secret agent man

In keeping with the theme of yesterday’s post let’s talk about certain secret agents and their bullshit.

Take for example IMF secret agent Ethan Hunt and how he does what he does compared to how it actually should be done.

Here’s a secret agent cat that dresses well, has all the hippest secret agent toys and seems to be able to travel wherever he wants at his own whim. And just for the sake of time we’ll forgo his little habit of killing muthafuckers and talk about the more mundane shit.

I for one would like to know what his GS (government service) level is because if he happens to be nothing more then a GS-9 or 10, he seems to be living the life of Riley like a muthafucker.

Have you seen the house this muthafucker lives in and he’s always off in some exotic spot mountain climbing and shit.

I’m just saying that the GAO (General Accounting Office) and DHS (Dept of Homeland Security) might have a few questions for ole Ethan because someone’s living a bit beyond their means.

And I can’t even begin to imagine all the stinkin paperwork this muthafucker must be involved in.

In reality everything from his guns to his secret decoder sunglasses is considered accountable property and has to be tracked for by the poor slob who happens to be his IMF property officer.

Every single item has is tracked by computer and Ethan has to sign a piece pf paper for every fuckin single item issued to him. Then at the end of each mission he has to account for those items.

So let’s say that in the heat of battle he flips his new Jag which also happens to have his encrypted lap top with his mission assignment in the fuckin glove box.

He has to first inform his superior officer that he lost some shit and then fill out the paper detailing how and why he lost it all the while hoping the Man doesn’t pull it out of his pay.

Then you look at shit like his bullets which are considered expendable property assets.

Checking out a couple of cases is fine but what happens when he gets into a serious firefight? Yeah, try explaining that you need more bullets because you were throwing boxes of em at muthafuckers the other day to some anal, overworked supply officer who could give a fuck.

Then there’s a little matter of his timesheets. His timekeeper must go on crack binges instead of eating lunch trying to code that muthafucker out.

Anyway, I could go on and on but you get my drift. Next time we’ll discuss what it actually takes for a secret agent to acquire a super sports car.

"and the monkey flipped the switch"