In 2010, my Spring Break was classified. To a faraway land where danger and peril lurks at every street corner, in every hobo's glinting eye, in every broken sidewalk and graffiti painting. My team of elite investigators flew in our not-so-private jet. Yes: we flew economy class to San Diego. We were there on a mission from unknown sources to investigate an uprising that has called millions to rebel from the American cultural norm. Every breath of air we took there was a new experience: hectic traffic, new sights, sounds, and smells. The city is a dangerous place. Cloaked in tourist disguises and plenty of sunscreen, we advanced upon our target: Sea World. We had heard of this "Shamu cult" before, but I'm sure no one knew quite what to expect. We wandered through the park, appearing innocent and excited, while under our blank countenances seethed a true secret agent's mind. Settling into our seats in the Shamu Stadium, we watched the show begin. As the four killer whales leaped about, one word flashed across the strangely hypnotic screen–"Believe." Quickly I called to my comrades to shield their eyes from the glare of the fluorescent lighting. Luckily my warning came just in time. We shielded ourselves from the brainwashing baptism of chlorine water. Unfortunately it was too late for the others in the stadium. We had escaped with our lives–and brains–intact. What's more, we had the information we needed.
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