Blown C.I.A. Coverage

Ok, in light of all of this C.I.A. leak stuff, I feel compelled to address something about myself and my covert status. A friend of mine used to think that I worked for the C.I.A.

(There. I said it. And it feels so good to let that out, like a first date burp where you hold it in hoping to convince your unwitting companion that you're a robot incapable of unsexy body functions.)

She thought I worked for the C.I.A. because whenever I explained my dayjob to her it sounded vague and boring, and she surmised that it was a cover story. (She was a big fan of Alias.)

The truth was (and I can only speak about this on double super secret background) that by my description, she didn't understand my job. Come to think of it, neither do I. Maybe I am C.I.A.!

Of course! I can't believe I've been lying to myself, right under my own nose all these ye--Ow! What the...? Poison dart? Gack! Oh, I'm good. I'm very, very good. Glurble. Glurk.

...

Uh...ahem...hello! Hello, blog audience public people. It is I, just the ordinary, ah, Jeff Mac here. Signing off...just like he...ah, I mean just like "I" always do.

Because I am me, you see. And not an assassin sent to kill me. Uh, him. Jeff Mac, I mean. Who I am.

(sigh) Oh forget it. You're all going to have to be eliminated. All seven of you. I'll be at your homes in a few minutes with either a poison dart or an umbrella filled with an oil slick or something. Please be patient.