Fourteenth Friday Flash: Frankie Goes to Tripoli

Frankie had had enough. Everyday it was the same crap over and over again. The media couldn't seem to go a minute without mentioning it. Phone hacking this, phone hacking that. Frankie just wanted them to grow up. It wasn't the first time someone had done something devious to get ahead and certainly wouldn't be the last. To put it in a nutshell humanity was pissing Frankie off.

That's why he liked being an Orc. If an Orc had a problem with another Orc he would just punch the bugger out. Normally out stone cold. And if it happened to him, he more than likely deserved it.

But what could he do? The people involved had been arrested, companies were ruined and jobs were lost. Causing them more harm seemed excessive. Plus reasoning with the media was impossible and would most probably make it worse if it was.

That's when he decided he would make his own news. A story so large it would get everyone's attention. Yeah, that's right. He was going invade Libya. He was going to do what humanity didn't have the balls to do. Utilizing his Orc Special Forces (OSF) they were going to take Gaddafi out once and for all.

It wouldn't be a cheap operation, but the bounty the rebels had put on his head was more than enough to cover expenses. Plus knowing a few key officers in the coalition wasn't a bad thing either. Some had even offered some unofficial help.

“Frankie,” said his second in command through his earpiece. Jordan was a chameleon/human hybrid. He had blended in as one of the reporters covering Gaddafi's latest TV interviews. “He's about to talk.”

“Excellent, let me know when he has everyone's attention.”

“I could disguise myself as one of his mistresses and take him out, real quiet like.”

“Jordan, we have to make a statement here, remember?”

“I know, shock and awe.”

“That's my boy!”

“Okay, go go go! He's just started one of his rambling rants that puts everyone into a trance.”

Frankie and the rest of his hidden Orcs jumped into action. In no time Frankie had the crusty dictator by the throat. All Gaddafi's personal guards were dead, or wishing they were. Frankie's Orcs went off to secure the rest of the compound.

Gaddafi was mumbling something. Frankie wasn't listening. It was his moment now. He was going to show them what a real news story was about. His huge army knife hovered millimeters away from the dictator’s neck.

“You can't kill him,” said one of the reporters. “It's against the law.”

“That's where you're wrong. It's well documented his men has attacked Orc convoys. Sometimes killing my people. That's a crime punishable by death. And you can blather on about how this is not my kingdom, but I don't give a damn. It's about time...”

There was loud scream. It was a woman reporter. She was on her phone.

Everyone turned to her.

“What is it?” asked one of the reporters.

“I can't believe it!”

“Spit it out!” said Frankie.

“Paris Hilton's dog has just given birth. She's currently being interviewed.”

“Oh MY God!” screamed another reporter.

“Come! There's a TV in the bar area, let's go watch!”

Within moments Frankie was standing alone with Gaddafi.

“Son of a goblin!” Frankie grabbed Gaddafi by the beck and tossed him through the air. “These people deserve you.”

Gaddafi landed with a thud.

“Jordan, Jordan where are you?”

“Aw... she's going to call the puppy Twinkles. How sweet is that?”

“Jordan!”

“Just kidding boss, I'm right here.” Jordan tapped him on the shoulder.

“I thought the whole world had gone insane.” Frankie sat down, with his head in his hands. “That being said, I just don't care anymore. These humans are truly mad.”

“My chameleon half agrees with you.” Jordan patted Frankie on the shoulder. “What say you we go grab some beer?”

“Excellent idea. And bring Gaddafi over there. The rebels will pay us even more if we take him in alive.”

*I know there are many spellings for Gaddafi, but it's what Wikipedia and Google says so I'm sticking with it :).