Hey, I've a bit of a proposition for you. See, I've been thinking about it: the local museum recently received Andy Warhol's "Marilyn x 100" as part of a program in which every major museum in the nation gets to house the famous piece of work for a set number of days, before passing it along to the next museum in line. As you well know, the painting may be an atrocity, but to the correct buyer, its value is astronomical.

Which leads me to my proposal: Through the work I've been doing for my university's alumni committee, I've befriended a rather wealthy and unscrupulous art collector; needless to say, he's willing to pay top dollar to get his hands on the behemoth and hideous composition so that he may add it to his private collection. This is where you and I come in.

I've another acquaintance who works at the museum itself and has of late become rather fed up with the poor quality of treatment and copious number of hours he's been subject to due to his position. Ironically, he's used the very position which has so long been the bane of his existence to his advantage by procuring the blue prints to the gallery, as well as the key cards required to enter several important control rooms.

With this man's help, I feel that we can get into the museum, snag the picture, and get out once more without ever being detected. It's quite simple, really; we both begin by lowering ourselves in through the skylight, which our inside man will be certain to leave open for us during the day. While you head through the ventilation ducts towards the painting, I'll make my way into the computer surveillance room, where I'll deactivate every camera in the complex for only a brief second by reducing the power flow, making it appear like a brownout. In that time period, you'll lower yourself to the painting, where my acquaintance will be awaiting for you. Together, you'll heft Warhol's joke upon the artistic community from the wall and dash towards the auxiliary janitorial exit in the rear.

By this point, the power will have returned to its full capacity, and I'll have deactivated the janitorial door from the control room and made my way to the janitorial door so as to meet you. Awaiting outside will be a flatbed which is usually used to haul garbage off of the museum grounds; our partner is privy to its keys. This is where things get a bit tense. Within a half hour, we must make the painting drop off, being certain to use only side streets so as not to draw attention to ourselves, and then make it back to the museum with the truck, so that its absence won't be noticed. We'll lock the auxiliary door from the outside, and flee on foot.

By morning, we'll already be booked on a flight to Cancun, the payment having been deposited into a Swiss bank account by the buyer. We'll be millionaires. So what do you say, do you want in? We'll be able to live like kings for the remaining days of our lives; This is an opportunity that only a true fool would pass up. We'll make out like the bandits that we are.

-Drew "Your Mom" Cosner

Hey, I've read quite a bit about people who are having problems with their Playstations beginning to overheat and skip as they age. I've been looking for suitable solutions to that dilemma -- other than flipping my PSX upside-down, that is. Frankly, that looks idiotic. I was thinking, perhaps if I coated the laser lens with peanut butter and let my cat lick it off, the cool saliva would help to prevent eventual problems. What do you think?

Oh, hey, on a completely unrelated note, I was wondering if you know where Andrew shops for his clothing? I'm looking into becoming an intimidating caucasian "thug fo life" myself, and I think that he's got the look down rather well.

And just to change topics once more, because I love to mix things up and make sure that nobody knows just what the hell is going on around them, what are your opinions on the Dreamcast? What do you think about its future outlook? I shelled out a cool 200 greenbacks to get my sweaty hands onto one of those suckers, and now it seems as though no games which are of interest to me are going to be arriving within the near future. I mean, before Shen Mue's release, the world will have ended in one final, apocalyptic Armageddon wherein the spirits so long trapped within the bowels of hell will once again be free to roam the earth, tormenting us pitiful mortals by extracting various body parts and organs which are unnecessary to immediate life, leaving us to bleed to death or starve due to the removal of our digestive systems. I was really hoping to play Mister Suzuki's gift to the children of the 21st century before that unavoidable outcome came to pass.

-Drew Cosner, the rich uncle who excluded you from his will

Dear Sony Computer Entertainment America,

I recently tried to combat the well-documented and commonly known Gordian knot that is Playstation overheating and eventual skipping by spreading peanut butter about the laser lens, so as to entice the household feline into licking it off. Obviously, it would stand to reason that the cat's saliva would cool the system down, preventing the eventual skipping. Unfortunately, your shoddy product still managed to find a way to short circuit, eliminating my unsuspecting cat in the process. I feel that you owe it to me to replace my Playstation game console, or repair my current one at the very least.

As a large corporation known for their quality consumer electronics, I must say that I'm quite disappointed in the showing on the part of the Playstation. I would expect that Sony would put the same care and craftsmanship into what has come to be one of its key products as it does its other devices. This is a slap in the face to the gaming community; if this is what we, as gamers, can expect from CD-based consoles, I fear that I may have to shelve my PSX and devote my time and money solely to Nintendo and its Nintendo 64.

In protest, I have shackled the Playstation to my ankle, and walk about the crowded downtown streets wearing a sandwich board bearing my story. I hope that you will take into consideration the many potential purchasers of the Playstation game console who will think twice upon hearing what it is that I have to say.

Sincerely,

-Drew Cosner

There's something completely banal and pointless that I've been wondering, and I figured that the fact that it's completely banal and pointless would make it perfectly suited for the Double Agent letters column. Everyone, at one point or another, has been forced to use a public restroom. Sometimes making it back to your home, where you don't have to be concerned about the unseen microbe civilization that you're about to place your bum onto, simply isn't an option. When mother nature calls, she don't leave no messages. Now, you've undoubtedly noticed the fact that approximately 75% of the time, the toilet paper has been set either atop the toilet itself, or rested on the top of the dispenser apparatus that it belongs in. You know, there's a lot of strenuous activity involved in clipping a roll of toilet paper into place and all; I wouldn't want to make the nation's janitors break a sweat.

Well, who in the hell actually uses those loose rolls? I don't know about the rest of you, but I'd take a wad of hand towels into the stall with me before I'd resort to using a stray roll of toilet paper. After all, are you really so sure that the roll has never been knocked to the floor, only to be once again picked up and placed back atop the dispenser? I'd bet my left ear that at the lion's share of those rolls have suffered just such a fate. And yet, there's people who don't even so much as think twice about putting that right up their ass. They're essentially wiping themselves with the chewed gum, dog fecal matter remnants, dirt, and dead bugs that were on the bottom of the shoes of those who have entered that stall before them. That, in addition to the harsh chemicals used to strip the crud from the floor every once a year, whether it needs it or not. I only hope that others realize this, and that few find my question a revelation rather than being "funny because it's true."

And while I'm on such distasteful subject manner, why is it that dogs can't resist humping my leg? Is there something particularly attractive about my leg to dogs? I'm just thankful that few breeds are capable of reaching their noses into my anus; that could certainly get ugly. Damn, why am I such a repulsive and juvenile person, I ask you?

-Drew Cosner, the disco clown

Something extremely unusual has happened to me. Something that is unsettling, disconcerting, and absolutely fantastic all at once. You see, like any normal human being, I instantly became hooked to the Chu-Chu Rocket commercial upon seeing it for the very first time. Who could not enjoy an advertisement involving bipedal mice merrily marching into the waiting mouth of an equally abnormal looking cat, only to transform into a small rocket and come bursting out from within the unsuspecting creature's noggin? The only type of person which I can possibly imagine that could resist such charm would have to be truly heinous and insidious; perhaps Hitler, or Yamauchi.

At any rate, I sat up for several days in a row, doing nothing other than watching the commercial. I didn’t eat, I didn't sleep, and I politely declined all invitations to go anywhere or do anything. After several days, it happened. It felt as though my brain were tingling; suddenly I was able to fully understand problems which I had long been unable to comprehend. I felt creative, ingenious and alive. It was as though every dormant nerve in my cerebrum suddenly grew another synapse. I think it's quite clear that the Chu-Chu Rocket commercial caused me to undergo instantaneous evolution. It is without a doubt that I am now the next step in human progression; the step which our species has so long been unable to achieve, thanks to the manner in which the many safety regulations have prevented less desirables from killing themselves, hence cleansing the gene pool. In short, law has done away with natural selection.

But all of that is a moot point now. It's amazing the way thoughts continue to flow freely and unrestrained from my head. It's as though I emanate intelligence. Brilliance pours from me like water from a faucet. I will enjoy this new life.

-Drew Cosner, in search of his stolen banana horde

You know, I put a lot of thought and effort into making this column both enjoyable and humorous. Using the raw power of the designated topic, I've always been striving to keep it fresh and interesting, as well as to keep you readers on your toes. In fact, I think that I'm quite deserving of a Sexalicious Award, but I've never been in the position to receive one, as moderator of Double Agent.

However, today all of that will change. So, how about showing a little appreciation and hooking up the ol' Drewster with a Sexalicious Award? What do you say?

-Drew Cosner, pathetic Award beggar

Hey, some people are wondering why I finally added another award after sticking with the Smartass Award and the Sexalicious Award for all of this time. Would you mind coming up with a drawn-out and completely infactual explanation that somehow involves an epic battle and several mainstays of this column? I'd really appreciate it.

-Drew "not so tough without his car" Cosner

Hello. I've noticed that there have been several occasions of late in which I have either disagreed with you on a particular opinion you professed to hold, or disliked a particular joke and/or comment that you chose to make. For this, I feel that I must express my dissatisfaction in the most forceful and persuasive manner that I know how to.

You are obviously a homosexual. Only a person who lusts for those of the same sex could possibly hold viewpoints in opposition to those which I do. Had that comment not cut you to your very core, allow me to further add that I find you to be entirely distasteful. Every attempt at humor which you have ever made has sucked, and you, by extension, also suck. Suck like the raging homosexual that you are.

However, it's quite possible that my insults were ineffective at persuading you to completely change your beliefs and style of humor, so I am now left with no other choice but to type entirely in capital letters, while stringing together random obscenities and vulgarities into a single, semi-coherent and oft-misspelled sentence. Ahem: UR SUX FAG I HOPE YOU GO BACK TO GO HELL AND DIDEI BECOZE UR SUCH A FREAKING SHITFASED FAGGOT. UR KALLIMZ ARE SUCH ASSS U DSERVEES TO EAET SDL:KGJSDG*&@#$(%*@&#%()*&@#$.

Thank you for your time.

-Drew "and I really mean it, too" Cosner

Okay, Ian, you're my last hope. I want a Sexalicious Award. Come on. Give it to me. You know that I deserve it.

~Drew P.