Tenth Annual Imitate Keeler Competition

The Winner of the 2006 Tenth Annual Imitate Keeler Competition:

"You Say Avocado ..."

by Dennis Duncan

Vladmir Kuznetsov, operative for the Moldovan Intelligence Liberation Department, a somewhat corpulent man of 38 with ruddy cheeks and none-too-strong heart due to a lifetime of various excesses, was sitting in his sparsely furnished office on the 14th floor of the almost dilapidated Vernost Building in the busier section of Tighina. He clicked his murine device to open a deciphered, decoded and descrambled electronic missive and read it again with optics agape...

Agent 42:

I receive following tip -- but first, I should catch up you on affairs current, zince you been avay on zhat steel mill job -- how you sgrew up dat job, I never know. You are up vor promotion, but I cannot when you embarrass me like -- but, I haf new simple job for you. I van you to -- but first! Here ees update.

Those Transnistrian dogs are attempting to cor-r-rner market vorldvide on new strain awocado vich grow thrice fruits for vun. They call Persea americana var. triorchidata. Dis dey sdeal fr-r-rom German zientist who develop zhis new "genet'cly enyineered" or vut zhey call it awocado. Now, ve cannot afford zhem to have such international product if we are to re-subyokate zhem! They haf even marketting plan vit poems and ztories penned by famous Transnistrian-born German author P.H. Liebekunst and ballet written and produced by American avant-garde gr-r-roup "The Registered Voters." Ve must poot ztop now! Those porcine river rats must not have internationally recognized sovereignty! You must -- oh, da, I get carried avay, da, here is tip: "Eef you van important verk on ahuacatl, go 777 Northside, Tiraspol, ask for Pavel. Bring vun million Transnistrian ruples."

You get Tiraspol, get formula for zhis "ahuacatl" or awocado. Ve must have zees! I have place in your desk safe a cobalt blue steel brief case vich contain million ruples. Use zhis to get formula. Return to headquarters ven mission complete.

Number One.

"I am zhure of to get promotion from zees assignment! Vich mean I can get raise in salary and finally zettle down and marry me leetle poopskaya, Svetlana Petenkov! I do zhis job no miztake!"

After extracting the well-tooled metallic currency portage device from his desk safe, he clapped on his brown corduroy hat, grabbed his coat and proceeded to make his way, by the next train, to Tiraspol.

Departing from the train depot, he looked at the ancient city around him, devoid of even a hint of its Greek founding, and strolled down the central street, through a labyrinth of side streets and thence to the spot where 777 Northside would be, had it been properly labeled. The building to the left had the digits 776 emblazoned across its front, while the building to the right had 779. There were two doors to this intermediary building, neither marked. He logically chose the one to the left and rang the buzzer.

A voice answered the door: "Da?"

"I am here see Pavel," announced Vladmir.

"Vun minute," ejaculated the interior of the two voices. And just "vun" minute later, the door opened, or was opened, by a man, a man who hesitatingly, though definitely said, "I am Pavel." He stepped aside to allow Vladmir to enter, who did just that, and who, once the outward egress were sealed once more, proceeded to announce: "I have vun million ruples for important verk on awocatl."

The man looked a bit surprised, but, glancing briefly at the shiny metal case in Vladmir's hand, quickly regained his composure and sank into a momentary brown study, but just as quickly resurfaced and said, "Let me see ruples." And, once assured that a large sum of Transnistrian ruples, complete with Kvint bottles proudly emblazoned thereon, was in fact enveloped by that steel enclosure, the man took possession of it and turned over a set of folded and sealed foolscap sheets to Vladmir.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Agent 42, otherwise known to us as Vladmir Kuznetsov, returned to Tighina with the documents and dropped them proudly on the desk of his superior.

The superior, encountered previously by us, gentle reader, as "Number One," unfolded the documents, briefly surveyed them, and became almost apoplectic, whereupon he blursted out (that is, he both blasted and blurted!): "Is dis zome gind yoke? You dink dis be funny, you?" He threw the documents back at Agent 42, who picked them up and cast his confused and frightened glims upon them for the first time. The papers dropped from his hands as he clenched his right fist and collapsed.

The title read:

"The Eldritch Ahuacatl of Tiraspol,"
by Pavel Hobard Liebekunst
777a Northside, Tiraspol.



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