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April 28, 2017
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Frasier Crane gets tortured by two CIA operatives in an unknown government black site.

This is all one big misunderstanding. I am not a weapons dealer! I am well-regarded psychotherapist! Please, there has to be a way out of the situation I currently find myself in: tortured by two operatives from my own government in an unknown black site. Perhaps I could interest you in two box seats to see Schwanda der Dudelsackpfeifer at the Seattle Opera House this Friday? Perhaps you’d like a one-hour therapy session? I’m listening! No? Well, your loss, pal: it seems like you have some anger issues you could talk out!

I told you: I don’t know anything about any shipments of anti-aircraft missiles! I would talk if I could, believe me, I love talking; it’s one of my favorite activities! Please, don’t do this! Don’t torture me! Please! Please…what are you setting up? Is that…are you going to waterboard me?

Oh.

Hmm.

Well, no, nothing’s wrong – not wrong, per se…. It’s just that – well, waterboarding? Don’t you think that’s a little…passe? I mean, it’s 2017 for gods’ sake, not 2003! In fact, it’s not even old enough to be passé; it’s like serving a baked white fish with a 2011 Chateau Laffitte Laujac: démodé! For instance, simply placing me in the town stocks would have been a better choice of torture in respect to its vintage charm - good, God! That’s a tremendously large knife you now have!

Wait a moment, a knife?

Hmm.

Forgive my presumption, yet I can’t help but assume you now intend to resort to cutting? You see, that won’t work at all. My body will lose its vital fluids long before I could effectively commune any valuable information. My father didn’t pick up all those extra patrol shifts to put me through medical school for nothing, you know! Now I see you are now grabbing the pliers. May I ask what for? Fingernails? Well, actually that’s all the better, then. I didn’t much care for this manicure anyway. It’s cracked already, see? Time to start fresh, and while you’re at it my pedicure is dreadfully -

Well, if you are asking sincerely, then yes I would in fact like to go in “the box!”
I’ve always wanted a place of my own, without any psychics or fuzzballs! I don’t care how long you stick me in there, it’d be nice to finally some peace and quiet from Titus and Tamora over here! I was referring to you two. They’re both characters from Shakespeare’s - oh, just stick me in already!

Thank you. I will be quiet fine in here with my thoughts.

[A week passes before the government operatives pull Frasier Crane from his box]

Hello there. Has it been a week already? I hardly noticed. I passed the time reciting Carl Jung’s Collective Unconscious and rehearsing an aria from Verdi’s “Rigoletto.” What’s that? Why, I suppose I am a bit parched; a glass of sherry would go down quite nicely! Why goodness, you’ve set a whole table here for me! What bright, Tuscan candles. And is this a chess board? I suppose after those days of isolation in “the box” I wouldn’t mind a little gamesmanship! Let’s have ourselves a game, what say you?

Say, that is quite a pretty painting on the wall back there. Is that an original Iwinski by chance? Wow…hmm. It’s a bit…askew. “Askew:” the painting is crooked. Don’t you see how it’s just not quite parallel to the floor? You don’t? Well, back to the chess game, then. I’ll move my knight…which is not a chess piece, but rather a…corn nut! Wait a second, this isn’t sherry! This is a melted root beer float! And that Iwinski’s a fake!

You monsters. You cretins!

That’s how you want to play this? Fine. I’ll talk.

I did it, all right? At first my brother and I were just trying to import some Caviar from the Caspian Sea. We had no idea our shipping associate from Turkmenistan was smuggling surface to air missiles and was on some sort of a watch list. But once he mentioned to me the money at stake in helping him procure his next weapons shipment, I acquiesced, thinking only of my son Frederick’s upcoming Harvard tuition, and the repairs needed to my Mercedes after it was demolished at the KACL summer picnic by Bulldog Briscoe’s rogue golf cart. So, there you have it: yes, I aided an arms dealer. Are you happy now? I admit it! I sold out my country - but not before it sold me out a long time ago. You should have thought twice before making enemies with intellectuals like me - we’re dangerous people, just ask barista who ruined my latte last week! And as long as you’ve got me talking: Monet was overrated, the second act of La traviata drags, and you both have severe abandonment issues.

Now, put me back in my box.

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