Son, your teacher told me about the conversation you had about careers, and I must say I’m disappointed. You shouldn’t want to be a doctor, astronaut, fireman, or any combination of those. What you should be is a spy, otherwise girls will think you are stupid and infertile.
It’s a glamorous life for us, son. I’m talking free trips to Cuba for every assignment – normally people pay an arm and a leg for that, but if you’re lucky all you’ll lose is a finger if you’re caught.
Cuban nightlife is amazing. I’m very absent in your life, so I don’t know how many bars you frequent, but do you know what it’s like to walk into a Cuban bodega and know that everyone is a potential hostile?
Cars in Cuba are very nice, right out of the ‘50s. Their crumbling infrastructure doesn’t let them build much more. Everyone rides in a Chevy or a Cheví, a sort of decoy Chevy. Never go for the decoys son. The sicarios will find you.
And the women! This one woman I met at a restaurant– don’t remember her name, but it was exotic, very Communiste as they say. She walks in with the most killer look in her eyes – would’ve slain every man in the room if I hadn’t already done so. She offered to pay for my meal, but I gave her money back, as I had no use for the defunct Cuban dollar. Needless to say, I took her back to my hotel room and pried state secrets from her. I used protection though. And don’t look so worried son – this was all before I met your mother or had my current identity.
Now I hope you’ve learned a lesson from this. Your dad may not fight fires or observe the Earth from space, but believe me when I say I’ve killed a lot of Cubans. Do you understand? That’s right. A lot of Cubans, son.