Above: the actual notice left on the office door by the actual Secret Service. On the back was printed "DO NOT DISTURB" and then in smaller letters, "property of Motel 6 -- DO NOT STEAL." We knew our government was corrupt, but we were appalled that they could steal office supplies from an organization so nice that they send people to your room just to help you pull down the top of the covers on your bed. Now that I think about it, the government's not so bad. They used to give one of my stepbrothers money just for being kind of retarded. They still shouldn't steal from Motel 6, though.
The drama that changed our lives started with a note left on the office door that said the Secret Service wanted to speak to Chet regarding "website." Since Chet's Murray and Sons technically owns Old Man Murray, Fat Chicks in Party Hats, and Sean's likeness, we didn't know which website they were referring to. But after some discussion, we decided that the President (or as he's known inside Coyote Ugly, Portia Bisque) needed to form a super team of a teenage Mexican fitness expert, the beauty prince of Super Friends jokes, and the two bitter brothers who made "centipede-filled vagina" a household phrase and top-selling bumpersticker.



We'd already planned out how our powers would work on the mission. Miguel would be the first to infiltrate the enemy base where President is being held. He'd use his abilities to point out which of the guards are fat enough to eat us. Then Erik and Sean would use the backscratcher they bought from Dolemite for three dollars to pull all the skin off the back of those guards while Chet's in charge of coming up with stupid shit to say afterwards. Stuff like "Looks like he should have watched his back.... and then ... made sure no one tore chunks of it off. *FART!*"

It turns out, though, that the President didn't need us for some kind of supermission. He was only sending some of his bodyguards by to make sure none of us wanted to kill him. Specifically, Seanbaby. You see, on the front page of Fat Chicks in Party Hats, Sean wrote an "edgy" promotion of fatchicksinpartyhats.com email accounts where he said, "What better way to tell the President you want to kill him than with your anonymous fatchicksinpartyhats.com email address?" When the government read it, they didn't think that he was kidding. And then they decided that since he mentioned someone else possibly threatening the President, that he himself was on some sort of secret assassination mission. (Sorry, I guess it would have helped if it was funnier. Like if you used the email account to tell the President that the chicks he has sex with are beasts. --Seanbaby)

Here at Portal of Evil, we have space-age computers tracking Fat Chicks in Party Hats that show tens of thousands of people read it each day, and we assumed most of them were fat people who stumbled across it during an internet search on "butter." We never thought that even one of the F.C.I.P.H. readers had a job, much less a job where they're in charge of protecting Mr. President. (Or as we call him down at Coyote Ugly, Sara Liquid.) I have trouble picturing a guy in a suit with a tiny microphone jammed in his ear surfing Fat Chicks in Party Hats, and I'd hate to think your tax dollars are going towards a guy dismissively saying, "Go to the UN meeting without me, guys. This page is fucking awesome. I'm just a bulletproof vest anyway, pick one up on the drive there and give it my paycheck. Oh shit! Oh shit! Call off the UN thing; President has to get over here and see this! This chick's hat is way waaayyy too damn small for her head! Ha ha ha! Get the vice president too, he's going to love this one about how the fat chick wants to eat a dog!"

After some investigation, we found out that image of Secret Service agents putting hats on ham was just a terrible nightmare. The government didn't find out about the sarcastic not-even-a-threat-anyway line through an internal F.C.I.P.H. reading staff member or even some supercomputer that scans the Internet superhighway's fat jokes for incriminating keywords. Some amateur narc called it in to them. Which almost impressed us. Fat chicks and other people who hate their lives have been rallying against F.C.I.P.H. since its birth on Geocities a couple years ago, and one of them finally decided that getting the Secret Service after Miguel might be a better prank than writing in to tell him he spells badly in his second language.

Our first idea to avoid confrontation was to go into hiding by using our Coyote Ugly names full time. Then Chet forgot and accidentally dialed the number the Secret Service left on the doorknob tag. We found out how serious it was when they demanded a face-to-face interview with Sean.

Next... Sean, Chet and Erik get ready to meet the Secret Service. Can their tricks and traps keep them one step ahead of the government?

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