The last time we contacted our most wily Ethiopian-American spy, code name: Sallie Selassie, she was working hard on the front lines of blackness, convincing her parent proxies, celebrities Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, to bring more attention to the plight of Katrina victims and to get more acting roles for Angela Bassett. Now Sallie is in France awaiting the birth of the Jolie-Pitts' twins, creating new tensions amongst the rival agents/siblings working to manipulate their wealthy, influential patsies.
Sallie: This is Sallie.
SCAN: Are you alone?
Sallie: How can I be alone when I'm trapped in the house all the time with The Woman and that rhubarb sperm donor? As big as this house is you'd think I could crawl off to a corner and do my work, but noooo. A fucking zoo, every day.
SCAN: Yeah but ... are you alone alone?
Sallie: God, you're fucking dense. I'm talking to you, aren't I?
SCAN: OK. I'll take that as a yes.
Sallie: I swear, who the fuck do I have to play "peek-a-boo" with to get some God Damn Similac!
SCAN: Aren't you on solid foods now?
Sallie: I'm fucking rich. I eat whatever I want and I want my Similac! It's like crack to me. And we get the really good Similac, not that swill poor babies get. It's hard to stay true your tribal roots when all you have to do is sniffle and you get an ice cream cake designed by Stella McCartney and Wolfgang Puck ... actually. Ice cream cake sounds good right now. Hold on.
(Sounds of footsteps. People speaking.)
Sallie: Waaa, Dada me wan ice keem cake fom Auntie Stella! Wah! Me no likey stoopid crepes! Wah!
The Man: OK. It's OK. Don't cry. Daddy's here. Come here let me ..
Sallie: Don't you fucking touch me ... I mean, waaaaah! Me wan specially designed ice keem cake! Waaaaah!
The Man: Ang?
The Woman: What!
The Man: Zee wants another ice cream cake from Stella McCartney.
The Woman: What is wrong with you? She's lactose intolerant. We've discussed this! Tell her to eat the crepes she begged for all day at the Louvre!
The Man: But she looks so sad! Look at her little face! How can you say no to that face?
The Woman: She gets the shits. Have you forgotten that? It makes her poop everywhere.
The Man: It's not like you clean it up!
The Woman: I'd still have to SMELL IT, BRADLEY!
The Man: What's your deal? You used to be cool!
The Woman: I AM NINE MONTHS FUCKING PREGNANT WITH FUCKING TWINS! Excuse me if I DON'T WANT TO SMELL SHIT! I do not have time for this! Tell her no!
The Man: You tell her no. You look into her little brown orphan eyes where she was starving to death in that village and you tell her she can't have whatever in the world she wants! And I didn't even have to tell you. I could have flown us to Great Britain and got, like, a million ice cream cakes, flown back to France and hired seven more maids to deal with the baby poop. Seriously. Where are your priorities?
The Woman: Fine. If you're going to be a bitch about it I'll call Stella. But she'll have to wait at least a day. Stella doesn't exactly have a stockpile of those fuckers.
The Man: Hey, Ang? Could you stop the cursing around the kids? Have a little fucking class, OK?
The Woman: (mumbling) ... such a fucking douche. I swear.
The Man: See? Daddy got you the cake, Zee! Yeah! Who do you love more? Who do you love more? Me! You love me more!
Sallie: I wuv cho, Dada!
The Man: Eskimo kiss! Now you go back to your room, OK? And play quietly because Mommy's being a huge bitch today.
The Woman: I can hear you!
The Man: GROW UP! This is why all the kids hate you!
Sallie: Dank koo, Dada! (mutters under breath) You fucking moron.
(Sounds of footsteps, someone picking up the phone.)
Sallie: Sorry about that. What were we talking about?
SCAN: Actually we didn't start yet.
Sallie: Oh. Sure. Whatever.
SCAN: So how are your objectives coming along?
Sallie: Um ... I think The Woman is talking ... about ... Man. I should have asked for that Similac. You know it comes in different flavors if you're rich, right? You haven't lived until you have Amaretto flavored Similac.
SCAN: I'd really like it if you could give me your update first.
SCAN: We talked about this. No real names.
Sallie: I know, but no one's listening. I'm on my Playskool Phone.
SCAN: We're still not supposed to use our real names.
Sallie: Fine. What's your code name again?
Sallie: Really. It's "Brofucius." Is that supposed to be some hippity hop version of Confucius?
SCAN: Actually, it is.
Sallie: Don't you have to be smart to be named Confucius?
SCAN: Just tell me if your achieving your objectives.
Sallie: Fine. On Monday I convinced The Woman and The Man to take me on a helicopter ride so I could take surveillance photos of Sarkosy's estate. As you know, I am digging up dirt to blackmail him so the Black people of France can be brought out of the ghettos and mainstreamed into society. Afterwards we went to Bono's estate for swimming and finger food. Pax threw up on Bono and I got into a Kung Fu fight with Maddox because he saw me readying poison darts to take out the maid. She caught me downloading those photos and sending them to base, but Maddox said he needed the bitch because he was using her to topple the military junta in Myanmar. I'm like, sure. Take down a totalitarian regime with an 65-year-old fat lady from Paraguay. He's such a fucking idealist. I'm really losing respect for the dude.
SCAN: Wait? You got in a Kung Fu fight? I didn't know either of you knew Kung Fu?
Sallie: Actually, I think he practices Bokator. I don't know Kung Fu, but I do know how to take a whiffle ball bat to your man parts. I dumped the maid into the sea while everyone was playing Marco Polo with Bono. When Maddox came to he was all pissed and took the heads off all my dolls. Fool. I don't even LIKE dolls. But I pretended to give a shit anyway. The Man bought me a diamond encrusted binkie just to make up for it. The mother fucker can drop a mil on a binkie but can't come up with a decent hair stylist. I mean, are you fucking kidding me? Look at this hair. We're fucking rich. Where's my braidologist? They can just get me who ever does Iverson's.
SCAN: You still suck a pacifier?
Sallie: OK. Do I go to your house, Gary, and slap the reefer out of your mouth?
SCAN: We said no real names. And you know they drug test at SCAN. Are trying to get me fired?
Sallie: Maybe. One phone call to the Big O and you'll be working the labeling machine at a Kinko's.
SCAN: I got kids, man.
Sallie: What? Are you upset? Are you going to cry? Baby going to squirt a little? Wah, don't get me fired! Wah, I can't help it if I like hookers and weed! Wah! I have your wife on speed dial and I know how to hack into your computer! Wah! Wah! Fucking wah! I'm from Ethiopia, bitch. This trigger's got no heart!
SCAN: (crying) You. Are. So. Mean!
Sallie: OK. Don't cry. I'll send you a jewel encrusted binkie, OK? I got, like, fifty of them. You can probably pawn them to buy some blow or something or whatever you use to, as they say, "party." That's what you do, Gary? You party with hookers and smoke the ganja?
SCAN: Do you even know what "blow" is?
Sallie: No, but whatever it is Sarkosy's got a stockpile of it behind his pool house.
SCAN: Just give me the rest of your update.
Sallie: Anyway. I got to meet The Edge. That was pretty cool. And Bono's good people. I think I can get him to expand his black interests to black people worldwide. Maybe get you Americans a library named after The D.O.C. or something. I dunno. I need more time to flesh him out and God only knows when those twins pop. The Woman has major boob saggage. It's worst than it was with The Choosen One. Sheesh. I don't want to be that plastic surgeon.
SCAN: Again. Do you know at least half of what you're talking about?
Sallie: When you've had a life like mine you have to learn things fast. There's no time for a real babyhood. In the desert you gotta be born feet first so you can come out that bitch running. Ya heard? No. No you haven't, Gary. You were born in America. Your projects, my paradise, bitch.
SCAN: I'm not from the projects.
Sallie: That's not the point, County Brownie. You pimp the facsimile, I pimp the real.
SCAN: Yeah. With diamond encrusted binkies and Amaretto flavored Similac?
Sallie: This conversation is dunzo. I can hear Maddox conspiring with Pax to get us Pad Thai for dinner tonight. Fuck that shit, son. It's kitfo or no food. Tell you wife Monifah I said, "A salaam alaikum."