How To Totally Be a Spy, For Real (We Mean It), Friday
"Pam, let's think of things we'd rather do on a Friday morning than be here," Cheryl said thoughtfully. "I can think of...seventeen."
Pause.
"One of them involves ice picks. No, wait. Tw...at least three involve ice picks."
“Did you count lobotomies?” Pam asked. “I can’t imagine that didn’t crack the top three. Me, I need to be on the internet, managing those pics that went viral.”
Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian.
"You figure out who leaked 'em yet?" Cheryl wondered, looking thoughtful. "Because we probably should like, have them kidnapped or something in retaliation."
That was normal, sure.
“Oh, I leaked ‘em,” Pam said brightly. “Did you see how good my ass looks? I just keep pretending it wasn’t me so I can fuel the whole media firestorm and pretend I’m, like, violated or whatever.”
Nudity was not something that bothered Pam. Either her own or anyone else’s. But if you admitted leaking the pics, nobody spread them around.
"And this is why I shouldn't waste my kidnapping offers on you." Cheryl threw her hands up in exasperation, and then seemed to sort of notice the class for the first time. "Oh, shit, they're here again, Pam. Goddammit, I keep trying to wait out the fifteen minutes or whatever we have to pretend to care if you don't show up."
“We didn’t pick a class topic yet,” Pam said, not seeming to care that the students were there. Because she didn’t. At all. “I forget what we’ve done. The black tacticalnecks, and drinking -- did we do drinking? What else is there to being a spy? We talked about getting fucked.”
Thus scarring everyone emotionally for life. Great job, Pam and Cheryl!
"Did we talk about teleconferences?" Cheryl suggested, frowning. "'Cause, like, aside from day-drinking and booty-calling the head of the KGB, what else does Ms. Archer do all day? Nothing. So teleconferencing's gotta be a big deal, right?"
Wasn't it great how prepared your teachers were for this class? And for teaching -- and life -- in general?
“SO!” Pam announced. “Teleconferencing! That’s when you get lots of people on the phone and sometimes on a screen, too, if it’s videoconferencing. Then sometimes you do creepy things with whipped cream and an eggplant-colored vibrator, if it’s the head of the KGB and you’re committing treason with him.”
There was the grand high mother of all uncomfortable pauses before Pam added, “It wasn’t me.”
"So….hey, here," Cheryl said, getting an idea and wandering over to the Danger Shop controls. She was getting kind of good at this, so it only took her about four minutes of vague swearing and gesturing at the machine before they were in a computer lab, where all the computers had browsers with Chatroulette open them. "This is like a teleconference, 'cause with a teleconference you never know who you're gonna have to talk to. It might be a crazy cat lady! It might be a guy with his dick out! It might be the head of the KGB with his dick out, and your secretary will learn to knock really loudly." She shuddered.
Pause.
"One of them involves ice picks. No, wait. Tw...at least three involve ice picks."
“Did you count lobotomies?” Pam asked. “I can’t imagine that didn’t crack the top three. Me, I need to be on the internet, managing those pics that went viral.”
Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian.
"You figure out who leaked 'em yet?" Cheryl wondered, looking thoughtful. "Because we probably should like, have them kidnapped or something in retaliation."
That was normal, sure.
“Oh, I leaked ‘em,” Pam said brightly. “Did you see how good my ass looks? I just keep pretending it wasn’t me so I can fuel the whole media firestorm and pretend I’m, like, violated or whatever.”
Nudity was not something that bothered Pam. Either her own or anyone else’s. But if you admitted leaking the pics, nobody spread them around.
"And this is why I shouldn't waste my kidnapping offers on you." Cheryl threw her hands up in exasperation, and then seemed to sort of notice the class for the first time. "Oh, shit, they're here again, Pam. Goddammit, I keep trying to wait out the fifteen minutes or whatever we have to pretend to care if you don't show up."
“We didn’t pick a class topic yet,” Pam said, not seeming to care that the students were there. Because she didn’t. At all. “I forget what we’ve done. The black tacticalnecks, and drinking -- did we do drinking? What else is there to being a spy? We talked about getting fucked.”
Thus scarring everyone emotionally for life. Great job, Pam and Cheryl!
"Did we talk about teleconferences?" Cheryl suggested, frowning. "'Cause, like, aside from day-drinking and booty-calling the head of the KGB, what else does Ms. Archer do all day? Nothing. So teleconferencing's gotta be a big deal, right?"
Wasn't it great how prepared your teachers were for this class? And for teaching -- and life -- in general?
“SO!” Pam announced. “Teleconferencing! That’s when you get lots of people on the phone and sometimes on a screen, too, if it’s videoconferencing. Then sometimes you do creepy things with whipped cream and an eggplant-colored vibrator, if it’s the head of the KGB and you’re committing treason with him.”
There was the grand high mother of all uncomfortable pauses before Pam added, “It wasn’t me.”
"So….hey, here," Cheryl said, getting an idea and wandering over to the Danger Shop controls. She was getting kind of good at this, so it only took her about four minutes of vague swearing and gesturing at the machine before they were in a computer lab, where all the computers had browsers with Chatroulette open them. "This is like a teleconference, 'cause with a teleconference you never know who you're gonna have to talk to. It might be a crazy cat lady! It might be a guy with his dick out! It might be the head of the KGB with his dick out, and your secretary will learn to knock really loudly." She shuddered.