Hey there, it’s me, the friendly Sultanate of Oman. You may know me for not being the 1976 cult horror film, The Omen, or by confusing me with Yemen. But no, my confused American, I have beautiful beaches and I rank 74th in the World Peace Index. You should visit us! Please.
When it comes to Saudi Arabia, however, Oman does not give a shit about being “peaceful.”
You see, this whole ordeal started last Tuesday night. I had work the next morning and I went to bed on the early side. But around 11 pm, Saudi began blasting Michael Bublé! Who the fuck booms Michael Bublé at 11 pm on a Tuesday night? Not even Michael Bublé’s crotchety-ass mother, Amber! And even if she did, Michael would say, “Not now, Amber, it’s 11 pm on a Tuesday Night! What the fuck, Amber.”
So, I did as any good neighbor would do and called Saudi. And do you know what Saudi did? Saudi put me on hold. And guess what music Saudi played when I was on hold. Michael Bublé.
When I finally got Saudi Arabia, they denied playing the Bubs! They said, “Nah man, that was just some late night beheading.” Really? A beheading at 11 pm on Tuesday. Does Saudi Arabia think Oman is a fool?
I woke up on the couch this morning. Again. Why did my roommate let me sleep there? He knows I have back problems, and I know he saw me sleeping there. I haven’t felt this sore since last weekend, when he left me on the couch. Maybe wake me up next time, ok?
The couch is a hard place to understand. After crawling back to your dorm from whatever party you attended, taking a nap on the couch seems like a good decision. It’s easy. It’s convenient. You’re tired. You just need a minute on the couch. But, when you sleep on that couch, it will come back at you with a fiery vengeance. You’ll wake up sore, confused, and significantly more tired than you were the night before. You will regret absolutely everything about the experience, and the worst part is it would not have happened had your roommate cared.
If your roommate doesn’t wake you up from the couch, there is no clearer sign that they hate you with a passion deep in the core of their cold, dead heart. It’s the only reason they would let you sleep in such an unforgiving, inhospitable place. How many times has my roommate heard me complaining about waking up on the couch again? Too many. And how many times has he woken me up after seeing me asleep on the couch? Not once. He promised he would make sure that I made it to my bed, but he didn’t. I woke up in a hazy cloud, cold and shivering, yet again, with my faith in humanity crushed.
I TRUSTED YOU! I thought you really cared about me, but I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. You really just hate me. After all this time you’ve pretended to like me and just hid your hatred from me. You probably talk about me behind my back. Well, guess what? I HATE YOU TOO! I never liked you. I never want to see you or talk to you again, and now that I think about it, nowhere could possibly be as bad as any room you’re in. I’m sleeping on the couch for the rest of the year, so I never have to see your disgusting, backstabbing face again, you emotionless rat. Goodbye, Michael. Goodbye for good.
What do you think of when you hear the phrase, “Big Brother?” An oppressive and invasive regime? An Orwellian dystopia? Well, I happen to think of Liam, my really cool older brother who bought me beer and taught me how to take off a girl’s bra. Here at the National Security Agency, we like to think of ourselves as Liam.
Every year, politicians say they will “listen to the people,” but the NSA is the only organization actually fulfilling that promise. I mean, from the phone calls and emails we monitor, to the embarrassing MySpace messages and naked Snapchats we secretly save to our personal computers, we understand what the American public is feeling.
My job is a lot harder than most people think. Trust me, after listening to an eighty-year-old woman talk about her hemorrhoids on the phone with some telemarketer, you get a whole different perspective on patriotic duty. But I perform that duty because I love serving my country, even if it includes listening to my ex-girlfriend have phone sex with her new boyfriend, Josh, because you never know who could be a terrorist. And Cynthia probably is a terrorist. Bitch.
Also, I fail to understand the controversy around our practices. Why would people vote for politicians who say they will listen to the people, but then get mad when they find out the government takes that promise seriously? Maybe it’s shocking that someone out there actually cares.
On a parting note, Jeff Daniels, please speak up when you’re on the phone. You also might want to get that cough checked out.