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Penthouse In The Love Of Spies

Eyewear has been biting its tongue, biding its time, and being mum, on the topic of the American-Russian spy scandal that has gripped certain sections of the media and public this past week.  Given the relative ineptitude of these Rocky and Bullwinkle-style spooks, and the lack of any atom-smashing-secrets purloined, the focus of the story has increasingly been on the pneumatic young Russian, Anna Chapman, pictured, formerly married to a British chap, who described her as the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.  This red-haired 21st Century Fox, with her Wonder Woman physique (described in the Guardian, tactlessly, as "bowling balls") - or, as one paper gushed, "Victoria's Secret figure" - seems to have raised eyebrows merely by fulfilling a casting couch need for a Russian Spy - in short, she is a Central Casting wet dream.

But drop those arched brows, lads and ladettes - and stop licking thy lips.  Many -perhaps most - women are attractive, and smart, and many are youthful, and hail from Eastern Europe and beyond.  SMERSH aside, or Lara Croft, this fantasy is just that - a heavily-accented she-killer, a voluptuous Mata Hari, the deadliest of the species - who does not exist in other than pulp fiction and seedy dreams of men-as-boys - I could go on and on.  Move on - nothing to see here, guys.  Just Hefner stuff.  Very Camelot-era.  JFK would have bedded Chapman, we suspect, at the White House Pool.  The one Nixon has drained and bricked up.  He had a dry sense of humour, did our Quaker Tricky Dick.  But as the Shadow knew, men's minds harbour evil thoughts, and wicked deeds are done dirt cheap - even if for love of country, country above all else.
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THE WINNER OF THE SIXTH FORTNIGHT PRIZE IS...



Wheeler Light for 'Life Jacket'.

The runner-up is: Daniel Duffy - 'President Returns To New York For Brief First Visit'

Wheeler Light currently lives in Boulder, Colorado.



Life Jacket

summer camp shirtsI couldn’t fit in then
are half my size nowI wanted to wear
smaller and smallerarticles of clothing
I shrunk to the sizethat disappeared

of an afterthoughtin a sinking ship body
too buoyant to sinktoo waterlogged for land
I becamea dot of sand