I do stuff. Stuff involving cameras with giant fuck-off lenses, airplanes, and you.

I leer at you from FL 115 while you pick your nose, drive too damn fast, and many, many other things.

I know everything you do, because I watch you fourteen to eighteen hours a day, seven days a week. I know when you take rides on your motorcycle, I've seen you doing all manner of wacky shit. Trust me when I say that I now know you better than your mother.

I do stuff. And I must admit, it is pretty bad ass. It is also relatively entertaining when I am not staring at the screens and taking a break for a few minutes while listening to the other analysts yak back and forth.

Voice #1: "UI two coming around the corner."
Voice #2: "Got 'im."
Voice #1: "He's moving around the corner of the compound."
Voice #2: "Copy."
Voice #1: "Stopped. Aaaand we're taking a shit."
Voice #2: "Fuck I hate this job. This is how we're winning the war on terror? Watching shitheads take a dump in the middle of the night. Third jagoff tonight."
Voice #1: "Bingo."
Voice #2: "You got bingo? Fuck you dude, how?"
Voice #1: "Got three shitters, a jeep, kids beating the tar out of one another, fucked up airspace controllers, and Afghanistan visible on camera. That's bingo, sucka."

Log in or register to write something here or to contact authors.