I am the star of my own movie. by James C.

People don’t get how hard it is to be a super sleuth, an old skool, film noir gumshoe like me. First of all, you have to be strong. Strong like an oak tree growing out of the rocky, gritty soil of Yonkers, pushing up towards the sunlight against all odds. Second, you have to be honest, a truth-teller, a man who is not afraid to tell it like it is and speak truth to power. Third, and most importantly, you have to have integrity. It’s a weak man who lets doubt into his mind, who gets confused about right and wrong, who succumbs to temptation and worries about the opinions of others. The man of integrity always does the right thing and never expects a reward.

Being the head of the FBI is the toughest job in the world. It’s like being a superhero, but harder, because superheros have superpowers that give them an unfair advantage. Sure, it’s easy to fight crime when you can climb up the side of buildings like a spider in a stupid outfit. Try fighting crime with just you rock solid integrity and rugged good looks. This job would eat a lesser man alive, but not me. I didn’t survive the mean streets of New York back before there were unicorn lattes just to let a few international criminals get the better of me.

See, what you have to understand is that I can tell a criminal just by looking at her. I don’t need facts, I don’t need evidence, all I need is a whiff of her expensive perfume and I can tell she’s no good. I’ve seen this movie before and the one thing you can’t do is let the femme fatale put one over on you. You have to keep your head clear and your mind on the case. She’s gonna try to distract you by waving a bunch of thumb drives around and claiming that she doesn’t know the difference between an uppercase C and a lowercase c, but don’t be fooled. The gumshoe who doesn’t listen to his gut where women are concerned is the gumshoe who ends up alone in the hospital at the end of the movie, drunk on cheap whiskey and tears. And all he has left of her is an elegant little pistol with an inlaid, mother-of-pearl handle, engraved with her name, “Hillary.” She still haunts my dreams.

Did I also mention that I can see Russia from my house? So don’t worry, I totally got this.

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