1 + 1 Sometimes Makes Eleven

The heavy door swung open and I stepped into the next room. I don’t know what I expected, maybe a dungeon with instruments of torture? Once again, MFOYA surprised me. It was as if I had entered a room in Buckingham Palace or Versailles. There were frescos, statues, and paintings. Every piece of furniture seemed to have been dipped in gilt. Marie Antoinette would have felt right at home.


The MFOYA walked over to a large round table and sat down, leaving one empty chair. I waited for them to say something, to give me some clue of what they expected, but none came. I decided, what the hell, I was in up to my little neck in shit anyway. So I walked over to the empty chair and sat down.

Still, no one spoke. In front of each chair, there were porfolios, and the MFOYA seemed entraced by the contents, reading each page carefully. I took this time to study their faces. Again, I was struck by their ordinary looks. They came in different shapes and sizes, different hair colors and complexions. I was trying to find a common thread between them, but was coming up empty.

Finally, in unison, they closed the portfolios and looked at me. Still, they said nothing.

If their silence was intended to strike fear in me, they were doing a pretty good job. Once again, I made the decision that I was already pretty well screwed, so there was nothing to lose.

“So, you’re MFOYA? I must say, you’re hardly what I expected to meet.”

At first there was no reaction, but then, finally, one of them began to chuckle, quickly followed by the others.

A MFOYA finally spoke. “We’ve protected ourselves very well. Our identities have remained hidden for many reasons. There will come a time when we will reveal ourselves, but that time hasn’t come yet. Which makes having you find us a problem.”

While the MFOYA was talking, I studied it’s appearance. Again, a very plain looking person, stringy blonde hair, with an unusual body shape. I almost wanted to say it’s figure reminded me of a vegetable, maybe a turnip?

I answered, “There’s no problem really. I’m a journalist, we have a code of ethics that we hold to. You can tell me anything you want, and I would never disclose my sources or your identities.”

Again, the MFOYA chuckled, followed by the others. “Oh yes, we know all about you journalists. HA! We’ve been trying to get you to work with us for months, and not once has one of you returned our calls or messages. Here we are, with probably the MOST important story in a decade, and you’ve ignored us.”

“I can’t speak for anyone else,” I said, “but I’m here now, and our publication, the Trailer Trash Tribune, is ready to help you.”

At this point, the MFOYA began whispering amongst themselves. Finally, another MFOYA spoke “We’ll talk to you. We’ll tell you everything. Then, if we decide that you’re smart enough to really get what MFOYA is all about, we’ll let you publish our story. If not…..” Though the MFOYA did not finish the sentence, I could pretty much fill in the blanks all by myself.

I sat back and waited for the story to begin.

To Be Continued


January 28, 2008. Tags: . Uncategorized.


  1. mfoyasucks replied:

    Trailer Trash Tribune…LOL Let’s see… is that publication close to the rag Radar? hehe..

    Can’t wait for the next installment 🙂

  2. henry8 replied:

    Well you know when you are working on an important news story, you must look important. LOL

  3. chill replied:

    MFOYAsses, I have to talk to you. haha, I’ll e-mail you later on today.

  4. makingfunofyourasses replied:

    chill, I’ll be on the look-out for it.

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