My Brooch Is Definitely Not A Microphone

Hey guys, sorry I’m late to our chapter of the Russian mafia’s weekly meeting on our illegal drug operations. Let’s start talking about all of the dates and locations of our selling. I’m not talking weird. I just came from the presentation of my dear babushka’s will. She left me this brooch in her memory. I miss her very much and wearing this close to my heart makes me feel like she is close to my heart.  No, that’s not the word “Record” blinking in red on the brooch, or at least not as we know the word. That’s just Yiddish for “love”. My babushka was a true romantic.

No, Vladimir, that sheet of paper that just fell out of my pocket is not a contract with the FBI talking about the stipulations of my agreement as an informant. Well, it is a contract with the FBI, but it’s the Federal Brooch Inventory. Because the brooch is so old, the Brooch Inventory wanted me to sign something authenticating the broach so that they can have it in their records.

It is not suspicious that I just started wearing the brooch after talking to those guys in suits and sunglasses in that windowless, white, van parked right in front of our secret warehouse meeting-space. They are a part of the agency dealing with the estate of my lost babushka. No, that’s not a wire running out of it and going into the collar of my shirt. That’s just a lace attachment that was a very popular brooch accessory in my babushka’s time.

Why is there seemingly an American voice coming out of the brooch now? Vladimir, you are beginning to sound crazy. Let’s say, hypothetically, my brooch were an ornate cover to a microphone attached to a wire meant to funnel information about our illegal operation to the FBI, why would they POSSIBLY during this very IMPORTANT meeting regarding our plans next month for record increases in drug dealing and assassinations, INTERRUPT IT with any AUDIBLE FEEDBACK? That would COMPROMISE my position.  What? I wasn’t weirdly yelling specific words into the brooch as if I were reprimanding a team of FBI agents in that white van over there for putting me in an unsafe situation. I was just getting emotional thinking about the loss of my babushka.

No I’m not making a hand signal through the window to the van over there. I just am trying to shake it around because my hand fell asleep. I have a circulation issue, Vlad. When it’s cold and I’m wearing a tight shirt, my hands and fingers get very cold and limp and I need to shake them around to get blood flowing again.

I’m not trying to run away from you guys. I’m just jogging so that I can get my blood flowing because my doctor said that I need to increase my vascular health. Not everyone can have a perfect heart rate like you, Vladimir. Some of us have to work for it. Why am I running out the door towards that speeding white van? That is a very good question. Do svidaniya! Enjoy prison! I’ll be in New Mexico, you borscht-eating suckers!

-DZ ’16