(Yuri Gripas/Agence France-Presse via Getty Images)

“Are you even going to give out your calendars? Seems kind of depressing. Maybe it should just be the first meeting of the secret society.”

“You have this insurance policy in Spring 2016, and then the day after the election, what they really didn’t want to have happen, there is a text exchange between these two FBI agents, these supposed to be fact-centric FBI agents saying, ‘Perhaps this is the first meeting of the secret society.’ So I’m going to want to know what secret society you are talking about, because you’re supposed to be investigating objectively the person who just won the electoral college. So yeah — I’m going to want to know.” — Rep. Trey Gowdy (R-S.C.)

To whom it may concern (Lisa), from the director of the Secret Society in the FBI dedicated to bringing down Donald Trump:

Wow, Lisa. Just, wow. Way to ruin this for everyone.

We used to be in a secret society, Lisa, but: news flash! When you send a text about a “secret society,” it stops being a “secret society” and just becomes a “regular society people know about and send texts about openly,” as if it were brunch or a Meetup group. That wasn’t what this was, Lisa.

Could you not tell the vibe we were going for? Did the total secrecy in which we shrouded our activities not suggest anything to you about the type of organization this was?

I have put my blood (plus the blood of dozens of infants sacrificed under full moons), sweat (just mine, no infants’) and tears (mostly mine, but also some from Dave in IT. Do not talk to Dave yet; his heart is broken) to set up a Secret Society within the FBI so we could take down Donald Trump, and you just … sent a text about it. Way to go, Lisa.

Did our code names, the fact that we only met at night in abandoned garages guarded by men in visors who had sworn to give their lives to keep our deeds from being revealed, the fact that we always wore masks and used voice changers, not clue you in? What about the fact that you joined us at the full moons for the ritual chanting, accepted the sacred trowel, and swore the oath of iron and blood in which you vowed “secrecy until death”? Did all of this not give you some hint as to the kind of group we were trying to run? Or, I guess, Dave and I were trying to run — who even knows what you and Peter were doing? You probably just talked openly about it all the time!

Do not even try to talk to Dave; after all his work on information security, this has been more than he could take. He is sitting on a small island waiting for the tide to come in, and I will have to go wade out there in half an hour to make certain he is okay. Dave designed those dead drops and put hours into that self-erasing message, and he is responsible for all of the secret messages that flashed onto screens during commercials and then vanished swiftly as a dream. And you — just texted them.

Christ, Lisa. Did you even see “Fight Club”? A full two-eighths of the rules of Fight Club revolve explicitly around “not talking about Fight Club”! And that club wasn’t even run by FBI agents, who should know better!

(Hang on, I am going to check on Dave.)

What did you think, just out of curiosity, that we were doing? I know you didn’t realize we were engaged in an elaborate, top-secret conspiracy, so I wonder. Did you think this was just fun and recreational, like a kind of escape room? Did you think we were LARPing? Did you think this was my hobby?

I thought we were in this secret society together. I thought wrong. I hope you’re happy. I hope that when you go to sleep at night, you think about what you’ve done and you feel at least a minimal amount of regret.