How to Archer

by Sterling Archer

  MONGOLIA

  By far, the best Mongolian beef I have ever tasted in my life was positively, absolutely, definitely, 100 percent not served to me in Mongolia. In fact, I’d avoid eating there altogether.

  NICARAGUA

  Another nation—along with the Dominican Republic and Cuba—whose national pastime, due to lengthy occupation by American soldiers, is baseball. And also whose women are mocha-skinned goddesses with whom I want nothing more in life than to have sex until my dick bleeds.

  OMAN

  I always get this confused with Oran. By which I mean Oran “Juice” Jones, whose hit single “The Rain” peaked at number nine on the Billboard Top 100 chart. Which should’ve been way higher.

  PANAMA

  Home to the world’s most strategically important shipping canal, Panama is also great for blasting out of your car stereo as you drive down to Myrtle Beach, just pounding some beers.

  PARAGUAY

  Paraguay is often confused with Uruguay.

  PERU

  Peru is the native habitat of the endangered Spectacled Bear, the species that served as the inspiration for… Paddington Bear! Paddington Bear! Paddington Bear! Yay, Paddington!

  QATAR

  To be honest, Qatar only made the list because I’m pretty sure it’s the only country in the world that starts with Q. It’s basically the “xylophone” of world factbooks. And also very sandy.

  ROMANIA

  Once, while out for a jog through the diesel-choked streets of Bucharest, I was pulled down by a snarling pack of stray dogs. There’s no joke here: this actually happened to me.

  SOMALIA

  In recent years, Somalia has gained a well-deserved international reputation for being home to a large number of pirates. Which is probably why Somalia is so stoked.

  SWEDEN

  You are going to be the ugliest person in the entire country, This is perfectly normal.

  SOUTH AFRICA

  South Africa has a bad reputation for its decades-long, often-brutal segregationist policy of apartheid. A policy which I never understood, because black chicks are just incredibly hot.

  THAILAND104

  Don’t touch the whores on the head.

  URUGUAY

  Uruguay is often confused with Paraguay.

  VATICAN CITY

  Before you visit Vatican City spend a little time in Nicaragua. Or Guatemala. Or El Salvador. Or Honduras. And then just walk around the Vatican, growing more and more furious.

  THE WESTERN SAHARA

  It may sound like a chain of casual-dining steak restaurants, but it’s actually a war-torn desert region whose borders are hotly disputed by Morocco, Spain, and Mauritania. And so, like a casual-dining steak restaurant, there is absolutely no reason to ever go there ever.

  XYLOPHONIA

  Not a real country. If it were, I bet its national anthem would be “Dem Bones.” Played by a grinning skeleton on his own ribs. Which is why we should launch a preemptive strike now.

  YEMEN

  Also pretty sandy. From what I hear.

  ZAIRE

  I used to go here when it was still called the Belgian Congo, Before the hipsters found out about it and ruined it. Like they do everything else.

  AFTERWORD105

  And so, finally, we come to the end of the book. Did you learn anything? I hope you did. Because man, I sure did. I learned that about 95 percent of the information in the book you just bought was readily available, for totally free, on the internets. The other 5 percent I just made up.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I would like to thank my editrix at HarperCollins, whose name I never learned, for the countless hours she spent helping me shape my raw, visceral experiences as the world’s greatest secret agent into a practical guide for all those young men and women who wish to follow in my footsteps and enter into the fascinating and often dangerous world of the clandestine services; my colleagues at ISIS, not only for their courage, honor, and sense of duty but also for their kind words of support as I delved into often painful memories to bring this book to life; my tireless manservant Woodhouse, whose blind willingness to cater to my every whim—no matter how whimsical, and often at great expense to himself, both financially and physically—made writing this book, if not possible, then at least a lot easier; and lastly, and yet most of all, I would like to thank my mother, the “unsinkable” Malory Archer, who gave me not only my life but also my calling: as the dashing prince consort to the seductive and deadly queen known as espionage.

  I’d like to thank all those people. And I totally would if they’d actually done anything to help me write this goddamn book. But apart from a few snide comments—oh, and by the way, Mother, thanks ever so much for that touching foreword—nobody ever even mentioned it. And so now they’re not getting mentioned, except to tell them all thanks for exactly fucking nothing.

  All but you, internets.

  SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

  I don’t know what this is.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Sterling Archer is the world’s greatest secret agent and now also probably a bestselling author. A world-class cocksman and former all-conference preparatory school lacrosse player, he divides his time among New York City, Monte Carlo, the Orient, several of the classier islands of the Caribbean, and Gstaad. This is his first book.106

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  CREDITS

  Cover design by Neal Holman & Eric Sims

  COPYRIGHT

  HOW TO ARCHER. Copyright © 2011 by FX Network, LLC. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  ISBN 978-0-06-206631-2

  EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2011 ISBN 9780062066329

  12 13 14 15 16 OV/RRD 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

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  1 It also turns out that an editrix—the plural of which is editrices—is just a woman editor.

  2 Plus the (at least) two that I’d had in the cab on the way over.

  3 Including, simultaneously, two actual princesses. Sisters. Not proud of it. (Just kidding, I totally am.)

  4 I’m actually at the office. The Raffles banned me years ago.

  5 Or an introduction to one, for that matter.

  6 So good luck with your lawsuit, anguished mother of that dumb idiot kid who caught himself on fire.

  7 And which you better not just be reading in the store.

  8 And I just found out that footnote words count, so get ready for plenty of these. Blah blah blah bla
h blah.

  9 Which, unless she happens to be a well-seasoned Saigon whore who lived through the Japanese occupation of French Indochina, she probably could not.

  10 This is actually one of the things that I love about my job: the overlap of sill sets between my personal and professional lives. Knowing how to create an elaborate and well-crafted cover story to establish my bona fides when I’m undercover, for example, comes in incredibly handy when I need to blow off some clingy stewardess.

  11 I.e., very little, if anything.

  12 I will leave the puerile “loose lips” joke to you. Mainly because I couldn’t think of one. Wait … no, it’s gone.

  13 And not just information. Any number of items may also be placed in a dead drop: sticks of chewing gum, some polished pennies, twine, a spelling-bee medal, an old pocket watch, carved wooden miniatures of children… It just depends on how much free time you have on your hands, and how far you’re willing to go to lure those delicious children into your creepy old house. And I just assume the more free time you have, the more you want those yummy little cherubs.

  14 Or figuratively—whatever. Sorry, I forgot you were William Safire.

  15 A redoubled agent could, in theory, be redoubled an infinite number of times. In practice, however, somebody from either Agency A or Agency B usually gets tired of his bullshit after about three times and puts one in his ear.

  16 Unless Agency A is a pirate ship.

  17 It actually only works on one level. Which is as a joke about swallowing semen.

  18 Because I don’t know why you were expecting this scenario to have a happy ending.

  19 Oh, and also, we’re out of here, so tell your girlfriend to get her coat: I would, but I don’t speak bridge-and-tunnel.

  20 And also, on one regrettable occasion, on one leg. But I don’t take that kind of talk from anybody, disabled veteran or not. But thank you for your service.

  21 If there even is one of those. After the whole cobra debacle, there’s no telling what’ll end up in this stupid book. Liars.

  22 Thanks to my mousy little editrix. As she begins to rear her jealous, passive-aggressive, dandruffy little head.

  23 Give or take.

  24 Also, the original joke was “the Applebee’s of martial arts.” Which, tor numerous reasons, is a much better joke: there is nothing wrong with Applebee’s per se; it’s just readily available to the general public. Not unlike karate. Dane Cook, on the other hand—actually, you know what? Dane Cook is great. Love to work with him someday.

  25 Or maybe Yiddish? One of those.

  26 I.e., every single other country in the whole entire Middle East.

  27 Also a pretty good place to learn about history, music, that Sandy Koufax and Sammy Davis, Jr. were awesome, science, literature, and how to invent the atomic bomb. Plus, I think I already covered beating the shit out of people.

  28 There was one a few years back, but apparently they’ve got that all straightened out now.

  29 Which you probably call a shoemaker. Because I want to murder you.

  30 Seriously, guys: Just gimme a call. I’m around.

  31 The positive attributes of the .22 caliber cartridge, of which there are several, will be covered later.

  32 Some of which is true.

  33 Which I don’t consider a design flaw. At all. If anything, this makes the Walther PPK even more spectacular.

  34 Which is perfect.

  35 Which I regret. Because the ashtray was a gift. From that same guy.

  36 No, that’s not a typo.

  37 The subsonic .22 might seem like a rather vaginal caliber. But it’s actually pretty great because, due to its low muzzle velocity, it doesn’t produce a through-and-through wound: That little .22 slug enters the human body and then—like a kitten with its head stuck in a sock—just sorta slams around all over the place, smashing into everything and totally unable to escape. Only instead of a kitten, it’s a bullet. And instead of all the expensive china and Waterford crystal on the table after a lavish dinner party, it’s the liver and spleen and lungs. Either way, your hosts won’t think it’s funny.

  38 I’m kidding! Jesus, lighten up, Joan Baez. First of all, I only use knockout drops when I need to incapacitate a sentry—human, Rottweiler, or some combination thereof—so that I may secure ingress into a fortified enemy compound with the goal of extracting either information or a prisoner, which/who will then provide me with the intelligence I need to keep you safe at home in your cheap, metal-framed bed, in which you’re probably lying, right now, waiting for Green Acres to come on so you can masturbate to Ralph. Secondly, the hollow coin always works.

  39 Yes, William, literally.

  40 Like some other spies whom I could mention but will not.

  41 Ditto.

  42 The Shelby AC Cobra, while not an actual cobra, is nonetheless completely and utterly badass.

  43 Is this an audio book? What are we doing?

  44 Unnecessary weight in the car’s trunk is actually undesirable: not only will random items stored in the trunk decrease your top speed and gas mileage, these items could become dangerous projectiles in the event of a collision.

  45 That sentence makes it seem like the alligators have AR-15s. A chilling thought…

  46 And yet you’re going to sit there with a straight face and tell me you don’t believe in intelligent design.

  47 They say stress is the silent killer. But poison darts are also pretty damn quiet.

  48 If you happened to be reading that sentence when you got neck-darted.

  49 Mainly because your pants cost more than his house.

  50 Or possibly some sort of wood-elf.

  51 Although, if you are a poisoner, that was probably too revealing.

  52 The results of my own personal Myers-Briggs Type Indicator test were actually forwarded to Interpol.

  53 And, more specifically, Monte Carlo. Which is in Monaco. The capital of which is also called Monaco. Which can be pretty confusing. The point is, the hookers are crazy-hot. And here’s a thing you probably didn’t know about Monaco: it’s a sovereign nation. Like most non-Monegasques, you probably just thought it was a part of France, But Monaco has its own constitution, royal family, palace, the works, Monaco does rely on France for military protection, however (which is sort of like the United States relying on Mexico to build our cars for us), but Monaco’s only other even slightly feasible military option would be Italy, with which Monaco is non-contiguous. Plus it’s not like the Italians are any great prize militarily. I mean, Italy just barely squeaked one out over Ethiopia, for fuck’s sake.

  54 True story: one time I’m driving through the desert, about an hour outside of Vegas. It’s at least 120 degrees. I get flagged down by this Chinese guy, who’s kinda staggering around by the side of the road with his shirt wrapped around his head. I give him a ride and one of eight gallons of water I had in the trunk (because this is the desert, and I’m not an idiot) and he tells me that he has just lost all his money in Vegas. And he’s like, utterly dumbfounded that this happened, because he has a “foolproof system.” Which, it turns out, was this: Sit down at the roulette table. Pick a number. Keep betting that same number, over and over and over and over again, until it hits. And then let it ride. In the hopes that the same number will hit twice in a row. Seriously And I never found out how or why he had gotten so far out into that sun-blasted desert, but this is my favorite part: he was walking back toward Vegas.

  55 The Triple-A stands for “Awesome Awesome Awesome.”

  56 “No no no, todo está bien, linda, todo está bien. ¿Bebida?

  57 And you are going to want to rinse, because you didn’t wear a condom with those hookers. But don’t worry about it: they’re probably on the Pill. (Plus you told them your name was Elvis Roosevelt.)

  58 At some other casino, because come within a half-mile of this one again and you’re going to be walking to the airport. Mainly because no cabbie in the world is going to pick up a guy whose balls have bee
n stuffed into his mouth.

  59 While many things (Spanish-speaking housekeepers, magical tigers, etc.) in this particular scenario may seem applicable only to Las Vegas, the shouting, tomato-faced Asian herd is not: walk into any casino in any country in the world, and you will see some Asians smoking and scowling and playing the absolute shit out of some pai gow.

  60 We job that out.

  61 You strike me as the sort of person whose bed would be on a cheap metal frame.

  62 Through no fault of the author’s.

  63 Which, by the way, isn’t my strongest foreign language to begin with. I’m not actually all that great in any foreign language. Although this is much less of a handicap for a secret agent than you might imagine because, in my considerable experience, people in foreign countries always just speak English, just with a heavy accent of whatever country they’re supposed to be from. So international travel is pretty much like watching Hogan’s Heroes.

  64 Also in alphabetical order, turns out. Apparently my editrix is only anal when it comes to book layouts.

  65 Malcolm X used to get high on nutmeg to kick his heroin habit when he got sent to prison for burglary before he became a movie star (which is pretty cool). Two tablespoons of nutmeg will kill you (which isn’t).

  66 Today. Dumbass.

  67 I realize that it’s in fairly poor taste to have an entry concerning Ernest Hemingway immediately follow a joke about eating a shotgun. Take it up with my alphabetically anal editrix.

  68 I don’t know what this is, and Woodhouse is out running errands.

  69 Woodhouse still isn’t back yet.

  70 You may notice it says “gin” and not “gin or vodka.” That’s because this is a recipe for a gimlet, and not a “vodka gimlet,” which—regardless of what anyone tells you—simply does not exist. The cocktail of which you’re thinking is properly referred to as a “vodka, combined with the ingredients that any sane person would use to make a gimlet.”

  71 Still not back.

  72 Which is pronounced mar-a-SKEE-no. And even money says you’re also mispronouncing bruschetta. Dummy.

  73 Which I’m pretty sure You-Know-Who doesn’t have.