Mission: Impossibly Cheesy

Sorry I haven't written anything in a while. I was about 2000 miles away without Internet access, so I hope I'm forgiven. And -Ireland- for those of you who are going to ask twelve times in the comment section. At least, that's what I've been telling people. The truth is very different. I'm just not sure if it's safe to bring to light...

Aw, what the heck. If the Internet isn't safe, what is? Here's what really went on:
It all started out when I was watching one of the infinite amount of kid spy movies that have been popping up like nasty, prickly weeds with taproots so they don't go away. At one point there were some robots, dinosaurs and kids with lasers fighting an evil-looking guy with a black mustachio and his thugs. I couldn't take it anymore. I turned it off. I made to get up and get a glass of water, when I heard a disembodied voice. I checked to make sure it wasn't the TV back on again. It wasn't.
"Maeve @#(*&@^*, you are the Chosen One! You are being put on top-secret FBI business that can only be handled by a kid, because the government is so frighteningly incapable. Don't tell your parents; then you can't have cool and dangerous adventures on an uncharted island of evil exploding robots. Come to the Hydro-depressurization Cubic Precirculation O2 Chamber at 2100 hours. This message, although seemingly coming from nowhere, will now self-destruct."
Well, when I heard those keywords (in bold), I knew exactly what was going on. It had never crossed my mind as to why we had a HDCPO2 Chamber in our basement before, but now it became perfectly clear; It was destiny (duh)! Now, by watching too many kid spy movies in succession, I had invoked the wrath of the Great omniscient Dietywhomakesalivingasamoviecritic (GOD). Everyone knows those movies push the limits of good taste, so I had angered GOD by watching them against His recommendations. My only hope was to complete whatever mission I was assigned, to prove that despite the all-encompassing cheesiness, there is some sort of substance to kid spy adventures.
At 9:00 I thumped my way downstairs with all my SCUBA gear that I keep for a rainy day (appreciate the pun or perish!). I stepped into a shower-like glass cell, and suddenly everything was rushing water. The device spat me out somewhere in the South Pacific. Things get a little muddled from here. I remember swimming to a skull-shaped island while fighting of sharks with two weapons I had not possessed five minutes ago: semi-automatic plasma guns, and a mastery of several of the funniest-looking martial art techniques in existence.
I'm pretty sure I fought all matter of robots, lava monsters, prehistoric beasts, cannibals, bears, thugs, and guard dogs to bring back an impressively shiny key. It was probably the key to something important and/or mystical and classified, but I stopped paying attention to my motives after a while. There didn't really seem to be any. It turns out GOD was a computer program set up by the government and the FBI to manipulate me into doing their bidding. Oh, well. At least I got a medal.

So, yeah. That took up the better part of two weeks. Just don't tell anyone the real story. I was in Ireland, remember? I don't like to think of the hangar in Arizona where they put the bodies of kid agents who blab about government workings. Okay, so maybe the Disney movies didn't talk about it, but trust me -- it's right next to Hangar 18 with the aliens in it. And yes, Jeff; I'll say "Hi" to them for you if I end up being shipped out there. I'll get them in touch with their friends in Massachusetts.

As a final note, it is harder to be Jeff than I thought. Nora's drum is good for an afternoon's worth of amusement, though.