Harvey paced back and forth, alternating looks between the dirt-covered floor and my face. I couldn't tell which one disgusted him more. I sat quietly while he continued to pace for what seemed hours. He continued to pace, but now words came. "You know what kind of trouble you have caused, monkey-boy?" "What did I do?" asked The Flying Space Monkey, who was chronicling this meeting. "Not you! I'm talking to Mr. I'm-Going-To-Collaborate-With-The-Enemy here," Harvey said, pointing to me. Harvey stopped, looked up to the cobweb-covered ceiling, shook his head and sighed. "Go clean up your mess." Then he and the others left. All except Frank J. He stood back in the corner of the room until everyone left. Then he walked up to me and punched me. "Tell your buddy 'hello' for me," he said. Then he laughed and walked to the door. "Loser," he said, and then was gone. The good news, I thought, was that they weren't kicking me out of the Alliance. Not yet, anyway. But I had done the unthinkable. I had collaborated with the enemy. But, the saving grace was that Michael Moore had vanished from the face of the earth. And they had left me with a simple, yet daunting task: clean up my mess. I had to get started. It was a six-hour drive to Knoxville. I left immediately. There was some trouble in Atlanta, when a tractor-trailer filled with ketchup had turned over. But it was Heinz ketchup, so no big loss. It did, however, put me a little behind schedule; it was nearly 11:15 PM before I arrived. Campus security might be an issue, I thought. So I had to disguise myself as a college student at the University of Tennessee. No problem. I stopped by a drive-through liquor store and bought the cheapest stuff I could find. Heading back to the campus, I re-arranged the buttons on my shirt. I parked the truck, poured the liquor all over me, and staggered towards the Law building. Security saw me and didn't give me another thought. Around back, I found the dumpster. Most of the bags were the cheap kind, like you'd find at Dollar General. But some were the heavy-duty Hefty bags. That's what I was looking for. I gathered all I could find of Evil Glenn Reynolds'™ trash and put them in the back of the truck. I started driving, ever so careful, for the exit of the campus. Security saw me driving the speed limit and hurried over. Remembering where I was, I floored it, knocking over several trash cans and a couple of mailboxes. I could see Campus Security slow down, smile, and wave before turning around. I headed for the nearest landfill. When I arrived, I broke open the bags of Evil Glenn Reynolds'™ garbage and began rummaging through the garbage. Ah, there's what I was looking for. I pulled out a dirty ball cap, a gravy-stained t-shirt, cut-off overalls, mis-matched tennis shoes, and a pair of used-to-be-white socks. I couldn't find any underwear, but a quick look inside the overalls told me why. I placed those items in a paste-board box and put the rest of the garbage -- student's law papers, half-burnt $100 bills, tarot cards, bloody coat-hangers, half-eaten goldfish, Jenna Jameson videotapes, and other such stuff -- back in the Hefty bags. I tossed the Hefty bags into the landfill and then left. Driving ever so careful, I made my way to a 24-hour Mailboxes, Etc. I took the paste-board box inside, sealed it, addressed it to Ana Marie Cox, and put Frank J.'s address as the sender. "There's your 'tell your buddy hello'," I laughed as I drove away.
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