[ WP ] Mom always said her chili con carne recipe was a secret . She was quite angry when it was published with the leaked NSA documents .

The NSA accounting and finance department was built to withstand terrorist attacks, violent revolution, foreign espionage, and military coups. It was not equipped to deal with Mrs. Rogers. 
 
 Her hair lashed against her eyes like a taskmaster's whip against braying dogs. Her fashionable but affordable heels made a hollow *clic clic* against the marble floor which, while quiet, seemed to deafen conversation in a roaring tempest of furious silence. The receptionist waited for her from behind his desk, nose resting on the meetings ledger, eyes darting around searching for something that was not Mrs. Rogers to look at. 
 
 `` I would like to speak to the manager please'', she roared. The receptionist considered his life. Here was a grandmaster dawning on his defeat one move away from castle's checkmate. Here was a samurai with no honor, his family holding a katana expectantly. Here was a government employee, about to tell Mrs. Rogers that she was not allowed to speak to management. 
 
 `` That will be difficult Ms-'', the grandmaster's fans applauded his gracious loss, the samurai found a friend to end his suffering before disembowelment, and Mrs. Rogers gave him a kind look and walked passed him without comment into the boardroom. 
 
 A document was pressed on top of a table. It said to the men of the boardroom, arguably the most powerful men in God's chosen country, to stop talking and listen to the hawkeyed woman standing opposite their chairs. `` There seems to be a problem'', it said. And despite the booming authority that 40 years matures into a man, at heart we were raised to have an instinctual phobia of matronly ladies tapping their heels and tutting under their breath. 
 
 She took the initiative, because boys who were naughty did not deserve such things until they had earned the right to have it. 
 
 `` This recipe was a *family secret*'', she said `` It was given to me by my *grand-mother. *'' Some of the gentlemen in the room were halfway through a letter of apology to Granny Graytrix. 
 
 The chief executive, who drew on quickly depleting reserves of dignity forged from the discerning eyes of auditors and vice-presidents, took a spear of truth and rose to smite the dragon. 
 
 `` Your chili con carne recipe called for *plutonium*, madam'' 
 
 What do you think *really* happens to knights in shiny armor who rush to challenge dragons? A baked potato wrapped in tinfoil should stoke the imagination. 
 
 `` You will NOT discuss the secret sauce's secret spice in front of guests, Timothy.'' A flicker of growing realization flitted between the state's most trusted advisers. `` You *will not. * Now, what do you say?'' 
 
 `` Sorry mom'', said the secretary of defense, and glared daringly at his department.
