Hi, We're Mormons, Not Hippies

Hi, we're mormons, we love everyone. That's why we came all the way to Japan to do what we enjoy doing the most: talking to people about god and saving souls. I'm sure the Japanese love us too, because we have blonde hair and blue eyes and a sexy American accent.

You've probably met some of us, I'm sure. Because we're practically everywhere. Sometimes, we go knocking at doors but most of the time, you see us loitering walking around in the neighbourhood, greeting random strangers.

Many people are silly enough to mistake us as hippies, but give me a break, dude. Of all things, hippies? The hippies who believe in the power of marijuana? Come on, those people are gay. And God made it clear that He has a distaste for gay people. Hippies don't go to heaven, only mormons do. In fact, according to South Park, Catholics and Protestants go to hell. (It is also perhaps worth noting that Saddam Hussein was sent to heaven.)

I can never understand why the hippies concern themselves so much with environmental issues. I mean, who really believe we can stop global warming? We all know it's karma that's heating up the earth. Historical records show that global warming was nonexistent until after the Hindus and the Buddhists invented karma.

Global warming or not, there's nothing more important than the salvation of your soul. But eating crackers, drinking red wine and confessing your sins can only get you halfway to heaven. Let's not forget about donating to our church. We need money to send our missionaries to Alaska to convert the eskimos before the hippies get to them.

God-defying hippies, they're a wicked bunch. Isn't it surprising that in the world today, there're still people who don't believe in god? Mao Zedong, Isaac Asimov, Francis Bacon, Carl Sagan, Douglas Adams, Steven Weinberg, Richard Dawkins, Eleanor Ann Arroway, and probably Spock and Doctor Who... Their names are synonymous to god-defying hippies who practise satanism part-time.

But let's not be lax. These hippies are closer to you than you might think. Take this episode I encountered the other day, for instance. Paul and I were dilly-dallying walking around in the neighbourhood, harrassing greeting friendly Japanese when we met this foreign guy from some third-world African country called Malaysia. Alas, little did we know he was a heretic until he declared that he was an "atheist".

Oh, it took me sometime before my brain registered the meaning of the blasphemous word. While I thought all these heretics were all wiped out alongside the witches during the Spanish inquisition, here was one, standing right in front of me! It's so hard to tell a hippy from his looks nowadays. They don't wear voodoo trinkets anymore.

Recomposing myself, I tried to maintain my friendly smile. God gave me a chance to convert a heretic. I knew I could not afford to screw it up.

"Hmm... An atheist, huh?" I rubbed my chin, still recovering from the shock. "Do you believe that the universe was formed in a bang? So... Do you believe in money? Do you believe in love? In family?"

"I suppose you're asking me if I believe in the power of money, the importance of love and family. But let me clarify. I think you got me wrong. Being an atheist means I do not believe in the existence of god. Whether I believe in the belief in god is another question."

He was also quick to add, "I'm guessing that you're from the church down the street and the next thing you're going to do is to invite me to drop by."

Whoa, you'd think that people who don't believe in God are actually stupid but this one is brighter than your stereotypical type from the catalog!

"You're right. Our church is currently opening its doors to people so that they can see for themselves what we're doing." You know, some people have these strange ideas that we worship big stone statues, burn offerings and sing karaoke in the church. But that's not what we do. "What we're doing is seeking peace and happiness through God."

"Some people find peace and happiness in a bowl of ramen," the guy quipped. "Peace and happiness can be as simple as that. You don't have to resort to religion to lead a fulfilling life."

That was the most ridiculous thing I've heard. This guy must be high on coke.

"I believe only in God. Nothing you say is going to change that. I believe that when I die, I'll go to heaven. There, I'll meet our saviour Jesus Christ and we'll have a long chat," I explained. "So, are you coming to our church? If you do, we can talk more about it."

"No offense but, sorry, I'll pass."

Cool. At least Paul and I didn't have to waste our time. I'd rather try my luck with other less adamant people. It's not like we have all day to waste. We're not hippies who have nothing better to do than talking to random strangers. We're mormons. We're entrusted with the holy duty to remind people of God.

Oh, we give free English lessons at our church too. Join us any time you want.

God bless you.

*This post is partly fictional.

The Brief Wondrous Life of a Free Bible

Forget about those hungry mouths in Africa; forget about those killer bees from Outer Mongolia; forget about those shrinking gonads of the general male population. Why should we even be concerned with these issues when there're other matters that demand urgent attention? Like, say, saving the rest of humanity from the eternal furnace in hell? That's why you see pretty girls and old aunties going from door to door to get new members for the church. More churchgoers means more tithe. And that would appease god, because god loves tithe. And what's more than having an appeased god? He's our ultimate solution to the famine in Africa, the killer bees, the shrinking gonads and other earthly issues. Praise god.

It is also the donations from generous souls (may god bless them) that I get to see the light of day. Obviously, it'd be more preferrable that I didn't end up in this garbage bin but despite my shortlived existence, I'm more than proud to have been entrusted with the holy duty of spreading the gospel.

I have as many days to live till the next garbage collection. But spending your last four days of life with a banana peel and a bento box in a garbage bin sucks high time. Which is why I'm going to pen about my brief wondrous life as a free bible before the garbage truck comes.

Yes, I'm a bible. Not just any bible but a bilingual one - English on one page, and Japanese on the opposite side, just like those Penguin readers. Learning English can never get better! It was a brilliant idea from our beloved priest, who had his epiphany (praise god) when he rolled off his bed in the middle of the night.

I came into existence in a printing factory, together with thousands of other copies just like me. Each and everyone of us was printed on 100% recycled paper with soy ink. So whatever those enviromentalist hippies (may god have mercy on their souls) tell you about melting polar caps and mutant lizards in the Pacific Ocean (I believe the Japanese call them godzilla), we have nothing to do with them. True, recycled paper and soy ink cost more but the church has deeper coffers than you can imagine. The cost for a thousand copies of bibles can't possibly be enough to fund an African child for more than 826.21 days anyway.

I don't really know where my brothers ended up. But some of us, including me, were given out to passer-bys in front of some university. Just in case you don't know, cults are pretty rampant in Japan. A lot of them satanists (may they burn in hell) actively recruit unsuspecting university students. (That's a reason why you shouldn't be an atheist. Nothing is more susceptible to cults than an atheistic mind.) You know, they invite you to coke parties, make you drink goat blood and whatsnot. That's why, we have the holy duty to reach out to the innocent minds, before they fall into the dark abyss of devil-worshipping.

It's simple. It works the same way as giving out free tissues. Sometimes, people just come up to you and ask for a pack. But in our case, people actually walk away from you so you'll have to coerce them. No one is rude enough to reject a free bible stuck right in front of his nose. Believe me, it works because that was how I ended up with some dude, whom I barely had the chance to give sermons to, because before long, I was shoved into a garbage bin ten paces away. (Lesson of the day: never give out bibles within ten paces away from a garbage bin.)

Oh, holy Jesus son of Mary, wife of Joseph! May god have mercy on the heathen! I hold no vengeance upon that misguided soul but I do hope he'll come to his senses soon and seek forgiveness from god.

It's lame to end up in a garbage bin but looking on the bright side, I'm leaving behind a legacy, this little autobiography chronicling my brief wondrous life!

Now, will you excuse me, I have to give a sermon to the banana peel and the bento box. God bless you.

*This autobiography is 'mostly' fictional.

Thorny Prophecy (Part I) - The Secret Sect

This is the first part of the sequel to The Secret Agent.
»Thorny Prophecy (Part I) - The Secret Sect

Sabrook checked his beard stubbles in front of the mirror. Boy, the rush of adrenaline sure made the beard grow. He preferred it short, like thorns sticking out of a cactus. He considered it a befitting image for a man named after the plant.

He didn't like what he saw in the mirror. The doctor told him to take a day off. "Plenty of omizu. Don't get dehydrated," he was advised. Dehydrated? Hah! What nonsense? A cactus never gets dehydrated, not even in the scorching desert! Sabrook sneered. But he was careful not to say that aloud.

It was supposed to be a brief meeting with a client, but things had not gone too well for him this evening. Five minutes after downing the wasabi milk shake, he ended up with a terrible diarrhea. His stomach felt like an abused punch bag. As soon as he plonked his buttocks on the toilet seat, everything started to drain out from the intestines like water from an unplugged bathtub.

Suddenly, the American appeared, barging into the cubicle, waving a sharpened bamboo chopstick as if it was a wand.

Sabrook thought it was all over. He thought his cover was blown. But then, it didn't make sense. The Teacher warned him against the evil schemes of the unscrupulous agency. He was careful enough not to have an account on Facebook or Myspace. They were but a new form of surveillance strategy - the agency has a division of computer nerds who could easily track you down with a couple of mouse clicks. Despite all the precautions, they got him nevertheless.

Ignoring the involuntary spasms, he concentrated hard on formulating a plan. But luckily, it was not even close to what he had imagined. Instead, the American appeared to be some over-suspicious lover who thought his girlfriend was having an affair with him. Sabrook was very much shaken, but the American left him unscathed after he explained about the cactus. In fact, he felt sorry for the American who ran away, wailing like the Sirens.

Pathetic Americans. They were the princes of materialism but were helpless when it comes to faith and trust. Why would they concern themselves with cheating partners when the world was facing graver issues, like the shrinking gonads in the general male population?

Sabrook could never understand. Let the puny mortals indulge themselves in the trivial matters. He believed that the cosmos had bigger plans in store for him. That was what the Teacher told him. He believed him, because the Teacher was a learned man. Likewise, he believed as much in the holy scriptures, because those were the words of God.

If only the world would take one advice from him, he would tell them "not to incur the wrath of God". The White-bearded Old Man Who Lived Above the Clouds had the privilege of pissing upon any mortal who was foolhardy enough to piss Him off. Or depending on the severity of the defiance, He might even throw him into a shit hole to marinate in fermented wasabi milk shake.

Man should learn from their mistakes. The Book of Dust told of the Great Drought, where man got arrogant and went against God's teachings. They drowned themselves in wine, they fornicated day and night, they ran naked in the streets. Wherever God looked, He saw whores and gays. Feeling sorry for what He had created, He cast a dry spell that lasted 150 days.

Of course, God did not have the heart to wipe everything off the earth - it would be too troublesome to redo things from scratch. The last time He created the world, it took Him seven days. So, He told Noah about His scheme and commanded Noah to embark on a search for the Sacred Cactus. Noah managed to find it in the Elbonian desert. It was of the same scale as the Babel Tower and could snugly accommodate a pair of clean animals for each kind.

No one knew what happened next because the remaining of the scripture was burned by the Church. (Presumably, Noah and the animals were spared from God's wrath, the scholars surmised, because otherwise, we would not be here.)

Then in the middle ages, the remaining followers of the sect were brutally slaughtered by the Knights Tempest during a crackdown sanctioned by the papacy. The holy land of Elbonia and its chosen people were effectively erased from the surface of the earth. Those who survived the crusade went underground, and never did the world hear from them ever since.

Unfortunately, the Secret Sect of the Sacred Cactus could no longer afford to keep quiet. Not when the world was at the knife edge.

Sabrook had got to do what he had got to do. Save the world.

He checked the details on his iPhone. Copthorn Hotel, conference hall. He had to take a good rest before his mission.

The Secret Agent (Part IV) - Free-fall

This is the finale of the four-part series.
The Secret Agent (Part I) - Promotion
The Secret Agent (Part II) - Eavesdropping
The Secret Agent (Part III) - The Arabian
»The Secret Agent (Part IV) - Free-fall

Tokyo city - one of the biggest metropolitan cities in the world. It seemed as if its 12 million inhabitants never slept. After sundown, lights flickered into life and the place continued to hum in relentless activity. One who was romantic enough would go as far as describing the city as a living beast with its own heartbeat, the complicated network of transportation system being the veins that kept it alive.

The Agent looked down at the foot of the structure. The overwhelming sense of vertigo almost tipped him over. He was, after all, at a height of at least 300 meters.

He had never been good at physics. But he knew enough to be able to estimate the time required for the 300-meter free fall - eight seconds. To an outside observer, that wouldn't seem too long. But to the free-falling guy, it would be the longest eight minutes in his life. Was it Einstein who said that? He wondered what would flash through his mind during the fall? His family? His high school report card? Or his girlfriend?

He wanted to end it right there, right now. He just couldn't take it anymore. The crap nearly cost him the most important thing in his life.

* * * * *

The Agent squinted his eyes at the third monitor. It was showing the footage from the men's room. Tenchou-san had the CCTVs installed in the restrooms after a series of toilet paper thefts. Thanks to the cameras, the Agent's job was much easier.

He had quietly slipped into the security room when he saw the Arabian excusing himself from the table. The laxative must be working, he thought. He had emptied two packets of it into the Arabian's wasabi milk shake just to be sure. Of course, no one saw how he did it. That was one of those things they taught you at the Academy.

From the video footage, the Agent could see the Arabian making it to the restroom. He was already pulling down his pants on the way. Perhaps two doses of laxative was a little too much. He rushed into the first cubicle, where the toilet cover was already lifted up, waiting for his divined arrival. The Agent's pupils constricted.

The Arabian plonked his buttocks on the toilet seat and relieved himself of the pressure building up in his bowels. But nothing went kaboom. The Agent planted the charges alright, but not the pressure sensors. He was going to use the trigger function on his secret agent phone. That would make him feel more in control.

He said a silent prayer, then pressed the trigger key once and waited. Nothing happened. He pressed it once more. Still, nothing happened.

Damnit! The night before, the speaker failed him. And now, the keys! "What kind of crap is this phone," he cursed. There was only one choice left. He would take care of it personally. He rushed into the cubicle where the Arabian was relieving himself, and pointed a bamboo chopstick at him. Gosh, the cubicle smelled like fermented milk.

"You're cornered! Now tell me what's your relationship with the girl out there!" the Agent demanded.

The Arabian was obviously scared enough to have urinated in his pants. But since he was on the toilet seat, it didn't matter anyway. "Sh-sh-she? She's my client."

The Agent could feel the world swirling around him. He thought he and his girlfriend were having a happy sex life all this while. But alas, no! She was paying this haggard Arabian guy for service?

"Wh-what kind of service do you provide?" the Agent was starting to lose his cool.

"No, not service. I'm a cactus merchant from Saudi Arabia. I sell exotic cacti. Orders come from all over the world. Some people claim cactus juice prolongs life, while some simply keep them as pets, " the Arabian replied. "This client is a cactus lover. Or at least, his boyfriend is. That's why she's getting him a cactus for Christmas."

The Agent hated to admit it but it made sense. He was a cactus lover. That was why the cactus in Q's office was the first object that caught his attention during his recent visit. But presuming this was true, it would mean that he had made the greatest mistake in his life. He should have trusted his girlfriend. He could blame his traumatic experiences for his paranoia but still, he could not forgive himself.

"No!" Wailing, the Agent ran out from the restroom, leaving the bewildered Arabian behind.

* * * * *

The Agent stretched out his right arm before him, the red cell phone held loosely between the forefinger and the thumb. "Sayonara," he closed his eyes and said softly. Then he let his hold loose. The cell phone slipped out of his fingers. Soon, all was left to gravity.

One. Two. Three... Seven...

Thud.

Silence.

No one hurled curses from below; no one was hit.

Good, the Agent thought. He looked down one last time and saw the giant Christmas tree, all lit up. Merry Christmas.

Now he would go home to his girlfriend. Well, after stopping by somewhere to get her a present.　□End

The Secret Agent (Part III) - The Arabian

This is the third installment of the four-part series.
The Secret Agent (Part I) - Promotion
The Secret Agent (Part II) - Eavesdropping
»The Secret Agent (Part III) - The Arabian
The Secret Agent (Part IV) - Free-fall

"Irasshaimase!" he greeted as a couple entered the shop. It was Christmas eve after all. You wouldn't go to crappy revolving sushi restaurants for Christmas dates. This was where you would come to - a decent family restaurant, Sushi Queen.

* * * * *

Earlier in the morning, the Agent came to the shop, asking if he could work here for only that day. He made up a story about not having enough money to buy his girlfriend her favourite soft toy for Christmas. He would be indebted if he was allowed to work there, he said. and he promised to do just anything - washing the dishes, taking the orders, serving the customers, cleaning the toilet, anything!

Tenchou-san - as the shop owner was fondly called by his employees - pondered for a moment. Since it was Christmas eve, he expected more customers today. So he could use some extra help.

"Say 'irasshaimase'," tenchou-san asked. He then pronounced the word syllable by syllable, as if he was talking to a baby, "I-ra-sshai-ma-se"

"Irasshaimase," the Agent imitated the old man as perfectly as possible. But the telltale British accent was just too heavy. Despite having stayed in Japan for three years, he still could not grasp the outlandish oriental language. When he was about to try a second time, tenchou-san motioned him to stop.

For the moment, the Agent thought he wasn't going to get the job after all. In his head, he was already making up a backup plan.

Tenchou-san, however, had something else in mind. True, not all gaijins were to his liking. Some of them were so baka that they couldn't speak Japanese. But some of them were kakkoi, especially those with brue eyes and brond hair. This one, for instance. More than that, this gaijin resembled the Hollywood star, John Canary, he thought. The okyaku-san would like him.

"Good, you're hired," tenchou-san said. "All you need to do is stand by the entrance and greet the okyaku-san, that's 'customers' just in case you don't know."

"Arigatou!" the Agent thanked the old man, bowing so low that he almost somersaulted. Phase One, checked.

* * * * *

The Agent fixed his eyes on a corner table. There she was, his girlfriend, waiting for her secret lover. Despite the betrayal, he could not help getting transfixed by her. It was that lovely face that he fell for when they first met at a matchmaking party - did the Japanese call it goukon or something? He could not remember.

Blaring honks from the street jolted him awake from the trance. The Agent looked out of the window and saw a man casually guiding a camel to the walkway. After tying the tether to a lamppost, the man walked into the shop.

"Irasshaimase!" the Agent greeted. As he made a deep bow, he managed to make a quick assessment on the newcomer.

He had a dark complexion and bushy eyebrows. One day's growth of beard was sticking up on his chin like thorns on a cactus. It was winter but despite the cold, the man was wearing a loose, white garment. The Agent could tell it was thobe, the traditional dress for Saudi Arabian men - he saw it on Discovery Channel the other day. Besides, the headdress confirmed his inference. This must be the man his girlfriend was talking to on the phone last night. His right fist tightened into a clench. Taking a deep breath, he loosened it again, training his eyes on the Arabian as he made his way to the table in the corner...

The Secret Agent (Part II) - Eavesdropping

This is the second installment of the four-part series.
The Secret Agent (Part I) - Promotion
»The Secret Agent (Part II) - Eavesdropping
The Secret Agent (Part III) - The Arabian
The Secret Agent (Part IV) - Free-fall

The Agent had been playing with his new company phone for three days. The farting ringtones that came with the cell phone were hilarious - he couldn't help laughing till his stomach spasmed in pain. The stupid "Pin the Tail on the Orangutan" game was so fun that he stayed awake playing it for three nights - he wasn't even aware that orangutans didn't have tails. And he had also downloaded enough pirated movies to keep him entertained for a lifetime. Of course, he was also eager to try out the secret agent functions the cell phone had to offer. But it was not until the night before Christmas eve that the chance came by. He suspected that his new girlfriend was cheating on him, just like all his former girlfriends did. It was some kind of instinct he had developed after 10 failed relationships. Of course, he shrugged it off at first, attributing it to the trauma he had in his previous relationships. But then, experience taught him that clandestine phone calls were always reliable signs of a failing relationship. His current girlfriend had been getting late night calls from someone. Sometimes it was her insomniac mother. On other occasions, it would be her sick chihuahua. Well, at least that was what she claimed.

"Haha, you can't push me around like an idiot anymore," the Agent thought. He knew what he would do. He would confirm his suspicions once and for all. He could vaguely remember Q advising against eavesdropping on girlfriends but who'd find out? And even if someone did, what would they possibly do?

It was the day before Christmas eve. That night, he was stirred awake when his girlfriend silently crept out from the bed. Pretending to be still asleep, he watched her stealthily making it to the balcony.

He felt a surge of self-satisfaction. Just in case he was gleaming too brightly, he covered his face with the futon. Then he slided his secret agent phone on and pressed his right ear against the speaker. Earlier, he had configured the cell phone so that he could listen in on his girlfriend's phone calls.

Any moment now, he was going to find out about his girlfriend's secret lover. He knew exactly what he would do after that - blow up the faggot from the toilet seat. He owed the idea to his late, unfortunate colleague.

Static.

The Agent's eyebrows knitted into a tight knot. He sensed something wrong. Could it be that his girlfriend found out about his secret agent phone and sabotaged it? No, not very likely because he took the precaution of feeding the note Q gave him to his neighbour's rottweiler. A secret agent should never let his guard down.

Just then, something came through the static. "3... Sushi Queen..." That was all he could make out of it. So, she was going to meet her lover at Sushi Queen, 3 o'clock the next day, he surmised.

The Agent almost could not contain his anger at the betrayal. He wanted to confront her now and then. Or, he might as well remain patient till the next day so that he could catch both of them red-handed. But then, should he stick to his initial plan? Should he blow up the guy? Or should he strap him to a chair and torture him with the cactus? He would be too embarrassed to borrow it from Q though.

No, he eventually decided to go on with the explosives. That would be killing two birds with one stone - he had always hated the wasabi milk shake they served at Sushi Queen. He often entertained himself with the idea of blowing up the place. Well, just the toilet, at least. The Agent had never felt better. Revenge was sweet.

But further down his mind, something troubled him. He was sure there was a distinct Middle Eastern accent in that man's voice. And he wondered if it was anything significant...

The Secret Agent (Part I) - Promotion

This is the first installment of the four-part series.
»The Secret Agent (Part I) - Promotion
The Secret Agent (Part II) - Eavesdropping
The Secret Agent (Part III) - The Arabian
The Secret Agent (Part IV) - Free-fall

The room was well-lit and kept clean to the finest detail. For a brief moment, the Agent thought he had mistakenly stepped into an operation room. But he knew he couldn't be wrong. He was told by the secretary to head right to the R&D room and wait. Dr Quack would join him soon.

The Agent scanned around the place with his trained eyes. "Risk assessment", he called it. Never let your guard down; that was his mantra. He had lost many a colleague simply because they weren't cautious enough. Just two weeks ago, an agent was killed in the line of duty. He was literally blown off the toilet seat when the pressure sensor triggered a C4 charge planted under it. The Company not only had to pay for the agent's funeral but also for the destroyed toilet.

But that was all part of the job. You could never know if someone sabotaged your closet with a boogeyman.

His eyes fell on a cactus on the computer desk. In his mind, he had already formed his contingency plan. Should he be assaulted by an unexpected enemy, he would hurl the cactus at him.

"But then, this is the Facility," he snickered. He doubted anyone could infiltrate the place.

Just then, footsteps echoed from the walkway. With the agile reflexes of a secret agent, he grabbed the cactus and turned around. At the same time, a lady in her early 50's entered the room.

"What are you doing with the vibrator?" She seemed to be a well-poised lady but her voice betrayed a slight irritation.

"Uh, this cactus is a vibrator?" The Agent could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment. He returned the cactus to where it belonged.

"Just because it looks like a cactus doesn't mean it is a cactus. In the world of espionage, looks can be deceiving. Bear that in mind, Agent."

The Agent wished he could kick his own ass. First day after promotion and he was already getting lectured.

"Sorry, Dr Qu-" He managed to correct himself in time as he recalled what the secretary at the front desk told him - never call the lady Dr Quack; she hated it. "I mean, Q."

"It's natural to get light-headed right after your promotion. But let's not get too carried away okay? Anyway, congratulations on your promotion to the double-oh status." Q said.

"When you're in the field, you're known as L00. Remember, never give out your real name. Here, I've made you some name cards." Q passed the Agent a stack of name cards printed on recycled paper. Then she headed towards the other end of the room where a framed portrait of Mona Lisa was hung. Poking Mona Lisa in the eyes, the painting slided to one side, revealing an electronic key pad. The Agent made an educated guess that it was a safe.

After punching in the password, Q reached inside the unlocked safe and took out a red cell phone. She then carefully slided Mona Lisa back to cover the safe.

"And here's your early Christmas gift," she said.

"Whoa, a company phone! Cool!" The Agent beamed with joy. He had always wanted a cell phone. Nowadays, with vandalism so rampant, working public phones were almost nonexistent. In the field, a cell phone could make a difference between life and death.

"Yes, and no. Yes, this is a cell phone. But no, it's more than a cell phone. Remember what I told you - looks can be deceiving."

The Agent inspected the cell phone. It was a sleak, slide-type model. But it resembled nothing more than a cool cell phone.

"You may download the full version of the 100-page user guide from the official website. But," Q drew out a small piece of note from a file labelled "Classified". "This is all you need to know."

On the note was a simple sketch of the same red cell phone, together with some notes scribbled beside it.


So, it really wasn't an ordinary cell phone! This was one of the latest gadgets the people in R&D had developed. Now, not only he didn't have to worry about finding public phones, but he could also blow up public toilets with the remote trigger without getting caught! And, the eavesdropping function meant more than anything to the Agent - no more cheating girlfriends!

"If there's nothing else, you may dismiss now. I wish you all the best in your missions to come." Q broke the silence. "And yeah. Just a word of advice though, the eavesdropping function is not for listening in on your girlfriend's private phone calls," she added almost as an afterthought.

But, the Agent wasn't paying attention. He was too elated from his Christmas gift. Little did he know that the phone, being the greatest technological failure in the Company's arsenal, was going to be his bane...