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."