Abra-Cadabra's blog, page 1

Last login: 4 days agoAbra-Cadabra: Abra is a single woman from A Penthouse Suite In Exclusive, Monaco.; Likes 453 pages, 4 videos • 266 fans • Received 125 reviews; Member since Apr 04, 2008

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Aug 4, 9:16am: Nice cup of coffee while you're visiting ? Don't worry, I only serve the
drugged stuff to criminal masterminds and super-villains ... mostly ..:)

Aug 4, 9:16am: Secret Agent Update - my unexplained absence

In case you were wondering where I've been lately the answer is not, as you might expect, gracing the catwalks of international fashion shows or engaging in mortal combat with super-villains. Mostly I've been chasing mice or drinking milk. My last mission involved being parachuted into the wilder part of Haiti in an attempt to infiltrate the organization of Baron Samedi, a voodoo high-priest and all-around unpleasant person. He's the kind of guy who will turn you into a zombie as soon as look at you and thinks nothing of leaving the toilet seat up after he has a pee.

Anyway, my credentials as a top international super-model jet-setter got me invited to a party at the voodoo high-priests bijou beach residence and there I was ,waving a champagne glass around and being the life and soul of the party, when all of a sudden I began to feel a little woozy. Years of training as a secret agent alerted me to the fact that my drink had been spiked. Somehow, perhaps by employing the dark voodoo arts, they had penetrated my cover ! As I slid into the velvety dark surrounded by laughing Haitian faces I fully expected to wake up naked on some altar ready to be the nights virgin sacrifice. Well, the nights sacrifice anyway.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I woke up in my own luxurious penthouse apartment in Monaco. How on earth had they done that ? How had they got me back there ? It was like magic. So had Baron Samedi been unexpectedly merciful ? Had I got off scot-free ? Alas no. Over the ensuing days it became obvious that I had been cruelly cursed by the black magician. How do I know ? Well, for a start I now sleep most of the day in the warmest and most comfortable spot I can find, only waking to lap milk and claw furniture. When, rarely, I manage to emerge into public I hiss at some people and feel like jumping into the laps of others to have my ears scratched. And I *hate* mice !!!!

Now admittedly I have always felt like jumping into the laps of certain people and having my ears scratched but not the rest of it. It slowly dawned on me that I am a victim of the ancient voodoo cat-curse. Yes ! Really ! I am slowly turning into a cat. Which is why I haven't posted much lately (too busy clawing furniture and chasing mice) and why my posts may be even more sporadic in the future until I can figure out some way of getting this hideous curse reversed. I mean, I think I can feel the beginnings of a little furry tail and I swear my ears are getting pointy.

I just thought I'd let you know in case you wondered why I wasn't posting much .. meow .. Agent Abra

Jul 19, 8:58pm: Secret Agent Update - an unexpected ally

There are some strange twists and turns to this secret-agent lark and I have discovered that nothing is ever quite what it seems. I mean, take the other day .....

I was sitting quietly at a corner table in the Cafe de Flore on the Boulevard St Germaine, idly stirring my coffee. It was one of those wet Parisian afternoons when even the rain-clouds look full of existential angst. Aside from a rather tarty looking gamine scribbling poetry on a paper napkin the place was unusually empty. Perhaps the ghosts of Jean Paul Sartre, Simone de Beauvoir and the other famous patrons of the past were there sipping a coffee too, but if so they were as invisible as the person I was supposed to be meeting.

Sebastian Montecorte de Saavedra is something of an enigma. A man of mystery who appears wherever the worlds power-brokers gather, sometimes in the company of an exotic eurasian ex-geisha girl who now runs a lucrative but highly illegal dwarf-smuggling racket. He hobnobs with super-villains as well as with the 'good guys' but which is he ? That was my task, to work with the British Secret Service to unravel the mystery of De Saavedra. Unfortunately the Brit secret-agent I was meeting was late.

The rain-streaked window was making the street outside blur into an impressionist painting and I was wondering whether I should call it a day when the waitress appeared at my table and asked if I wanted anything else. Which was a perfectly reasonable thing to say but it was the *way* she said it. She winked at me ! Now being a beautiful international model (as well as a secret-agent) I'm used to having people hit on me in public but this was quite blatant. Still, she was *very* cute and there didn't seem to be any sign of that British secret service agent .. so .. I smiled back.

She was slim and blonde and looked as edible as a chocolate gateau in her cute little french-maids uniform. Bending closer under the pretext of brushing crumbs from the table-cloth, she whispered " follow me". Before I had a chance to respond she turned on her heel and made a beeline for the restroom. Well what was I supposed to do ? Follow the cute waitress who was obviously up for some hanky-panky or sit there like a lemon waiting for the tardy British agent? Watching her retreating derriere it was no contest. When in Paris, do as the Parisiennes do. I was on my feet and following discreetly before you could say 'Ooh la la'.

In the sanctuary of the restroom she stopped and turned so abruptly that I bumped into her but where I had expected pneumatic charms my ribs felt the unmistakable shape of a pistol under her frilly blouse. I reacted instinctively to the threat as we secret agents are taught to, aiming a swift and deadly karate chop at her throat which she blocked with surprising ease. Before I could follow up with a killer kick she grabbed me and hissed "Marcel Marceau" ... which was the agreed code word .. spoken rather than mimed of course.

Oh dear ! It was the British secret-service agent ! Well you can imagine how foolish I felt but fortunately she was very gracious about the misunderstanding . Granted we got some strange looks from the management as we emerged from the restroom flushed and straightening our clothes after the tussle but the main thing is that we are now focused on working as a team to unmask De Saavedra (remember him ? ) .. I'll keep you posted .. Agent Abra

Jul 13, 4:41pm: Secret-Agent Update - A Miss in the Mediterranean

Things do not always go according to plan ! I had intended to do some more stumbling by now but my last mission took longer than expected. As you know (from my profile) I'm a secret-agent as well as being a top international model, the latter providing cover for the former, and I am often absent from SU on hazardous missions that can involve the use of quizzical eye-brows, assassination, or even smudged lipstick. Last nights top-secret assignment was to garotte an Albanian criminal master-mind on his yacht which was moored off the French coast, near Marseilles.

The plan involved me being parachuted onto the yacht under cover of darkness from a low-flying stealth helicopter, which would have been alright but the helicopter pilot had spent the afternoon in the local bars so I actually ended up missing the target by some considerable margin and landing in an undignified heap on the patio of a notorious
Marseilles bordello in the rough red-light district near the docks, where I was assumed to be one of the attractions. Suffice it to say that the Albanian remains un-garroted, I did not get a great deal of sleep, and I arrived back in SU this morning in a somewhat rumpled condition. Oh well, such is the life of a top secret-agent.

P.s. Would you please swallow this message once you've read it in case it falls into the wrong hands ? Thanks ... Agent Abra

Jun 30, 11:17am: Secret-Agent Update - the unfortunate incident of the Queens corgi

Well I won't be doing *that* again in a hurry, I can tell you ! Yesterday I was given what I thought would be a plum secret agent assignment, as bodyguard to Queen Elizabeth of England at a state banquet. I imagined myself impeccably groomed in my Dior gown and Blahniks with perhaps a discreet little tiara, graciously acknowledging the gratitude of her Maj for saving her life. Sadly it was not to be. I spent the evening mostly under the table being kicked and fondled. And that wasn't the worst !

In order not to alert any super-villains or assassins to my presence I was ordered to attend the function in disguise. Since the Queen is well-known for her devotion to her little corgi dogs, who go everywhere with her, it was thought that would make the perfect cover. So there I was in the glittering banqueting hall of Buckingham Palace for the
state banquet disguised as a corgi dog. The dog suit was hot and itchy and people kept tripping over me and cursing so I positioned myself under the table where I could observe without attracting attention. It was an illuminating experience. President Bush slyly kicked me, thus confirming my suspicions about him. Nelson Mandele, on the other hand, fondled my ears and kept passing scraps of food down. You learn a lot about human nature as a dog.

But just when I thought things were going smoothly, one of Prince Charles cocker-spaniels got under the banqueting table and took an *intense* romantic interest in me. In the ensuing scuffle the table was over-turned, Prince Phillip got jelly in his lap, and it took a bucket of cold water to get the over-excited spaniel off me. I limped back in
disgrace to secret agent headquarters, severely traumatized, only to be met with unkind criticism for causing a fuss. Don't let anyone tell you that being a secret agent is all fun .. at times its a dogs life ! ... Agent Abra

Jun 30, 11:16am: Secret-Agent Update - the strange truth about Elvis Presley

Did you ever wonder what happened to Elvis Presley ? I mean *really* happened ? Oh before you get your hopes up he's dead all right. He's not in disguise behind the counter at some Piggly-Wiggly or driving a truck in Memphis. I mean did you ever wonder about the circumstances of his death ? The official story was that he died on the loo but frankly thats a bit ridiculous. I mean I've had some *awful* bad tummies when we've been doing photo-shoots in far-away places but I've never fallen off the loo dead yet. So ha-ha.. lets be realistic, please !

Earlier today I was in the basement of secret-service HQ looking for our file on the infiltration of Stumbleupon by various super-villains (which is why I'm posting here but thats another story). Anyway, tucked away on a dusty shelf at the back of the room I found a file on Elvis. I didn't even know we had one. Naturally I couldn't resist having a little peek inside and gosh, it was quite the eye-opener.

Elvis *did* die on the loo apparently but *not* of natural causes as you have been led to believe. In the weeks leading up to his death he had been playing Vegas and, as was his wont, he had indulged in a little after-show dalliance with a stunning japanese girl . Unfortunately she was the concubine of a Yakuza warlord who was in America for a short twin-center break at Las Vegas and Disney in Florida. Hearing that Elvis had been pissing on his sushi, so to speak, the enraged Yakuza Warlord swore that he would take a terrible revenge.

Unfortunately for Elvis this particular Warlord had under his control a secret group of mini-ninjas. Genetic mutations created in labs somewhere in Japan, they were tiny (and I mean *tiny*) Japanese martial arts assassins skilled in the black art of silent and undetectable murder. One of these mini-monsters, dressed in scuba-gear and clutching
a small harpoon, apparently swam through the water pipes at Graceland that fateful night, skilfully negotiated the U-bend, and surfaced in the Kings loo. There, with one swift upward thrust of his small but deadly harpoon, he changed the course of popular music forever.

As you would expect the Yakuza Warlord had the usual number of highly placed members of the US administration in his pay so a cover-up ensued and a fiction was fed to the public. Well, any nation that will accept the official version of the Kennedy assassination will believe pretty much anything, right ? So anyway thats what really happened to Elvis. Death by midget ninja assassin. I don't know about you but all of that makes me a little nervous of going to the loo. Its certainly something for you to think about the next time you're there yourself. I probably shouldn't have told you, should I ? You're only going to worry now and worry is not conducive to regularity. But honestly you'll be OK. Just as long as you haven't annoyed any Yakuza warlords lately .. Agent Abra

Elvis Presley in his heyday

but with the same expression as when the harpoon struck

Jun 24, 10:52am: Secret Agent Update - a relaxing break

Being fabulous is hard work ! I'd just finished a gruelling two day model photo-shoot in Chicago and I was in need of a relaxing break. The plan, concocted in a club late at night and owing much to excessive amounts of champagne and possibly other substances, involved me riding a Harley cross-country along the old Route 66 and winding up on the west coast. The next morning found me rather pale and bleary eyed but looking perversely chic in my black leathers, astride a huge, throbbing beast (no, not Johnny Depp this time). The early morning east-coast sun was doing its best to be perky and the deep, rumbling vibration I could feel coming through the tooled-leather saddle of the Harley promised to be an unexpected bonus.

The road beckoned and after several days on that deliciously vibrating saddle and an equal number of nights drinking tequila and entertaining cowboys at roadside bars along the way I was beginning to feel quite relaxed. Until, that is, I pulled into the little town of 'F*ck its Hot', in Arizona (don't the Americans have such quaint place-names ? ) . I was leaning against the bar of 'The Roadkill Saloon' in my dusty leathers when a gorgeous latino-looking girl sidled up to me and whispered out of the corner of her mouth .. "psssst" ! I looked nervously around, but there was no-one else there except a mumbling derelict and a drunken teenage tart . Assuming I was being propositioned I enquired if she was a saloon girl and, if so, what services she might be offering, but I got a withering look in return.

Imagine my embarrassment when it turned out she was another secret-agent, from some American agency so secret that she didn't actually know its name, and they needed my help. Adriana (at least that was her code-name) had tracked down a secret factory in the desert manufacturing exploding garden gnomes. The fiendish plan was that these gnomes would be sold worldwide on the internet and then, if the United Nations did not come up with a quillion dollars (and thats a lot), an electronic signal would simultaneously detonate all of the garish little garden ornaments worldwide causing mayhem and panic in suburban homes everywhere. The man behind this horrific plot was the evil vampire dwarf Dr Walpurgis, bitter adversary of Adriana and erstwhile criminal mastermind.

Well that was the end of my relaxing break. Under cover of darkness we roared into action, both dressed in rather sexy black ninja outfits, the Harley smashing through the fence around the desert factory like a battering ram . Zombie workers fell like bloody skittles as our guns blazed and Walpurgis was last glimpsed scuttling off down an underground passage shaking his gnarled fist just as a stray bullet hit a gnome and the whole place exploded like a fireworks factory with blazing gnomes shooting through the desert sky like incandescent rockets. We both ended up with singed eyebrows but the satisfaction of having thwarted another dastardy criminal enterprise. Which is all the reward us dedicated secret-agents need. Well that and the lavish life-style of course.

Anyway, I'm back in Monaco now, rather singed and saddle-sore. If you're reading this Adriana, I hope your eyebrows have grown back in and thanks for making my visit to 'F*ck its hot, Arizona' so entertaining ..:) Agent Abra

Jun 20, 12:02pm: Modeling Update (with a bit of secret-agent'ing later on) - a busy day

Its been a busy day ! I know you think you work hard, and I'm sure you do, but some days I just don't know whether I'm coming or going (and no risque remarks please if you don't want a swift karate chop). I mean, take today for example:

I had a dawn photo-shoot for Vogue so my manservant had to rouse me before it was light. I haven't told you about him yet but I will another time. I was crawling over the snoring bodies of Johnny Depp and Madonna before I was fully awake and drinking my specially brewed super-strength coffee in the stretch limo before 4am. The morning was spent looking glamorous and then I had a discreet lunch-date at the Ritz with George Clooney, who is actually quite charming and intelligent for a thespian. I'd hardly set foot outside the hotel after lunch though before I was roughly kidnapped by three bald men and whisked off in the boot of their car to a country estate where a clandestine group of black magicians wanted to use me as a virgin sacrifice in one of their arcane rituals. They had me stripped naked and spread-eagled on an altar before you could say 'Alastair Crowley'. I don't know who was more surprised, me or the black cockerel! Sadly (for them) they had been egreqiously misinformed about my status (virginity-wise) and once I had regaled them with a few juicy high-lights of my recent love-life they let me go, albeit with a bit of grumbling. When I left, all 13 of them were still standing around in their robes and hoods arguing about whether to have another go at bagging a virgin or just settle for a round of golf instead. I didn't wait to find out but scuttled off quickly before they could change their minds, nude except for my Jimmy Choo shoes.

Anyway, there I was wandering the country lanes dressed only in high-heels and goose-bumps (it was quite chilly) when an old truck pulled up beside me. Unfortunately it was chock-full of lusty Turks, illegal immigrants heading for the capital. Having a naked model appear at the roadside must have confirmed their belief that England was indeed a land of opportunity. Let us draw a veil over the next couple of hours and simply say that it was a long and very tiring ride back to London. On the bright side, however, I did learn several words in Turkish and a variety of new positions that I hadn't imagined possible. We were all jolly good friends by the time they dropped me in the West End outside the theatre where I was attending a premiere of the new Tom Cruise movie. I was still in my heels but now draped rather fetchingly in a borrowed Turkish work-shirt . There was a salvo of flashbulbs as I strode confidently along the red carpet and I bet you'll see girls teetering down your local high-street in nothing but high-heels and a mans shirt once the pictures hit the tabloids tomorrow. I am, after all, a fashion icon. Anyway the premiere was boring and I got stuck next to Tom who rambled on about scientology. My time with the lusty Turks had made sitting a trifle uncomfortable so I was glad when it ended and I could accept a lift back to my hotel with Prince Charles in the royal limousine (yes .. he was there too and recognized me from our previous encounters) .

I won't mention the ambush or how I managed to single-handedly fight off an attack of shiny killer robots intent upon assassinating the heir to the throne because I sense you're getting bored but it was well past midnight when I finally crawled in between my silk sheets to sip a mug of milky cocoa.

Just so you know, my life is not all swanning around in pretty frocks ... Abra

Yawwwn .. so sleepy.. must go to bed ..'night

IntrepidDreamers profile - StumbleUpon: Jun 18, 6:28pm 2 reviews stumblers, poetry
http://intrepiddreamer.stumbleupon.com/review/22602531/; Do you recall Sebastian Montecorte de Saavedra , enigmatic man of mystery and international playboy ? Of course you do, I mentioned him in my last secret agent report. Well heres the thing. He posts what are apparently poems (very good ones too) here on SU but is that all they are ? If indeed he sometimes strays to the dark side as rumor has it then they may in fact be coded messages about .. well .. goodness knows what . A cunning way of communicating with other super-villains perhaps. I'm baffled because I'm not very good at codes and the code-breaking computer at secret-service HQ recently switched to Vista so now no-one knows how to use it. Would you check out this 'poem' if you don't mind and see if you think its really a coded super-villain message ? Or am I worrying unduly ? Thanks .. Agent Abra

Jun 11, 8:57am: A 'me' Update - its a womans prerogative..

A week or so ago I posted a note saying that I was probably going to close this account because I was so snowed under at the moment outside of SU that I couldn't update as often as I'd like here. Well, that was then and this is now and today I've put most of the deleted posts back up and decided to leave things as they are. There are two possible explanations for the change of heart :-

Option 1 - I really *am* busy outside of SU but several nice people have messaged me saying they enjoyed the site and suggesting, in effect, that I just left it as it was. They pointed out that, for any new visitors, whatevers here is 'new' and for any regulars, well, everyone understands that this is just supposed to be fun and none of us are getting paid for it so I should just update when I could and not worry about it ... or ....

Option 2 - I was being held captive in the dank dungeons of Lewis Von Trondheim, a three-foot high albino dwarf and criminal mastermind. You may recall he was rumoured to be behind the great international 'bottled-water' scam. Using hypnotic subliminal messages beamed through the worlds TVs he induced millions of people to pay exorbitant sums of money for a product they could get free out of their own tap. They're still doing it ! Sheer criminal genius ! Since then he has been hiding out on SU and when it seemed that I was getting too close to unmasking him I was snatched from outside a small boutique in Knightsbridge and tortured (he broke several of my nails !!) until I was forced to write that note saying I was leaving SU. However by using my female wiles lavishly upon the drunken hunch-backed jailer, Igor, I was able to escape last-night and I am now back on the case (wearing fake nails of course but a little stiff and sore because Igor was surprisingly demanding)

Its entirely up to you which option you believe. I shall be re-friending people and re-doing previous reviews soon but can I ask you one small favour please ? If you see a three-foot high albino dwarf lurking around SU, let me know ?

Thanks .. Agent Abra

Lewis Von Trondheim (from secret-service files)

Just in case you thought I was making it all up

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