As related to Glossy News by a well informed cabbie in New York City.
Former CIA operative turned whistleblower, Frank Turner, shocked the nation this past Friday recounting his recent hardships in front of a live television audience. Turner, who had remained relatively anonymous after his estrangement, used the attention to direct harsh criticisms toward CIA officials and further expose the organization’s most recent intrusion into domestic affairs. According to Turner, the mohttp://glossynews.com/wp-admin/edit.phprning of January 21st felt like any other day when director Leon Panetta fish-hooked his groin with a degenerate stapler and dragged him kicking, screaming, and half-aroused into the room with a one-way mirror. It was there that Panetta, who has no formal training in Italian Dance, humped the glass to the accompaniment of tambourines. Before briefing Turner on the matters at hand, the influential man commenced an exhaustive speech on the professionalism of the CIA and the importance of upholding duty. All of this, on Turner’s account, was interspersed with bathroom breaks in the corner and tales of swiving young subordinate’s wives.
Turner described the ensuing moments as alternately a serious breach of human decency and a serious battle against Panetta’s tyrannical breath. “It smelled like catfish rotting in a squid’s twat,” said Turner, then added as an afterthought, “It couldn‘t be quelled with napalm.” Unbelieving, the interviewer defended the integrity of Panetta’s stench and demanded from the defector empirical proof. Turner, though, was not to be outwitted. He cited Panetta’s public rebuttal to allegations of torture, where at least fifteen people in attendance were injured by the smell of complete horseshit.
However bold these tactics, Turner successfully won the sympathy of the audience only after relating the plight of the Afghan rug. Looking through the mirror on that fateful day, Panetta pointed to a neatly folded rug which “unsurprisingly” hadn’t spoken a word since its arrest. He then caressed Turner and said imploringly “I have an idea. Let us summon your wife, wrap ourselves in its midst, and tumble her from turf to treetop. Let’s bang her from Bismarck to Bethlehem, break her by Beirut, and bank her off the bay of the British Isles.” Turner gaped in disbelief, so his superior characteristically went on, “You know, baby, believe her when she’s befuddled? Dive then douse her duff? Mock the myth of her maidenhead!?”
Turner frowned at the suggestion of torture. Incidentally, his wife said afterwards, “Panetta’s request was absurd. If I wanted to indulge an old Jewish woman I would have made Baba Gonoush. And if I wanted a man with a huge bosom, I would have married an old Jewish woman.”
The story continued to unfold: Apparently Panetta first became suspicious of Afghan rugs after a botched attempt at autoerotic asphyxia back in his frat days. After 9/11 his suspicions were confirmed: Towels, indeed, are preferable. The anger and humiliation stewed repulsively in his crotch and encouraged his seizure of the agency. He put the CIA at his own whim and constant buffoonery before delegating the unpatriotic task of espionage to Turner, who stalked the trailer parks gathering information on this sacrosanct thrift store item.
And while the crowd was under whelmed by the related data, they were thrown into masturbatory fits at the report of Panetta’s behavior. Turner, whose reenactment saw him switching chairs and imitating Panetta’s husky alcoholic’s voice, brought the display to a close as he awed the audience thusly with one of the duo’s top-secret conversations:
Turner: “Here’re the facts on the Afghan rug.”
Panetta: Wait. Slow down. Eroticize it.
Turner: “What?”
Panetta: I said, call me variously Ramses the Great. The Marquis De Sade. David Duchovny.
Turner: “What?”
Panetta: “I said I’m offering you a spot in our next human pyramid.
Turner: “Ummm, what?”
Panetta: “I said, I’m well-wined, well-read, and still well-short of a man’s proper length.”
Turner: “Okay!”
Clearly it’s yet hard to imagine the future impact of Turner’s testimony. However, one searing image haunts the interior of even the most unadventurous mind. And that’s of Panetta sitting atop taxpayer money, blowing kisses to a carnival of concubines, and burning an Afghan like some perverted American flag.