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The Black Helicopters must be in Stealth Mode

On this blog I occasionally hint at a certain level of paranoia that I, for lack of a better word, enjoy.  I wipe stuff regularly from my computer, I run security checks, I don’t sign up for stuff, I don’t enable cookies and javascript for questionable sites.  In the real world, I watch for cars following me, I keep my curtains closed at home, I never sit with my back to a door, and so on.  Still, sometimes, it just doesn’t seem to be enough.

Tonight, Rat Jr. answered a knock at the front door.  When she opened the door a midget spy entered our house and came upstairs.  OK, he said he was four, but how did he know we had birds in the bedroom?  The Head Rat (crafty counter-intelligence agent that she is) played along and lifted the bloody little bastard up so he could see the birds, all the while talking to him in that condescending “adult trying to relate to a kid” voice.  Then she escorted him back to the neighbors’ apartment. 

I have to hand it to him.  The cover story about his sister visiting our neighbors was pretty good.

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