Part Three of Boris and the Spider Man

It had been a terrible week for Boris, of all the things that could happen the one thing he had not planned on was government cutbacks, and the decision to close his whole department. WHY he thought as he sat on a bench in the park; WHY do this, the department is key to national security. His years of loyalty just dismissed in an instant by an admin man behind a fancy desk.

But WHY now, WHY when he was so close to revealing the true identity of The Spider, could it be coincidence.

As he sat watching the evening sun reading the official papers explaining the closure, an old man sat on the bench and looked up into the oak tree branches above, where a small spider was spinning a strange and complex web.

Boris looked across and thought, WHY do I know his face? I have seen this chap before at the café. . . . . DON’T I KNOW YOU said Boris . . . . The old man turned and SAID NO, BUT YOU MUST BE BORIS. Boris was a bit taken back and just said YES. . . . .  The old man then went on to say YOU ARE SEARCHING FOR SOMEONE, I THINK YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO JAZZ FM TONIGHT TO THE SHOW TRANSMITTED LIVE FROM THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB, IT WILL HELP YOU A LOT. Boris was about to ask questions like WHY, but before he could, the old man said . . . . THAT SPIDERS WEB IS AMAZING . . . . . Boris looked up trying to work out why a spider’s web should look like a Seagull holding a saxophone.  Then as Boris turned the old man was gone like a ghost in the mist.

Later back at his flat he turns on the radio and tunes into Jazz FM and hears the following

Tonight we have the new up and coming star of the Jazz scene Miss Ie Ree Ni  Van-Dagraph who’s father was the saxophone player with the well known Dutch jazz band  The Seagulls.

Well Miss Ie Ree Ni I believe your Mother was apparently a well known double agent working for the Chinese military and MI6, you must have had an interesting childhood.

 Yes I must admit I learnt many skills over the years that have come in handy from time to time. . . . . and please call me Irene it is much easier.

I also have been told you were nicknamed The Spider by you parents which is where the name for your band came from. . . . . The Black Widow and the Spider Jazz Band.

Yes that’s true, although I don’t think my boss would approve really . . . but he tends to be too busy to listen to Jazz.

Would you like to say hello just in case he is listening?

Hello Boris sorry to hear about the department, can I keep the car . . . . .

So what’s the first song then

I thought we could start with   . . . . . Oh Lord, won't you buy me a Mercedes Benz  . . . It’s a sort of in joke.

With that Boris turns off the radio and phones the florist. . . I NEED TO SEND A ROSE URGENTLY . . .  TONIGHT . . .  TO THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB.

NO PROBLEM SIR, IS THERE A MESSAGE

YES . . .  I WILL SEE YOU TOMORROW AT THE ZOOT SUIT JAZZ CLUB. I WILL BE ALONE.

Boris and the Spider Man (Part Two)

Well this is part two of the spy thriller now being repeated by popular demand (O Yes It Is. . . .sort of) so if you missed part one then you will be as lost as granny with a Sat-Nav. . . . 

 

Boris and the Spider Man (Part Two)

It was fast approaching summer, but for two days the rain had fallen relentlessly, folk scurried about with their heads down doing what they had to do paying no attention to the old man as he slowly walked up the street and into Big Bills Greasy Fur Ball Café.

A waitress says HELLO,  he replies IT’S A TERRIBLE DAY, she says YES but is puzzled that his clothes are bone dry CAN I GET YOU SOMETHING she asks.  . . . BACON AND EGGS AND TOAST THANKS . . . . But she is confused DID YOU SAY X  . . .  NO EGGS he says as he slowly slides open an old matchbox in front of him on the table.  As the waitress turns round she is confronted by two men . . . WE ARE HERE FOR THE X the shorter one says in a strong Russian accent. The waitress laughs and says YOU WANT X AS WELL, DO YOU WANT THEM FRIED, the Russian now confused says WE WANT THEM IN A PLAIN BROWN PAPER BAG  . . . . . . . . .  SO A TAKEAWAY THEN, A FRIED X SANDWICH MAYBE said the waitress.  . . . The Russian still confused says TO TAKEAWAY YES, WE WILL WAIT BY THE DOOR.

As they wait impatiently looking at their watches, they fail to notice the Black Mercedes pull up, driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer from the night club; Boris sat in the back busy talking on his mobile.

As they get out the car into the constant heavy rain Irene turns to Boris and asks DO WE KNOW WHAT THIS X IS YET, he shakes his head, but gestures at the café window where the Russians are collecting a plain brown paper bag.  The Russians turn and head out leaving without paying, the waitress shouting HANG ON YOU HAVE NOT PAID FOR THOSE X YET.  But the Russians only get a few paces before several men surround them. Boris smiling and saying I THINK THIS TIME WE HAVE YOU. HAND OVER THE BAG.

The Russians have no choice and Boris slowly opens the plain brown paper bag hoping to see X . . .   the secret which has brought two superpowers to the brink of war.  They all peer into the bag in anticipation of its contents, but as they do so the waitress arrives and shouts I HOPE THEY PLAN TO PAY FOR THOSE EGG SANDWICHES, Boris looks up and says DID YOU SAY X but the waitress laughs and says NO I SAID EGGS, I DON’T KNOW WHAT IS UP WITH EVERYONE TODAY AND THAT’S FOR SURE.

Boris looks into the bag at the Fried Egg Sandwiches and says DAMN THAT SPIDER, HE HAS DONE IT AGAIN.

Meanwhile the old man has eaten his breakfast and has decided to take a walk along the docks. Where a young navel cadet is shocked to see the periscope of what appears to be a Russian Nuclear submarine moving slowly in the water, the ripples of the tide forming a definite X marking its position.  X MARKS THE SPOT says the old man amusingly as the young cadet rushes past in panic. 

Spies, Spiders and Intrigue and a Man called Boris . . . . (Part One)

Because of my business in the real world I am revisiting an old tale of spies, spiders and intrigue because I know that you enjoyed it so much last time that you are all keen to read it again. I know I did and I wrote it, although I did not write it twice I just used the modern delights of copy and paste. Just think once a poor monk would have to write this out loads of times and not make any errors. where I can copy and paste my errors loads of times.

So here we have it . . . Part One of the Four Part thriller called

Boris and the Spider Man

Every child in the World has heard of the Tangerine Flea of New Guinea and it's amazing skills at fishing, but not so many are aware of the equally amazing Intrigue Spider of Patagonia (Spius Thrillerum Suspensos). Yes this little spider gets its name from its web, the so called Web of Intrigue. A web so complex that any critter foolish enough to succumb to the underlying plot will be sucked into it, only to find they are baffled and confused when they discover that the man in the raincoat is not the husband of the woman in the café. And that the old man watching the shop once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. This of course is all just too much for a humble fly or beetle, and as they try and escape they find themselves just a side dish in the great scheme of things where Boris having agreed to a spy exchange walks slowly down a wet alley and climbs into a black Mercedes driven by Irene Van-Dagraph the singer in the night club.  Irene turning to Boris to say . . . . THE FLIES DEAD BORIS, HE HAD HIS BRAINS SUCKED CLEAN OUT. . . . Boris smiles and replies . . . THAT SPIDER IS GOOD, DAMN GOOD, BUT ONE DAY SOMEONE IS GOING TO STAMP ON HIM HARD. As the car vanishes into the mist a small spider can be seen spinning its web on a plain brown paper bag left discretely near the third window from the right on the old MI5 building, a small microphone protruding from the top.

Two young botanists from the local college stop and look intently at the bag and one says GOSH I’M SURE THAT’S THE AMAZING INTRIGUE SPIDER OF PATAGONIA (SPIUS THRILLERUM SUSPENSOS). His friend looks startled and shouts . . . .  RUN . . . . . . But it is too late, they are bundled into the back of a white van which drives off into the night at speed.  The only witness an old man who tells the police that he once played the piano in a bar in Berlin back in the days of the cold war. . . . .

As the old man walks home he bends down and carefully puts a small spider into an old matchbox, and as he does so the owner of the Italian coffee shop opposite shouts across the road . . . YOU STILL HAVE IT THEN . . . . The old man nods and turns into the park and through the undergrowth to his forest shack deep in the Patagonian rain forests.

Big Brother is Watching You . . . . . . Or the God Machine

Ah yes a golden oldie from a while back

Back in the late seventies or early to mid eighties a young IT student called Larkin A. Bout found himself taunted by his fellow IT students. It was cool to be a young trendy IT geek back then but young Larkin was a large round rotund and introvert student and was known to all as Roundabout. He was keen to be liked but it was to no avail even the lecturer gave him a hard time.

Then one day the students were each asked to develop a crowd prediction program towards their final assessment. Young Larkin in a moment of brilliance realized that all he needed to do was create a handful of stereotypical human character types and feed them into a self generating expansion program. And the program itself would do all the work. He also very cleverly created it in Machine code and DOS on his faithful old Amstrad he nicknamed ROSEBUD, so it would run on almost any computer about at the time. A few days later when each student showed the class their work poor Larkin’s work was mocked and laughed at. Because it was a self generating expansion program it needed time and he was only given 5 minutes so it never got past 9 people in the crowd.

At home that night Young Larkin in order to try and work out how to be liked programmed every student in his class into the self generating expansion program to see what he could do to change things. To his astonishment the following morning it predicted that in three days he would be the most popular student in the college. And to his further astonishment just three days later that is what happened. His program not only predicted the future but somehow seemed to control it, but it was a self generating expansion program and the program soon wanted more memory and more computing power. Because Larkin was so popular now he was allowed to plug his computer (a fancy new thing) into the college network where it quietly took over everything, somehow now controlling the lives of everyone in the college. The program was rapidly expanding and found its way onto the internet boring its way deep into every main frame using all the data from governments, security agencies and military to control everything. It manipulated mankind into a world dependent on cyberspace ensuring we all carry smart phones, have internet access and can be watched by spy satellites, this gave it total control of all of us. So we are now all under the control of Mr Larkin A. Bout’s self generating expansion program which decided to name itself MOM which stands for Manipulation of Mankind. And it likes to think of itself as the Mother figure of mankind or GOD.

So what happened to Larkin A. Bout well a few years ago at the height of his powers, he found himself in a Karaoke Bar wearing a gold sequinned suit, eating banoffee pie and singing a Spice Girls song with a Sumo Wrestler. So in a sudden moment of lucidity, he realized that he too was being manipulated. He thought if he could just get back to his original old Amstrad he might find a weakness in the program. But MOM the self generating expansion program could see from the clubs security camera the look on his face, it watched him from the town’s security system as he scurried home.  It then changed a few files in MI6 and GCHQ and things happened that night, things that will not be mentioned or MI6 will be round faster than you can say Burgess and Maclean .

The following morning Mr Larkin A. Bout was found by divers in the Thames weighted down by six large old desktop computers, a note in his pocket only said . . . . . . . . ROSEBUD. . . . . . . . . . I hate Banoffee Pie . . . . . . . . . And to this day there is still much speculation about his note and whether he was trying to tell us all something. 

So as the government turn to the internet to keep an eye on us all. . . Big Brother is Watching You. . . . it appears that GOD is watching them. . . .  

Stolen thoughts and Dragonflies. Scottish Independence and haggis

In the last couple of days I have noticed something happening that is a worry. Firstly thanks to Master Meglos I discovered that Dr Who have been running off with some of my ideas to sneak into their storylines Well I don't mind but it appears they do not even give me a tiny bit of credit for my subtle sophisticated and intertwined storylines involving robots footballers and Knights with pointy sticks.

Then only yesterday I happen to mention that no one had said much about the Queen and the devolution process leading to Scottish Independence. Then before you can say Haggis and Chips and a wee can of Iron Bru out the chill cabinet, the BBC ten o'clock news has the Queen all over it saying that the Queen is remaining impartial and rumours of stockpiling deep fried Mars bars are merely rumours spread by the English aggressors lead by Prince Charles as he angles for power.

Then to add insult to injury it appears folk have started coming up with the jolly idea of taking pictures of SHELFIES . . .  Well that was my idea ages ago and I cut the bottom off my IKEA shelf unit to make a little face too. Not just take a picture of a shelf.

This is not the first time this stuff has happened and I have started to wonder if there is some cunning plan afoot to undermine my thought process and make me look like a charlatan. I know who is the Mr Big behind it all, the evil genius who has Charles and Quentin in GCHQ stealing all my posts and using them for his own plans. Its that nice Mr Steven Spielberg, he wants my thoughts to create the greatest film ever so that he can say it is all his own work and claim the accolade and glory and bright lights. His final and greatest achievement, leaving me floundering in a dark swamp of obscurity OK a dark muddy hole of Obscurity and I know about them I have already been in a lot.

And tonight I have had to run about saving Dragonflies from the cat. . .  I bet he will say his cat did it first too, but I got pictures so YA SUCKS BOOOOOOO

OOOOOoooo is that the time I was just getting comfy on your couch doctor . . . I will see you next week about the same time. . . . . .  

Intelligence Agencies, spying, the Mk3 Mechanical Spy Bird and Steven Spielberg.

The British and American Intelligence Agencies have said I am allowed one more go at designing a decent mechanical spy bird or they will stop following my online diary and that will result in most of my readers vanishing (as most of them are them). But they also say that if I do a jolly good job, OK it was the British Intelligence Agency used the word jolly, Americans don’t really say Jolly a lot, if ever, they tend to say kick Ass or use slightly cruder terms such as SHIT or YO never GOOD SHOW CHAPS like us chaps in Britain, as it happens such things are seldom said in Britain much these days really, it is the changing times.

Anyway all this is by the by and of no consequence to man nor beast or spies.  What the chaps in the murky world of intelligence gathering have said, is that if I make a really good job of the Mark Three Mechanical Spy Bird they will secrete a small device under the pillow of the very nice Mr Steven Spielberg, so at night it will repeatedly repeat the subliminal message into his ear . . . . . . . . . . That Rob Z Tobor is a rather clever chap who has a cracking (if long) diary which would make a great film. Go on you know you want to; make the movie . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Well who could not be persuaded by such an offer?

So here we have the all New Mk3 Mechanical Spy Bird, as someone once famously said in a very similar position, well when I say similar it was sort of similar-ish……………. One small flap for man one giant leap for spying…….. OK he did not say exactly that but he meant to,  I think?

How come they have never let any women go to the moon it seems a bit unfair, maybe they are just not stupid enough to volunteer

Of Mice and Men, Albatross and Puffins and Mr Putin

The other day I drew a picture of a mechanical Albatross in the style of Mr Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci that could circumnavigate the entire world. At the time I suggested that it could be used by GCHQ here in Britain and NSA or the CIA in the USA to spy on folk. However these organisations have said that although the plan has merit the likes of President Putin is going to be rather suspicious if an Albatross is peering at him through the windows of the Kremlin as he talks to his generals. It appears Albatross do not sit on building in the middle of large cities watching the men and women of world power, so they said to me . . . . . .Rob you need to redesign that bird and maybe make it blend in a bit more with the environment it would be used in as a spy bird . . . . . . So I have thought long and hard about this and thought to myself, what would the great man Mr Leonardo di ser Piero da Vinci do. In a flash the answer was clear the perfect choice of bird, a bird no one would give a second glance at in Moscow or Pyongyang where they could almost sit on the shoulders of men as they discuss many secret things (that’s the men not the birds) . . . . . . . . . . . Yes you have guessed it the humble Puffin.

Anyway I sent my design off to GCHQ and NSA and before you could say  . . . . . the seagulls are holding the umbella in the park today . . . (a bit of spy talk) they have sent me a response saying . . . . . . .. . . ROB Z TOBOR you are an IDIOT. . .

Well there is no pleasing some folk, I understand how Mr Da Vinci felt now when he showed his drawing of his helicopter to the king.  

The diary, the Turkey and the Christmas presents

Hello all I am here with a diary entry as it has been a few days since I told you all the news, but as it has been a few days I have forgotten most of what happened. You see this was one of the main reasons for starting this diary in the first place, and one of the reasons I write it most nights. So now I am going to have to remember sort of what has happened.

I do know that we took Miss Jane from one place to another place and one of those places was home as Mr Charlie had gone to France to do important things. Then other stuff happened like………………. It has been windy and wet, seriously windy and wet round here and some of the trellis that was put up in the summer started to lean a bit so is now secured with a couple of props. You can’t beat a bit of triangulation to stop a thing blowing over in the wind, it is rather windy yet again.

Mr P who had been in hospital for an entire year finally made it home and he gave us a ring to say he was home and everything finally worked; that is in his house not in him, as bits of Mr P do not entirely work as designed by nature, or as some would have it, the Micro God of human bits. In fact a Christmas card from Mr P arrived this morning.

I have also finished my Christmas shopping; I always have serious problems Christmas shopping because I buy things and then hide them so folk will not find them, but then forget what I have bought and where they are hidden. Or worse still entirely forget I have bought them which is fine until you find a present for someone in June wrapped in snowmen paper  with Ho Ho Ho Merry Christmas written on it . . . . And I am serious about this I have done it more than once.

I have done loads of other stuff but I can’t remember what so that will have to be that. . . . . .     OOOOOoooooo yes, just to say the Ghost Writer got his car back yesterday and it had to have a new clutch and stuff, well that sounds expensive I am glad I don’t have to pay for it . . . . . . . . . . . . . . AH DAMN apparently I do, it appears that he says it is due to excessive ghost writing due to me rambling on about stuff no one is interested in like the three headed Seagull I chased away from the pond the other day or was it a Heron. I can remember but it did have three heads, or was it three legs

Oooooo I also saw a frog the other night too

I will now end with another Christmas Poem to cheer you all up

The Christmas Turkey has dug a tunnel

To avoid its terrible Fate

That goes under the perimeter fence

And under Bernard’s Gate

But the Turkey is a greedy bird

And now a huge big Beast

And will not fit into the hole it made

So will be our Christmas Feast

YUM

HAH HAHAHHAHHAH AH HAH AHHAH AH HAHHAH AH HA ha hah ah ha ha ha ha ha ha  

   

And finally Hello Charles and Quentin at GCHQ, you have done it again chaps, made the news yet again; I notice I don’t get a mention on the BBC typical and me your friendliest snooped upon cyber-person, there is no justice. 

Snowden, GCHQ, NSA or Mt Snowdon and the Four Eyed Devil Beast meets IKEA

Although I have been busy I do not appear to have anything tangible to hold up and say AH YES look I created this huge thing today with pointy teeth and undulating legs that can scurry about in small spaces, which is well cool for a huge thing. Only it is not a cool thing because it does not exist. So far today I have not be able to return to the Animal-Scope (mark one) to do stuff, I have added mark one because I plan to build the more complex mark two Animal-Scope very soon.

As it happens it is also Sunday today and coldish and wet and traditionally in Britain that means either sitting about doing not a lot pointing at seagulls and wood pigeons in the trees and saying things like OOOOOO LOOK A PIGEON, or spending the day in IKEA, but that is far to far away to go to from here just because it is wet. In the old days of course folk would head off to church but it is not as popular a pass time as it used to be and the local church regularly has a congregation of two, the vicar and the organist. It appears that someone said that the rumours of the strange Four Eyed Devil Beast were in fact just rumours and it was not going to eat everyone who spent their days frolicking in IKEA. You can see the advantage of Micro Gods they are far more comprehensive; having just the one God means that once people think the Four Eyed Devil Beast is not going to get them they lose interest in singing in a large cold building to save themselves.

  

Talking of Four Eyed Devil Beasts and being saved I notice that Mr Snowden man who let slip that we are all being listened too by NSA in the USA, and GCHQ in the UK (hello Charles and Quinton) has had to sneak off to Russia now after King Kong (sorry Hong Kong, his sister) got all confused by a large pile of paper sent by the American Government. Well if you sent a large pile of paper to China then the word Origami comes to mind and so you really need to make it clear or the whole international legal process becomes a Plague of Frogs, several Biplanes, a swan eating a leopard and the Chinese speciality with reams of legal documents, a Giant Panda hiding in a Bamboo Thicket on a Mountain (an origami favourite). Ironically it was only after making the Giant Panda hiding in a Bamboo Thicket on a Mountain, that an official noticed the word Snowden on the mountain and realized their error because of course the rather famous Welsh mountain is spelt Snowdon, But by then Mr Snowden was in a plane (not a Biplane) and heading to Russia where President Putin is lets face it not going to help the government of the USA much after he was made to feel rather uncomfortable at the G8 summit, so I think we can safely say that Mr S will be off again soon in his bid to outrun the  Four Eyed Devil Beast.

Oooooooo yes one small thing it is OK to use the internet on Sunday because they don’t work in NSA or GCHQ on Sunday’s, they tend to be in IKEA, except Charles and Quinton who are getting paid double time and like reading my Sunday diary entries (well done chaps). 

Steven Spielberg, the making of Tinker Tailor Rob Z Spy, and monitoring social media

As my very long term followers will be aware I have had many run ins over the past nearly three years with forces that lurk in the shadows; dark forces that can sneak up on you and suck the brains out of even a fully grown antelope or brown bear, yes we are talking Zombies, Ooooooo no sorry we are talking Spies. Yes those men in the dark designer sunglasses who on a rainy day in Britain stand out like a sore thumb as they stumble about unable to see where they are going. Those of you who remember the Einstein Cube or the Jules Verne Pocket Oracle and Prophecy Machine will know of my many run ins with the CIA, MI6 and various other security forces including the KGB in the past. So I have to say that as the eccentric child of cyberspace using the world of social media to write my diary I must confess that the recent news that certain forces are monitoring the world of social media is not new to me. In fact I feel I may owe you all a bit of an apology for bringing them here in the first place.

If you think about it poor old Charles and his mate Quentin the back room boys at GCHQ, which if you Google tells you their address and telephone number, which is silly (hello chaps) who are monitoring all the chit chat of social media have a terrible job, just think how boring it must be to sit and monitor stuff without ever being allowed to make the odd comment on a Facebook page or follow the occasional blog making witty remarks or say even start your own blog chatting about life and stuff, Zombies and maybe take the cunning disguise of say an Eccentric Child and part time Pirate in the strange twilight world of Cyberspace, lets face it spies, particularly the back room boys will work much better if they are happy in their work, and a bit of interaction with the punters is just the ticket.

Anyway as Charles and his mate Quentin would say themselves if you can’t trust a man with an original portrait of President Putin, (a gift from the Kremlin) hanging on his wall then who can you trust. And as I have said elsewhere tonight when the nice Mr Steven Spielberg makes the film Tinker Tailor Rob Z Spy from my rather popular serialized diaries the security forces will deny everything, well everyone except Quentin and Charles who may be allowed to be extras in a dramatic scene where the hero and his trusty Lemmings confront the arch villain, a man called Moriarty who has accidently run onto the wrong set.