Our story begins in a small studio in Hollywood where an ex Russian GRU operative called Sergi is playing Albinoni's adagio in G minor on his base violin.
Sergi laughs maniacally, stopping suddenly due to a knocking sound,' come in.'
His friend Vladhere on the drums also pauses and comments, 'Oh, we appear to have company.'
Sergi turns to Vladhere, 'Ha ha ha ha ha. This gentleman has come in answer to our advertisement.'
'Oh, how lovely! Come in, sit down,' said Vladhere to the new arrival.
My name is Able Sjhippy.' states a slender man of unexciting appearance and bulging eyes.
'What a memory you have!' Sergi replies hoping for the comment to be taken as a jest.
'Thank you. I've, er... I've come to move the package,' states Sjhippy.
Vladhere offers a glass of pale colored liquid, 'Have a vodka.'
No thanks... like all US politicians I'm trying to give up Russian drinks.
Vladhere: 'Splendid for you!' with an air of disappointment. 'Now, Able, here's the money for moving the package. There you are: five dollars in tens.'
'Five dollars for moving just a package? Ha ha ha! This is money for old rope.'
'Is it?' said Vladhere with a smile, ' I'd have thought you'd have bought something more useful like a sack.'
'No, no. I have simple tastes... Now, where is this package?'
'All in good time Able. Now first, will you sign this contract, in which you guarantee to move the said package from one room to another room for five dollars.'
'Of course I'll sign. Have you a pen?'
'Here you are. Now Able, please just sign here.' Vladhere offers him a gold pen and points to the space under the last paragraph.
Sjhippy scribbles "Able Sjhippy. AGG"
Sergi looks over, 'What's AGG for?'
'For the kids to ride on. '
Vladhere sniggers, 'You sure are destined for high office. Are you sure you won't have a vodka?'
Sjhippy is impatient to get going and earn his money and asks, 'Now, which room is this package in?'
'It's erm... It's in London,' states Vladhere, 'more specifically the Equadorian Embassy.'
'Strange taste you have.'
'We refer to London, the capital of the United Kingdom.'
'What what what what what what what what what what? You mean the package is in England?'
'Ahhh! I've been tricked! Yahhahh!' Able falls to the floor with a thud.
Sergi, 'He's fainted.'
Vladhere with concern, 'Don't waste time. Open his jacket...'
'...and take the weight of his wallet off his chest.'
'Yes.' said a somewhat disappointed Sergi. 'a 1970's photograph of Able Sjhippy with long hair in a commune just outside LA, a press cutting from the NYT, a birth certificate from an orhpanage, a CD of his wife mowing the lawn and a torn photograph of President Obama.'
'He's still out cold. See if this brings him round.' Vladhere drops a coin on the tiled floor.
Sjhippy eyes blink open, 'Thank you, Hilliry!' he begins singing, 'comrades, comrades, ever since we were boys. Sharing... Ah oh ooh oh ooh! Where am I?'
'Hollywood,' said Vladhere.
Sjhippy: 'What number?'
'Studio 7A. Have a Vodka.'
'No, they make me dizzy ..... Wait! Now I remember... You've trapped me into bringing back a package from a London embassy for five dollars.'
Vladhere becomes serious,'You signed the contract, Able. Now GET that package or we sue you for breach of contract.'
'Owww!' Sjhippy groans and slumps off out of the room.
Vladhere secures the door, 'Jesus Sergi if he brings Julian back in that sack we shall be well in the money. Assange's DNC hacking source must be worth at least ten million bucks.'
'How do you know?'
'I've seen the bank statement.'
'No wonder the DNC lost it.'
'Yes. With all that moolah we can have a wonderful slap-up holiday in Disney Land.'
'April in Disney, we've found a sucker...' Vladhere and Sergi start singing.
At a CIA intercept facility at the Pentagon: 'I say! Poor Able Sjhippy must have been at his wit's end faced with the dilemma of having to bring Assange back from London to Hollywood,' commented one unnamed Washington Post reporter to another as they listened to the highly classified secret recording sipping their voldka martinis.
Meanwhile Able Sjhippy visited the State Department for advice on passports and visas.
Pillary looked across to her assistant Abedy. 'Oh! That must be Sjhippy.'
'Yes. No one else comes through the window.'
Pillary: 'Coming. Coming.' she crosses the room towards the window.
Abedy, 'Tell him we're very sorry.'
'Sorry for what, Abby?'
'Well.. well.. well.. make something up - anything will do.'
Pillary opens up and helping Sjhippy through the window said, 'we’re very sorry. Oh ohhhhh oh!'
'Do you want to buy some uranium?' Sjhippy adjusts his tie.
'No thanks. I'm trying to give it up.'
Abedy from behind Pillary, 'Oh, so are we.'
Sjhippy somewhat embarrassed clears throat, 'I want to leave the USA.... again.'
'He's going to Russia!' said Abedy.
'Traitor! Stop him!' rejoins Pillary.
Abedy & Pillary continue yell, while Djhippy joins in and shouts, 'Stop, Stop I say, Not Russia, its London!'
'Oh.' Pillary searches her desk and finds an old Ukranian passport and throws to at Sjhippy. 'London. Huh, now get out!'
After checking the passport was in his name and the photo resembled Bernie Sanders he departed through the window. Muttering to himself as he went ...' now for London.'
If Sjhippy was confused - he was not the only one. It seems that with no more than five dollars, the cheapest way to London was to stow away aboard a 'No Sweat Airlines' cargo plane.
Amid stuttering plane engine noises, down in the dark hold Sjhippy lay, alone... or so he thought until from a dark corner came voice gaily singing, ' I talk to the trees... that's why they put me away and called me ... '
The singer was a tall ragged fool named John O'Kelly.
' ... an evergreen idiot...'
O'Kelly carried a plasticized wand and wore a metal helmet with wire atenas.
'...metal tril.. oh!' O'Kelly spies Sjhippy, 'Hello, stowaway mate of mine. Where are you getting off?'
'Nowhere, I think it's safer to stay in the plane until we reach London.' replied Sjhippy.
'Yeah... Hey! You goin' to London?'
'What a coincidence - that's where the plane's goin. Ain't you lucky! Everything's goin to be fine, fine, fine...'
'Here! Have a vodka.' Sjhippy offers the bottle.
'Oww! Oww! Ooh! Oww! Hey! These vodkas are strong. Here! Have one of my whiskys - they're milder.'
And so for the rest of the voyage they sat quietly drinking their shots while discussing the first rule in Jordan Peterson's book of the 12 rules (stand straight with shoulders back).
At London Sjhippy left the idiot singer. Then by hiding the plane's luggage cart he avoided detection and made for the Bellview hotel. Next morning as he sat in his room eating breakfast, suddenly through the window a fork on the end of a long pole appeared and tried to spear his bacon.
Sjhippy stood up, 'who on earth are you?'
'Ah-ah-oh! I'm sorry. I was... ummm... just fishing.'
'Fishing? Fishing? This is the thirty-fourth floor of a cheap hotel.'
'Oh. The... ummm... river must have dropped.'
'Who the hell are you?'
'I've got it on a bit of paper here. Let's have a look... oh yes! Major Dennis McArthur, OBE, MT, MT and MT.'
What are all those empties for?
'I get 3 cents on each when I refund them.'
Sjhippy rings a bell and the door opens and the manager enters. With a poor French accent the man bows and asks, 'Oui monsieur?'
McArthur is first to reply, 'Throw this man out of my room!'
'Ahhhh! To late Sjhippy'.
The door slams as Sjhippy is led out and McArthur settles down to Sjhippy’s bacon and eggs.
Later alone near Euston station... Sjhippy felt his way down dark steps to the notorious Cafe Tom, proprietor Maurice Plonk.
Sjhippy waves to Plonk who approaches through the smoke filled room, 'I was looking for a man who might specialize in robberies.'
Suddenly there is a whooshing sound and a short fat man with a cigarette in a holder appears.
'Good evening, my name is Surgie Rusky. You are looking for a man who might specialize in robberies?'
'How did you know?'
'I was on my mobile reading twitter and I heard you say robbery.'
'Well then meet me outside the embassy at midnight.'
'When the clock strikes.'
True to his word Sjhippy was there dead on three.
Rusky checks an alarm clock hanging around his neck, 'You are late.'
'I'm sorry, my legs were a little slow.' and begins unfolding a large map. 'Now sir, this is the map plan of the embassy and the surrounding streets. Now... you take one end of this map... That's right... unfold it... That's the way... aha... mmm... that's right... there we go... yes... mmm hmmm... keep going... yes... It's big, isn't it?'
'Yes, it is. This bit here shows Washington.'
'Good heavens, we are miles away! If we walk straight up that street, take the second on the left ....'
Part Two, in which our heroes, their purpose almost accomplished, are discovered creeping through the embassy towards a large wriggling sack.
'Shh... 'cautions Rusky, 'there is someone trying to lift it by himself.'
'He must be mad, whispered Sjhippy.
Sjhippy then hears that same song he last heard on No Sweat Airlines baggage hold. 'I dy dum dy dee.'
'Kelly, what are you doing out after curfew?'
'I signed a contract that fooled me - fooled me mark you - into taking this package back to Hollywood.'
'What? You must be an idiot to sign a contract like that. Heh heh. Now help me move it. Together... lift.'
They all strain with the effort.
'Watch... heave... No, no, no. It's too heavy. It's too heavy,' states Sjhippy. 'Put it down.'
'Here... it's lighter when you let go, aint' it?' said Kelly with the wisdom he was begining to aquire in his quest to become a presidential adviser.
Finally they managed, by sweating and struggling, to get the package outside where McArthur the individual that consumed Sjhippy breakfast was waiting. 'Halt! Hand over that sack in the name of the FBI.'
Sjhippy replied, 'McArthur take off that red baseball cap! We know you're not American.'
'You must let me have that package, you see... I... I foolishly signed a contract that forces me to...' replied McArthur.
'Yes, yes, we know.'
'Oh oh, so you..'
'We're all in the same boat. We have no money, so the only way to get this package back to Hollywood is to float it back. Across the Atlantic... '
The scene shifts from London to the Port of Southhampton with waves and seagulls.
Sjhippy shouts, 'All aboard HMS Hollywood! Cast off!'
Later, down below Sjhippy writes; 'The log of London's package. December the third... second week in Atlantic. Very seasick. No food. No water. McArthur down with the bilgewater. John Kelly up with the lark.'
McArthur speaks weakly, 'Sjhippy, take over the rudder. I can't steer any more. Great galloping crabs! Look in the sky. It's a helicopter. We are saved!'
Sjhippy looks up, 'By George Washington, saved! Yes! They're lowering a man on a rope.' Holding the rope steady he helps the man on to the heaving deck. 'Have you come to save us?'
A man in uniform lands on deck and steps back to salute. 'I have come to rescue you, yes sir.'
Sjhippy, 'what about our valuable package?'
'This package is not valuable.'
'No, it isn't.'
'It's a Russian spy. We know because it is in the area of the rocket testing range.'
'Rocket testing range? I've never heard so much rubbish in all my...'
Suddenly a Wheeeee... BOOOM!
What do you think, dear viewers? Were they carrying Julian Assange? Or was it a Russian spy? Send your suggestions to anybody but us. And for those who would prefer a happy ending, here it is...
A door opens and a tall handsome white haired man called Bill enters out of breath calling, 'Pillary! Pillary!'
'Bill, William darling.'
'Pillary... I've... I've found work, darling. I've got a job.'
'Oh Bill. I'm so glad for you... What is it, darling?'
'Darling, all I've got to do is to move a package from one room to another... and give a short speech in Moscow.' He begins to laugh madly. THE END