It’s like a retarded Legion of Doom

I was cruising the cable news networks this weekend for more coverage of blonde white girls in peril, but instead all I kept getting was coverage of the arrest of four people planning to blow up JFK airport.

“Ah shit,” I say aloud. “This is going to put the Wheatleys on full terror alert Red freak-out mode.”

Turns out Sean and Lucia Wheatley are halfway across the state doing some outlet shopping. Good, because I can’t deal with two Wheatley freak-outs in the same 7-day span.

Then I find Bernie the Half-Cyborg cat knocking at my door, looking a bit frazzled.

“Do we still have those typed-up plans about moving the sun further from the Earth with a giant robot cat to solve global warming?” Bernie hurriedly asks me.

“Yeah, they’re in my safe,” I say. “Why do you ask?”

“We have to sink those plans in the river,” says Bernie. “Or else the feds are gonna come get us.”

“Why would they do that?” I say.

“Because they may mistake it for a terrorist attack,” says Bernie.

“But it’s to solve global warming,” I say. “It’s not a terrorist plot at all.”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” says Bernie. “Think about the terrorist plots that have been foiled in America over the past five years: The seven guys in Miami who wanted to blow up the Sears Tower. The idiots who wanted to take out the Brooklyn Bridge with blowtorches. The three guys who wanted to bomb underwater tunnels in New York. The morons who plotted to attack Fort Dix. What do they all have in common?”

“That catching them didn’t require warantless wiretapping or waterboarding?” I say.

“No, dummy,” says Bernie. “The real answer is that they didn’t have the means or the skills or the brains or the anything to pull their plans off.”

“So you’re saying the FBI is good at catching inept terrorists who are plotting well above their mental, physical, and financial capacities?” I say.

“That’s right,” says Bernie. “We’re catching people with Lex Luthor-like plans who have neither the brain power or financial-backing of Lex Luthor.”

“So why do we have to sink our plan to move the Earth away from the sun in the river?” I ask.

“Because it’s pretty clear that the government is only going after people with ridiculous plans,” says Bernie. “And we could be next.”

“Our plan to move the Earth with a giant robot cat is NOT ridiculous!” I say, highly offended.

“No, I know it’s a brilliant plan,” says Bernie. “However, we may look ridiculous to the government because we don’t have a giant robot cat yet. But once we get that cat, our plans leapfrog from ridiculous to frickin’ awesome, and then we’re off the government’s ‘Ridiculous Plots’ list.”

“But if we sink our plans in the river, how will we get them back?” I ask. “And furthermore, how can we get the giant robot cat if we sink the plans to build the giant robot cat in the river?”

“I’ll memorize the plans in my kitty hard drive,” says Bernie.

“Nah nah nah,” I say. “No way, kit-tay! Then you can build the giant robot cat without me and take all the credit because the proof of my involvement in the project is irretrievably at the bottom of the river.”

“If the FBI arrests us and sends us to GITMO, there will be no giant robot cat,” says Bernie

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” I say.

That’s when Bernie’s laser cannon rose out from his hip. “But I’m not. Now hand it over.”

“Bernie, this is dumb,” I say. “I know where you live, and I know your wife. I can just go over to your house with a bottle of Jameson’s and trade with her to get back the plans.”

Bernie retracts his laser cannon. “So what do we do?”

“I know who can quell our concerns,” I say.

I pick up my phone to talk to Jackal, the NSA agent who taps my phone without a warrant. “Hey Jackal. Got a question for you.”

“Shoot,” says Jackal.

“Are me and Bernie on the list to get busted by the feds because of our seemingly-but not really-ridiculous plan to solve global warming with a giant robot cat pushing the Earth further away from the sun?” I ask.

“No, because the government doesn’t care about global warming,” says Jackal. “You guys are fine.”

And with that happy news, Bernie and I decide to spend the rest of the afternoon inventing an omelette-flavored vodka. We call it Vod-Komellete.