The Inside Scoop: Truthful Investigative Reporting From Around the World Bobsledding in Vietnam, Chapter 10

Spencer Pullen Illustration
Spencer Pullen Illustration

As darkness shrouded the dull gray city of Pyongyang, Kim listened closely to Fat as he effusively rattled on detailing the virtues of the four destruction brothers. “Fat, I like what I’m hearing, but I need to know, is it true that Odd Job and No Job’s parents were Jabba the Hutt and Shirley Stoler?”

“My God, Enlightened One, yes it’s true and once Stoler took off for several weeks in a madcap affair with the Gollum.” Kim, silent for a moment, murmured “Really, holy bejesus, not the fuckin’ Gollum.” Fat continued, “Jabba was enraged, but he eventually took her back. You know what a big hearted guy he is.”

“Okay Fat, enough of this crap. Screw the Gollum, here’s the deal! I’ll take the team and I want them to find the Vietnamese bobsledding facility in that damn secret valley and destroy it—whatever it takes, whatever you need, no fucking Vietnamese bobsled at Sochi, got it!”

“You’ve got my word, Kim, You’ve picked the right team. Twenty-five million in U.S. dollars and renminbi should do it.” That night as Kim slipped into his Winnie the Pooh pajamas he remembered his father’s sage advice: “Never forget, Kim,” said the Great Leader, “that some things demand immediate action and time takes care of everything else.” As he dozed off, Kim felt how lucky he was to have had such a caring father.

In the morning, Kim, after a robust swim with the adoring baby dolls, instructed Cheech and Chong on their mission. The two secret agents flew to Hong Kong and were met by Fat who took them to meet the team. At a welcoming reception at the Triad’s underground headquarters, Cheech, Chong, Fat, Dig, Dug, Odd Job and No Job rubbed elbows and got to know one another. Obviously Dig dug Dug and Dug dug Dig, but it was unclear if Odd Job and No Job dug Dig and Dug, dig it! Fat looked on as he wondered if Dig really dug Dug and if Dug really dug Dig, but it remained just a question. After several hours of drinking it was apparent to all in the room that they seemed to share a spiritual bond from former lives. Amidst the glow of this burgeoning camaraderie, Fat called the group together and explained the mission. Reveling in the details of the cunning plan, Dig and Dug and Odd Job and No Job smiled at the thought of the murder and mayhem they were about to unleash. Just imagine a fun filled future with red rum, ruin, revolt, and rapine.

Palpable hair-tingling excitement greeted Fat, when he unrolled a huge map of the training facility located in the deep jungle somewhere on Hainan Island. Dig and Dug momentarily lost control and began leaping on the furniture and furiously kneading. Odd Job and No Job showed little emotion and with furrowed brows and contorted lips stared determinedly at nothing in particular. Dig, regaining his composure, proposed that in honor of the brother’s black heritage the mission should be christened “Rumble in the Jungle.” Dug, rubbing up against Fat’s leg, yelled, “Yeah brother, dig it, Rumble in the Jungle—bomaye!!” Suddenly, Odd Job came to life as if somebody had yelled “Gort Klaatu barada nikto” and now he uttered more words than anyone had ever heard from him and in complete sentences too. “Hey man, I dig it. I was Mohammed Ali’s bodyguard in Kinshasa when he trounced George Foreman. Rumble in the Jungle, bobsledders’ bomaye.” All now took up the chant, stomping their feet and rhythmically shouting, “Rumble in the Jungle, bobsledders’ boyame!

No Job, overcome with emotion, burst out singing “We are the champions, my friend,” but he was drowned out when Fat, Odd Job, and Dig and Dug, clasping hands and dancing in a circle as if they’d just joined a kibbutz, bellowed out “YMCA.” A Conga line formed and round and round the operations room the drunken revelers danced. Cheech and Chong would have none of it, but took full advantage of being out of North Korea. Dialing a hot South Korean station on the team’s military radio, the two secret agents turned to their comrades in arms, turned up the volume as loud as it would go, and yelled GANGNAM STYLE! Pandemonium ensued. The room exploded. As the words, “Oppa is Gangnam style, Gangnam style, ‘A girl is warm and….,” Fat grabbed his cellphone and punched the app for “World-wide Trafficking Associates: A Caring Company Committed to Diversity.” You can only imagine what the rest of evening was like. Who would have anticipated such exuberance from assassins, psychotics and sociopaths. Life is full of little surprises and meaningful insights. But, you’ll have to wait until next year to learn of the hellish rigorous training that awaited the team on Hainan Island and the devious plans to take out our bobsledders. Don’t forget, “Ho, Ho, Ho,” to ask Santa for a subscription to the BO! Merry Christmas and remember things will be so much better over the holidays when you decide not to care.

Yours faithfully,

Seamus Farrago