Alone at the Lunchroom Table - Hobbes

First day at ACME, Michigan. It wasn't until my new closet-sized office had been cleared of printing paper and broken staplers that I realized I have no idea what I'm doing here. I'm not an international spy. Anyone can put on a costume and swagger around a martini party. But when push comes to shove who's footing that bill? ACME was very generous to accept my application, though I'm wary some expenses necessary to be competent at my job may need to come from my own pocket, which would contravene the very reason I joined. Though, if I get fired from this job, Jeanie and I will have to dip even further into our savings. Enough of that. We've worried about income for too long. Focus on the fact criminal activity is to blame, Hobbes. The media hounds after V.I.L.E. and its identified followers like a dysfunctional pack of starving wolves. They attacks every story, spinning it off on such an angle that the suspects sound like cunning celebrity entities worthy of legal vindication. This is a horrifying trend that ignores the many negative effects these crimes are having on society. But apparently the media has discovered reporting on the negative effects of crime is a downer, so their upbeat reporting is obviously justified. And while the international V.I.L.E. elite bask in the glow of crime's golden era, the police sit back in awe and sip coffee. Looking around the ACME Detroit cafeteria, I see the world's finest agents and officers staring back. How is it that we - with the funding of hundreds of nations - are sputtering in the dust of rogue vagabonds? Enough. These questions don't matter. Results matter, Hobbes. Just do your job and everything will be fine.