In private security you get to play your wargames and run your tactical shit, but always secretly knowing that you're really only doing it for pretend. And for reasons that run entirely counter to the beautiful and naïve -- and incredibly wise, and brave, and large -- reasons that called you to service in the first place. And all you have to do for this privilege is ignore the fact that in trying to become GI Joe, you accidentally joined C.O.B.R.A. instead. That, honestly, breaks my heart.
GOLD & ASSOC
Eli: "Oh, gross. Didn't I already throw a bucket of water on you?"
Mandy Post: "You tried! But we're back printing the story again, for like the third episode in a row. This time the spin is that the story itself is topical..."
Eli: "A process story about the fake conversation revolving around a blogger who lives in his mom's apartment? [Verbatim, this next bit.] When did the mainstream media become such a bitch of the blogosphere?"
Mandy Post: "Um, around twelve years ago when print died? Where have you been*? And also, nice quote. And also Maddie Hayward was here. But then she left. And she wasn't here to talk to you to begin with. And also I am just fucking you over at this point."
*(And further to that point, ten demerits to Slytherin for Eli saying "Gotcha journalism" in any context. How embarrassing for us all.)
Randoms: "...Blah blah discretionary firm blah blah..."
Eli: "Who the fuck are you?"
Eli: "Who the fuck is in my office?"
Hayden: "Bees. Look, stop yelling about this. It's not your office anymore. In fact the last time you used it for any real purpose was two months ago before Kristin Chenoweth's 'accident.' I can't be having valuable space dedicated solely to your ego. Not when the hole where the 27th floor used to be is still smoking."
Eli: "If my candidate wins, we'll bring millions of business dollars!"
Hayden: "If Peter wins you'll do that anyway. You've got $250,000 of the capital contribution and 5 percent of the yearly draw. Don't bring numbers to Mr. Numbers, halfwit."
Eli: (Stomps so hard, like a frustrated hobgoblin in a fairytale whose stomps open a hole down into Hell. Falls into the hole.)