5-10-98
Today the BFI has publicly verified the recent suspicions and speculations from
circles outside of the bureaucracy that Agent X's sudden disappearance or inavailability, as the BFI prefers to call it, was due to Agent X admitting himself to a mental health
institute, which shall remain unnamed, for psychiatric evaluations. Leaks from inside the BFI have provided a plethora of information and documentation pertaining to Agent X's
precarious mental condition leading to his psychiatric admission. The accumulated data is immense. A brief yet thorough summation of Agent X's situation follows.
It has been recognized that Agent X's present condition while complex in nature,
can nonetheless be attributed to several things. All of which served not to create his
condition but were the structures that simply caused the thin fabric of his self constructed mental façade to slowly sink into the muck and mire quicksand foundation of his mind. It is believed that Agent X's mental melt down could have been avoided in three ways:
- Development of a better and stronger mental foundation.
- Go back to the catalog 'n crating and give up his obsession with hunting down Anonymomma.
- Through self-realization and psychiatric help recognize that the elusive bikini clad Anonymomma
represents a side of himself he does not want to acknowledge or face.
Agent X’s dilemma began with his accepting the case to find Anonymomma. In
his long and arduous self-sacrificing search he developed delusions and fixations of a
very unhealthy sort. The elusive and care-free nature of Anonymomma ate at his every
waking hour. Slowly he fixated and obsessed more and more on her apprehension. At
every turn he could sense her presence, somehow, just out of his reach. This alone began
to weaken the thin crust over his dim wit and rapacious psyche. An already wobbly
foundation was beginning to reach its breaking point. Agent X continued his relentless
search across the globe. His rope was short, thin, and the strands were starting to break.
The turning point came on one bright and sunny day in the Tahitian Islands. A
place well suited to the Momma’s freewheeling and exotic nature. Frustrated and alone,
with possibly only one female whom he dared call friend, Agent X walked the quiet
moonlit beach searching his soul. He heard a noise and looked up from the sands of his
time. In the distance he saw someone coming toward him. He froze in heart throbbing
anticipation. The moonlight and shadows played with his vision. The person approaching
him had a bag over their head! This was it! Finally the Momma had made a mistake! She
was literally walking right into his hands! Suddenly all of his frustration was gone. He
saw with new eyes. In the time it took to close the distance he imagined himself receiving
awards, accolades, a raise and a promotion. The Momma neared, moving with all the
effortless grace he had long documented in his endless search. The moment was at hand.
She was right before him. Did she not recognize him? Was she just toying with him in
her own unique, coy little way? Was this, perhaps, a trap? Would he be deprived again?
Was she just too distracted from having so gosh darn much fun that she had become
careless? All of these things went through his mind. There she was before him. Agent X
pounced like the tiger he isn’t. Lacking grace, coordination and anything more than two
left feet and two left hands without thumbs he more or less fell into and onto his prey like a man in a drunken stupor.
He heard screaming and hollering. She kicked and fought furiously but Agent X
was not about to let her go. A few choice and colorful verbs were indiscriminately flung
at him. He was determined. Finally he had captured the Momma. He clung to her for dear
life. Several minutes went by that seemed like an eternity to Agent X. Everything had
come down to this moment. He had often thought about the time of the capture. He
thought about how he would respond and whether or not he could respond and perform as
the moment would require. When the moment arrived, would he find himself to be
impotent? Would he not be able to fulfill his role? Would he not be able to perform his--
duty? Well the time was at hand and while he found himself wanting he was still proud to
be able to say that he did not shrink back. He was not found to be lax in his duty. The
perceived eternity finally came to an end. The Screaming and hollering brought others
who brought the police. Other hands grabbed Agent X. He would not let go. Was it his
delusion that if he let go somehow she would escape? Did he enjoy possibly the only
physical contact he could expect from a woman represented in this wrestling match? Is
the only consensual physical female contact Agent X can expect to be derived from
prostitutes? Well that is another story altogether.
The policeman finally separated them. Agent X was bruised and scratched. He
quickly produced his BFI identification card to the officer. He explained his situation and
demanded the officer’s assistance in escorting the Momma to jail to await extradition to
the United States for prosecution for crimes against the sensibilities of the federal
bureaucracy and all the uptight stuffed-shirts who’s sole purpose is to deprive people of
their rights to the pursuit of happiness, fun, and a care-free individualistic free thinking
life. Alas, Agent X’s diatribe was not well received. It seems that Agent X had attacked a
local council member while walking home from a local party. The bag over the head was,
well, due to a few too many drinks and the absence of a lampshade. Now while the
council member can be considered buxom in some degree and fashion, the same is
predominately a characteristic of the council member being something of an abundantly
fleshy person. To clarify the point, the council member attacked by Agent X was also a
man.
It took several minutes, but Agent X finally realized his delusion. This was the
beginning of his mental collapse. Within days did Agent X experience a similar
situation. Agent X became paranoid. He feared a grass-roots movement developing in
favor of the Momma. John and Mary Doe helping the effervescent babe in the bikini to
continue her free and elusive ways. Several days passed without Agent X experiencing
another delusion of the Momma. An anonymous tip came his way about concerning
Anonymomma. She would be present at a free concert to generate proceeds for the non-
profit organization of Free. Free freely gives its free services to recovering pencil… ah-
um, to recovering pimple-headed myoptic… ah-um, to recovering bureaucratic bung
holes. Oops, sorry, that one slipped. Free helps those who have difficulty being free to
become free. Some, however, are beyond help.
Agent X moved quickly. He called in other agents as well as the services of the
local and state police. The concert was under way. Agent X moved his forces into
position. They would close this place down like a tight net. The moment arrived. The
order was given. The concert participants and the Momma, so it would seem, were sealed
in tight. Agent X took the stage. The clamor of boo’s and vulgarity did not cease. Finally
the crowd settled. Agent X made his demand for the crowd to give up the Momma. If
they did he would let the concert continue. The crowd jeered him. Hidden amongst this
huge sea of humanity even the gorgeous, buxom bikini clad bagged Momma would be
hard to spot. The crowd would not give in. They would not let agents move about to find
the Momma. Agent X threatened to arrest minors and anyone suspected of doing
anything he did not like them to do. The crowd called his bluff. The agents started cuffing
people.
A voice was heard. The crowd went hush. There, out in the middle of the crowd
stood the bikini bag lady. “You can’t get me fair and square Agent X, can you? Leave
these innocent people to their fun. I’m the one you’re looking for. I’m Anonymomma.”
Agent X smiled a sick little bureaucratic smile. The crowd went to whispering.
Something was afoot, and Agent X could smell it. He knew he had to get to her fast, now.
Before agents could close, the whisper disappeared. Suddenly someone stood up with a
bag on their head. “No, I’m Anonymomma,” they cried with a loud voice. Agent X began
to panic. Another rose with a bag over their head and made the same declaration as the
person before them. Each in their turn, male and female, young and old, rose to the call.
Person after person, bag head after bag head. Agent X would not have his way with the
Momma, not on that day. Before his eyes Agent X saw an enormous sea of paper bags.
To him, all bag heads look the same and so the Momma disappeared from his site. It’s
like she just evaporated into thin air. Agents became frantic, the crowd resisted. There
weren’t enough police to control the crowd. The police began to fall back. Holes
developed in the once enclosed perimeter the police had erected. Da Momma was free,
free, free again! And Agent X realized his worse nightmare. A grass-roots movement of
bag heads.
It was all downhill for Agent X from this point on. Daily he began to see people
on the street with paper bags on their heads, even on statures, buildings and billboards.
He started hearing voices saying, “I’m da Momma.” “No, I’m da Momma.” He heard the
voices over and over and over again. Every where he went he saw bag headed people and
even started seeing them in bikini’s whether they were female or male. Agent X thought
he was loosing it, when actually he was just becoming aware that he never really had it.
The evening news anchors on every available channel had paper bags on their heads. He
heard the same message from them over and over again, “Everybody’s for the Momma
but you and the bureaucracy Agent X. What’s wrong with you, Agent X? Can’t get the
Momma Agent X ‘cause inside we’re all Anonymomma’s, even you Agent X. Can’t be
what you aren’t Agent X. You got to be the Momma if you want to catch the Momma.”
The echoes of these many voices haunted him night and day.
Agent X went into the office in drag one day. He wore a bikini, high-heels, a
paper bag over his head and a poorly drawn pair of lips on the bag he had placed there
with red lipstick. He told his superiors that he was going undercover. The people are
helping the Momma at every turn, thwarting his efforts before he can nab the fleeting bag lady. He intended to ferret her out by winning the confidence of her helpers and
confidants. He would find the Momma by becoming “Da Momma.” The staff
psychologist was called in to talk to Agent X. The rest is, well, history now.
Agent X is loose and about his usual business again. He was released on his own
recognizance. The question remains though, “Does medically supervised drug therapy
really alter deeply harbored psychological personality flaws, character traits and mental quirks?” That is a question that all we who support and aid Da Momma will have to
consider. As for right now though, Agent X is out there, somewhere, and he still wants to catch Anonymomma. What will his next move be? Only time will tell. Look out Momma.
His clock didn’t always strike twelve before, but now he doesn’t even know there is a
twelve on the clock.