Email from the Master Trainer

So the Master Trainer dropped me a line today, from his Gmail account. Just wanted to check in, he said, she how things were working out with PePe, and tell me that he's setting up "Distance Learning Modules" on the Internet, which will enable me to continue my training in the Ancient and Very Very Lethal Art of Incan Dance-Fighting — but by remote.

How friggin' cool is my Master Trainer?

He went on to say he's been in a bit of funk since I left the Secret Mountain Redoubt, that I had livened up the place with my American impetuousness, and he feared he'd missed out on something big when he lost the opportunity to complete my training. What's more, he feels a gnawing responsibility for sending me out into the world, only half-taught, and having incurred the enduring wrath and enmity of Master Ortega's splinter group of dance-fighting ideologues. If I were ambushed and killed by these wicked, wicked men, he would never forgive himself.

So he tells me he's hired a digital videographer to record his morning training sessions, and he's posted them online in Real Player and Quicktime formats. This way I can keep up with my lessons, no matter where my travels and adventures take me. All I need is a laptop, a Net connection, a Piper, and a set of six or more crash-test dummies. He had to file an assload of paperwork with the Council of Elders to get the necessary permissions for the project. As a result, the website is heavily encrypted and password protected (so don't think, Brother/Sister, that you'll be able to find it and hack into any of the centuries-old secrets of the Elite Incan Dance-Fighters).

The Master Trainer flatters me. He really does. He's a standup guy, a pillar of wisdom, and I plan to appoint him to my Board of Trusted Advisors once I take power.

I have to say, I've let myself slip out of fighting shape a bit over the past couple weeks. We've been living a bit high on the hog. Word from the Master Trainer was just the sort of thing I needed to get me to buckle down. After all, no one ever took over the world by sitting around dropping acid with his stenographers. No — it takes discipline, organization, self-denial. You have to conquer yourself before you can get on with conquering others.

So as I continue to devote the next couple months to fundraising, I'll be sure to spend at least two hours every morning in training. I want to make my Master Trainer proud — and to vindicate all the time and effort he has expended (and continues to expend) on my behalf.

Oh, Right: Steno #3

I can't believe I forgot to introduce my final archivist hire. Big snaps to Josephus from Dunkirk for writing in and reminding me. My third stenographer signed on before the auction and has already become a valuable member of the team. His name is Francis Gardocki, and he does the morning shifts. Not a court reporter, but a transcriber of CNN pundit shows. Francis has a special expertise in recording the statements of two, sometimes three people speaking simultaneously (and at increasing volume).

Francis owns a timeshare in a Vermont dairy farm, and three weeks a year he goes up there and makes his signature Gardocki™ Sharp Cheddar. That dairy farm is in a secluded area way up by the Canadian border. So if the shit ever hits the fan, I've not only got a crack steno by my side, but I've got access to a naturally fortified strategic hideaway.

Everybody give a belated welcome to "Frankie Big Cheese" Gardocki.

Absolutely!

I know. I've been delinquent in writing. It's been a week and a half now since the auction, which netted $159,000 for the World Domination Fund, with one of Gloria's emerald bracelets held over for me to send to Flora Pachado, the Most Beautiful Girl I Ever Saw in Peru.

What's that — gauche, you say, to give one lover's gift to another? Well, how about when the first lover is wealthy and powerful beyond your wildest dreams, and the other lives humbly in the Andes mountains, and her father has to sell cheap blankets to eke out a living for the family? How gauche is it when the first lover loved you basically for your body, and the second lover for your mind? Does that alter your opinion at all?

Yeah, see, Brother/Sister: it's not healthy to deal in absolutes. Take, for example, that ABSOLUTE killer of a three-day post-party we had in the Marriott Marquis after the Sotheby's gig. I'm still hurting, B/S — today's the first day I've been able to sit up and eat anything other than hot cereal. And I'm strongly considering burning Dead-Eye's transcripts from Friday and Saturday night: some things are best stricken from the record.

After factoring in all the damage and cleanup costs, we're looking at a $10,000 hotel bill from Marriott. I don't know what to say on that score: sometimes you just have to let off some steam, and smashing the hell out of that toilet really did seem like a good idea at the time. Looking back at the transcripts, I see now that I didn't make the strongest case as to how that particular act of vandalism fit into my grander scheme of taking over the world. But that's 20/20 hindisight. The logic of it was perfectly clear to PePe and me at the time.

Like I said, Bro/Sis — you need to be careful with Absolut. But hey — we're in the money right now, and a ten grand party won't exactly put us into bankruptcy.

Naturally, everybody in the crew threw up on the Acela train back to Boston last Sunday. It's a smooth ride, but not that smooth. Did you know you can get a ticket for puking in a railway compartment? They have these railway cops on Barf Patrol — it's friggin' absurd. The stenos are just going to waive process and pay the fine; PePe and I are going to court. We had the car to ourselves, and no one saw any of us do it. They can't prove anything.

Remind me, Brother/Sister, to tell you about all the connections we made with wealthy elites at the auction. Many of the guests at the reception viewed the World Domination Project with skepticism, but lively debate ensued, and I managed to win a number of them over to my side with wild promises of exclusive timber and natural gas extraction contracts. The champagne was flowing, the credentials flashing, and deals were taking shape. Whew! It was exhilarating, I tell you.