While many of the missions Jim Phelps and his IMF team tackled over the years unfolded onscreen for the world to see, dozens more fell by the wayside. Until recently, the nature of these fabled missions seemed all but lost to history. Thankfully, an IMF agent of some repute–Ms. Janet Pollypocket–was able to locate an audio file containing many of the missions Mr. Phelps received during his tenure that were not filmed. We are thrilled to share with you five such mission assignments today.

“Good evening, Mr. Phelps. I trust you are doing well this evening. I also trust that it is evening, but now that I think about it, you could have retrieved this tape from behind the pay phone at Bernard’s Fish and Chips at virtually any time of day. I would be wise not to get stuck on such an irrelevant detail. Mr. Phelps: a band of Hungarian bodybuilders has begun infiltrating financial institutions across the continent of Europe. They enter disguised as rather enlarged children on a fiscally minded field trip, beanie propellors on their muscular heads, lollipops in the python grips of their right hands. As soon as the first teller makes a move to grab a stepstool and pat one of the so-called children on the head, one of the others reveals that the lollipops in their hands are actually colorful—but deadly—blades! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to make them stop doing that. Put them in time out forever, Mr. Phelps. This message will self-destruct in 20-30 seconds. The new tape guy has not yet reached the heights of his predecessor, Ron “Reels” Puffingstock.“

“What’s up, man? Okay, so here’s the deal: I didn’t really have time to take notes and make this into, like, a whole formal thing. This is for Jim, right? Fuck, I hope so. Anyways, this is the IMF guy, the one who’s all secret and won’t ever let you guys know about his big-time worldwide plans or his Hulu password. One of the spy guys told me there’s a 10-foot tall warlock out of one of those kangaroo places, goes by the name of McStompy. I don’t even know if he’s hurting anybody or doing spells or whatever, but I don’t really want to risk it. And yeah, so what, I’ve had a little bit to drink tonight. I’ve earned it! This has been a tough week what with all the espionage coordination and the usual constant murdering. Nothing like a big hot British beer that’s just been sitting out all day to ease a man’s tensions. Oh, so back to what I was saying. Go get that warlock and bring him back to me. I suck ass at spells. This message will self-destroy after a while, crocodile. Peace!“

“I hope this afternoon finds you well, Jim, and that the volcano you are currently hovering above is not due to erupt. We have received word from our man in Springfield, Missouri deep within the United States of America that three men rapidly approaching middle age have recorded a podcast about us in the future. A podcast is something like a radio show, and our research indicates the one discussing IMF is called “Boob Tube Boys.” Yes, I too got a chuckle from the show’s chosen moniker. But alas, the show is nothing but rubbish! From the sound of it, they are all far too preoccupied with sunglasses, eggs, and David Leisure to make any sense of what our team is trying to accomplish. Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to pose as a groovy new podcaster fresh on the scene. Befriend these underdressed men and get a sense of their operation. No question is too far afield to ask. What color is their shag carpeting? Where do they stand on Vietnam? How is John Lennon doing in the future? Once you have the requisite intel, call the Wondrous British Pomping  Parlour and ask for Grimpy “Dingle Doggle” Gogglesworth. This message will self-destruct in 69 seconds, which I am told will be of the utmost hilarity to any man living in the future.“

“Yo, Phelps; your mission, if you wanna accept it, is to suck my ass! Oh shit, I totally got you, didn’t I? I wish I could see the look on your face right now and that our spy technology was advanced enough to include a video element. Fuck, what was I gonna say? I really did have a mission for you, Jim, I was just messin’ around. Shit. I can’t find my little notebook, the one with the Peter Tork from The Monkees on it. I’ll have to give you a new meeting place later when I find the actual mission. For now, I guess sit tight. This one’s on me, bro, I gotta start keeping better track of this shit.“

“Mr. Phelps, I believe it is your birthday, yes? Congratulations on another year ‘round the sun, another slice of time cataloged in the archive of life’s grand library. What a year it has been. Bear attacks, cyclone riding, monster mashing, a loosened butt—you have been through a considerable amount of turmoil and trauma, Jim. As a bit of a birthday reward, your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to eat a bowl of Mission brand tortilla chips. Crispy, delicious, and restaurant quality, Mission tortilla chips will please the whole family without breaking the bank. Check the side of the bag for recipes that will make your tastebuds tingle! Perhaps you like to dip a Mission chip in a bowl of spicy salsa, or you prefer the natural crunch of a seasoned Mission chip on its own. Either way, you simply can’t go wrong with Mission. Mission: when you’re here, snap into a Snickers.”