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fandomhigh2014-09-19 01:21 pm
notmysupervisor.livejournal.com) wrote in fandomhigh2014-09-19 01:21 pm
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How to Totally Be a Spy, For Real (We Mean It) [Friday, Period 1]
Class today was not in the Danger Shop. Class was in a classroom that had sort of been set up to look like a bar. “Sort of” because Pam and Cheryl were the grand high queens of half-assing, you guys. So … like a bar, but like the person setting up the bar got bored halfway into it and decided to start drinking instead.
Oh, right. Pam and Cheryl were both piss-ass drunk.
“Wellllcome to class,” Pam managed, from behind her thermos of Green Russian. “Bein’ a spy is super-hard, y’guys. You’ve gotta know how to sex people and get information an’ you gotta drink a lot.”
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
"'Cause your job?" Cheryl slurred, waving a martini glass at them. "Is like, sooooooo hard, or whatever, so you're gonna always wanna get drunk. But!" She waved a finger. "You're gonna want to get drunk in a sophisticated way. 'Cause you're a spyyyyy."
This class was going to betray a lot of the envy Cheryl had towards the field agents, yes.
“You can’ just … can’ just …” Hang on. Pam was getting lost in thought. Maybe another swig would help her remember? Mmm, Green Russians. “Oh! Right. You can’ just … walk into a bar an’ order anything. Like a light beer? As a spy? You’re gonna look like such a freakin’ tool. Jimmy Bund never ordered a light beer. ‘Cause he was a spy and spies don’t drink light beer.”
QED, guys.
"And unless you've got a UTI, no vodka cranberries!" Cheryl insisted. "Don't be a fucking lightweight, guys. You're a spy. You gotta drink like a man. Or a heavily-armed lady. With boobs. Or not with boobs."
She was being helpfully specific there.
"Anywayses, you should get a signature drink. Something sexy, with a fun name. Pam's got one!" Cheryl actually pointed helpfully to Pam, as though the kids didn't know who that was.
“Green Russian!!” Pam crowed triumphantly. “S’absinthe and milk. It packs a punch like a mule. And it looks like antifreeze so it freaks people out.”
Win/win.
“Carol, what’s your -- is sniffing glue a sign-- signytoor drink?” Pam asked. “That’s not really a drink so it shouldn’t count.”
"I ground up ecstasy tablets and dropped 'em in Mountain Dew-flavored vodka," Cheryl said happily. "I call it the Thunder Tunt."
Only because it sounded super-dirty, yep.
"But you guys aren't that creative so you don't have to make your own right away. You can just practice mixing existing drinks, first. Oh! Oh." She pointed an accusing finger at the class. "Don't any of you try to do any of that 'shaken-not-stirred' shit. Make your drinks how they're supposed to be made. Don't beat up your booze unless you know what you're d-doin'."
The more you know, kids.
Oh, right. Pam and Cheryl were both piss-ass drunk.
“Wellllcome to class,” Pam managed, from behind her thermos of Green Russian. “Bein’ a spy is super-hard, y’guys. You’ve gotta know how to sex people and get information an’ you gotta drink a lot.”
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
"'Cause your job?" Cheryl slurred, waving a martini glass at them. "Is like, sooooooo hard, or whatever, so you're gonna always wanna get drunk. But!" She waved a finger. "You're gonna want to get drunk in a sophisticated way. 'Cause you're a spyyyyy."
This class was going to betray a lot of the envy Cheryl had towards the field agents, yes.
“You can’ just … can’ just …” Hang on. Pam was getting lost in thought. Maybe another swig would help her remember? Mmm, Green Russians. “Oh! Right. You can’ just … walk into a bar an’ order anything. Like a light beer? As a spy? You’re gonna look like such a freakin’ tool. Jimmy Bund never ordered a light beer. ‘Cause he was a spy and spies don’t drink light beer.”
QED, guys.
"And unless you've got a UTI, no vodka cranberries!" Cheryl insisted. "Don't be a fucking lightweight, guys. You're a spy. You gotta drink like a man. Or a heavily-armed lady. With boobs. Or not with boobs."
She was being helpfully specific there.
"Anywayses, you should get a signature drink. Something sexy, with a fun name. Pam's got one!" Cheryl actually pointed helpfully to Pam, as though the kids didn't know who that was.
“Green Russian!!” Pam crowed triumphantly. “S’absinthe and milk. It packs a punch like a mule. And it looks like antifreeze so it freaks people out.”
Win/win.
“Carol, what’s your -- is sniffing glue a sign-- signytoor drink?” Pam asked. “That’s not really a drink so it shouldn’t count.”
"I ground up ecstasy tablets and dropped 'em in Mountain Dew-flavored vodka," Cheryl said happily. "I call it the Thunder Tunt."
Only because it sounded super-dirty, yep.
"But you guys aren't that creative so you don't have to make your own right away. You can just practice mixing existing drinks, first. Oh! Oh." She pointed an accusing finger at the class. "Don't any of you try to do any of that 'shaken-not-stirred' shit. Make your drinks how they're supposed to be made. Don't beat up your booze unless you know what you're d-doin'."
The more you know, kids.
Re: Listen to the...you know. That. [09/19]
Unfortunately, the school thought differently. She'd been roused just before class by an insistent rapping at her door. When she answered it, a squirrel nudged a note at her and scampered off.
JUNIOR ALANA NO-LAST-NAME, WHY U NO GO 2 SPY CLASS? KUMPUTOR SAY YOU MUST. GO SPY CLASS 2DAY. MOST SINSEERLY, THE OFFICE MOOSE.
Crossing anyone who called himself the office moose and wrote that badly struck Alana as an awful idea, so she went to spy class. She would have tried to explain the whole thing to the teachers, but neither of them looked like they were in any state to listen or understand. So Alana slouched in a seat at the back of class, trying not to be noticed. Maybe they'd think she had been there all along.