Okay, son. This is really !@#$ important.
I want you to look me in the eye. Yes, this eye. The glass one. And I want you to listen to what I am saying, here.
I was not in Libya, today.
Not. In Libya. Today. No.
You did not see me leave the Flier this morning. I was not wearing an aircraft shell when you didn't see me leave. I was also not carrying just about every big hand cannon I didn't have available at the time, clanking behind me like tin cans on a newlywed's car.
I did not almost shoot down a passenger plane by mistake, as I thought it was another one of James Joyce's !@#$ pink elephants, come back for revenge. That's what that !@#$ carrier gets for painting their fleet pink, anyway, god!@#$ it. But it didn't happen so it's a moot point.
I did not leave a fairly visible crater when I didn't land just outside of Tripoli this morning, close to the contacts I don't have in the area. I did not proceed to get drunk and then sober the !@#$ up, as is my custom when having to not use an aircraft shell, in spite of the fact that Libya, where I wasn't, is a Muslim country. That would have been extremely disrespectful since it's still Ramadan, though since they're fighting I think a few other rules are out the window, too.
I did not get in touch with (REDACTED) and (REDACTED) while the major mayhem was going on downtown. I did not rendezvous with various Company agents (as opposed to COMPANY Agents) on the ground in the south of the city in order to hook up, in turn, with some of the strategic talents we have most definitely not had in the region since this whole Arab Spring thing took off, and a few supers that are native to the area.
I was not with El-Matraqa, La-Kobda, or El-Asid. We did not engage in guerrilla tactics to pull some of Khaddafy's house supers and science mercenaries away from the rebels, get them down darkened alleyways, and skull!@#$ them with our fists and feet. We certainly did not engage the the entirely uncivil game of "right of return," whereby we take turns trying to toss the dead or broken bodies of our foes back to the palace of the man that sent them.
(I certainly did not win big by betting on La-Kobda having the best aim.)
When the fighting got really bad, and really close to the Capitol, did not bag some non-Duranium sniper skulls with that lovely new X-57 I was, admittedly, test-firing last night at the post-conversion Luau. They are not on my wall, back at the B.U.I.L.D.I.N.G., right now.
We did not withdraw once the rebels got close enough, and leave the country to its rightful liberation now that the super elements were dealt with. We certainly would not force our views or beliefs on a people who've spent too !@#$ long dealing with someone like Khaddafy and his army of cloned fembot dyke bodyguards.
(And if I find out the Company's got too firm a hand on the tiller, I'm going to cut it off and wrist!@#$ the stump. These people deserve an honest chance.)
We did not stop off in Algieria to celebrate. I did not break my nonexistent fast with El-Asid's extended family in scenic, downtown Algiers, and if I did I certainly did not do anything that would embarrass my host, other than maybe show some of his grandkids some of the skulls I wasn't bringing home as trophies. If I did I may or may not have helped reinforce some unfortunate local stereotypes about Americans and their pastimes, but I guess that's what happens when you let infidels come to your Iftar table.
I did not sneak away after we said goodbye to buy three times my weight in Tango, and down them like pixie sticks while waiting for a pickup on the coast. I did not then order Octopussy to head for the coast of Tripoli so I could watch the city burn and shriek with what may be freedom, or just a new kind of tyranny.
I did not accidentally shoot down what looked like an escape pod, trying to get out of the country. I did not see who was on it and laugh like a hysterical mother!@#$ on martian speed for a whole minute and a half. I did not subsequently order us the !@#$ out of there before the media converged on the wreckage.
I did not just get back to the Flier, drunk as !@#$ on Algerian beer, and run into poor little you, who was silly enough to ask me if I'd been to the Middle East, today.
So... any questions, son? Or can I take this gun out of your !@#$ and we'll just pretend I was not here?
(SPYGOD is listening to Rock el Casbah (Rachid Taha) and drinking Tango)