You’re the best goddamned spy we’ve got in the service. You’ve prevented underground crime syndicates from covertly taking control of the government on numerous occasions. You’ve stopped the illegal sale of nuclear warheads between radical individuals that certainly would have incited an atomic war. You even stopped that army of time-traveling, hip-hop-loving mummies and created a new international dance craze in the process: The King Tut Strut.
But now you face you’re most difficult challenge yet: getting my stepson, Keith, to show me some respect and stop saying I’ve “got that Silly Putty dick.”
I know that Keith is never going to call me “Dad,” nor do I want him too. But at the same time, I feel I am justified in my discomfort with his drawing a parallel between my phallus, the condition of which is none of his business, and a stretchy and goo-y substance that picks up newsprint.
I know you’ve killed people. So, I don’t think it’s too far out of the realm of possibilities for you to give a few simple spanks to a disrespectful teen.
For the record, I am not even embarrassed about my erectile dysfunction (which I assume is what Keith is referring to with his crass comments). It is a legitimate medical condition that affects 52% of men. Why should I feel ashamed of it? Still, when I tell Keith that he cannot get a box of sugary cereal in the supermarket (as per his mother’s instructions), and he reacts by loudly screaming that he’s “not going to listen to some dweeb with a Silly Putty dick,” I cannot help but feel a bit undignified.
I know you’re well-versed in using specialized gadgets to help you accomplish your objectives. For example, remember when you used your watch to shoot an X-ray beam into that Russian agent’s bag to reveal that he was the one who had stolen the diamonds? Maybe you could use some gadgets for this job, too. Like, what if you flew a plane and used skywriting to spell out, “Keith’s Step-Dad is Not a Dumb Ass” while Keith and I were on a picnic? (Skywriting is sort of like a gadget since the plane needs a special device to shoot those cloud letters out.) Then I could point up at the sky and say, “Whoa, check that out! If it’s written in the sky, it MUST be true.”
Today, spanking is rightfully regarded as a disgusting act of physical abuse. I would never dream of perpetuating the cycle of violence directed at children by delivering this form of punishment to Keith, even after he tells me I’ve “got an ass that’s hungry for a wedgie and a face that’s thirsty for a swirly, in addition to having that Silly Putty dick.” Even in that incredibly specific and hurtful scenario I just mentioned, I would never dream of spanking Keith, end of story.
However, if YOU were to surreptitiously administer a series of slaps to my stepson’s keister, far be it from me to question your methods. I know you’ve killed people, too. Like, shot them in the head and stuff. So, I don’t think it’s too far out of the realm of possibilities for you to give a few simple spanks to a disrespectful teen.
Seeing as you are no stranger to rubbing elbows with celebs (remember when you used those rocket-powered skis to glide down a mountain so that you could protect the Farrelly Brothers from those Swedish assassins???), another idea I had is you could get me tickets to a Chance the Rapper concert. Keith really likes him, and if I were able to score two front row seats for us, it would probably make me a hero in his eyes. Do you think you could do that?
Also, while you’re at it, why don’t you make me a playlist of Chance the Rapper’s music? And don’t just include the hits. Put some deep cuts in there, too. I’m looking to impress Keith, after all.
Anyways, that’s your mission. It may seem unconventional, since unlike most of your missions where the lives of thousands of civilians depend on you, this one really only directly impacts me. But that doesn’t mean it is any less important.
In fact, this may be your most important mission yet (at least in my opinion). Preventing warheads from falling into the wrong hands, stopping madmen from destroying space programs, foiling the schemes of deranged billionaires who seek to finance terrorism through high stakes poker games? That’s all child’s play. The day you truly become a spy is the day you get my stepson to show me some respect.