The Anti-Jeff: Part 4

There was a click.

At first, I prepared an entire speech. I took my government-issued writing utensil and government-issued lined paper and wrote out a whole speech, but in the end I decided to go with a punchier approach - the kind that left the Jeffs confused and dead, in that order. Now my whole plan was ruined.

I pulled the trigger again.

There was another click.

One of the Jeffs stood up. I pulled the trigger for a third time, but the only result was that damned clicking.

Jeff grabbed the gun out of my hand.

"Tim was right," he remarked. The other Jeff made a little sound of approval as the first one examined the gun.

"We knew you were an enemy from day one, Sam. Tim planned all of this. He's one of the best Jeffers out there. We're quite glad to have him."

At this point, I was fairly convinced that someone had replaced my government-issued with water with non-government-issued water and I was, in fact, hallucinating.

"We replaced your phone wiring with a direct line to Jeff headquarters. We pretended to be the police and acted like we didn't want to use your house. We hoped that you would let it go. You had been a friend for so long. We didn't want to hurt you. When you went out on your own we were crushed."

I tried to make eye contact with the other Jeff. He didn't look at me.

"We knew you were tracking us here, so when you asked for a gun, we gave you this one. It's a real gun, Sam, and we knew you'd show up with it. The only issue is that the safety controls are reversed. Quite an efficient little problem solver. With you gone, the Jeffs can be free to continue our plan to overthrow the government and set up our own regime."

He clicked the safety to the safe position which was, in this case, the non-safe position.

"No long speeches," he said, "no melodrama. This ends here."

"You already made a speech," the other Jeff commented.

"Yes, and I already said that when I was about to shoot you," I added.

"Yes, well, no more long speeches. This ends here, after my other long speech."

He pulled the gun up to my head. My heart was hammering in my chest.

"Feeling tired?" Jeff grinned.

Now that he mentioned it, I was feeling a little weary. My eyes ached.

"This room has a slightly lower oxygen concentration than that of the normal atmosphere. As I scare you with this gun, you'll panic and start to need more air. Eventually you'll faint and fall to the ground, thus activating a multi-contact electrical pad in the floor, killing you instantly."

"Wow," I said, feigning awe.

Jeff smiled. "I know! It was all my idea."

"No, it's just that it sounds sort of..." I petered off.

"Impressive?"

"Incredible?"

"Iconoclastic?"

"I was going to go with," I paused here, for the dramatic effect I so duly deserved, and then shouted: "inefficient!"

I bolted for the door, squaring up my shoulder, aiming, making contact. The door smashed open.

"Hey," the sitting Jeff yelled, "shoot him!"

I vaulted off the catwalk. The gun went off. The bullet struck the railing next to my hand. It sparked. I landed on a box. It collapsed. I sprinted past three more government-issued crates, under a government-issued forklift, and past a government-issued economy-sized bottle of ketchup-flavored-condiment. Bullets whined by my face.

Outside, I raced to my car, throwing myself over the hood and into the driver's seat. I revved the engine and raced down the long industrial driveway back onto the interstate.

As I drove away from the warehouse that evening, I knew what future lay ahead of me. Immediately, I would have to switch cars as soon as possible, of course - I now knew that the claws of the Jeffers reached further into the government than I at first feared. In the long run, though, I could never return to my home, and I would not let myself risk my family's safety by contacting them. I would have to travel alone, rely only on myself. An early death was inevitable, but I would just have to hope I could take a few of them down with me.

My old life was over. I had one purpose. I have one purpose. Nothing remains but the enemy.

I am the Anti-Jeff.

The Anti-Jeff: Part 3

Things were turning out okay.

Jeff had gotten new glasses (the inefficient kind, without frames), so I took the opportunity to get some new ones of my own. The government recently published some new information reporting that inefficiency could be contracted through eye contact, and I think Jeff was starting to notice that I was avoiding looking him in the eye (he mentioned something when I started looking around the corners of my house with hand mirrors). The new pair I bought was complete with government-issued Jeff Reflective coating. It was expensive, sure, but my health and efficiency were worth it.

My plan was working perfectly. Every week Jeff went to visit the other Jeff in a warehouse just outside of town, and I tracked him every time with a locator in his shoe.

During one of the meetings I made a call from the house to a certified JeffFree purveyor of firearms. The purchase was going to be quite expensive until I told him what I was planning on using my item of choice for; in the end, he offered me the gun for free, his only condition that I not come to the shop but rather that he stash it in the trunk of my car in a few days ("can't be too careful these days," he explained, "what with all the Jeff spies been runnin' around"). I agreed it was for the best.

Finally, the day came. It was a Saturday evening in November, I remember - a little chilly, dark by 5:45. I pulled my government-issued outer garment close against me as I snuck from my car to the building I now knew Jeff to be in. I pushed open the door. It squeaked.

I moved slowly.

The warehouse was large and dark, lit only by the small amount of moonlight that was able to struggle through the grimy paned windows. The primary feature in the space seemed to be large wooden crates. A metal catwalk was hung from the ceiling, connected to an upper level door. A crack of incandescent light streamed out from the crack under the door.

I climbed up the rusty ladder, cursing every tiny noise my feet made against the iron. Once up on the catwalk I crawled, maneuvering slowly towards the slit of light that seemed my only hint as to the Jeff's location.

Faint voices emanated from under the door. They sounded Jeff-Like.

"Oh man, this whole 'against the Jeffs' thing is getting a little ridiculous. How are people falling for this?"

Yes, definitely Jeff-Like.

I pulled out my gun and kicked open the door and there they were, sitting in a small table in a small room and looking small themselves and so thoroughly at my mercy. Unfortunately for them, I wasn't feeling merciful. The fear in their eyes was instant and for that I was grateful - I wanted them to be scared.

I stepped into the room slowly, my gun leveled, my finger poised.

"No long speeches," I said, "no melodrama. This ends here."

I pulled the trigger.

***

Appropriately enough, this picture was taken by Jeff B. I think it sort of fits with the post, and I also quite like the photo in and of itself.

There will be one more installment of this story.

The Anti-Jeff: Part 2

Efficiency was the name of the game, so it wasn't hard to see why the Jeffs were losing so badly.

Having Jeff at my house was a nightmare. Not only was I at constant risk of catching some disease (I had to forego the air filter for the sake of looking like I was on his side), he was massively inefficient. He woke up at 7:30 AM, went to sleep nearly TWO HOURS after sundown, and even refused to take food in pill form. I was astounded. I did my best to keep my eyes down in the supermarket line, clutching bread for the first time in a number of year, but I couldn't avoid the dirty looks I received from the other customers in line.

The Jeffers were clever, though; I had to give them that. At meetings I repeatedly inquired as to the location of the other Jeff, but those who knew refused to divulge the information. "We know you're concerned about your friend," they said, "but it's too dangerous. If you were captured..."

I thought maybe hosting a Jeff at my house would convince them I was trustworthy, but they refused to budge. Now, however, I was stuck with a refugee I wasn't interested in. The piano practicing lasted into all hours of the mid-afternoon, and though he had yet to request to indulge in a rousing game of hamster-baseball, I knew it would come eventually. Could I really sacrifice an innocent hamster so that I could capture another Jeff? I came to the conclusion that it was necessary.

Time passed, and I realized that the Jeffers wouldn't give me the location of the other Jeff. Ultimately, I would have to make a decision: turn in the Jeff I had now, or allow him to continue to run rampant through society in the hopes that, eventually, I could turn both of them in.

I had something of a dilemma on my hands.

The answer presented itself days later when Jeff and I were playing videogames (I had gotten rid of JEFFHUNT, so we had to play some other stupid fighting game). After defeating me for the upteenth time, Jeff sighed. I asked him what was on his mind (like I care).

"Oh, nothing," he mumbled, "it's just that Jeff was really good at this game. I haven't seem him since we were in hiding together."

"That's gotta be really rough. We should ask the Jeffers if you guys can get together for a little reminiscing," I suggested, trying to be casual.

His face lit up. "Yeah, maybe we could do that!"

"What did you ever do when you were in hiding?" I asked, trying to be casual.

"Oh, not much," he replied, still thinking about the other Jeff.

"No ultimate kitten?"

"What?"

As we sat there deciding whether I had asked Jeff if he played ultimate kitten or if he actually danced on the grave of George Washington, a plan began forming in my head. Though the Jeffers would not let me see the other Jeff, it was very possible that they would let Jeff see him. They did seem determined to give Jeffs all the freedoms that they didn't deserve. By slipping a tracker into Jeff's shoe, I could easily track him to the location of the other Jeff, and then it was just a matter of alerting the proper authorities. I could have this whole thing wrapped up in a week.

"Hey Sam?" Jeff's voice brought me out of my daydream.

"What?"

"You were laughing a lot," he said, giving me a confused look.

"Oh, sorry." I cursed myself. I had to be more careful.

"Also you were chanting 'Down with Jeff!' and making stabbing motions."

"Oh yeah," I answered vaguely, "that's my exercise routine."

Jeff seemed less than satisfied with that answer.

The Anti-Jeff: Part 1

Efficiency was the name of the game, and, frankly, the Jeffs were inefficient.

There were too many of them. They were clogging the country. Our benefactors, however, were solving the problem. They were rounding up everyone named Jeff and relocating them to JeffCenters, where they would be reprogrammed. Anyone who was good friends with anyone named Jeff had to turn themselves in for inefficiency inspections. It was thoroughly unlikely that we had contracted inefficiency from the Jeffs, but it was not impossible. Fearing for my own health, I gladly went along with the process.

It was when I didn't see my friends in line for JeffSpections that I became wary. I contacted the police immediately and reported the incident. The police informed me that, though they would get around to questioning my friends, they had bigger fish to fry: two Jeffs in our area had escaped capture. Naturally, I offered my own home as a base of operations for Operation JeffCap, but they were reluctant to take me up on my offer. Ultimately, they decided against it.

At first I was perturbed. I offer the police a perfectly good staging area, and they didn't accept. What had I done wrong? I had eaten my NoJeff pills (complete with Anti-Vitamin J), had carefully scrubbed all traces of Jeff from my house (with AJA-Approved "JEFF-B-GONE"), and had even joined the Anti-Jeff Youth Organization to educate the community on the dangers that Jeffs posed to modern society.

It wasn't long before I realized the obvious: the police wanted me to act by myself. They couldn't tell me my orders in explicit terms, of course, for fear of retribution from those damned lawyers ("Jeffs in disguise", I call them). By denying themselves the use of my house, however, they were preserving my cover. I could act like a rebel to locate the rogue Jeffs. I knew my friends were in it, probably hiding Jeff at their houses. I needed to get on the inside.

I started with Tim. He was a trusting guy, and we had been friends forever. Though I hated to betray him like this, it was a necessary price to pay. The Jeffs had to go.

I caught up with him at the mandatory government-sponsored Anti-Jeff fun and games day of mild amounts of excitement and thrills (AJFGDMAET). I approached him carefully; long exposure to Jeffs could have made him feral. He greeted me with a smile and a polite wave, and I forced a smile back.

"Hey, Sam!" Tim said, "how are you?"

The question was probably some sort of test. I did my best to answer it as a friend of the Jeffs would. "Good. Just like how Jeffs are. They're good people. Not bad. They aren't ruining the world. They don't play Ultimate Kitten, complete with kitten spiking when they score points."

He gave me a confused look. The man was an expert. I would need to try someone else.

Joe struck me as the obvious choice next. Though he was smart, he was often quick to speak. A slip of the tongue could be just what it took to unravel this massive, tangled web of deception and lies. The Jeffs would be exposed, and I would do it myself.

I had to be subtle about this. I approached Joe at government-sponsored thirty-minute midday meal. I decided to open with a joke. A rhyming joke.

"So, Joe," I laughed, "where are the Jeffs?"

"WHAT?!" he cried loudly, spilling his government-supplied apple-flavored juice. He immediately got up to leave, and I thought all was lost. As he walked away and I stared at my government-supplied chicken-like wing, I suddenly noticed something. He had left his tray, and on top of his tray he had left a piece of paper. I pocketed it quickly.

All day, I struggled to resist reading it. When I finally arrived home, I flung my backpack on the ground and ripped open the note.

I know you are a pro-Jeffer. If you truly wish to support the Jeff cause, put a red flag in the plant on your balcony. You will be contacted further at a later time.

My way forward was clear. I would discover the Jeffs and report their locations to the police.

It was only a matter of time.