The Federal government needs to stop using acronyms for EVERYTHING

I work in a federal agency. FOR NOW. It's called a day job, everyone.

I can't say which agency though because the FBI, CIA, NSA, and several other acronyms will hunt me down if I give away my location. Regardless of the consequences however I am now going to discuss government offices in general hey what's that red dot on my ches-

PING!

Silly sniper! You can't shoot me with regular rounds. My emotional armor is too strong for that. Heck, I'm practically a robot at this point. You should know that by now after sifting through all my emails and text missives.
Now go back to your commanding officer and tell him or her you'll need hollow-tip shame-coated rounds. That's the only thing that can pierce my outer layers! Good luck, junior agent whoever you are.

Anyway, everything in these offices has an acronym assigned to it. Everything.
ME: I'll be right back, boss. I'm going to use the B.A.T.H.R.O.O.M.
BOSS: The Break And Toilet Hostelry Restricted to Obsequious Office-employed Men?
ME: Yesum.
BOSS: Go right ahead.

And half the time they misspell the acronym itself anyway. It used to be you had to be part of a secret black-ops organization or a futuristic robot to be considered special enough to get an acronym.



GENERAL: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Marine's newest soldier...Andy.

(pulls tarp away, revealing a futuristic robot holding a clipboard)

ANDY: Greetings. I am A.A.N.D.E. That stands for Automoted Actuarial with Neural Dendritic Enhancements. Please forgive the misspelling on my frontal armor. The soldier assigned to paint me was after all...only human. Har Har. Moving on, my main function as a futuristic robotic Marine insurance adjuster is to determine plausible estimates for damage caused by accidents, death, and disasters, especially rust. Har Har! Hey what's that red dot on my chassi--

(several shots echo through the room, AANDE falls dead. His last act? Calculating the chances of his own violent death: %100.)

GENERAL: Private Junioragentwhoeveryouare! Reveal yourself!

(a reed thin, nervous looking Marine sharp shooter stands up, the oily rags he used to hide himself falling away)

PRV: Ye-ye-yessss sir?

GENERAL: Private, the author of this piece said he was "practically a robot," not a real robot. Do you understand the difference?

PRV: I--I think so.

GENERAL: For instance, do you think I am a robot? Hey what's that red dot doing on my che--

(several shots echo through the room, the General falls dead. I stand up, revealing my position....from within the hollowed out body of AANDE! Oh my god, how did I do it? I guess this means that the private was right all along! I was in AANDE...and dangerous enough to warrant assasinating. Oh well, I guess we all live and learn.)


Or...do we?

Dun dun dun...