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Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Grand Slam: Secret Agent Disco Dancer

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Grand Slam: Secret Agent Disco Dancer

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Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Grand Slam: Secret Agent Disco Dancer

Lunghezza:
1,274 pagine
13 ore
Editore:
Pubblicato:
Mar 27, 2019
ISBN:
9781386067030
Formato:
Libro

Descrizione

Includes every story in the My Crazy Pet Frog and Secret Agent Disco Dancer series, ever.

 

BOOKS

1. Green Eggs and a Side of Earnest Bacon
2. Double Agent Orangegrove
3. Was It The Lobster Bisque?
4. The Last Ding Dong on Earth
5. Did Somebody Say Pizza?
6. Frosted Flake
7. Was It The Tira Misu?
8. Burger Blues
9. Burger Blues Side Story
10. You Don't Know Jack
11. Soccer Star
12. I Gave My Pizza A Spanking
13. Santa's Super Helpers
14. The Nightmare Pizza Before Christmas
15. The Zombies Ate My Pizza
16. Taco Tuesday
17. Chicken George
18. My Crazy Pet Frog, A Novelette

 

PREVIEWS

1. Earl of Manwich
2. Burger Blues 2
3. Call Me Crabby
4. Secret Agent Disco Dancer, A Novel
5. Santa Got Run Over by a Burrito

 

INTERVIEWS

1. A Random Bag of Frogs (Fredrico Frillyfoam)
2. A Random Bag of Pigs (Earnest T. Bacon)
3. A Random Bag of Fries (Goldo "Goldy" McLuvin)
4. A Random Bag of Oranges (Double Agent Orangegrove)
5. A Random Bag of Cherries (Cherrywine Divine)

 

Over 1,000 pages in all. Descriptions of my other popular children's books are included after the main feature (an additional 5 pages).

Editore:
Pubblicato:
Mar 27, 2019
ISBN:
9781386067030
Formato:
Libro

Informazioni sull'autore

Scott Gordon is a successful children's book author, with over two hundred books to his credit. He also writes science fiction, fantasy and horror under the pen name S.E. Gordon.

Correlato a Secret Agent Disco Dancer

Libri correlati

Anteprima del libro

Secret Agent Disco Dancer - Scott Gordon

Secret Agent Disco Dancer

Grand Slam

Scott Gordon

My Crazy Pet Frog Reading Order

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Green Eggs and a Side of Earnest Bacon

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Double Agent Orangegrove

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Was It The Lobster Bisque?

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: The Last Ding Dong on Earth

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Did Somebody Say Pizza?

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Frosted Flake

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Was It The Tira Misu?

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Burger Blues

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Burger Blues Side Story

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Burger Blues 2 (Coming Soon!)

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Government Issue (Coming Soon!)

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: You Don't Know Jack

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Soccer Star

My Crazy Pet Frog: I Gave My Pizza A Spanking

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Santa's Super Helpers

My Crazy Pet Frog: The Nightmare Pizza Before Christmas

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Santa Got Run Over By A Burrito (Coming Soon!)

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: The Zombies Ate My Pizza

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Taco Tuesday

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Black Mountain (Coming Soon!)

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Chicken George

My Crazy Pet Frog (The original picture book!)

My Crazy Pet Frog: A Novelette

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: A Novel (Coming Soon!)

Collections

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Greatest Hits Vol. 1

Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Grand Slam

© 2019 Scott Gordon. All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form (electronic, mechanical or otherwise) without the express written consent of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locations or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

E-book layout, formatting and design by Scott Gordon.

Image(s) © Michael Osterrieder (Main Cover, #3918566), Julien Tromeur, Mircea Maties, Asaf Eliason, Todd Arena, Dmitry Kutlaev, Anna Tsekhmister, Nataliia Natykach, Maksym Yemelyanov, Slavoljub Pantelic, Malgorzata Patrzyk, Oleksii Ferapontov, Grigoriy Manukyan, Pablo Scapinachis Armstrong, Einar Muoni, Denis Dovzhanskiy, Alexander Mirokhin (#4240857), Santosh Chavan (Fry guy illustrations, #81754806, #81757456, #81775910, #81761988, #81758856, #81757766, #81757514, #81768278), Stefano Orazzini, Rashchektayev Dmitriy (Burger Blues Side Story, #1048118), Małgorzata Patrzyk (Earl of Manwich, #12724269), Igor Zhuravlov (#6486687, #10351464), Dan Barbalata (#5251725), Murat Tellioglu (Chicken George Background, #312096012), Siou-Lan Jhong (fried chicken, #342773444), Kirill Kulakov (white containers, #232549556), La Fabrika Pixel s.l. (#2195673), Nadezhda Averkina (Sparkly Background, #2372274), and Andrew Vodolazhsky (Disco Ball, #6664416). Additional black and white illustration(s) by Alfredo Intoci. Extended licenses provided by Dreamstime Stock Photos and Deposit Photos.

Background texture for Secret Agent Disco Dancer: Frosted Flake provided by Piotr Siedlecki and used in accordance with the CC0 1.0 Universal (CC0 1.0) Public Domain License described on the following page:

https://publicdomainpictures.net/en/view-image.php?image=157148&picture=liquid-chocolate

First Edition (v1.17)

Published on March 25, 2019

Last updated on January 28, 2021

ISBN-13: 9781386067030

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/TFW3r

Support Me on Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/scottgordon

Table of Contents

Title Page

Also by Scott Gordon

Copyright

Dedication

Cast

BOOK 1: Green Eggs and a Side of Earnest Bacon

Chapter 1: F for Frillyfoam or Fiasco?

Chapter 2: Variable Intellect

Chapter 3: Hot Tub Halfwit

Chapter 4: Erratically Yours

Chapter 5: Lucky Schmucky

Chapter 6: Green Eggs

Chapter 7: A Gift Horse and a Name

Chapter 8: Partners in Crime

On Green Eggs...Eek!

BOOK 2: Double Agent Orangegrove

Chapter 1: Piggy Wiggy

Chapter 2: Pizza Passcode

Chapter 3: Black Eagle

Chapter 4: Sitter, Sitter Fruit Ninja Dinner

Chapter 5: Fruity Folly

Chapter 6: Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...

Intermission and a Side of Fruit

Chapter 7: Most Wanted

Chapter 8: Fruity Express

Chapter 9: Fruity, Inc.

Chapter 10: Potty Patrol

Chapter 11: Macho Gazpacho

Chapter 12: Chili Verde

Chapter 13: Orangegrove

Chapter 14: Double Agent Orangegrove

Chapter 15: All Clear

It Must Have Been the Twinkie!

BOOK 3: Was It The Lobster Bisque?

Chapter 1: Swine

Chapter 2: The Hand You’re Dealt

Chapter 3: Bucharest Beauty

Chapter 4: Doozy

Chapter 5: Criminally Inept

Chapter 6: Le Bisque, Le YIKES!

Chapter 7: Le True Master Chef

A Scary Place, Indeed

BOOK 4: The Last Ding Dong on Earth

Chapter 1: Bottomless

Chapter 2: Headline News

Chapter 3: Ding Dong

Chapter 4: Cheesey

Chapter 5: Barren

Chapter 6: Frisky

Chapter 7: Juicy

Chapter 8: Private Eye

Chapter 9: Highest Bidder

Chapter 10: Nano Nano

Chapter 11: Decor

Chapter 12: Heel

Chapter 13: Cheeky

Chapter 14: Wallwalker

Chapter 15: Spinjam

Chapter 16: Les Ding Dongs

Chapter 17: Mega Dong

Chapter 18: Le Mega Log

Chapter 19: Sludge

Chapter 20: Feed Me

Production Notes: A Ding Dong in the Making

Hostess Disclaimer

BOOK 5: Did Somebody Say Pizza?

Hold onto Your Pepperoni!

Chapter 1: Rump

Chapter 2: Fake News

Chapter 3: Laike

Chapter 4: Yummy

Chapter 5: Escort

Chapter 6: Lucky

Chapter 7: Cripple Chamber

Chapter 8: Very Fake News

Chapter 9: Newbie

Chapter 10: Margin of Error

Chapter 11: Interview with a Bunghole

Chapter 12: Perpetrator

Chapter 13: Special Delivery

Chapter 14: Backstreet

Chapter 15: Loud and Clear

Chapter 16: Legendary

Yeah, What the Heck?

Production Journal: Marshaling in a New Era of Pizza Imperfection

Bibliography

BOOK 6: Frosted Flake

Warning: Turbulence Ahead

Chapter 1: Frost-Deficient

Chapter 2: Hairy Scary

Chapter 3: Terminated

Chapter 4: Dallas

Chapter 5: Last Call

Chapter 6: Fart Wars

Chapter 7: Dreadlocked

Chapter 8: Scruggs

Chapter 9: Compromised

Chapter 10: Nutter

Chapter 11: Air Force One

Chapter 12: Dumped

Chapter 13: Scruggy Wuggy

Chapter 14: Payload

Chapter 15: Pop Goes the Weasel

Chapter 16: Lax

Chapter 17: Chocodile Smile

Writing: A Constant Juggling Act

Production Journal: A Flakey Start

Wendy’s Disclaimer

BOOK 7: Was It The Tira Misu?

Prologue: O Canada

Chapter 1: Everlast

Chapter 2: Maria di Grazia

Chapter 3: Bad Pitts

Chapter 4: First Love

Chapter 5: Grogburp

Chapter 6: Second Love

Chapter 7: A Simple Trade

Chapter 8: Market Price

Chapter 9: Fresh Catch

Chapter 10: Bon Appetit

Chapter 11: Toothless

Chapter 12: Untainted

Bittersweet

Production Journal: Finally Within Reach

BOOK 8: Burger Blues

Chapter 1: Steak ‘n Shake

Chapter 2: Shake ‘n Shake

Chapter 3: Steak ‘n Break

Chapter 4: Steak ‘n Ache

Chapter 5: Steak ‘n Spake

Chapter 6: Steak ‘n Plates

Chapter 7: Steak ‘n Shriek

Chapter 8: Steak ‘n Hate

Chapter 9: Steak ‘n Quake

The Story Behind the Steakburger

A Word About Ronda

BOOK 9: Burger Blues Side Story

An Opening Quote to Ponder

Chapter 1: No Problemo

Chapter 2: Hamburger Helper

Chapter 3: Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Chapter 4: No Muy Bueno

Chapter 5: Western Beefcake

Chapter 6: Bottomless

Author’s Note: Every Steakburger Should Be Finished

BOOK 10: You Don’t Know Jack

Introduction: Jack

Chapter 1: Monster

Chapter 2: No Substitute

Chapter 3: Incoming

Chapter 4: Roll Call

Chapter 5: It’s Log!

Chapter 6: Spiritual Capital

Chapter 7: Sting

Chapter 8: Zero

Chapter 9: Confirmation

Chapter 10: Show and Tell

Chapter 11: Jack

Author’s Note: The Restaurant Writing Adventure

BOOK 11: Soccer Star

Chapter 1: A Carefree Weekend, Without the Stinky Shoes

Chapter 2: Big League Knuckleheads

Chapter 3: A One-Frog Army

Chapter 4: Pepperoni Pizza Makes the World Go Round

Chapter 5: New Frog on the Block

Chapter 6: Froggy-Locks

Chapter 7: Star-Spangled Froggy

Chapter 8: Snicker Me This

On Soccer Stardom

BOOK 12: I Gave My Pizza A Spanking

Chapter 1: A Few Cans Short of a Six-Pack

Chapter 2: Bunkered In

Chapter 3: Backup Plan

Chapter 4: Blissfully Declined

Chapter 5: Frozen Fiend

Chapter 6: Pepperoni Peril

Chapter 7: It’s Spanky Time!

On Bad Pizza...

BOOK 13: Santa’s Super Helpers

Chapter 1: Extra Crispy

Chapter 2: Flight Plan

Chapter 3: Gadget

Chapter 4: Security Hole

Chapter 5: Family Feud

Chapter 6: Beastly

Chapter 7: Great Googley Moogley

Chapter 8: Plausible Deniability

Chapter 9: Fishsicle

Chapter 10: Busted

Chapter 11: Frog Legs

Chapter 12: Surfin’ U.S.A.

Chapter 13: Signature Smell

Chapter 14: Sergey

Chapter 15: Brotherly Love

Chapter 16: Mompops

Chapter 17: Super Size Me

Chapter 18: A Basket Full of Offerings

Chapter 19: Technical Support

Chapter 20: Executive Decision

Chapter 21: Good Vibrations

Chapter 22: Doomed

Chapter 23: Loaner

Chapter 24: Cookies and Dragonfire

Chapter 25: Star

Chapter 26: Stinger

Chapter 27: No Quiero

Chapter 28: Father Frost, II

Chapter 29: The Gift

Chapter 30: And a Merry Christmas for All

The End?

Taco Bell Disclaimer

Domino’s Pizza Disclaimer

President Trump Disclaimer

BOOK 14: The Nightmare Pizza Before Christmas

Chapter 1: Restless

Chapter 2: A Big Bellyful of Trouble

Chapter 3: Double-Stuffed

Chapter 4: Ghastly

Chapter 5: Cauldron Bubble

Chapter 6: Hair Superiority

Chapter 7: Fire in the Hole

Chapter 8: A Parting Gift

Production Notes: Some Things Are Worth Fighting For

BOOK 15: The Zombies Ate My Pizza

Chapter 1: Pitstsa

Chapter 2: Pitstsa’s da Bomb!

Chapter 3: Second Coming

Chapter 4: Snicker If You Must

Chapter 5: Russian Fireworks

Chapter 6: Take Out King

Chapter 7: Sharp Objects

Chapter 8: Fish Food

Chapter 9: To a Crisp

Chapter 10: Sweatin’ to the Moldies

Chapter 11: Charred Snickerdoodle

Chapter 12: The Stink of Success

Chapter 13: Rocky Mountain Bleck

Chapter 14: Group Hug

Author’s Note: The Pizza That Refused to Die

Production Journal: Raising the Dead

BOOK 16: Taco Tuesday

Forgive Me, Taco Bell...

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Decline

Chapter 2: Hold the Mustard

Chapter 3: The Fires of Breakfast Burn Hot

Chapter 4: Breakfast of Champions

Chapter 5: Napster

Chapter 6: Social Insecurity

Chapter 7: Uniform Disdain

Chapter 8: Granny Dearest

Chapter 9: Jos M'Gosh

Chapter 10: Boom Shakalaka

Chapter 11: Lifeline

Chapter 12: Rush, Rush

Chapter 13: Hail The Taco Army!

Chapter 14: Frulio'd

Chapter 15: Under the Taco Dome

Author’s Note: A Long-Winded Disclaimer

Production Journal: Did Somebody Say Tacos?

BOOK 17: Chicken George

Chapter 1: Swell

Chapter 2: Texas Hold ‘Em

Chapter 3: Signature Sides

Chapter 4: Order Up

Chapter 5: Bunkered In

Chapter 6: All Chickened Out

Chapter 7: Whoa

Chapter 8: Froggy’s Secret Recipe

Chapter 9: Froggy Bottoms

Chapter 10: Free Chicken For All

Author’s Note: Surviving the Quarantine

Production Journal: Once Upon a Chicken Stand

BOOK 18: My Crazy Pet Frog, A Novelette

Call Me Crazy

Chapter 1: Crazy

Chapter 2: Daffy

Chapter 3: Professional

Chapter 4: Crunch Berry Master

Chapter 5: See These Pecs?

Chapter 6: World Champion

Chapter 7: Oh No

Chapter 8: Look Out!!!

Chapter 9: A Romantic Singer?

Chapter 10: Nutty

Chapter 11: Darling Frulio

Chapter 12: Froggy’s Kitchen

Chapter 13: Whoa Nelly!

Chapter 14: Christmas with Froggy

Chapter 15: Secret Agent

Chapter 16: Laike

Chapter 17: Flying High

The Journey, A Second Time Through

Production Journal: From Picture Book to Novelette

SNEAK PREVIEW: Earl of Manwich

Chapter 1: Spring of Ides

Chapter 2: A Sign

Chapter 3: The Goober Zone

Chapter 4: Prince Froggy

SNEAK PREVIEW: Burger Blues 2

Chapter 1: Extra Anchovies

Chapter 2: Outrageous, 2.0

SNEAK PREVIEW: Call Me Crabby

Chapter 1: Of Birds, Bees and Buffets

SNEAK PREVIEW: Secret Agent Disco Dancer, A Novel

Chapter 1: Propaganda

Chapter 2: Bacon Bits

Somewhere in Orlando, Florida...

Chapter 3: Bulge

Chapter 4: Small Fortune

Chapter 5: Fatty McDaddy

Chapter 6: Pizza Portal

Chapter 7: Horse Play

Chapter 8: Special Exemption

Chapter 9: Intelligence Briefing

Chapter 10: Chi-Zi

SNEAK PREVIEW: Santa Got Run Over by a Burrito

Chapter 1: Taco Treasure

Chapter 2: Stocking Stuffer

Chapter 3: Gravity of the Situation

Chapter 4: A Burrito Too Far

Chapter 5: Party-Packed

Chapter 6: All Queso'd Out

Chapter 7: Epiphany

Chapter 8: Taconado

Chapter 9: Special Sauce

Chapter 10: Grande Scrambler

Chapter 11: Intensive Treatment

Chapter 12: Spacewalker

Chapter 13: Door Dash

Chapter 14: Tacomatic

A Random Bag of Frogs

A Random Bag of Pigs

A Random Bag of Fries

A Random Bag of Oranges

A Random Bag of Cherries

About This Series

Series Guide

Future Titles in Development

Product Description

BONUS: My First McGriddles

Revision History

About the Author

More Fun Picture Books

Ad 1: Taming Your Pet Monster: An Operational Guide

Ad 2: The Forgetful Alien

Ad 3: My Little Pet Dragon

Thank You!

Support Me on Patreon

Dedication

To life, and a side of fries...

There are those that annoy you and those that you wish to put a pie in the face. Secret Agent Disco Dancer is one of the those pied-eyed surprises.

—Earnest T. Bacon, author of Bacon, Eggs and Other Fruity Things in Washington

Chapter 1: F for Frillyfoam or Fiasco?

Earnest T. Bacon, at your service, and the T stands for Trouble if you try to harm this great nation or get in my way of protecting it.

Some say I’m with the Bureau, while others think I must be part of the C.I.A.—a spook if you will. But no one knows what off-the-books programs I belong to, sometimes even me.

That crazy frog that you’ve heard about in the headlines? The truth is I played a part in molding Secret Agent Disco Dancer into the superstar that he is today.

It all started at a convention for new recruits, at a hotel just outside the nation’s capital. Most of the applicants didn’t realize they were applying for the nation’s most exciting and dangerous jobs; thought they had volunteered for a clinical study for a new pill to help rid themselves of headaches. As it turned out, I caused a great number of them in the process, including one migraine that never seems to go away.

By manipulating this variable and that—someone’s finances or a recent personal tragedy (orchestrated by me, of course)—we were able to gather a healthy assembly of the most brilliant minds our great nation had to offer under one roof for cheap.

Of course, there’s the riff raff that eventually drifts in, as is apt to happen.

Hey, free donuts! A green frog about the size of a ten-year old with an intellectual capacity far below that, tossed a few glazed donuts down his pie hole.

I noticed him, wondering if the hotel staff had failed in their responsibility to keep the homeless out. Since I was heading this covert program, I wanted to meet each applicant personally as they signed in, got their badge, and proceeded into the grand ballroom. Unfortunately, I got a front row seat of the walking disaster who would later be known as Secret Agent Disco Dancer.

Name, please? I was already growing impatient with him, watching him gobble down donut after donut and wondering if there would be enough for anyone else.

Frillyfoam. Fredrico Frillyfoam. He licked his fingertips.

Seriously? Is that even a name? I replied.

Yup. That’s me! But you can just call me Fred, as in Fred the Frog. He noticed the chocolate chocolate chip muffins on a tray beside the pastries.

How original. I rolled my eyes. I’m sorry, but I don’t have you on my list. I double checked it for any name that remotely sounded like Fred or its Spanish equivalent and prayed that I didn’t find one. Did you, by chance, bring your invitation to be part of the study with you?

Oh, yeah. He reached into God-knows-where and pulled out a crumpled up piece of paper.

This is a letter of rejection. I frowned, already calculating the cost of the donuts and muffins he’d ingested since arriving here. You scored a nine on the aptitude test.

Nine out of ten isn’t bad. He found the box of cinnamon-flavored Pop Tarts I’d hidden in the planter and inhaled a packet.

Nine out of a hundred, you twit. You’re at the lower edge of the bell curve.

Curve? Do you see curves? He looked himself over. I probably should grab something more healthy. He grabbed a plastic plate and added a bran muffin and large spoonful of diced fruit on it.

Will you stop eating! I got up from my chair, ready to choke my favorite flavor of Pop Tarts back out of him. But as I stood, I had a disastrous thought, one that I’d regret as the years rolled by when Secret Agent Disco Dancer became an icon in our industry. On second thought, why don’t you come inside? We’re always looking for individuals with multiple talents, regardless of which side of the bell curve they’re on.

Gee, thanks. Sorry about the mix-up, said the frog.

Don’t mention it. I swiped the box of Pop Tarts before he had a chance to reconsider his new diet. Now off you go. The presentation’s going to begin in a few minutes.

Swell. Fred took a bite of his bran muffin and moseyed on through the door.

Chapter 2: Variable Intellect

In every study, there’s always at least one control variable that doesn’t change during the course of an experiment. This is for the benefit of the study, so that results can be evaluated objectively and reproduced if the same conditions are duplicated.

But for some of these top secret black ops projects, it was getting increasingly difficult to establish reliable controls to determine whether a certain pharmaceutical was successful or not.

The object of our affection? Human intelligence and its ability to blossom with new techniques and supplements. Since the average intelligence quotient, or i.q. as we call it, was easily above 110 in the room—with one notable exception, of course—it might be difficult to measure the effects of certain compounds on these highly proficient individuals.

A brilliant man with a score of 146 might seem no more measurably brilliant with the aid of a pill even though his new score might put him in the 150s. Those few points could mean the difference between life and death, and whether or not a terrorist plot is thwarted and its mastermind put behind bars.

Every braincell counts.

With no measurable way to detect slight increases in intelligence, even as much as 5%, it’s always good to have an alternate variable to show that the pill is working as intended. Creatures of low intelligence always seem to have the greatest reaction to such supplements, and can serve multiple purposes before they are disposed of.

Still, there are growing pains...

Thank you all for giving up your weekend to participate in this fine study, one that promises to be beneficial to all mankind. I stepped to the podium and adjusted my shades to the spotlight above me.

Cheese Its? Hey, where did you find those? That dastardly frog known as Fred asked the gentleman behind him.

Who here gets headaches? I looked around the room to an array of eager hands. I certainly do. Unfortunately I can see one here, in the front row. I glared at the frog. Now I realize that many of you might be anxious, and I want to alleviate your fears. This study is absolutely painless, and at any time, if you choose to terminate your involvement, you are free to go. The process is quite simple, really. First...

Oh, there they are! Fred grabbed a bag of Cheese Its from a table off to the side of the ballroom and returned to his seat. As he opened the bag, it made an irritating crinkling sound, which is sure to make pigs, such as myself, fly.

Will you stop that? I grumbled. Anyways, it’s quite simple. First, each of you will be given a pill every twelve hours. One now, which you will ingest in your room, and a pair that you will consume at breakfast and dinner on Saturday and Sunday. That’s all. No needles, no injections, no electric saw to the brain.

The crowd laughed.

The whole process is painless, I assure you. I smiled.

I was a good liar. In fact, I’d made a career of it. Unfortunately, that nincompoop frog saw right through me.

Yeah, right. He kicked back in his chair.

Now, we will run tests on Saturday and Sunday. Don’t worry. They’re quite standard. We’ll measure your blood pressure, heart rate, and let you fill out a few word games to make sure that you can focus without pain. At the end of the test, you will receive your full stipend. Leave early, and well, you don’t get a penny of it. Is that clear? I looked around the room.

Eagerly the crowd nodded. All but one, I’m afraid, who was munching away on a bag of Cheetos he’d found on the other side of the ballroom. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that that particular bag wasn’t being provided at the government’s expense. Might some angry participant throttle the frog for grabbing the bag of Cheetos that they’d paid for? I could only hope.

And what if we require further testing? A slender amphibian with light green and tan skin and striking red eyes raised his hand.

He was Prospect #1, the applicant with the highest i.q. in the room, Frogwart Fisk. His intellect even dwarfed this little piggy wiggy’s.

I’m glad you asked. I disregarded the blathering slob burping in the front row. If any of you require further study, and by that I’m not implying that you’ll need to go to the hospital... Though they might. In the event that we need to continue our study, our organization is prepared to pay $10,000 per month for your participation, however long it takes.

You could've heard a pin drop when I unloaded that bombshell. Even that knucklehead of a frog choked on his Cheetos.

$10,000? he croaked.

That’ll buy a lot of glazed donuts, don’t you think? I smiled.

Though no one suspected it, except Fisk most likely, I had them right where I wanted them.

Chapter 3: Hot Tub Halfwit

For that frog that is ever a thorn in my side, who makes me cringe at the sub-intellects who inhabit this earth and often hold public office, I didn’t have a special pill for him. It was the same pill that everyone else got. He was only useful if I could show some increase in mental aptitude, though I would have been surprised if he had a single braincell to study. Still, it was in my best interest to show results, not just in the new recruits that I was bringing in, but for the pharmaceutical company I’d heavily invested in. Despite the nonsense I was forced to endure, Fred the Frog was my meal ticket who would no sooner be kicked to the curb when Sunday evening’s final session came to a close.

Here you go. I delivered Fred’s supplements to him personally.

Not surprisingly, I found him in the bathroom of his swank hotel room, playing with his rubber ducky.

Hey, isn’t this great? He splashed around. This tub even has jets in them in case you have to...you know... I heard a toot, most likely from his back end, but I wasn’t willing to rule out his brain. His untimely air biscuit rose to the surface and popped, stinking up the bathroom.

It’s a whirlpool tub. Quite common in modern hotels. I tried to waft the stink away with my free hand. Anyways, I came to leave you with this. I handed him a bottle.

Oh, thanks! He jumped out of the tub, grabbed the bottle, and swallowed all five pills.

NO! I gasped, unable to believe my eyes. You’re supposed to take one every twelve hours like I instructed.

Well, down-the-hatch, slam dunk, bye, bye! He dove back in the tub.

If your heart starts beating erratically and your head starts feeling like someone is taking a sledgehammer to it, don’t bother calling 911. You’ll be dead from a brain aneurism in seconds.

Very well. Hey, thanks for stopping by, dude. Fred floated on his back, spitting water out of his mouth.

And use soap, you filthy frog! I shut the door and stomped off.

Chapter 4: Erratically Yours

When it came time to do the 9 a.m. general health check up the following morning, I was surprised to find that nincompoop of a frog at the front of the line. He even had a fresh mint smell about him. Was it possible that he bathed and brushed his teeth?

Still alive? I put my briefcase on the table and sat down. Grand Ballroom A had been converted into a testing facility overnight for all 118 participants. Although many still hadn’t arrived, there was plenty of space for everyone.

Boy am I ever! I don’t know what you gave me, but I feel great. I’ve been up all night doing Sodoku.

Sodoku? Really? I checked his heart rate, which was understandably erratic for the type of frog that he was, not to mention all the sugar he’d inhaled. Truthfully, I wasn’t sure if he knew what Sodoku was, but when he produced the completed booklets that he’d scribbled on from the gift shop, I could see that he could at least write down numbers. Whether or not they were correct was an entirely different matter. Impressive. I looked at them briefly.

That was probably enough to prove that the supplement worked, and I probably could have kicked him to the curb at that point, but I still needed definitive proof that it worked in normal doses.

Well, your heart rate and blood pressure seem a bit high, which is no surprise given the circumstances. Like consuming five times the normal dose of an intelligence supplement while also being a raving lunatic. There are a few word puzzles that I’d like you to complete just to be sure that the brain is functioning as it should be. Tomorrow we’ll do a computer-based version to verify the results.

Yeah, brain. Who was I kidding?

Oh, you mean this? He handed me the filled out survey.

When did you do this?

Just now while you were checking my vitals and taking notes. The stack is sitting right next to you.

That it is. I frowned and thumbed through his answers.

I’d taken the same test as he, but unlike my test subject, I knew that I was actually being tested by a covert agency. The questions had subtle shifts in language designed to mislead and produce incorrect results. Those that saw through the deceit would score high on our recruit list. And that darn frog had passed with flying colors. He even got a few right that I had missed.

Splendid. That will be all. I smiled, and waited for him to walk away before tossing his form in the trashcan.

Chapter 5: Lucky Schmucky

When it came time for froggy to receive his evening pill, I made sure that he had only one this time. I found him in the outdoor hot tub overlooking the swimming pool sipping iced tea.

Hey, how’s it hanging, bub? Isn’t this grand? He took in the fading sunlight, which was still too intense for my tender, pink skin.

I came to give you this. I tossed the pill in his mouth.

Mmm...yummy. Got anymore? I’m kinda starving out here, man, said Fred.

They’re not candy, you schmuck! And they can be harmful if you take too many at one time. Didn’t you mommy teach you anything?

Huh? More stinky hot air bubbled to the surface and popped.

I’d like you to do another word puzzle when you have time this evening. I handed him a much harder test, one that caused current agents to grow hair on their palms.

Sure, whatever. He took the stapled packet and pen from me, scribbled down the answers at lightspeed, and handed them back to me. Anything else?

In an effort to prove that his intellectual capacity had dropped sharply after the supplement had worn off, the opposite had happened. His i.q. had actually grown since his last dosage.

All things considered, it could only be one thing: luck. What else could it be?

No, nothing else. I read his answers more carefully as I stepped back in the hotel, and threw away the packet in disgust.

Chapter 6: Green Eggs

The truth is, it’s all my fault. I set myself up for this, not believing that that moronic frog could do anything more than repeat the popular brand names of foods he liked.

We were now getting ominously close to the computer-based part of the trial, which I had no intention of letting him take. His answers would be sent directly to headquarters and analyzed in real time. If they saw his sudden rise in aptitude, which was likely a flash-in-the-pan, they’d likely bring him in and I’d never be rid of him. We already had a twelve-year-old boy who was born in the lab. We didn’t need to provide him with a pet frog sidekick.

Leaving me with little choice, I went to his room that morning to ask him to pack his bags and explain why there wouldn’t be anymore pills. But when I arrived at 7 a.m., there was no one there, though there was plenty of water on the bathroom floor.

As I wandered through the back halls, I passed by a restricted area that was unlocked. Oh dread! My heart raced, which is not good for pigs pushing forty. I stepped through the cage door, and continued around a corner to the laboratory at the end. That door was also open, and inside, that wretched frog was chowing down on a pair of gelatin eggs which reminded me of a mixture of green slime and Eggs Benedict.

Hey, these are great. Would you like to try one? Fred offered me a fistful of slime.

No, stop! What are you doing? I screamed.

Just eating a couple green eggs. He gulped them down and burped. Are you here to provide the ham? He winked at me.

Do you realize where you are?

Room service, right? He looked around.

"This is an experimental test facility, and what you just ate is made of highly concentrated iToxx nano-cortical stimulation gel. It’s the raw pharmaceutical, which is usually split into tiny portions and ground into a fine dust for our pills.

Well it wasn’t chocolate chip pancakes or anything, but it certainly hit the spot. Would you happen to have a breath mint handy? said the frog.

Out, out out! I grabbed the frog by his neck and dragged him down the hallway. "We’re done with you. You failed the experiment!" I reached the service door at the far end of the building and was about to push him through when a tall, brown Andalusian horse stepped inside. It was Special Agent Halfwitz, one of my many bosses.

Sorry I’m late. I meant to be here for the kickoff, but I got tied up in D.C. Politics, isn’t it always? he said.

I know exactly what you mean. Don’t worry. I’ve taken care of everything, including taking out the trash. I looked down at the frog.

Who do you have there?

No one. He’s not even supposed to be here, really. I eased up on his throat.

Oh, thanks. For a moment I thought I might get brain damage. The frog gasped for air.

Which was impossible, since you have you to have a brain to begin with.

So did I pass the test? Or do I require further evaluation? said the frog.

I already told you. You failed! I said.

But they’re not pass/fail tests. What were his scores? Halfwitz asked.

Well, the truth is... I kinda lost them... I said, hoping my boss would take my word for it and let me throw him into the pond out back.

That’s ok. I’ll run the tests myself. You haven’t started the computer-based part of the program yet, have you?

Heavens, no! I gasped.

Well, froggy. What do you say? Would you like to take one of these cryptic mind-altering tests that’s sure to leave gray hairs? Halfwitz turned to the pathetic frog.

Why, sure. Especially since I don’t have any actual hair. Fred walked along with him.

No, wait! Please consider what you are saying! I hurried after them.

But it was too late. Far, far too late...

Chapter 7: A Gift Horse and a Name

I watched them through a one-way mirror in the observation room while Special Agent Halfwitz conducted the test. Part of me wondered if the frog’s head might explode having consumed 2,000 times the normal dosage. Still, he seemed no worse for wear as he cheerfully pecked at the keyboard and used the mouse to perform one of the many pattern recognition tests.

The core of test, divided into three sections, was certainly enough to make one’s head spin. It was the hardest one by far, but the vivacious frog just plugged right along, occasionally causing Halfwitz to blurt out, Amazing!

The whole scene turned my stomach. I hoped that I might catch him cheating in some fashion, my last chance of ridding him from us in an amicable way, but he was too well supervised to pull a fast one.

Slowly I became aware of the gun at my back. Hello, piggy wiggy. I instantly recognized Frogwart Fisk’s raspy voice. How’s the trial going? Have you found your next super soldier yet? He laughed at the sight of the frog.

No. All of our prospects are woefully deficient. Except you, sir.

I made sure to add that last part. It meant that I respected the situation, and the power that he held over me at that moment. I certainly didn’t want to wind up as a side of ham in some crazy children’s picture book.

So what are you doing here, exactly? There’s big money in curing the headaches of the masses, though there’s even bigger money in curing the government’s headaches, Fisk asked.

Genetic engineering to enhance cognitive efficiency, I replied.

Yeah, I got that part. Go on.

The supplement that we’re testing contains trace amounts of iToxx.

iToxx? Fisk nearly fell over. The compound is unstable. It’s only been used to regenerate dead cells and rekindle underutilized parts of the brain. On mice, though. It’s sort of like reanimating a corpse, but the effects are short-lived. If one’s mind is already working at full capacity, its effects will be slight, and in some cases, detrimental. Why use it on an intellect such as mine? It could be disastrous...ahhh! He rubbed the side of his head.

Not all subjects react the same, thus the study. Few looked notably worse as a result, but Fisk looked downright homicidal.

Where can I get more of it? Drool spilled out of his mouth in long threads.

I was too scared to tell him that the frog had devoured most of the experimental supply. But perhaps I still had a chance to be rid of that pesky frog once and for all.

Suddenly, Halwitz and Fred the bonehead frog stepped into the observation room.

Well, I’ve got to hand it to you. Your scores are off the charts. You might have the highest score that’s ever been recorded, said Halfwitz.

Great! Does that mean that you’ll be keeping me for further study? Fred asked.

Even better. I’d like to offer you a job. How would you like to work for the United States government? We offer paid holidays, sick leave, and...

I heard some branches give out free Twinkies?

Halfwitz looked at the frog for a moment, not sure if he was being serious. Sure, why not? Consider it a signing bonus. So when can you start?

How about now? I waved my portly hooves, a gun pressed against my head.

That job was intended for me! Fisk winced, pain shooting through his skull and down his spine.

Yeah, but you seem a little...I don’t know...unstable? said the frog.

I couldn’t help but laugh. That crazy frog was the king of unstable, the wonders of modern science gifting him his newfound intellect.

And as it turned out, there were side effects—super powers as they called them in the comics.

Come on, agent. Do something! I begged.

Don’t you think I should have a better name than just ‘agent?' said the frog.

How about Agent Number 9? You did score a nine on your aptitude test, I replied.

Isn’t there already a Secret Agent Number 9?

Well, there’s a Mighty No. 9, but that’s a videogame.

Nah, it doesn’t have the same ring to it.

So what do you like to do in your free time?

Well, I’m the king of disco dancing... The frog busted a move.

Fine, Secret Agent Disco Dancer. Now get me out of this! I screamed.

That’s right. It was I who gifted his name, among other things.

I created the headache known to few as Secret Agent Disco Dancer, and to many as your garden variety Crazy Pet Frog.

It was then I knew I would have been better off with a bullet in the head, and that indeed a long career was in store for that fruity frog.

Secret Agent Disco Dancer pounced with amazing speed, easily dodging the bullet shot his way, and disarmed Fisk in the blink of an eye.

Fisk fell to the ground, the headaches now too much to bear.

Get some help, would you? Secret Agent Disco Dancer nodded to Halfwitz and handed me the gun.

Chapter 8: Partners in Crime

I could have saved us a lot of trouble back then, sir. I sat back in the cushioned leather chair, and took a sip of coffee. Sure, I could have shot him, but then again, I’d be locked up, and wouldn’t have the level of access that I do now. Access that is critical to your operation.

Yesss... Well, as long as you admit your mistake, I’ll see what I can do about correcting it. His raspy voice turned into a chuckle.

Bring me Secret Agent Disco Dancer’s head on a platter and I’ll give you anything you want. I finished my cup of coffee and wiped my chin.

Anything?

The sentiment lingered.

And if I ask for the moon?

Then you shall have it. I nodded.

Very well. I’ll make sure that no one knows what happened to him, least of all his family. He will just...disappear...

It’s a pleasure doing business with you. I stood and shook his hand.

Believe me, the pleasure’s all mine, Earnest T. Bacon. Frogwart Fisk gave me a big, toothy smile.

THE END

On Green Eggs...Eek!

I’d been hearing for a while from readers that my original picture book, My Crazy Pet Frog, had a dark undertone to it. A frog suffering from brain disease, most likely dementia, leaves a family that searches tirelessly for him? Is that what I wrote?

No, that’s not the story at all.

So I decided to do a little backstory to explain a few things and put the old rumors to rest.

As you might have guessed from the picture book, Fredrico the Frog really is a secret agent, Secret Agent Disco Dancer no less, and there’s no shortage of creatures out to get him. His amnesia stems from a future assignment where he will be double-crossed by the enigmatic Earnest T. Bacon, who is more trouble than he’s worth. (And rightfully deserves that T.)

So don’t worry. Everyone’s favorite frog didn’t leave his family due to marital troubles. Being the most sought after secret agent on the planet has its dangers, and there’s no shortage of gadgets and mind-erasing weaponry to throw our hero for a loop. (And I didn’t even mention the Twinkies!)

Like in my personal favorite The Long Kiss Goodnight, Secret Agent Disco Dancer finds his way back to his family, big time!

(Oops. Am I giving away too much?)

So look no further than that pernicious pig, Earnest Bacon, for many of Secret Agent Disco’s troubles.

Whew!

Now about green eggs—I actually had some when I drove out to Vail one weekend, and boy were they delicious! It was a modified Eggs Benedict that incorporated spinach into the Hollandaise sauce to give the eggs their green color. And, of course, the dish came with a healthy side of ham. You didn’t expect anything less, did you?

Perhaps I’ll return to Vail one day, and have Green Eggs and Ham with you. (Sillier things have happened.)

Personally, it feels great to see this series firing on all cylinders. I had wondered when I’d get back to the world of crazy frogs and secret agents. Now I have a list of stories I’d like to write, and keep coming up with new ones each day. I suspect I’ll continue going along as I am now, and put out a title a week until I’ve exhausted the subject.

But it’s difficult to imagine myself growing tired of Secret Agent Disco Dancer. He’s a part of me, excitable and crazy and willing to take leaps of logic at a moment’s notice. He’s a mirror reflecting back the quirky personality underneath. At very least, this is a place where I can be me, no questions asked.

And a secret agent.

And eat green eggs and ham.

Isn’t being an author terrific?

—Scott Gordon, Secret Agent Disco Dancer’s alter ego

P.S. So what does iToxx stand for? The i is for intelligence, and extra x for x-factor. Tox is for toxic. Yikes! What did I put in that crazy frog?

To Aidyn, of course.

Chapter 1: Piggy Wiggy

Hey, Freddy boy. Over here! A short, portly pig with sunglasses waved from across the street.

It’s Secret Agent Disco Dancer to you, buddy, the frog yelled back.

Shh! Earnest T. Bacon, the T undoubtedly for Trap, looked around to make sure no one had heard him. You can’t afford to reveal your secret identity. It would be disastrous for all of us.

Oh yeah! The crazy frog scratched his green noggin. So, uh...what are you doing in this vacant part of Washington, D.C.?

I wanted to be here for your first day on the job.

Really? I didn’t know you cared.

Bacon bit his fat tongue, not wanting to reveal anymore. Come, now. Let’s bury the hatchet. You don’t want to be late for your first day of work, do you?

Yeah, I guess not. Secret Agent Disco Dancer started across the street. Little did he know, two cars were waiting in ambush, ready to smash into him once he passed the parked cars on the curb. But as that crazy frog put his webbed foot onto the pavement, he stepped on a piece of bubblegum, which whipped him back around.

The two assassins caught a flash of him and floored it, crashing into each other.

Can you believe the nerve of some people? Secret Agent Disco Dancer peeled the pre-chewed gum off his heel and hopped over the two crashed cars. Lead the way, daddio! He tossed the gum in a nearby waste basket.

Unbelievable. Bacon couldn’t believe the frog’s luck.

Of course, he had planned for such an outcome, and had other measures in place.

Shouldn’t we call that in just in case someone’s hurt? Secret Agent Disco Dancer glanced over his shoulder at the accident as he walked alongside the pig.

Already done. Bacon wobbled along.

Really? One day I want to be a secret agent just like you!

Bacon stopped. First, you must learn to keep it a secret.

Oh...right. The frog put a hand over his mouth.

So is this your first time to D.C.?

Indeed it is! I was hoping, if I get off early, that I could stop by the White House and meet the president.

All in good time. Bacon did his best not to laugh. Surely the frog wouldn’t last the day, much less get anywhere near the president. Since this is your first time and all, why don’t I take a picture?

Hey, that’s a swell idea! The frog shook with excitement as if he’d just guzzled down a Big Gulp.

Isn’t it? The pig swallowed his laughter. Why don’t you move a little bit over there? Nope, more to your left. More... MORE! A large safe dangled from a rope several stories above; a rope that would be severed by a micro explosive triggered by a certain pernicious pig’s cell phone. Stop! Hold it right there! He had him right where he wanted him. Now say cheese...

Cheese? As in cheese pizza? Who eats pizza without pepperoni? Hang on, piggy wiggy. I’ve got a better idea! He grabbed Bacon in a flash and returned to the deadly spot. Why don’t we take a picture of the both of us? The frog grabbed the phone and held it out as far as he could so that both of them would fit in the selfie.

As Secret Agent Disco Dancer clicked the button, Bacon jumped for his life, errantly knocking the frog out of the way. With a thud, the safe slammed into the pavement, kicking up dust and chunks of concrete.

Wow, you really sure are one heck of a spy! How did you know that was coming? Secret Agent Disco Dancer gazed at the safe and then the pig.

Oh, I have my methods... Bacon wanted to cry.

Let me get your cell phone. The frog leaned over to pick it up just as a wrecking ball swung down and crashed in the boutique behind him. Here you go. He handed it to him.

The pig’s blood boiled, out of time and out of traps. Well, I guess that’s it then. This way... He hobbled along, the crazy frog in tow.

Chapter 2: Pizza Passcode

So this is it, eh? You sure have a lot of unused office space. Secret Agent Disco Dancer walked through the empty warehouse.

This isn’t it, you nitwit! It’s just a front--an ordinary structure where no one would suspect a state-of-the-art command center. Just to be safe we added a...

Secret Agent Disco Dancer’s jaw dropped, as if he had died and gone to froggy heaven. A pizza place! He ran over to the quaint, hole-in-the-wall restaurant built in the corner of the warehouse. I’ve always wanted to work in a pizza place!

No, you don’t understand. It isn’t real, said Bacon.

How can that be? There’s a guy in an apron tossing dough right now. Hey, doughboy! The frog waved.

It’s all part of the act. Once security became aware of our presence he assumed the role. See? there are hidden cameras everywhere. The pig pointed.

Ok, so where’s the entrance? Secret Agent Disco Dancer looked around.

Through the pizza place.

Oh, ok. He tried the door. Hey, it’s locked.

Well, you have to order something first.

What do you mean? I thought you said this wasn’t a real pizza place.

It isn’t. The type of order you place verifies your identity, granting you access. Kind of like a password.

You’ve got to love this spy stuff! The frog looked around all giddy and rubbed his hands together.

Now go ahead and order. Bacon pushed him over to the takeout window.

So, are you Joe? Secret Agent Disco Dancer glanced at the Joe’s Pizza sign overhead.

Yeah, that’s me all right. A brawny man with a mustache and a thick New York accent leaned over and flashed a grin. So what’ll it be, Mack?

I’ll take a pepperoni pizza!

Sorry, we’re all out of pepperoni pizza. Joe rolled his eyes.

What? You don’t have any pepperoni pizza? What kind of pizza place are you?

Not a very good one, I’m afraid.

Fredrico-san, if the passcode were pepperoni pizza, and everyone walked up and ordered it, the whole world would gain access to the compound. Tell him something that you know no one else would possibly order. Since you’re a new recruit, you get to set your passcode on initial entry. Just don’t forget it when you walk out of here or you won’t be able to gain access again. So what’s your second favorite pizza?

Well, I really only order pepperoni pizza. But my dad loved his pizza with double anchovies, honey-coated flies, diced worms and barbecued beetles.

Goodness gracious that’s disgusting! And also quite perfect, said Bacon.

Joe buzzed Secret Agent Disco Dancer in and waited for him to walk through the door.

And what’ll it be for you, Mack? Joe asked.

Oh, the usual. Grenades, knives, a bit of tripwire and a healthy dose of C4. Earnest Bacon grinned.

Chapter 3: Black Eagle

Secret Agent Disco Dancer walked past tables with white and red checkered tablecloths, through the swinging double doors and into the faux kitchen. Of course, the kitchen was only partial, and to his disappointment, there was no pizza. There was dough, bags of flour and various boxes, but little else. All part of the illusion of pizza that never was.

He continued thirty feet through a steel corridor that sloped downwards and abruptly ended. Suddenly a panel in the wall slid open and a mechanical arm with red and blue lasers scanned his eyes. Identity confirmed. Welcome, Secret Agent Disco Dancer. A series of doors opened, like layers of an onion. There had to be at least ten feet of blast doors between the pizza place and the lobby. When the last doors parted, Secret Agent Disco Dancer was surprised at how ordinary the lobby looked.

There was a long black desk with a blonde receptionist off to one side, and a few paintings of men that he’d never seen before. Jars of mints sat on tables between chairs in the waiting area. A security officer checked credentials at one end of the desk, buzzing agents through glass doors that were far stronger than they appeared. Beyond the glass doors, several stories of cubicle farms and meeting rooms awaited, strategically positioned behind additional blast walls and concrete.

The only thing that stood out was the seal that he stood on, etched into the marble floor: a bald eagle with a lightning bolt in one claw, its wings outstretched, the words Office of National Intelligence/Black Eagle wrapped around its seal, punctuated with stars and United States of America.

Welcome to the eagle’s nest, Secret Agent Disco Dancer. Special Agent Halfwitz, a brown Andalusian horse who stood on two legs, emerged from the glass doors. It looks like you arrived in good spirits, and on time, I might add. He checked his watch. We like punctuality here, that’s for sure, and you’re off to a good start.

Heh, it’s probably a good thing there wasn’t any pizza or I might have been late. His stomach grumbled. Hey, do you mind if I grab a mint?

Sure, help yourself, said Halfwitz.

Secret Agent Disco Dancer grabbed the bowl and dumped the whole thing down his gullet. Mmm... He noticed Halfwitz's eyes nearly pop out of his head. Sorry, light breakfast. Now about those Twinkies...

Is he already starting in on the food? Earnest Bacon stepped through the array of blast doors.

Fred, obviously you know Earnest. The horse pointed.

Oh, yeah. Hey, thanks for getting me here safely. That was a close call this morning, said the frog.

Whatever do you mean? Bacon adjusted his sunglasses.

Halfwitz frowned, fully aware of Bacon’s extensive catalog of dirty tricks. This way... He led Secret Agent Disco Dancer away before the pig took another shot at him.

Chapter 4: Sitter, Sitter Fruit Ninja Dinner

So this is it? This is the job? Secret Agent Disco Dancer stared at the blank walls. Four rows of desks with four computers in each were the only other things adorning that barren room. There was a dry erase board at the front of the room, but it was wiped clean and there didn’t appear to be a marker or eraser in the room.

I’m afraid you’re going to have to hang out here until your security clearance comes through, said Halfwitz.

What?! The frog croaked.

Sorry, government policy. We can’t show you anything else until our investigators have completed an extensive background check.

Isn’t the packet I mailed you enough?

Indeed it was an eyesore, taking the frog the better part of a week to fill out its many pages.

This is the clearance after the clearance, said Halfwitz. You’ve been approved for the basic Admit and Sit clearance. As for our sensitive projects, I’m afraid it’s going to take more time and a few polygraphs. Our investigators have to dig deep into your personal history and obtain firsthand accounts from your neighbors and friends. We can’t afford a rotten egg in here. Though he really meant another rotten egg. So I’m afraid you’re just going to have to hang out and wait until your operational clearance comes in.

But all the action is out there! Secret Agent Disco Dancer pointed. Please, don’t do this to me, man.

It isn’t all that bad. You get to surf the Internet all day and play computer games. Psst...I just uploaded the latest edition of Fruit Ninja, he whispered. So while you’re at it, have some fruit!

A blonde receptionist dropped off a fruit basket with his name on it.

But who eats fruit these days? said the frog.

Apparently, you do. Halfwitz walked out and shut the door behind him.

Chapter 5: Fruity Folly

The next two weeks were more of the same: the crazy frog would rise at the crack of dawn, hurry over to the warehouse in downtown D.C., and order his wretched pizza. Then it was eight hours of sitting around and staring at walls, the Internet only serving as a brief diversion.

Sure, he had to keep up with current events, but reading them from the press was pointless and nauseating. There was always a spin or slant or monetary incentive behind everything, and quite frequently, the newspapers got the facts wrong, often on purpose to bolster certain agendas. He knew that the best intelligence on earth was in his very own field office.

But he had no choice. He had to sit and wait. And wait some more...

Ugh! he groaned.

Although he brought his lunch the first two weeks, it was time to be a little more adventurous and discover other hole-in-the-wall restaurants that doubled as secret spy lairs, preferably within walking distance. He turned off the computer and grabbed his briefcase, which was empty, of course, because didn’t have any intelligence worth gathering. It sure felt good to play the part, though. I’m going out for lunch. Be back in an hour. He told the receptionist on his way out.

But as he walked, a secretary that he had not seen before wheeled a cart full of half-eaten fruit and pastries and nearly ran into him.

Whoa! Secret Agent Disco Dancer jumped out of the way. With lightning reflexes he saved a bowl of diced fruit before it hit the floor. Still, a fruit basket on the lower shelf of the cart spilled over, sending apples and oranges rolling.

Oh, sorry about that. I nearly made a road pizza out of you. The secretary scooped up a golden delicious apple.

As long as it’s pizza, we’re all good, the crazy frog replied.

I’m Maude, by the way. She offered a hand.

Secret Agent Disco Dancer. He shook hers. Here, let me help you. He walked around the cart and started picking up fruit. As he did, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye sprout a pair of legs and run off. An orange, if he wasn’t mistaken. Here you go. He set the last piece of fruit on the cart, not the least bit surprised that Maude hadn’t noticed the fleeing fruit.

You are a dear. I hope your clearance comes through soon. When it does, I’ll bake a pie. Peach pie with fresh Georgia peaches. Maude smiled, her button nose twitching as if she could already smell the fresh-baked pie.

My favorite. He rubbed his empty stomach. Would you mind sprinkling a few flies on top? He licked his chops.

Chapter 6: Rolling, Rolling, Rolling...

Secret Agent Disco Dancer walked out a separate exit, emerging in a dry cleaner of sorts, this one fully operational, with a Chinese restaurant built over top. He’d been wanting to try their Egg Drop Soup for some time, but was always too anxious to jump on the metro to beat the afternoon traffic.

Today seemed like the perfect day for a taste test, and its elevated vantage point gave him a bird’s eye view of the street.

I’ll take an order of Orange Chicken, he said to an Asian woman behind the counter, forgetting all about the soup, and slapped down a five dollar bill.

From his perch, he watched the street with an eagle eye, waiting for that curious orange, which had mysteriously grown legs, to roll by.

Of course, Secret Agent Disco Dancer was so hungry he could have been seeing things. Such a possibility wasn’t lost on him, so he figured he’d wait an hour and if nothing happened, he’d return to the field office without mentioning it, attributing the silly affair to an empty stomach.

As he waited and waited, he noticed the orange roll out of the shadows and hop in a man’s coat pocket. Cripes, he really is a spy! Secret Agent Disco Dancer looked down at his uneaten Chinese food half expecting it to shuffle off as well.

In a blink, he was down on the street, his cold lunch abandoned, pangs of hunger nipping at his stomach. He followed the man to the end of the block and then turned on M Street NW. They were in Foggy Bottom, which he liked to refer to as Froggy Bottom, making their way towards 25th Street when the orange bounced out of one man’s pocket and into another.

Secret Agent Disco Dancer stopped abruptly and turned in the opposite direction, heading back to 26th Street, then south to Pennsylvania Avenue. Again the orange jumped out and found a cozy home in a lady’s purse as she crossed the street and headed towards K street. It was then that her cell

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