Once upon a time, there was a girl who liked to pretend she was a spy. Crouched betwixt the folds of darkness, our heroine lay: quiet, dangerous, and desperately in need of a toilet.
One day, she came out of the darkness when she fell in love with a handsome boy, Boy, who likewise fell in love with her, or so he said. They lived in relative peace and harmony, until that fateful day when the wannabe-spy girl asked what Boy’s Friendster password was. We will never know what Boy’s reasons were, but he gave her the password, albeit with slight hesitation. Lo and behold, when Pandora’s (in)box was opened, it was not Hope that lay at the bottom, but Gloria in her naked .jpg glory, and some romantic e-mails.
The story of the incident that followed need not be told. Suffice it to say that it involved throwing around a lot of F-words such as Friendster, fork and flamethrower.
The moral of the story is: Don’t pretend to be a spy.
Pretend to be an assassin instead.