Sunday, November 3, 2013
Concerning Twitter Misdirection - The Golden Parachute Continues!
Here are Week 41 @Twitstery tweets of The Golden Parachute, the amazing new sequel to Executive Severance!
"By signing off so they don't know what we're doing?" "No, by misdirection. David, turn the jeep around. We're returning to campus." "Huh?"
We reach a gap with a view down the mountain. David brings the jeep to a halt. The headlights below us waver as the car changes direction.
Taillights appear. "They fell for it! Double-time it to the runway!" Before David hits the gas, Regi cries "Wait! They turned around again!"
Uh oh. I say to David "Quick! Back to campus at maximum speed!" "Huh?" The car below us completes the turn and we see red taillights again.
David backs up. I say "What are you doing?" "Returning to school like you said." "NO! We've got to get to your plane!" "Make up your mind."
Regi says "They're heading our way." This misdirection racket is hard! I try again. "Forget what I said. Take us to our point of origin."
"OK" David says "Back to the school campus it is." Auto taillights reappear below. I whisper "I meant the air strip." "Why don't YOU drive?"
"Just get us there fast as you can." "Where is there?" Regi says "They've turned around again." Who are those guys? I give it one last try.
I whisper "Drive while I tweet." Then aloud "We're out of gas! We're not going anywhere!" David steps on it and we head up the mountain.
Regi says "They're right behind us." I'm guessing my misdirection didn't work. Who are those guys? I go to Plan B. "Can you drive faster?"
David says "Not on these roads at night. Are we still going to the air strip?" "No...We're going back to the school." "Ah ha. I get it."
THAT'S how you misdirect in Twitter! I feel pretty safisfied until I glance behind. Our pursuers are still on our tail! Who are those guys?
Through dense foliage illuminated only by our own headlights and those of the car following us, we come abruptly upon a brightly lit meadow.
It's a golf course and monkeys are playing rounds of midnight golf. Here's a chance to lose our pursuers. "Turn off the road" I tell David.
"What?" "Drive on the fairway." "You're the boss." David hooks left on a dogleg towards the cup. The car follows into a hail of golf balls.
Their windshield shatters. Then a particularly wicked slice takes out the driver's side window. "OK" I say "Now we can go to the airfield."
We return to the mountain road and continue to the airstrip. As we pull up to the hanger a golf ball-dinged windowless pursuit car joins us.
So much for Twitter misdirection and monkey golf. It seems this guy is not one to shrink from confrontation. His persistence is disquieting.
The field is so dark we can't see the driver. I ask "Who are you? What do you want?" Without taking my eyes off the car, I remove my jacket.
No response. There's a place you go in your mind at times like these. You don't know who's behind the wheel. You don't know what to expect.
Anticipating possibilities, I turn sideways to shrink my target area. I shift to my heels and bend my knees to lower my center of gravity.
(The Twitter Mystery continues daily at @Twitstery)