Congratulations International Man of Mystery!

Today the CIA, FBI, Mosad, and whatever the KGB have become are all going to be asking one question: who the hell is this person.

Normally they’d be asking this because you’d just killed a bunch of their agents or found out about a super-secret clandestine plan to control the world’s cheese supply or because you were a gay in the military or something. But in this case it’ll be because you don’t show up on any government databases aside from one brief period of employment under Kinkos.

“Who is this man?” a Russian man in a dark room will ask, slamming his fist on a desk.

His subordinate will shrug helplessly, hoping to not be shot in the face for circumstances outside of his control.

“We need more data,” an American man in a suit will say to his subordinate, who will nod in response and leave the room, walking at an even pace. His subordinate will also be wearing a suit.

An Asian man will scream something in Japanese at another Asian man, who will bow in response and calmly leave the room. Both these men will be wearing suits as well.

“Bloody hell, wot,” a British man will declare to his British contemporary, who will solemnly nod in response. These men will be wearing Tommy Bahama shirts and will be minutes away from some of the most impressive sodomy you’ve ever heard of.

Meanwhile you’ll keep doing dishes in the back of the Fuddruckers, hoping that your band’s new single finally makes it out of the back of your mom’s station wagon and into the hands of some new teenage girls.

Maybe it’s for the best the authorities don’t know much about you.

Congratulations International Man of Mystery!