Last week, I finally broke the code that opened the help and hints function, and it was easy from that point onward. And just in time, too.
Harvey called this week and told me about Evil Glenn's® plans to attend BlogNashville, and wanted several of us make plans to attend. The hope was that at least one of us would be able to gain admittance to the Friday May 6 Blogging & Journalism Panel Discussion. You see, while the place it's being held seats about a thousand, it was expected to sell out.
The assignment was to gain admittance and ask questions of Evil Glenn®. Sounds easy enough, but security would be a challenge to get past.
After accessing the help file of the Universal Remote, I programmed it to deliver me to Nashville's Belmont University. Pressing the button to execute, I was briefly dizzy, but suddenly everything was clear and I was outside the Massey Performing Arts Center.
I made my way to the door when a large meaty hand landed on my shoulder.
"Excuse me, sir. Do you have a ticket?" asked the security guard.
"Uh, ..." I began, then was turned around and directed back down the street.
I looked up "morphing" on the help files and decided to assume the shape of one of the other panel members. Just my luck, the only one I could remember was Linda Seebach. Oh, well. I pressed the buttons and went back to the door, only to come face-to-face with the security guard again.
"Oh, ma'am, did you lose your credentials?" he asked, directing me inside.
It was working! I made my way to the table and took my seat next to the Evil One.
"Hey, Glenn, mind if I ask you a question?" I asked.
He looked at me puzzled. "What happened to calling me 'Big Bad Modem Daddy'?"
I was silent.
"You weren't so silent last night. What's wrong?" he said.
"We, uh, ah, we're in public and I wanted to, uh, keep things, uh, on a professional basis," I responded.
"Oh. Professional. I see. So, now you expect money? Not gonna happen, Sweet Cheeks," he said.
"Aren't you married?" I asked.
"That's Good Glenn®. He's not here right now. He's with the Insta-Wife, as he should be," was the reply.
Okay, I thought, that's interesting and must mean something important. But I had to ask my questions before I was discovered.
"Anyway, I wanted to ask you some questions. Is that okay?"
He was agreeable.
Q: How do you write so much? Are you some sort of weirdo?
Q: How much should I rely on what I read on InstaPundit?
A: No more than it deserves. I do my best to correct factual errors when I'm
made aware of them. But a weblog is more like a rough draft than a
finished product, so you should treat this like -- well, like the rough
draft of a card catalog, I guess.
Q: How do you get so much traffic?
A: Beats me.
Q: What do you think of groups -- such as the Alliance -- that lead the opposition to you?
A: I'm not too worried about them. They all have a weakness. And it's a weakness that I can exploit.
Q: What weakness is that?
A: I'm getting to that. I fell victim to it. That's why I created Good Glenn®.
Q: You mean ...?
A: Yep. Marriage. I fell head over heels in love with a special lady -- you know her as the Insta-Wife -- and it became apparent that if I spent the time with her I wanted to and needed to, I'd never be able to realize my plans for taking over the world. So, I created Good Glenn® to handle that aspect. And I have the time and freedom to persue my goals of world domination. And, marriage has ruined many a good man. And it will ruin Frank J. because he'll either have to work at his marriage or work at his blog.
Q: Doesn't his having a group blog sort of make that no longer an issue?
A: Next question.
Q: Why do you think people like Frank J. lead opposition groups to you?
A: Here's a little secret no one knows. It's in his genes. You see, he's my great-great-grandfather.
Q: What? How is Frank J. your ancestor?
A: Because of a little accident involving a time-machine and a prophylactic...
Q: That was funny the first time I read it ... in 1979!
A: Hey, funny is timeless.
Suddenly, the large meaty hand was back on my shoulder and I was lifted bodily from my seat and nearly carried to the door.
"Sorry, Professor Reynolds. I don't know how this imposter got by us," he said before removing the Universal Remote Control from my pocket. "I believe this is yours, sir," the guard said as he handed the controller back to Evil Glenn®.
Then, suddenly, I was outside again. But I had some important information that I had to relay to Harvey. I headed for the nearest phone booth.
The guard left the table as Evil Glenn® looked over his reclaimed Universal Remote Control. The guard walked over to the wall and stepped around the corner.
"Al? Was it really necessary to give that back to Evil Glenn®?" he asked the empty air.
"We had to do it, Sam," said Rear Admiral Albert 'Al' Calavicci, standing in holographic form next to Dr. Sam Beckett, who looked for all the world like the security guard.
"It just seems we had a chance ..." Sam began.
Al interrupted. "Sam, we've been over this. Ziggy says there is a 98% probability that Evil Glenn Reynolds® would replace his lost Universal Remote Control with his own Quantum Leap project. If that happened, we'd never be able to follow behind him and right what he caused to go wrong."
He slapped the controller in his hand. It squeeked. Al pointed to Evil Glenn®. Sam looked as Evil Glenn Reynolds® picked up his phone and punched some numbers.
The Evil One® spoke. "Kevin? It's me. I got it back. Yeah, shut that other down. It probably wouldn't work, anyway. Okay. See ya."
Al looked at Sam. "Ziggy says everything's back as it should be."
In a flash of light, Sam was gone.
Dr. Sam Beckett opened his eyes. He was in bed. His mind cleared. Or cleared as well as it ever does when this happens to him. He looked over at the calendar on the desk. April 15, 2151.
Sam bolted to his feet. 2151? Oh, no. This is going to be one of those times when he's outside his normal timeline. It had happened before, when he had gone nearly 140 years in the past. Now, he was nearly 150 years in the future. It would take Al a long time to find him. Perhaps a year. Perhaps four years.
Sam looked around the room. It had a military look. He needed Al more than ever.
He walked over to the desk and sat down. He had to get to know this person he had leaped into. He looked into the mirror on the edge of the desk, and looked deeply into the face of Captain Jonathan Archer.