I Need to Get Something Off My Chest

I am an international super-spy. I'm just like James bond, only I'm better, and more deadly, and more debonair, and the ladies like me better. (Also, I'm not fictional.) I've driven cooler cars, shot more oafish hoodlum minions, and gotten more awkwardly named hot babes than you will ever even aspire to. My current vehicle has rocket launchers hidden behind its headlights and it can fly. So if you ride in it, please refrain from pressing the 4-way flashers or turning on the airconditioning. I'm lying when I tell you that the AC is broken. It really works just fine, but it also causes my vehicle to soar effortlessly through the clouds. Those times when I say that I'm going to bed and you think I'm sleeping: I'm not. I'm actually out on another dangerous mission for the good of the entire world, or perhaps just the good of my own government. I've diffused countless nuclear situations, defeated innumerable megalomaniacal evil villains, and prevented the spread of dangerous bacteria through the means of poorly prepared Chinese food propagated by the Chinese Mafia through thinly veiled fronts known as Ho Lee Chao. I think perhaps you doubt my validity. I kid you not. I truly am what I claim to be. You know that move that Tom Cruise pulled in Mission Impossible III where he slid down the roof picking off guards with his trusty pistol as he spun and skidded down the sloping roof of the skyscraper? I invented that. That move is in the spy manual today because of my daring initiative. Is that enough to prove my credentials? No? Well perhaps this will do. Can you remember that time that the world was NOT launched into a massive nuclear war? Well, that was me too. Some quick thinking and gallant last-moment heroics on my part are truly the only things that stood between you and painful, fiery, and excruciatingly radiatory death. And not just once, but twice. So there. I think that I have proven myself beyond a shadow of a doubt here. You may now go about your life.

Oh yeah. I'd appreciate it if you don't mention this to anyone. It's really a secret. I can't have everybody knowing what I really do. Just know that when I drop things or accidentally trip and fall or fail to seduce a foxy lady or fumble over my words instead of making incredibly witty repartee or make any sort of mistake or just generally fail to be intensely perfect, it is all an act. I have to appear this way or my cover would surely be blown. Well, thanks for listening.