Good Will Hunting

Why shouldn't I work for the NSA? That's a tough one.
          But I'll take a shot. Say I'm working at the NSA, and
          somebody puts a code on my desk, somethin' no one else
          can break. Maybe I take a shot at it and maybe I break
          it. And I'm real happy with myself, cus' I did my job
          well. But maybe that code was the location of some rebel
          army in North Africa or the Middle East and once they have
          that location, they bomb the village where the rebels are
          hiding... Fifteen hundred people that I never met, never
          had no problem with get killed. Now the politicians are
          sayin', "Oh, Send in the marines to secure the area" cus'
          they don't give a shit. It won't be their kid over there,
          gettin' shot. Just like it wasn't them when their number
          got called, cus' they were off pullin' a tour in the National
          Guard. It'll be some kid from Southie over there takin'
          shrapnel in the ass. He comes back to find that the plant
          he used to work at got exported to the country he just
          got back from. And the guy who put the shrapnel in his
          ass got his old job, cus' he'll work for fifteen cents a day
          and no bathroom breaks. Meanwhile he realizes the only
          reason he was over there in the first place was so that
          we could install a government that would sell us oil at a
          good price. And of course the oil companies used the
          little skirmish over there to scare up domestic oil prices.
          A cute little ancillary benefit for them but it ain't
          helping my buddy at two-fifty a gallon. They're takin'
          their sweet time bringin' the oil back, of course, maybe
          even took the liberty of hiring an alcoholic skipper who
          likes to drink martinis and fuckin' play slalom with the
          icebergs, it ain't too long 'til he hits one, spills the oil
          and kills all the sea life in the North Atlantic. So now
          my buddy's out of work. He can't afford to drive, so
          he's walking to the fuckin' job interviews, which sucks
          because the shrapnel in his ass is givin' him chronic
          hemorrhoids. And meanwhile he's starvin' cus' every
          time he tries to get a bite to eat the only blue plate
          special they're servin' is North Atlantic scrod with
          Quaker State. So what did I think? I'm holdin' out for
          somethin' better. I figure fuck it, while I'm at it why not
          just shoot my buddy, take his job, give it to his sworn
          enemy, hike up gas prices, bomb a village, club a baby
          seal, hit the hash pipe and join the National Guard? I
          could be elected President.