... or so I thought.

You don’t think that the government would try to spike your coffee a little at a time, over the course of years, with a drug that would make you their willing tool of Terror.

You’d figure that there is no way that they could predict how often I’d need coffee, whether I’d like the coffee, whether I’d be attracted to the counter girl, and other factors that come into play when slowly drugging someone with precise amounts of what I gather is a rare, rare drug.

You’d figure wrong.

I hated Carol for her innocent smile, prominently displayed cleavage, her seemingly sincere interest in how my day was going… all just cruel foreplay. She smiled like a wolf as she poured me my destiny. She obviously had a plan. All she needed was the Huckleberry.

All this meant little to me when the jukebox played California Uber Alles. I suddenly got up, quite involuntarily, and Carolina blew me a kiss. It mattered not… I was off to kill Kim Jong Il.