If you missed Part 1 of the Return of the CMEslinger saga, you can click here to read it.
Part 2 (Derek)
The CMEslinger picked up his phone. And heard that unmistakably raspy voice on the other end.
“We’ve got a problem.”
“No, we don’t,” mumbled the CMEslinger and hung up the phone, burying his head under a mound of pillows. Unfortunately, like his sins, the ring of his phone will always find him out, no matter how many feather down pillows he tried to hide under. Not bothering to escape his entombment, he blindly sought out the ceaselessly ringing phone with his right hand until he finally located where he had tossed it on his nightstand, atop his dogeared copy of McGowan’s #SocialQI.
“Leave me alone,” the CMEslinger groaned into the phone.
“Boo hoo,” smirked the man in black. “What is going on there? Are you in a cave or something? I can barely hear you.”
The CMEslinger freed his head from its pillowed sarcophagus and rolled over onto his back.
“What?” he croaked out groggily. “What do you want? What time is it? Why are you calling me? I haven’t heard from you since I beat your as-, er, butt in Vegas.”
“Whoa,” the man in black exclaimed. “Now that I can hear you, you sound even worse. Don’t tell me you’re back on the pickletinis, again? I told you years ago that that pickle juice will give you an ungodly hangover. You never did listen to me.”
The CMEslinger let out a long sigh and struggled up into a sitting position.
“Can we not call them that—pickletinis? I like dirty martinis with a little dill brine, that’s all. Anyway, why am I talking about this…what do you want? I don’t hear or see hide or hair from you for a year and suddenly you’re calling me at some unholy time in the morning. I’ve got a splitting headache, my mouth feels like I ate a wool cardigan, and I need coffee so bad I’d even drink one from a Keurig. You have 3 seconds to start talking or I’m hanging up again. One…two…thr-“
“TAXIE is going to lose their accreditation!” the man in black blurted into the phone.
The CMEslinger’s jaw dropped open as he stared at his phone for several moments.
“Hold on, that’s not possible. Say that again.”
The man in black growled, “TAXIE, The Academy for eXcellence In Education, the company that gave two losers like you and me a career, the company where we learned at the feet of Phinneas, is in danger of losing their accreditation. If they do, that’s it. They are finished. Kaput. Finito.”
The CMEslinger was now fully awake, sitting at the end of the bed, feet flat on the plush bedroom carpet.
“OK, fine, but that still doesn’t make any sense. I know Phinneas is gone, but Marge is there. Marge, the Queen of Reaccreditation. Marge, who could do a reaccreditation blindfolded and with her hands tied behind her back and still get commendation. Marge, who the ACCME has on speed dial because they call her so often for consultations. How could TAXIE possibly be in danger of losing their accreditation?”
“Because, my pickletini swilling friend, Marge is missing. And the reaccreditation files are due Friday.”
The CMEslinger shot to his feet.
“Marge is missing?! You should have said that from the beginning, you monochrome baboon! We’ve got a problem!”
For the sake of Phinneas and Marge, the man in black bit his tongue and counted slowly to five in his head.
“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Now pull yourself together, put on some decent clothes, and get over here so we can figure out what to do. I’m across the street at Café Gilead. I’ll buy you a decent cup of coffee if you hurry.”
“I’ll be there in five,” snapped the CMEslinger and reached for the faded Wranglers hanging on the bedpost.
CMEPALOOZA 