- undercover arnold, a short story  

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Undercover Arnold by Ben Kharakh  


The phone rang and Arnold Schwarzenegger leapt from his bed, onto the floor and crashed through it, landing safely on a chair on the first story of his rented home. “Dah, it’s going to cost a lota money to fix dat,” he said in a thick Austrian accent as he picked up the telephone and listened for the caller. No sound was heard and Arnold ventured into the silence, “Hello?”

“Hello,” he heard.

“Da, who is this?”

“This is headquarters. We have a new assignment for you.” Arnold knew to whom this voice belonged and what these quarters were the head of. “There is a company out there that’s committing illegal activity and we need you to infiltrate their offices and thwart their plans.”

Arnold leapt with joy and bore a big grin on his face; he dropped the receiver and climbed the stairs to get dressed. “Dah, I’m going to foil the plot. I’m gonna be a hero.”

Time passed and stuff happened, and Arnold could be seen in front of a large building wearing a light blue shirt and tie, as well as beige pants. His growls of delight remain unheard due to the sound of passing vehicles, but it was clear to all that he was a man overwhelmed with joy due to his actions as he neared the building.

He began with a casual walk, but then broke into a run, and as he entered the corridor he jumped into the air and clicked his heels together.

“How does he know what office building to go to? I don’t remember him being told,” you may point out to your friends as you read this passage; you may think you’ve made an important discovery. Well you haven’t; that part of the story has not been omitted because it never took place.

He walked past security and onto an elevator. “Tall and skinny girl from Ipenema dah dah dah girl from Ipenema,” he hummed along with the elevator’s music. He looked over at the directory and pressed the button corresponding with floor number five, the location of management.

“I want to apply for a job,” he said to the first man he saw as he wandered through the building.

“Who are you?” asked the man.

“ I am Arna-Adam Schwarzenegger.”

“Did you say `Arnold Schwarzenegger’?”

“You mean that big and attractive Austrian guy? No, I haven’t seen him.” The answer given was not to the question asked; the man fought, but succumbed to a puzzled grimace. “Well, I’m sorry we don’t have any positions available for you.”

The man began to walk away and Arnold began to panic, sweat formed along his brow and his teeth became clenched. He slowly reached his hand into his pocket and removed a straw, which he placed into his mouth, and, after surveying his surroundings, he found a target. He inhaled deeply and the straw was pulled into his mouth, causing him to choke; he removed it and tried again, this time successfully. From the straw, propelled by air, escaped a small dart whose sharp end, coated with a cattle strength sedative, penetrated the skin of an employ, causing him to fall into a deep sleep and also to bruise his head as it hit the floor.

“Look! That man just fell,” Arnold screamed and walked toward him, “looks like a position just opened up,” he added.

“I guess so,” said the man he spoke to earlier, “you can start tomorrow; you don’t need any references to work security.”

The next day Arnold arrived to work as he did the first day: by car. It was a small green car that could go thirty-two city miles and forty-two highway miles per gallon. It had air-conditioning, radio, and power locks and windows. These were the options he choose; later Arnold installed a rocket launcher and a parachute, although if the car ever needed to use either it would not work because they were installed incorrectly.

He met with an arbitrary person who directed him to his post. Arnold was told that he should first become acquainted with the building, to that he responded, “hello.” Next, he was told that at four o’clock that afternoon many of the employees would be leaving for a picnic but Arnold could not go because it was his first day. Arnold was given a portable radio and a large flashlight that, if necessary, could be used to bludgeon charlatans, loiterers, and people who were no longer needed with the company but didn’t wish to part. He was also given a nametag that informed all the name of his alias.

As Arnold walked around the building people were friendly with him but called him “Adam”, which irritated him. Arnold could not control himself and had an outburst.

“Dah, my name is Arnold.”

“But the tag says.”

“Tags can’t talk, I can and I’m telling you it’s Arnold.”

“Hey Adam, what’s all this excitement about?” said a newly arrived co-worker who was unaware of the enraged Arnold.

“Dah,” he growled and leapt at the man and lifted him off his feet and then used him to impale the other man. People ran, but some felt it necessary to interfere, which was a mistake. Arnold used his flashlight to bludgeon his enemies and ran down a hallway into a large room filled with an equally large table and several men.

“Get out of here you idiot!” yelled a man at the opposite end of the room.

“I’m Arnold!”

“I don’t care who you are, this is a board meeting.” The flashlight spun through the air and beams of reflected light bounced about the room; a strong wind blew the papers off the table. The flashlight had hit the man in the head and he had stumbled back and out a window. Arnold lifted the table off the floor and threw it at the crowd of men as they tried to escape the room; the table soared across the room and the legs impaled two men, while the rest were carried seven stories downward by the wooden face of the table.

“Meeting adjourned,” said Arnold, unaffected by what he had done and the gruesome scene outside the window.

Arnold left the room and continued searching until he reached the ninth floor and found a door that had the words “Director In Charge Of Marketing” written in bold letters on it. Arnold cautiously entered and saw that the office was empty and immediately began searching. He examined the cabinets, lifted the carpeting of the floorboards, and even removed a plant from its pot. When he came to the large maple desk, he saw several small buttons. He began pressing them and was amazed to find that shelves containing alcoholic beverages appeared from behind the wall.

Kneeling and examining the drawers, he discovered several articles about clones as well as a book instructing a dummy how to make his own clone. Arnold was horrified and raised himself off of the floor, but fell back on his first attempt; on his second he grabbed on to the table, accidentally pressing a button that triggered suspenseful music, at which point a man burst through the door. “What are you doing in my office?” asked the man.

“Who are you?”

The man looked around the room and saw his de-carpeted floor, his invaded privacy, and then his de-potted cactus whom he called “Harry.” He starred at Arnold and clenched his fists, “I am Jean-Claude, Van Damme, Director of Marketing.”

“I know all about your company’s plans to make an army of clones,” said Arnold, “And I will stop you.”

“You killed my cactus,” said Jean Claude, with a thick and indeterminable accent while pointing at Arnold, “and now I’ll kill you.” He ran toward Arnold and leapt at him with his foot protruding outward, hitting Arnold below the shoulder.

“Dah,” growled Arnold, lifting a chair and throwing it at his opponent, and missing. They circled each other and then Jean Claude ran, and slid between the legs of the Austrian, and, once on the other side, hit him over the head with a bottle of expensive wine.

“Bad year for you,” Jean Claude said, with a smirk on his face and a foot in his chest. He stumbled back and Arnold shot him with seltzer. It stung his eyes, but he reached for a lighter and made a mock-Molotov cocktail using his tie and a less expensive whisky. He hurled it at Arnold and it exploded.

The two raced toward the stairs and Arnold threw his radio at Jean Claude, causing him to stumble. Arnold retrieved the device and took the lead, stopping later to kick Jean Claude in the chest. Jean Claude was consumed by the flames, but Arnold did not look back to witness his victory.

Arnold, panting and singed, reached the fifth floor, when a hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder. Jean Claude’s scorched fist met his face, and in return Arnold’s foot met his groin. Arnold then rode Jean Claude’s flame engulfed body down the stairwell until he reached the basement floor. Arnold’s run slowed down to a brisk walk, he turned and said, “Tell your boss I know his plan.” Arnold felt a pain in his side and added, “No, I’ll tell him,” and returned to the defeated former Director of Marketing and snapped his neck.

Although such treatment may be viewed as violent and superfluous, Arnold had done him a favor. You see, Jean Claude had suffered third degree burns due to his own foolishness and his face, which he considered his livelihood, could not be saved by the combined efforts of all the plastic surgeons in the world.

Arnold stopped when he came to the utility room and sat down, cross-legged and began to turn the knob and press the buttons on his radio. He heard a voice and began to speak loudly, “Roger that big-boy, ten-four good buddy, this is alpha-omega b-six complex, and I need back up.”

“Um, this is a pizza place. What kind of pizza would you like?” replied an irritating voice.

“Dah, there will be time for pizza when I get back. I need help,” he turned the knob once more and listened for voices. “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Mad-Max; I’m on route fourteen. Where are you?”

“Is that near here?”

“It may be, where are you?”

“Dah, no time for mind games. Goodbye Yellow Brick Road.” Arnold hurled the radio at the floor in a fit of rage, for he knew now that he alone must save man from death by clone.

Arnold searched the parking garage for his car, “Why do they make them so big?” commented Arnold on the gargantuan size of the garage.

Meanwhile, a man was running unnoticed toward Arnold. His goal was to knock Arnold to the ground, and he did.

“Will you help me find my car?” asked a confused Arnold, raising his hand to the familiar looking stranger.

“I’ll help you. Help you die.” Arnold felt betrayed by the response and he soon felt pain due to the kicks.

“Who are, you?” asked Arnold, adding a dramatic stress on the word “You”.

“I am Jean-Claude’s twin brother, Jean-Louise.”

Arnold was shocked, but not dismayed because this concurred his theory on cloning. The two fought, but not to the death; it was a long tiresome battle whose unpleasant details need not be described. Let’s just say Jean-Louise drew Arnold a map depicting how to get to the picnic and Arnold used the map for hitting him with. Jean-Louise also unwillingly gave Arnold the keys to his car, which were also used to injure him.

Arnold arrived at the picnic and quickly caused a scene by eating several sandwiches, drinking five cans of carbonated beverage, and then eating an entire eight-inch sheet cake; the scene was caused afterwards when he began throwing beef patties at children.

“Why ya’ throwing beef at meh kid?” asked an angry parent with a dialect of English so poor it confused Arnold.

Arnold produced a growl of discontent and began to regret eating so many pounds of foodstuff. He began to address the group as a whole, “Dah, I’ve discovered your company’s plan for global domination through clones.”

“What plan?” asked a man, “We don’t have such a plan.”

“Oh, then selling drugs,”

“No,” answered a woman.

“Pact with Satan?” guessed Arnold.


“Robots?” he tried once more.

“Not even close.”

“Dah, I’ve got it: you’re going to assassinate the president of Guinea because he won’t let you drill for oil.”

“Damn, how did you know?”

“I’m Arnold,” this information was enough to make an arrest. The car Arnold had stolen was protected by a car retrieval service, and because Jean-Louise told the representative of the service of his horrific encounter with the thief, a large force was obtained to overpower Arnold. This large force, based on the new information, began arresting the members of the company.

Yet, this was not satisfactory for Arnold and he started hitting people with large sausages; when this became ineffective, he began to bludgeon people with condiment containers or squirting said condiments in the eyes of the aforementioned people.

It was the little things in life that made Arnold happy, like the cries of a grown man as he attempts to remove relish from his eyes.

Ben Kharakh is the creator of the humor magazine One Trick Pony. His list /Sexual Euphemisms That Won't Catch On/ appears in "/Created In Darkness by Troubled Americans: Best of McSweeney's, Humor Category/", which also features a piece by Michael Ian Black, which means that Ben is practically in the movie /Wet Hot American Summer/.

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