Intelligence Gathering 101

In feudal Japan, the ninja families that conducted covert operations throughout the Warring States period were set up with three different levels. At the bottom of the network, the field operative was known as the “genin,” and it was his/her job to gather intelligence. This information was then passed up the hierarchy to the middle man, the “chunin.” The chunin acted as both a manager of genin and a cut-out, preserving the secrecy of the network if one of his agents was caught and tortured for information. The genin could only realistically give up or compromise certain aspects of the network, but not enough information for the network to be completely dismantled. At the top of the network sat the jonin. It was the jonin’s job to analyze all the information his network had collected and then take appropriate steps to influence happenings and occurrences such that they benefited either the ninja family itself, the community, or even the feudal lords the ninja sometimes worked for.

To this day, the nature of intelligence gathering has largely remained unchanged. Operatives are sent out to collect “raw” intelligence and then send these fragments of data back to headquarters. Computers and satellites suck in massive amounts of information and then stream this back to headquarters as well. You could liken the intelligence gathering process as a whale with its mouth open as it swims, sucking in enormous amounts of plankton. But intelligence gathering operatives only see a FRAGMENT of the information – and usually NEVER the whole picture.

Once the data is gathered, it then needs to be analyzed. This is where experts examine the data and then, based on seeing MORE fragments, begin to form the barest sketch of what the whole picture looks like. The information is further refined – indeed, it is often “tailored” to the expectations of leadership – until a detailed picture forms about the situation.

Hopefully.

What is critical to understand about intelligence gathering is that it is simply that: gathering. It is not “analysis.” And problems happen when operatives or wanne-be ninja start thinking they see or know the whole picture and then attempt to analyze the data they’ve overheard or seen or otherwise been witness to. This forced analysis happens for a variety of reasons: it could be ego (“I want to be the top guy here and earn praise and attention from my leader”); it could be inept behavior (“I’m going to do my leaders a favor and analyze this data for them”); or it could be a fault on the part of leadership in not giving out clear directions (“I’m not sure what they want so I’d better give them my opinion on this information.”) Sometimes, it’s a critical failure involving all three.

Here’s an example: you and a partner are conducting surveillance on a garage in an inner city neighborhood popular with a certain Middle Eastern nationality. You’ve been directed to “sit on” this target and report back what you see and hear. One of you watches while the other one catches a bit of sleep, gets food and drink, etc. Then you switch off. You have “eyes-on” the entire time.

Twenty hours into your surveillance, you see two men approaching the garage carrying a large green trash bag. Both men are in their late-20s, athletic, wearing long beards, and seem “switched on” to the surrounding area (meaning they are aware enough to be able to spot anything out of place in their environment). They enter the garage at 1430 (2:30pm) and leave at 1700 hours (5pm). During the time they were inside the garage, a strange smell wafted out and there were sounds of drilling at various points. When the men left, they carried nothing with them. They exited the alley on foot and disappeared around the corner.

A proper intelligence gathering report from this team would look like this: “Team A5 reports that two men of apparent Middle Eastern extraction in their late-20s, athletic and with beards, entered Target Location Bravo at 1430 carrying a large green trash bag. While inside Target Location Bravo, Team A5 noticed strange metallic smells in the air, along with the noise of drilling. The two men left Target Location Bravo at 1700 hours carrying nothing and exited via alley 3-B on-foot. No further information at this time.”

An IMPROPER reports would look like this: “Team A5 reports that two Afghani men with Taliban-style beards who looked like they trained with weights entered Target Location Bravo at 1430 carrying a large green trash bag that looked like it had some lumpy pieces of metal inside. While they were inside, Team A5 noticed a metallic burning smell like melted copper wire and the sound of drilling. The two men left the building at 1700 hours carrying nothing and exited via alley3-B on-foot. No further information at this time.”

Now, these reports aren’t too dissimilar. In fact, to the untrained eye, they’re pretty much the same. But report two is a bad report because the GATHERERS stopped gathering and became ANALYSTS instead. Even more dangerous to the operation is they became analysts without knowing what the WHOLE PICTURE is.

Bad intelligence is what happens when your operatives stop being OBJECTIVE about what they see and become SUBJECTIVE. At that point, they stop being an asset to the operation; they become a LIABILITY.

Look at the reports again: the first reports mentions the men are of “apparent Middle Eastern extraction.” The second report states they are “Afghani.” But how do the operatives know that, short of breaking cover, exposing themselves, and demanding to see identification? They don’t. They simply assumed that because the men look Middle Eastern and wear beards like what Taliban members wear, they must be Afghani. Report one states the men were “athletic” while the second report states the men “looked like they trained with weights.” Again, unless this team trailed the men to the local gym and saw them putting up three hundred pounds on the bench, this is incorrect. Worse, report two states that the green trash bag the men carried looked like it had “lumpy pieces of metal” inside and during the time they were in the garage something that smelled like “melted copper wire” seemed to be burning. This is where operatives start seriously compromising the integrity of the operation because now they are giving their opinion that these two guys are potentially building something in this garage and it’s no far leap to think it could be a bomb. Before you know it, units are scrambled, helicopters are buzzed, and a team takes down the garage only to find these two “suspects” are running an electronics repair shop out of a rented garage. There’s no bomb. There never was. But now the operation is blown because everyone within five miles heard all the ruckus and knew there must have been someone around spying on them.

Contrast this with a proper report that objectively states what was observed and analysts are better able to make decision and leaders can then make better decisions about how to act. In this case, more surveillance determined that the men were doing repairs out of the garage. Target Location Bravo was deemed not dangerous and the team was quietly pulled off the target without exposure or compromise, redirected to another suspect location, and the operation continued.

Gathering intelligence properly demands an individual with the ability to master their ego and make careful OBJECTIVE observations untainted by their personal desires, inclinations, etc. An improperly trained operative – or worse, someone who THINKS they’re a trained operative/ninja/superspy – dirties the waters and prevents the formation of a clear picture. Think about how many times in your own life a friend has come up to you and said something like, “Hey Jimmy said he thinks that Tanya’s not going to band practice enough. He seemed pretty pissed when he said it. Guess that means he thinks Tanya’s a crappy clarinet player.”

No. It doesn’t.

It means Jimmy said Tanya’s not going to band practice enough.

That’s it.

What your friend has missed is the context of the situation and other key tidbits of information. Instead of objectively stating what happened (that Jimmy then went on the state that Tanya’s not going to band practice enough because she lives in the next state and the commute time is really long preventing her from getting to band practice as much as she would like) your friend has colored the information he’s given you with his own subjective interpretation on the event. Now you think Jimmy’s pissed at Tanya, your friend thinks that, and soon others will, too. All because your friend wasn’t smart enough to properly gather information. USEFUL INTELLIGENCE was distorted into USELESS GOSSIP because your friend only saw one fragment of the information and then simply assumed he knew the entire picture – when he didn’t.

Any fool can gossip. It takes no skill and no effort to do it. It shows no mastery of self; it displays all the insecurity, all the failings, none of the self-discipline, and none of the control of ego that is required to be a good intelligence gatherer.

Tragically, we see bad examples of intelligence gathering all around us. In recent years, the invasion of Iraq is a perfect example of bad intelligence gone wrong all the way up to the highest levels of leadership. When you have people being ordered to “refine” intelligence until it meets the needs of leadership, then you have a very, very bad problem on your hands. And the result was a war we should not have been involved in, thousands of lives lost, and billions of dollars that could have been better spent on our own country.

On more personal levels, we are surrounded by people who gossip each and every day. Their own lives are so tragically pathetic that they seek praise or some manner of self-worth by insinuating, assuming, and obfuscating the truth of a situation until they think they have gained some degree of power or somehow bettered their position within the group.

In fact, all they have shown is how utterly incapable they are of being an asset to a team, how completely enslaved they are to their egos, and (in the case of ninjutsu training) how little they understand about the lineage they claim to study.

Years ago, my teacher asked the advanced black belt training class on a Friday night to research the concept of what the moon on the water meant. As is so often the case, Mark, who runs the Boston Martial Arts Center, provides some amazing lessons to his students, but some are more difficult than others. This was one of them. I walked away from that night wondering what he meant about the moon on the water. He’d also been talking about “ego-hooking” lately – using it to illustrate how we so often get caught (hooked) by our own ego and trapped by it and our own insecurities/expectations, etc. instead of progressing. I thought there might be a connection between the two topics and proceeded to study it accordingly. A few years later, it finally made sense.

There’s a direct connection between being enslaved by your ego and one perspective of the concept of the moon on the water (there are other perspectives not germane to this conversation). The moon on the water is just that: the moon’s reflection on the water. IF you’re objective and unhindered by your ego. If you’re enslaved by your ego – to your subjective wants/needs/desires – then the moon on the water becomes something else entirely. And the more subjective you are about it, the further away from the truth you travel.

For those who want to understand intelligence gathering, or those who purport to study ninjutsu, the mastery of self and ego is of paramount importance because you cannot be objective if you haven’t first cleaned out your own mental/spiritual closet. Until you take the time and effort to make sure your own mirror is polished to accurately reflect the truth of who you really are, you will never be able to accurately and objectively report the truth of any other situation. Cleaning out your own junk is hard and it can take years to do. But until you do it, pretending to be anything of an intelligence gatherer/ninja/superspy is simply masquerading as something you most definitely are not.

Dear General Electric

Dear General Electric,

Earlier today I had an MRI to check out a section of my intestinal tract. That necessitated me being placed into one of your lovely machines for nearly an hour. Thanks to the search-and-rescue training I’ve gone through in the past, I don’t suffer from claustrophobia – which meant that instead of freaking out being enclosed in that tiny tube, I had ample time to make some observations on ways you can improve your product.

1. Get a better soundtrack: while a certain demographic of folks may indeed find the roar of Atlas 5 rocket engines soothing and akin to the lapping of waves on a tropical shore, the majority of us do not. Given all the amazing technology we have available in this country, is it really absolutely necessary for your machine to sound like the backside of an Imperial star cruiser? The choice of sounds for the various imaging going on seems like a buffet of panic-inducing samples from a nonstop slasher movie fest. Wouldn’t a calmer patient bring about better results? Or are you actively trying to have people freak out while in the confines of your machines? How about a nice series of wind chime sounds? Maybe some bells? You could make it like the old department store elevatorswhere the woman with the nice voice used to tell you what floor you were on: “Ding, ding…now examining…your large bowel.” Oh, and your soundtrack featuring the woman who told me about a thousand times to “breathe in, breathe out, hold your breath, relax” today needs to be recorded better and the volume increased so she can be heard over the firing of the ion pulse cannon and the rabid dwarves hammering somewhere down near where my feet were. Just sayin’…

2. Cushions: Look, I’m still fairly spry at 42 years old, but a lot of the patients who use those MRI machines are infirm, elderly, and frankly pretty frail. The old Chinese woman who shuffled in for an exam today looked like she’d break apart in a slight breeze. With that said, the “death tray” (as I like to call it) is about as comfortable as lying on nails. For the entirety of my exam today, I had to have my arms back behind my head resting on a thin lip of hard plastic that only exacerbated the pins-and-needles numbness in my arms during the procedure. Again, these machines have to cost what – $5 gazillion bucks or something? How about springing for a few dollars worth of cushion and padding to make your patients more comfortable? And maybe offer patients the option of getting a back massage while they’re at it using those wooden roller seat covers like the cabbies in New York use. Oh, and lose the air conditioning – I was freezing in there today. Maybe put a nice heating pad in there to help with the relaxation.

3. Appearance: As much as I’ve always dreamed about inserting myself in the afterburner of an F-15, the imposing sight of your machine does little to make people feel at ease. How about painting a giant smiling face around the opening? Maybe invite the local 5th graders over to paint daisies and birds all over the entrance to the tube? Or make it look like what it is: a giant eyeball that will see right through you. Break out the mascara and get some eyelashes on that thing. That would be totally cool. Also, lose the dull cream color. I just drank that Barium Sulfate crap and don’t need to be reminded of how it looked. Get some of the guys from the local chop shop to come over and put some flames on that thing. Maybe a nice neon green or metallic blue. With racing stripes.

Look, I get it: your machine is incredible and it does indeed save lives. For that, I’m extremely grateful. But instead of only focusing on the machine, maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to focus on the patient, too. After all, most people using your MRI machines are there for some potentially serious stuff and they’re already worried enough. Anything you can do on your part to lessen their worry, insecurity, and fear at being rolled down the vanilla throat of Gangor the Magno Monster would no doubt be incredibly appreciated.

Hugz,
Jon

In The Footsteps of The Past

Yesterday, the family and I went for a hike at the Nobscot Boy Scout Reservation in Sudbury, Massachusetts. For those who have been reading this blog for a while, you know this is the site of the annual New England Warrior Camp put on my friend Ken Savage, who runs his own dojo the Winchendon Martial Arts Center and is the senior student of my teacher, Mark Davis of the Boston Martial Arts Center. Every year for the past fourteen years, Ken has put on the camp and invited instructors from all over to come and present a teaching segment – sometimes based around a theme, sometimes not. Over the years, thousands of people have come to this 3-day event, held each Autumn, and “explored, challenged, and developed their warrior spirit.”

It’s always a fantastic event and ken and his staff do an utterly amazing job of making sure that the Camp runs smoothly. For most folks, the visit to Nobscot is a once-a-year event, but I like visiting the camp at other times of the year for the specific purpose of walking in the past.

For fourteen years, the Camp has been a fixture in my life; an event where I get to have scores of experiences, lessons, and opportunities. Fourteen years ago, I’d only been studying the art for about seven years and had only just earned my first degree black belt during a trip to Japan in 1997 with Ken and Mark. Back then, I didn’t teach at the Camp – I was simply another camp-goer eager to participate in whatever segments were available. The Camp – as created by Ken – delivered countless adventures that have a cherished place in my memories.

But as is so often the case with life, our focus is often only forward-looking. What’s coming down the road? What’s happening around us at any given time? What are our goals for the day, the next week, or the next year. And I’m fond of saying that once something is in the past, it’s no use residing there any longer because it can no longer be changed.

As much as I myself like to keep driving ahead, there is great value in walking in the past – if only for a few hours. And by walking the paths of the Nobscot Reservation, it gives me the opportunity to remember precious lessons that time may have obscured or rendered less potent. As I walked with my family, I passed the Fire Trail where my good friend Rich Borgatti earned his black belt by belly-crawling up the side of a mountain and then having to endure a particularly grueling series of attacks. But you can read Rich’s full account of that night here, because for me to attempt to replicate it from my perspective as his senior would be unjust.

We walked past the Chippanyonk Fire Circle, where on Friday and Saturday nights, the instructors field questions from camp goers on the essence of warriorship, walking the path, technical questions from the art, and so much more. The conversations that have taken place there are priceless, and even now, the words of those many nights still linger in the rustling of the trees that lean in over the long cold embers of many fires.

Beyond, we strolled into the Ellis Lands, where most of the teaching segments have taken place. It’s where I’ve taught the majority of my segments alongside my close friend Paul Etherington. It’s where Ken built a long fire walk during one particularly memorable Camp. It’s where we’ve practiced intention exercises while surrounded by the dark forest on all sides.

Every step that I took with my family yesterday brought back another moment – precious fleeting instances from my past riding on the wings of a lesson, an expression, a comment, a smile – and another realization of the legacy I’ve been ever so fortunate to be a part of. As I watched my sons run along the same paths, and their laughter echo through the same trees I’ve come to know so well, I saw glimpses of faces from my past running and laughing as well. Some of those people have chosen to walk another path; others still walk the path with me. But each has had a place in creating the treasure that is my past.

When Ken created the Camp, he’d recently earned his 5th degree black belt and the Grandmaster told those who passed the test that he had just given them a seed. It was up to them what they did with it. They could put it away, and every so often take it out and look at it. Or they could plant it and let it become something truly incredible. Ken selflessly chose to plant the seed and let it blossom into the New England Warrior Camp. For fourteen years, he has labored tirelessly to provide students with the chance to experience aspects of Ninjutsu training that you won’t find in the safe confines of a dojo.

But he’s done so much more than that. What Ken has created with the Camp is a living, breathing piece of history – much the way the art of Ninjutsu is a living, breathing, constantly evolving martial lineage – one that continues to teach long after the actual events have passed.

Yesterday, walking through the woods at Nobscot, I got a chance to relive many of those lessons, to remember the joys of hard training, the chuckle of shared camaraderie, and even the wafting scent of the ghost of Ed the Cook’s Gumbo recipe.

Living in the past is a mistake; but visiting the past every once in a while is a great thing. For me, it helps me appreciate the journey I’m on, the places I’ve been, the kindred spirits I’ve been blessed to walk beside, and the lessons – so many lessons – that I’ve learned in pursuit of some greater ideal. Thanks to Ken Savage and the New England Warrior Camp, I have a place I can visit where walking in the footsteps of the past is not only possible…

…it’s wonderful.

Thank you, Ken.

The Story of Will’s Birth

Yesterday was my youngest son Will’s 7th birthday. It’s amazing how quickly time flies and looking at him now, he seems so far removed from that night in early March those years ago. Right now, he’s sitting in my office behind me reading a Lego magazine while he waits to go the doctor. He’s been feeling pretty crappy since Friday, so we want to make sure he doesn’t have strep throat.

Seven years ago yesterday, I was exactly where I am now: sitting in front of my iMac in my home in Medfield. It was going on about 10:50pm and Joyce was in our bedroom watching Law & Order, and Jack, who was three at the time, was asleep next to her. Joyce suddenly called for me and when I came into the bedroom, she was standing up saying, “it’s time to go!”

We bundled Jack up, called Joyce’s folks to meet us at Brigham & Women’s Hospital in Boston so they could take care of Jack while Joyce did her thing, and climbed into our car and shot off for the city. A trip to Boston during the day can take anywhere from forty minutes to an hour depending on traffic. Much of the trip is on a one-lane road, so if you get stuck behind someone driving slow, you’re screwed. But at that time of night, we made pretty good time. I opted to jump on the highway as soon as possible so we could get on roads with more than one lane in order to get us there quicker.

We cruised off of 128 North at route 9 and headed east toward Boston. Route 9 goes straight into Boston and it’s right near the hospital, so that was a good route to take. As we shot through Wellesley and Newton, traffic started to increase. All the while, Joyce was trying to keep her mind off the pain by complaining that they were just about the reveal the killer’s identity on Law & Order and she had missed it.

After Newton we came into Brookline and Joyce was experiencing more pain. I was driving fast. Jack had come six week early and had taken only three hours to deliver from start to finish. Will was five weeks early and I didn’t know how long I had before the little dude was going to make an appearance. I’d gone through First Responder training and could deliver him, if need be, but I didn’t relish the thought of doing so on the side of the road, so I was damned if I wasn’t going to get her to the hospital.

As we approached the Chestnut Hill Mall, I saw a green light start to go to yellow and spotted a cop off on my left. I deliberately shot through the light, knowing he would jump on me. He did. Lights flashing, I pulled over and then waved him up next to me. He pulled alongside and I told him that Joyce was in labor and we were headed for the hospital. Without batting an eye, he simply nodded, said, “follow me!” and we took off down route 9 with his lights flashing and us tucked in behind him. By the next intersection, we had two more cruisers all around us, lights flashing and sirens wailing as we slid through the traffic with ease and got to the hospital in about three minutes.

At the roundabout by the entrance to the hospital, we swung in and I thanked the lead cop, who stayed in place until we got Jack with his grandparents and Joyce headed inside. The valet at the hospital took care of our car and we went inside to have Will. By now, it was about 11:40pm and less than three hours later, Will arrived at six pounds, fourteen ounces and nineteen inches long at 2:31am. His delivery was tougher on Joyce than Jack’s but she still managed to do it without any drugs – something that I still marvel at – and only by crushing the bones in my hand and her sister Jocelyn’s hand, while I told lame jokes to try to keep everyone’s spirits up.

My second son was as much of a gift as my first and I was thrilled that I had now had two boys, especially since before Jack, we weren’t even sure we’d be able to have children at all. Seven years later, that little bundle of joy has turned into a Monster Truck fiend and Lego architect of the first order. He has an amazing sense of humor and the wiseass sarcastic gene handed down in my bloodline is alive and well in the newest generation – for better or for worse, lol. I’m thankful every day for my sons, and even when life’s other challenges intrude, I never end a day without giving thanks for them being in my life.

So Happy Birthday, William Edward Merz. Seven year ago, you were just a sleepy little bundle of joy viewed through my misty, proud eyes. Today, you’re nursing a sore throat and handling it like a champ. In a few weeks, you’ll be back in the baseball field smacking home runs with the best of them. Seven years doesn’t seem like all that long, but you’ve already given me more reasons to be proud of you than I had a right to expect.

I love you, son.

NOTE: This blog post was inspired by my sister Johanna who runs a great workshop on Birth Stories for parents through her company Familytopia. She runs fantastic programs for corporations and companies of all sizes and does one helluva job at it.

“Finding Bigfoot” is My “Jersey Shore”

I had an epiphany of sorts last night.

I’m battling the flu and so a lot of my time lately has been spent in front of the TV taking it easy. I hate the lack of activity, but I need to rest. As I’ve been resting, I’ve been watching “Finding Bigfoot” on the Animal Planet network. I discovered this show last year, and I think it’s probably one of the dumbest shows around.

But I love it.

Cryptozoology has always been a closet passion of mine. When I was a young kid, I got into Loch Ness and the Yeti and Bigfoot so much that I had drawers set aside in my room for my “research.” My research largely consisted of drawings I’d made and any newspaper clippings I could find. I was devoted to watching In Search Of with Leonard Nimoy and imagined one day setting off on my own quests to find long-lost beasts of legend.

So when Finding Bigfoot debuted last year, I was all over it. I’d already been raving about how great Destination Truth was and hoped that Finding Bigfoot would be in the same vein as that show.

It’s not at all like Destination Truth. It’s more like Jersey Shore.

Finding Bigfoot has a cast of four: Matt Moneymaker who is the head of the BFRO (Bigfoot Research Organization), Cliff, his trusty sidekick, Bobo, who actually looks more like a Bigfoot than anything they’ve found to-date on the show, and Renee, the skeptical biologist who is along to try to debunk the things the group hears in the woods, any footage they come across that sort of thing.

Episodes usually begin with the team in a certain part of the country to investigate a recent sighting. Enroute, a conversation occurs whereby the three guys all talk about the likelihood that there will be a “squatch” in the area, while Renee sits there and attempts to inject some semblance of rational thought into the mix. She always fails.

And therein lies the problem with the show, the boys have already decided that pretty much every area they visit has Sasquatches living in it. Every sound in the forest during their night investigations is a “squatch.” Every locale is “squatchy,” and so on and so on. These guys want so badly to believe that Sasquatch exists that they have really compromised all of their supposed journalistic integrity in the hopes that their gee whiz charm turns viewers into believers. Renee’s perspective is brushed aside and the guys don’t seem to like her very much. In their defense, she has about as much charisma as a paper bag, but then again, none of the team really has much in the way of charisma, either.

On every episode, after the team has stood up in front of the locals and plotted their sightings on a map, they go out into the woods. At night. Because, ya know, night is scary. And everything seen through night vision looks cooler, apparently. The team always breaks up into two squads and then they plod through the woods. At a predetermined point, Matt Moneymaker will do his best Bigfoot howl. Bobo will then usually answer in return. Then they wait to hear any other sounds. Sometimes the coyotes complain. Sometimes they get a “knock,” which is apparently how sasquatches communicate by knocking branch lengths against tree trunks. (How they’ve determined these behavioral characteristics is anyone’s guess, but they claim that their field research proves it.) I’m still waiting for the episode when they do these insipid howls and some camper shouts back, “Shut the fuck up! I’m trying to sleep!” That would be gold.

One of my favorite parts of the show is when the team comes up with a supposedly revolutionary method for tracking any squatches they suspect to be in the area. On the most recent episode, this method involved baiting several tree trunks with glazed donuts and then sprinkling ultraviolet powder in the area. That way, when the sasquatches had their coffee break and came over for the free donuts, they’d step in the powder and then the team would be able to track them with special flashlights.

Uh…yeah.

Naturally, instead of sasquatch tracks, all they got were raccoon and possum tracks. I wondered why they were bothering with UV powder when they could have just as easily set up motion controlled cameras used on other nature shows. If any squatches came trooping through, the camera would snap their picture.

But pictures aren’t as cool as UV powder.

Another thing: the team is always looking for squatches in the night. But most of the eyewitness reports have encounters during the day.

In any event, the show is actually a comedy about three bumbling idiots and the one sane individual who tries to keep them grounded. And I watch it every damned week. Because, you never know, one time they might actually get lucky and stumble over a squatch.

I can’t claim to learn anything from watching this other than perhaps how NOT to go bigfoot hunting. But I still have to tune in. I imagine it’s the same for viewers of Jersey Shore who tune in each week to see if Snooki can ever get through a night without shacking up with the crew of whatever aircraft carrier happens to be in dock that particular week. It probably most definitely WON’T happen.

But it COULD.

So, my thanks to Matt, Cliff, Bobo, and Renee for making my television viewing just a bit more comedic and addictive.

Until next week. 🙂