Timmy was a young man, aged 54, who lived at 1612 Kenwood Avenue in Alexandria, VA, USA. Timmy was a talented starving artist. He made photographs and wrote poems. He wrote a novel all about himself, calling himself Seamus O'Malley III in the novel, but he couldn't find an organization to publish his book. Timmy labored in a bookstore where he earned a slave's wages. He took home no more than $100 a week. Timmy owed Visa $15,000, and he owed the IRS $13,000.
Timmy had a sister named Barbara Anne. Barbara Anne was an artist too, taking beautiful family pictures, writing lovely prose and educating the city of Pittsburgh about Mary Cassat (sp.?) (Cassat, fyi, was born in Pittsburgh.)
Barbara Anne was also a secret agent for the CIA. She told no one this, not any of her three sisters and two brothers and not even her genius psychiatrist husband, Harold.
When Barbara Anne was just 62, she became ill with cancer and died. Barbara and her husband were worth several million dollars, and Barbara Anne wanted to leave lots of money for her brother Timmy, who some would say was a van Gogh-like manic dpressive, and for her great nephews and nieces, who numbered about seven. Somehow, Harold her husband construed it so that no one got a cent, but Barbara through her CIA contacts was able to take care of Timmy. She set up a black op code-named Snazzy Mobile and had a James Bond-like sports car made especially for Timmy.
The car was a two door, 5-speed, white BMW with a special compartment in its ceiling which held an AK-47 and a 9mm Glock and plenty of ammunition. The car was able to fire four laser-guided, heat-seeking missiles, two in the front, two in the back.
One day about a year after his sister had passed away, there was a knock on the door of Timmy's house. Timmy was upstairs writing a poem about the mystery of life when he heard the knocking on the door. Timmy went downstairs and opened the door to find a deeply dark-skinned man in a white suit and vest and white shoes and socks staring at him.
"Yes?" said Timmy.
The dark-skinned man reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He extended the keys toward Timmy and said, "You see that car behind me?" He turned and gestured toward the BMW, which was parked right in front of Timmy's house. "It's yours. Compliments of your sister and the company."
The man handed the keys to Timmy and as he did this the air was filled with the load sound of a helicopter. The helicpter descended and landed in the streeet next to the BMW. The dark-skinned man in the white suit ran over to the helicopter, got in, and the helicopter took off, quickly disappearing from sight.
Timmy returned to his room, retrieved his prescription sunglasses and wallet and went to his new car. He started her up and drove the car around the block for three hours without reading the instruction booklet which lay in the passenger seat. Timmy was very happy. He knew there was a God, and he knew that his sister Barbara was in heaven. He knew too what he had suspected for a long tome now: He was in the company. He was an officer of the CIA.