(Seymour, Indiana is the home of small town legend John Cougar Mellancamp)My friend over at,
Things I think I think I think, wants to be a spy. He says just cause he had some dream about him being one, in Egypt, he has what it takes. We'll let me tell you something "spy guy". It takes more than a dream to become a spy. I should know, cause I am one.
You see the first thing you need to know about being a real spy, is knowing what the word spy means.
spy |spī| noun ( pl. spies)
• a person who keeps watch on others secretly : [as adj. ] a spy camera.
See it's a, secret, thing. It's all about the art of no one knowing who you are. So by writing a blog for thousands (or in your case, a few) to see, you've broken the first rule of espionage. It's gotta be a secret.
And because of that, no one needs to know. And therefore, there is no schooling, or degree or even test. You just walk into a government building and act like a spy, ask for a bag of unmarked money for project "paperclip" or whatever, And when they say they never heard of you, you say, "
No shit, fuck head, that's because I'm a fucking spy." Then look around real suspicious like, as if you're being followed.
That's what I did. I walked into the Kremlin, in 1978 and said, "Hi, I'm Bob Hall, I'm an American spy and I'd like switch sides." And look at me now. Do you honestly think I'm running around every small shit-puke pimple of a town in the U.S. to write a fucking travel review? Do you know how retarded that sounds. No I'm the number one small town ex USSR spy man in what used to be the worlds second greatest superpower.
(John Cougar Mellancamp is not a spy. As far as know.)
You do have one thing right about being a world class spy. You can't ever buy a house or settle down (again, enter the travel review). But as far as money goes, I do OK. I just call the guys in Russia and tell them I need some more Rubles and there they are right in my bank account. If anyone ever gives me shit about it I say, "listen fuckface (of course in Russian), if you think Putin fucked us, just till you see what happens if this mission fails." That gets 'em every time.
(This is some funny article i found at the Seymour library, that some kid wrote in high school a long time ago. Or is it?)The other thing about espionage is, once you realize all the perks, the world is your oyster. The girls and martini's are really just the beginning. This is a picture of a cop car I stole just because I can, cause I'm a spy.
Even that's just the tip of the ice-burg though. I've gone on cruises, gotten free flying lessons, guns and even been to area 51. But it's all about how you go about it. I've met other spies and they say I'm a fake and have tried to get rid of me (luckily they had other "real" spy work to do), but I don't care. You see, as long as you're so undercover even they don't know who you are, you can't lose.
This is me in 1987. (I was super undercover that's why I'm dressed like that) I lost my fingers right here in Seymour. On a tough spy project.
To anyone in the Russian government, I was just kidding about all that faking about being a spy, I really am one.
