I-C-U-P....But You Can't See Me

Spying is a lost art, and I submit that I would like to single handedly bring it back...without anyone noticing of course. If you're living your life right then espionage is part of your daily routine. Not to mention, it is easily the coolest thing a human being can do. I like to consider myself constantly in "spy mode", otherwise known as "on the muh'fuckin' lookout", and I am fully available to extend my services to anyone who needs a good double crossing, fake newspaper reading, bucket hat wearing, shrub hiding, sneaky ass bastard.

There are so many things that people do to spy on, and that's what makes it one of the most exhilarating art forms in the world. Sure, you can have fun as a government spy for the C.I.A. or spying on your potentially carpet crunching wife when you suspect that she's finger bangin' her japanese manicurist before the nail polish is even dry, but I'm more concerned with the mundane. I enjoy spying when people least expect it. Spying on people who aren't even doing anything wrong is fuck loads more fun than doing it to someone who knows they are probably being watched because they are committing heinous acts.

A spy's paradise has really got to be a gas station. If you stake yourself out at any given pump and wait for someone you know to arrive and fill up, you're giving yourself a great opportunity to pull off an epic sneak attack. They pull up, fill up and peel out and you've watched their every move. You see them later on that day..."Hey Jimbo, $47.96 for a full tank this afternoon huh? That's interesting...Not to mention, you used pump #6...Hmmm...Well, have a good one." You've taken the harmless act of fuel injection and turned it into a crime simply by playing detective. Jimbo now second guesses the righteousness of his fill-up and you've earned yourself a spot among the ranks of great spies everywhere. All it takes is one time...He will look over his shoulder for the rest of his life whenever he hits the Shell station. He will be a true headcase. "Alright!, I know you're watching me...Where the fuck are you! Come out and face me like a man!" But I won't come out. I'll remain hidden in the black squeegee fluid box breathing through a straw with a stern grimace on my face, going through hell and back to keep my anonymity, like any reputable informer would.

The flipside of this really sucks though. Whenever someone tells me "Dude, I saw you walking out of CVS the other day. I tried to say hello, but you didn't see me". This is not true. They did not try to say hello. They were spying, whether they admit it or not. Whenever someone hits me with this conversation opener I get a little uneasy because I start scurrying around in my brain trying to remember if I was doing anything embarrassing when I was seen. What was in my hands? Did I have skittles? ladies deodorant? flavored condoms? a nose trimmer? ex-lax? my cock? someone else's? And now I am officially in Jimbo's position...freaked out and racked with guilt.

So next time you see me walking out of the video store with two black plastic bags, just keep it to yourself...New text message?...From Jimbo?: "$60.00 for movie rentals huh? Last time I checked there was only one genre of flick that cost $10 bucks a pop...Have fun in your special chair."

Cock Block....Buster