How to bore the NSA

Have them wiretap me. Can you imagine? Some poor sot at the covert agency has to listen -- in real time -- to my rambling prattle. Especially as I really only have about a half dozen topics that I discuss to death.

Cover Agency Program Manager (CAPM): "Okay, folks, here are the wiretap assignments for this week." Passes around self-destructs-in-five-seconds paper lists.

Three dozen agents not assigned to listen to me: "Whew."

The Short Straw: "Ohhhh noooooo."

Agent (2) who had to wiretap me last week: "Just pray that she's not auditioning for something. You know how she goes on and one about that."

Agent (3) from the week before: "No, she got cast in something. I think she's back to cute stories from work and that Celiac Disease thing."

Agent (4) who had the week when my life was too exciting even for me: "Really? How's the cat doing? He was in and out of the vet back in November."

Agent 3: "Cat's fine. And that damn kids show is over, too."

All: "Oh, thank G-d."

The ritual bottle of strong spirits is passed to a rather shaken looking Short Straw. The meeting breaks up and all but one agent exits the room whistling cheerfully. Well, all but two. Agent 2 is still a broken man with a haunted look and a bit of a tremor.

You know, there is a certain irony in the fact that enemy combatents and furriners are now (theoretically) protected from torture, but NSA operatives might have been suffering agonies untold via my telephone and e-mails for months and months.