Longerbottom was an overseas agent with the secret service. He had a habit of completing people's thoughts before they had finished talking. Case in point:
A knock at the door of Longerbottom's hideout.
"What's the password?" said Longerbottom through the closed door.
"Well, I reckon, it's, ah-" replied the stranger.
"Haddock?" suggested Longerbottom.
"Haddock, sir, yes."
"Right you are."
Like this an enemy operative gained entry to Longerbottom's hideout and surveilance equipment. Longerbottom was still none the wiser. It's true, he had not one wiser.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" offered Longerbottom.
"Thank you. I was looking for—"
"The weekly log of enemy activity?"
"Quite," said the enemy operative and smiled, to which Longerbottom added a jovial laugh.
"Sugar?" asked Longerbottom.
"Thank you. And—"
"A list of all agents operating in this territory?"
"Yes, and a spot of milk."
"Right you are."
When Longerbottom's superiors caught wind of this debacle they sent a coded message ordering his immediate dismissal. Longerbottom read aloud from the ticker tape as the message arrived: "Longerbottom, you are to proceed immediately—" naturally, before the message had fully printed, he completed it himself: "—to push the red button under the desk!"
A continent away, the distant sky on the horizon turned a bronze crimson. A commanding officer was alerted to the disaster, and breathed a sigh of relief: "We'll save on the bugger's severance pay."
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