Free How to Archer by Sterling Archer Page B

by tiny, snaggletoothed peasant women trying to wash their raggedy laundry on my glistening, rock-hard abs. Which is pleasurable for about two minutes, and then just becomes annoying. That being said, it is a great way to catch up on village gossip. And as anyone who knows me will tell you, I am an absolutely incorrigible gossip, It doesn’t even have to be about a celebrity or even someone I know, I just love to hear it. Scandalous!
    Obviously my profession is a fairly physically demanding one: scaling palace walls, fast-roping from helicopters, engaging in hand-to-hand combat with elite Spetsnaz paratroopers, the constant banging of exotic and mysterious women (many of whom are half my age)—these are all pretty strenuous activities. So I guess I get more exercise during the course of a normal business day than say, a stockbroker. Or a dentist. Or a teacher. Or… Well, you know what all the jobs are.
    But even that doesn’t explain the fact that if I were a Greek god back in ancient Rome, and Zeus caught Aphrodite feeding me pomegranate seeds, he’d be so jealous he’d turn me into a swan. I mean, all I do is eat rich restaurant food and drink enough alcohol, daily, to kill Ireland, and I still look like an underwear model. I guess I just have fantastic genes.
    But as for you, I don’t know. Maybe join a gym.

SECTION FOUR
HOW TO DINE
    I was supposed to write an introduction to this section. But the title seems pretty self-explanatory. And also I didn’t feel like it.

DINING OUT
    I generally eat out. I know, I know, I’ve heard all the arguments against it: it’s a waste of money, you have no control over how much salt and saturated fats are in restaurant food, and you can’t be sure you’re eating locally. But, if I may, let me respond to each of those arguments:
    1. Expense account.
    2. I’m pretty sure that any chef in any restaurant with at least two stars in the Guide Michelin knows how much salt and saturated fat is supposed to go into my exquisite meal.
    3. Kill yourself.
    I also consider myself an adventurous diner: for example, occasionally I like to seek out rickety shacks way out in the swampcountry where you get to eat barbecue and/or catfish with genial black people. 89 But normally I prefer to dine only in the finest restaurants of New York, Chicago, the Orient, France, and the nicer capitals of Europe. The only problem is that, with a lot of the very finest restaurants, especially if they have only very recently opened to smash reviews, it can be very difficult to get a reservation. And it may surprise you to learn that dropping the name Sterling Archer, the world’s greatest secret agent, doesn’t necessarily secure one a table.
    Which is why I have perfected a method of reservation-making with which I am always assured of getting not just any table, but the very best table: the Abracadabra.
    Start by calling (or having your valet call) that hip new restaurant everyone’s raving about. Oh, the restaurant will probably have two reservation lines: one number for rich, glamorous, beautiful people in the know and a second number for people like you. Usually the second number isn’t even connected to an actual phone, and it will just ring and ring on your end. So you need to get your (or your valet’s) hands on the first number, For people who matter.
    Call that number and tell the young woman on the other end—who you can just tell is not only ridiculously hot but also impeccably dressed—that you wish to make a reservation for Friday night at nine o’clock. After her eyes roll audibly, tell her you’re calling from Capitol Records, and that you wish to make a reservation for Steve Miller.
    “The Steve Miller?” she asks, sitting up a little straighter.
    “And a stunning female companion,” you reply.
    “Friday at nine it is, sir. Does Mr. Miller have any food allergies the chef should be aware of?”
    “No, but he’s a bit over chefs who feel like they have to turn everything into a