bough-wiffen. Such apparent sunny ways especially at this ungodly hour strikes me as extremely odd in a land where I hear continuous doom and gloom from our dear leader, Duh-wite. I peek out to find a young couple, dressed in hiking gear, seizing control of my flickering fire-pit to make a brew which I soon realize is Kenyan Class A Coffee.

     They introduce themselves as Ken and Barbie from Billings, Kentucky. They ooze happiness and cheer. I disliked them immediately. However, my jovial Newfoundland friendliness soon kicked in and I invited them into my humble abode to enjoy the fortifying brew to which I had furtively added a [L]iberal splash of Raspberry Screech--my last bottle.

     As the lacerating libation slipped down their throats their larnyx was temporarily paralyzed and five minutes passed before they recovered the power of speech. I must find a way to slip a copious amount of this into Dr. Dale's coffee, I thought.

     After their recovery, Ken and Barbie pulled an Apple laptop from their pack and set up a small satellite receiver. They desperately wanted their Donald Trump fix from CNN before the sun rose. Instead they accidently tuned in to CBC ST. John's.

     There was breaking news. Andrew (Judge Roy Bean) Parsons, Minister of Laws, was making a special broadcast to all Newfoundlanders and Labradorians on land and on sea. In the background, my face prominently appeared on the green screen. "I have taken to the airwaves," said the minister, "to warn the public of a dangerous and seditious person roaming our pine clad hills and other areas of our windswept land." Ken and Barbie were flabbergasted as they connected the face on the screen with the vacuous visage in front of them.

     "This person is commonly known by us as 'Freeman the Fugitive," continued the minister of laws. "He is thought to be a descendant of illegal immigrants who surreptitiously slunk into our smiling land in 1783. Since then these people have introduced barbaric cultural practices to all areas outside our fair city."

     "He is guilty of the following offences: insulting our dear leader, Duh-wite; sowing sedition in the outports; impugning the impeccable character of all dishonest politicians, and the NDP; engaging in vicious and vindictive attacks on our esteemed Dr. Dale, Minister of Illiteracy, and on Godfather, Big Eddie, Minister of Outports; undermining our loyal liberal government; and many other offences that we have not yet discovered."

     "A psychologist at our great university testifies that mentally he is a person with a depraved and diseased mind. He lives in mortal fear of heights and of walking underneath ladders. Black cats terrify him."

     "My office has just learned from a reliable source in the Peruvian Embassy in London that he may be travelling with two companions of the female persuasion. This is their picture:

     "They were last pinpointed by Wikileaks in the vicinity of the Nalcor transmission line in the Long Range Mountains. We suspect the two female companions may be ex bodyguards of the deceased dictator Gadaffi, the late ruler of Libya. As such, they, too are wanted fugitives who are suspected of contemplating sabotage."

     Once our Constabulary mantracker has cornered them, they will have a speedy trial and will be imprisoned in her Majesty's Penitentiary until further notice." He fondled his noose as he spoke.

     "I urge you with all the power of my silvern voice to be solemnly vigilant," he said. "God guard thee Newfoundland...and oh yes, Labrador.

     When I looked up, my two guests had completely flown the bough-wiffen. They left behind their laptop and an expensive pair of hiking books which fit perfectly.



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