Issues Under Fire: Slack Slacker Rescued from the Bloody Clutches of ISIS

Issues Under Fire:  Slack Slacker Rescued from the Bloody Clutches of ISIS Agents

If its Friday, you can be sure Slack Slacker is nowhere to be found in the workplace. And this Friday is no different, for as per usual, like every Thursday night, the most unlikely event occurs that makes showing up for work humanly impossible. You can believe it or not, but  I am compelled to share the follow account of sheer madness that prevented me from making an appearance today. 

As you may recall, last week I received an undeserved and much resented promotion over far more competent, dedicated and responsible staff than I, from project manager to project leader. With a substantial pay increase to look forward to, I did what any irresponsible slacker would do. I borrowed some cash from the office hottie for a hot date to celebrate. Because of the snow storm though, we were forced to hangout at my usual Tequila joint on the upper West Side. 

Things were going well, as we're discussing her obvious assets and how they could be helpful in catapulting her career with the company. Recently elevated to the executive level, I was letting Ms. Hottie know how instrumental I could be to her future success. Just when she reached under the table to express her gratitude, I was rudely interrupted by some middle eastern accented guy introducing himself as Mo. 

Not wanting to be bad mannered, I politely asked, WTF? "A thousands pardons my brother in the eyes of Allah, but I and my associates are here to claim the reward for recovering your dog Doobie" he said. If you'd be kind enough to step outside, we'll have you confirm Doobie's identity before payment is made. 

I knew this guy was up to no good, because everybody knows I wanted no part of Doobie since he'd been radicalized and joined ISIS. Still, the waitress was standing at the ready to deliver the check, so I decided this was as good a time as any to excuse myself from the table to see what this Mo guy was really up to. 

I'd barely cleared the threshold of the doorway when a black bag was hurriedly slipped over my head and zip ties were squeezed around my wrist. Thrown into the back of a large cavernous vehicle like a sack of potatoes, straightaway I realized, this was a kidnapping. I rolled back and forth on the floor of what had to be some type of panel van, with my face being slammed against the vehicle's walls with every turn taken, pothole hit or sudden stop made. And, there were plenty of all three throughout the thirty minute rodeo ride. 

When we finally arrived at their lair, the black bag was removed but the restraints remained. I could see I was somewhere Brooklyn. Hastily escorted into a Brownstone-like building and down several flights of stairs, I eventually ended up in a small dimly lit room, furnished only with a single wooden chair. 

I sat alone and uncomfortably for about 20 minutes before Mo and his two pals identifying themselves as Mo Mo and Mo Mo Mo entered the room. This is going to be an interesting conversation I was thinking to myself when Mo asked in his heavily middle eastern accented English, "Where is your dog Doobie?" "Dude, I thought you guys had Doobie" I say. "Don't play games!" Mo Mo says, "We want the Doobie dog and we want him now Mo Mo Mo chimed in. 

"Doobie could be anywhere" I said. Ever since he hooked up with the Islamic State, he's been on the run terrorizing and wreaking havoc globally. Everybody is after Doobie. The FBI, the CIA, INTERPOL, MI6 and Israel's Mossad all want to get their hands on the crazed radicalized Yorkie. "What makes you think I know where he is?" "Because we have reason to believe Doobie wants to come in from the cold and if he needs a go between, the logical choice would be you, said Mo.  We want the billion euro reward on his head before he can make a deal on his own. Well, I don't know nothin' I say.

After a brief slapping around, the questioning continued for what seemed like hours. When the questions abated, the slapping around resumed. There was a patterned to their tactics and it was working because I was starting to think of anything I could tell them that would be even remotely believable, just to breakup the routine. 

Fortunately, I could save that doozy of a lie when I heard the sound of gunfire going off in the distance. Mo, Mo Mo and Mo Mo Mo pulled Glocks from  their waistbands and ran out into the darkened hallway. Suddenly, violent and horrible screams for mercy could be heard. There were more shots fired and then, just the gurgling sounds of men drowning in their own blood. Before I could clear my head to be sure of what was happening, Doobie burst into the room with a smoking AK-47 and a grenade launcher slung across his back.  

Chewing through my restraints, Doobie motioned for me to follow his lead without saying a word. Not knowing if my dog was rescuing me or coming after me, it didn't matter, I followed his lead without saying a word. We climbed the several flights of stairs stepping over the bloodiest carnage I'd ever seen. Dead bodies and body parts were strewn about the place like a sloppy butcher's shop. Blood soaked the floors everywhere. 

Once out into the streets and shivering from the cold and snow, a black Chevy Suburban appeared out of no place. The rear passenger door sung open and without so much as a Grrr, Doobie hopped in. Then as suddenly as the ominous black Suburban appeared, it was gone and I was left standing in the harsh elements with nothing but questions I couldn't answer in a thousands lifetimes. So please accept this account for my absence today, for I honestly have no other. 

BTW, Rocky Jordan in Everything Shipshape 1949 is today's replacement episode for Issues Under Fire. You know the drill, if you enjoy it, share it.