Usually to escape the raging Demon screams that haunt my brain jar (head) every morning, I’ll start my day off with some Chex Mix, yogurt, a little bit of nitrous, and catch up on the news. As I was reading the New York Times today I came across this article:

“Couples Accused as Spies Were the Suburbs Personified”

I hate stories like this. It’s always the same song and dance: the neighbors never suspected a thing.. they thought all of these couples were just normal people who “would talk about gardening and dogs and kids.”

Look, I’m not saying we should all be paranoid, I’m just saying you really can’t trust anybody, especially your neighbors… and you should probably be a little paranoid.

So, I decided to help out…

Unsure if your neighbors are double-agents working for an Eastern Government? Here are some simple things to ask yourself:

At dinner parties and social functions do they make more than eight references to ‘The Motherland’ in an hour?

Instead of nicknames like Babycakes, Mustache MacDougal or Dollface, do they call each other comrade, Boris, #714, or Franky “Nice Niekvlyette” Johnson?

Do they ask to borrow sugar or microfilm?

If you offer them nightvision goggles and blueprints, do they readily accept them?

Have you ever accidentally mixed up one of your recording devices with theirs?

Do they own more than one Black Eyed Peas CD?

Do either of them have more than three visible facial scars that look to be from barbed wire?

Do they often reek of cheap vodka, soup lines, or a sadness that can’t be named?

Have they ever asked you for directions to C.I.A. headquarters and then say ‘Just kidding we meant Dominoe’s!’ ???

If you answered yes to one or more of the questions the odds are you are dealing with a sophisticated double agent. Best bet: citizen’s arrest with blowdart.


Dear Apple,

I recently went to the Apple Store on W. 14th in Manhattan and was served at the Genius Bar on the third tier of the store by a young man by the name of Brandon.

Before I tell you more about Brandon, please know this: I am a comedian. I tell dick jokes into a voice amplifier in front of strangers.

When I went into your store I (my lawyers have told me I can’t say for sure) may or may not have had a Flipcam hidden in a fannypack with a big hole in it… with which to record the prank I thought I was going to pull.

The prank? Simple yet immature, while seemingly elegant. In other words: CLASSIC. GRITTNER. (that’s my last name. Shit. I should have mentioned that before but this a formal letter) I was going to go to an Apple Store and ask about my (very fake) Asian Porn Fetish and how it keeps shutting down my iPad. I once again mistakenly thought I was going to capture the hilarious hijinks of a confused and vexed Apple employee.

Then I met Brandon.

Brandon didn’t flinch. Not from the moment I dropped the Asian Yum-Yum Bomb. He didn’t just name websites, or positions, or give phone numbers, or show me pictures on his iPhone. He also: made drawings on napkins, talked a lot of statistics, showed me tattoos, gave me a bunch of free apps, and showed me EVEN MORE PICTURES ON HIS iPHONE.

Brandon is amazing.

You should clone him.

Fire everyone. Even you. The person reading this letter.

Would you have stepped up to the plate like that? FUCK NO.

I may be a  comedian but that also means I’ve been in the service industry for a long time as well and for an employee to go above and beyond like that, well. Needless to say you hardly see it these days.

But when I do, I feel compelled to write a letter. Please promote Brandon. For the love of all that is good in this world. Or at least have him train newbies and really leave a lasting mark on Apple.

Thank you for the courtesy of reading this letter.


Sam Grittner