Movie Moment Monday

This is an attempt for some regularity on my blog.

I was channel surfing on Sunday when I came across a regular broadcast version of Good Will Hunting. Since it is one of my favorite movies, I decided to watch it - on DVD of course, because who in the hell can watch a movie with commercial interruptions? There are other great scenes in this movie, but the one that follows easily applies to many of the things that piss me off about our current administration.
Feel free to act it out or at least, read it with a South Boston accent.

So why do you think I should work for the National Security Agency?

Well, you'd be working on the cutting edge. You'd be exposed to the kind of technology you wouldn't see anywhere else, because we've classified it.
Superstring theory, chaos math, advanced algorithms.

Code breaking.

Well, that's one aspect of what we do.

Oh, come on. I mean, that is what you do. You guys handle 80% of the intelligence workload. You're seven times the size of the CIA.

We don't like to brag about that, Will, but you're exactly right.
So the way I see it, the question isn't: "Why should you work for the NSA?" The question is: "Why shouldn't you?"

Why shouldn't I work for the NSA?
That's a tough one, but I'll take a shot.
Say I'm workin' at the NSA and somebody puts a code on my desk. Something no one else can break. Maybe I take a shot at it and maybe I break it. And I'm real happy with myself because I did my job well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel army in North Africa or the Middle East. And once they have that location, they bomb the village where the rebels are hidin'. Fifteen hundred people that I never met, never had no problem with, get killed.
Now the politicians are saying, "Oh, send in the Marines to secure the area," 'cause they don't give a shit. It wasn't their kid over there getting shot, just like it wasn't them when their number got called 'cause they were off pulling a tour in the National Guard. It'll be some kid from Southie over there takin' shrapnel in the ass. He comes back to find that the plant he used to work at got exported to the country he just got back from, and the guy who put the shrapnel in his ass got his old job 'cause he'll work for 15 cents a day and no bathroom breaks.
Meanwhile, he realizes the only reason he was over there in the first place was so that we could install a government that would sell us oil at a good price. And of course, the oil companies used a skirmish over there to scare up domestic oil prices. A cute little ancillary benefit for them, but it ain't helpin' my buddy at 2.50 a gallon.
They're takin' their sweet time bringin' the oil back, of course. Maybe they even took the liberty to hire an alcoholic skipper, who likes to drink martinis and fuckin' play slalom with the icebergs. It ain't too long till he hits one, spills the oil and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic.
So now my buddy's out of work, he can't afford to drive, so he's walkin' to the fuckin' job interviews which sucks because the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic hemorrhoids. And meanwhile, he's starvin', 'cause every time he tries to get a bite to eat, the only blue plate special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with Quaker State.
So what do I think?
I'm holding out for something better.
I figure, fuck it. While I'm at it, why not just shoot my buddy, take his job, give it to his sworn enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard?
I can be elected president.