The Letter Series: Dear CIA

Dear CIA,

I understand that you think you have the market cornered on this whole "psychological warfare" dealy, but I think you are largely missing what it means to screw with someone's head.  I mean, sure, water boarding can definitely lead to an outbreak of crazy, but doesn't the beauty of screwing with someone lie in the ability to deny any sense of mea culpa in the incident?  Clearly, taking a towel and a pitcher every where you go screams, "Stuff is going to hit the fan and I'm going to be in the middle of it", no?

With that in mind, I'd like to introduce you to the more subtle sensibilities of Favorite, my husband, who is turning psychological warfare into an art.  Here, I will recount a recent story that documents his creative genius, and you can determine if his strategies are more effective than the routes you currently prefer.

Favorite's current employment does little in the way of encouraging employees.  Often that means the employees find their own sources of entertainment.  That fact alone should be enough to explain the reason Sasquatch shows up in more conversations than the state of our economy.  Many people believe discussions over his arguable existence are a waste of time, but not Favorite.  Favorite is willing to entertain the fantastic possibilities often ignored by regular people--like the Loch Ness monster, Area 51, and, of course, Sasquatch.

Really, though, Favorite's willingness is mild compared to those of his coworkers.  One man was so convinced of Sasquatch's existence, he made sightings and footprints regular conversation topics.  He referred to the beast as "Samscratch" and whole-heartedly believed someone, someday, would catch it, and the world would be privy to something he knew all along.

Favorite decided to make that happen.

In the name of science (or psychology, if you prefer), he set out to make this man believe he experienced a real Samscratch sighting.

For weeks, Favorite attempted to procure a Samscratch suit but was unsuccessful.  After randomly sharing his endeavors with a family member, he discovered a man who had purchased a gorilla costume at a yard sale because "it was a good price."  Believing there were similarities between Samscratch and a gorilla, and knowing the dark and the woods would make up for any discrepancies, Favorite took a chance.

He gathered his crack team of professionals and set out on the aptly named Samscratch adventure.

Three grown men (all over the age of 25) called a partner in crime to determine when the Believer left work and would be taking his usual route home.  Then, they set up camp off the side of the road, dressed in the gorilla suit and waited for the magic to happen.

Ten minutes into their wait, the Believer turned down his road.  Since the boys were aware of his headlights, they cued Samscratch who ran across the road--from one wooded area to another wooded area.  Then, they waited.

The Believer, who normally drove 30 mph, sped up to 60 mph, found a drive way and quickly turned around.  He slowly drove back to the area of the sighting carefully looking for the alleged Bigfoot.  The Partner in Crime, who was behind the Believer and also witnessed the "sighting", slowly drove past on his way home.  Eventually, the Believer left the scene of the crime and, we assume, made his way home.

The next day at work, the Partner in Crime asked the Believer about what he saw.  The Believer commented, "Well, that's something you just don't talk about unless you have a body."  He refused to discuss the incident with anyone else, and, according to Partner in Crime, freaked out about the whole ordeal.  And, honestly?  Who wouldn't?  It's not every day Samscratch ambles into the woods right before your very eyes.

I naively believed the experiment would end at this point.  The boys would share their story, everyone would get a laugh and we would finally move beyond the adventures of Samscratch.

But Favorite wasn't done.

He let the story marinate.  Every day, the Believer became a little more jumpy.  Every day, Favorite giggled a little more.

Finally, on the day of the Believer's retirement, Favorite gave him a card that included a picture of Samscratch...except, this time, Samscratch wasn't wearing a mask and he was standing with the rest of the crew who made the impossible a little more believable.

You'd think an experience like this would force the Believer to abandon any belief in the existence of BigFoot, but apparently it reinforced his faith in the mythical creature.

That said, I'm pretty sure this story is just one example of how your agency could create mental disturbance for its own use without all that "Ack, I'm drowning" nonsense.

Think it over.  Favorite is available to strategize to help central intelligence reach its full potential.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Gorilla Samscratch