:..:: glen d sanford :.: testimonial ::..:

By Josh Michtom

You may ask, "What does Glen Sanford have to do with cold fusion, genetically modified corn, and the stealth bomber?" (Probably, when you ask this, you and I are seated on a gondola, being gently poled down a narrow, unnamed canal in Venice. As I consider your question, you attempt to seem merely calm and interested in my answer, but the tension in the muscles around your eyes gives you away. You are trying to anticipate when I will blink so you can glance quickly to your confederates on either bank, disguised as ordinary Venetians. A radio can be heard in one of the upper floors of a nearby building, and I pretend to turn toward the sound, giving you the opportunity to look around more easily. I am unconcerned because the gondolier, whom you do not suspect in the slightest, is in fact Pyotr, my faithful and dangerous Uzbek bodyguard.) I will tell you about Glen: In October of 1972, in a secret Canadian government lab in northern Manitoba ("Friendly Manitoba," you say, forcing a smile, hoping that your off-handed mention of that province's license plate slogan will show that you are at ease. I play along: "You've been there?" I ask, while giving the secret signal to Pyotr, indicating to him that as soon as needed, he may implement our plan. Unprepared actually to answer my question, and not wishing to disclose the fact that you are an agent of the British Secret Service, you struggle to come up with a story that would explain why you know about Manitoba's license plates. I remain calm, allowing Pyotr to keep a watchful eye on your left hand, which hovers six inches from the pistol concealed in your backpack. You say nothing, and I continue my story...), a mathematician devised a formula that revolutionized modern living. As a direct result of this formula, Glen was created. (At this point, the Grand Canal has come into view, and you realize that if you are to fulfill the mission for which the Nigerians hired you, you will have to act immediately. Recklessly, you throw your left arm awkwardly in the air, tossing aside all pretense of our friendship, giving away (although I already knew it) you true identity. The seven disguised Romanian soldiers on the north bank immediately reach for their shoulder holsters, but by now, Pyotr has activated the gondola's retractable bullet-proof shield. You reach for your weapon, but are surprised to discover that it is gone. We are already completely enclosed as gunshots ricochet outside and our craft begins to submerge. From under the blanket I had draped over my legs, I draw a Heckler & Koch USP40 pistol and point it calmly at you. Our gondola is now sinking to the bottom of the canal, and you realize that there is no escape. In a last attempt to buy time, you ask me to finish explaining the connection between Glen, cold fusion, advanced military techonolgy, and genetically modified food. I say only this...) The story of Glen is longer than we have time for, I am afraid. Perhaps if you had not been foolish enough to attempt the infiltration of my Italian operations, you would live to hear more. Suffice it to say that the power, depth, and influence of Glen Sanford are exceptional. His mighty works will outlive any memory of your amateur plot against me. (And with that, I pull the trigger. After a brief, searing pain, all you see is darkness.)