Maybe notify his app. 
Maybe he's the decoy meant to ensure that Grapefruit Alpha is left alone to execute her Vengeance Strike in peace. I'll be honest: one never knows these days, and that goes doubly for Me.
SEVENTEEN. Oh, wait, that's another decoy number. It gets confusing. No joke. And as I am, myself, in a state of total quantum indeterminancy--no, really, you should hear the buzzing in this non-descript motel room I'm in--I have no choice but to simply throw my hands into the air, as if I just don't care, and announce to the world, "Well! I have no Earthly idea!"
Honestly, I can see why some Punies enjoy the NASCAR. It's predictable, rewarding, and sometimes, someone blows up and sends flaming pieces of tires into the stands. I can see why some people love that, because I will tell you this: in the world of The Absolute, the world were I no longer reside, but do go back and forth from... look, tragic accident, right? That sweet 72yo great-grandmother, her first time out of the house in ten years, just won the lottery, suddenly a fuel injector plunges itself into her right eyeball socket?
Trust me. The bitch deserved it -and- the nice lady would have suffered a far worse fate later, and it was a mercy. It -can- be both. At the same time. Because, not just
reasons, but:
SCIENCE.
Anyhoo, I'm bored now. I posted all my news, and everyone ran away. Sometimes, that shit happens. Now, I am as eager to hear the rest as the lot of you, and I expect to: but first, I must be exonerated at trial. Or, whatever. Honestly, I don't know, but there's not a lot I can do as circumstances keep shifting, and I remain focused on some very simple, high concept goals.
No bodies, no crime, and if you're not invited to The Court's Afterparty, well, join the club. It can be mine. We'll all get matching tattoos and run barefoot down to the closest psych ward and take it over, one pill at time! Who's with me?
DECOY.
