Tranthor’s spy has followed Chris to the DMV.

It’s time to renew that drivers license, don’t you know!

Chris is carrying on some conversation will some fellow weirdo he just met, whoever he happened to be seated next to during this seemingly interminable wait.

“Sixty-four. Number sixty-four.” The clerk advances the counter and calls out.

It’s like Chris won the lottery. He claps his conversation partner on the back. “That’s me! I’m number sixty-four! I gotta go! Good luck with your IBS!”

The spy’s eyes widen and then narrow at this appalling breach of operational security. He’s just located Rear Admiral Lower Half number sixty-four among who knows how many.

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I am America’s Senior Comedian. Thank you for your kind attention in this matter.

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