This night, Blake and Joanna are sat on the couch, watching the TV. Blake has his notebook, pen, and laptop set before him on the coffee table. The laptop's on the God's Plan blog page. The TV's showing the season premiere of the blockbuster reality series, ‘Catching Up with the Carlsons.’ The Carlsons are a big, wealthy family with a shady, scandalous background, but people love them for their openness, liberalness, and nudity. Trisha Carlson, the main star of the show, for her spiraling personality, and sexy demeanor, and her 4 year old son, Louis, are consulting with a psychiatrist, Dr. Schmidt, in her office. The psychiatrist breaks the news to Trisha, that her son, Louis, has Asperger’s Syndrome Autism. Trisha takes this in, her head dropping as she pauses, mind reeling. The doctor does her best to condole her, telling her how sorry she is, that she knows how sad this must be for her.
“Sad for you,” says Blake as he jots in his notebook, “gold for me. No offense.”
Olly comes into the living room, looking at the TV, “Hey, the premier.” He joins Blake and Jo on the couch, “I got us an untraceable way to contact Henry Cassidy.”
“Great,” says Joanna, “but we won't be contacting him until after the 26th.”
“Why?”
“Cuz, that's when the blog gets popular, and gets on the news, remember? If we contacted him now, he won't even know what we're talking about, he couldn't be convinced.”
“Right,” says Olly.
Blake himself's glad Joanna thought that up. He, being impulsive, wouldn't have had the good sense to defer that part to the right time. “This girl's really something, ain’t she?” He thinks. Then he says, “Yeah, honey, great thinking. Sometimes, I forget that what we're watching here,” he motions to the TV, “hasn't even happened yet.”
Then, something in ‘Catching Up with the Carlsons’ makes Olly guffaw. “Are you guys not watching? It's hilarious.”
Later, Blake edits the blogpage. He does the story of Jeremy Allison breaking his legs in a motorcycle crash, and that of Trisha Carlson’s son being diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome Autism. He publishes the stories, smiling at the fact that the blog is catching on, and soon it's gonna make it to the news.
Two days later, Blake has to do another blog post. And this time, there's the story of Alfred Holcone, an A-list popstar to be stabbed twice by the wife, over a cheating scandal, and that of Jason Clinton, an A-list movie star, to be arrested in connection with a dead woman found buried in a shallow grave on his property. The latter story is particularly remarkable because Jason had once been arrested in connection with a missing woman after a friend of the woman said the woman said something about going on a special date with someone special, that she wouldn’t disclose due to client confidentiality, but only hinted on, and the hints pointed to Jason Clinton. In fact, it was damn near an accurate description. But due to lack of evidence, Jason was let go. He had buried the woman in the backyard of a small single-storey house in a lonely part of town. Barely anyone knew the house belonged to him, and he covered the grave with fake turf he stole from the set of his previous production. And then, a year later when the street had to be expanded, the city took the house by eminent domain, and on excavation, the remains of the woman were discovered. Jason knows he's in hot water now. There simply is no way to spin it. Blake does the story nice and good, taking care not to reveal too much because, the story's one that'd resonate with Jason if it looked too peculiar. He'd take a hint and skip town. Blake doesn't want that … no no no. He wants justice to prevail. He wants Jason to pay for his sins, and for there to be one less murderer on the streets … or in Hollywood. He wants God's Plan to come to pass, and get him rich. He publishes the stories, big smile on his face.
Later at night, Blake, Joanna and Olly are sat on the couch watching Ent News. Olly has his laptop. He’s been doing some research and confirmations on how to contact Henry Cassidy untraceably. On TV, the Ent News caption reads, “God’s Plan blog sparks controversy in America.” And the footage is of a reporter speaking with a woman in a street of downtown L.A.
“Ma’am,” the reporter asks, “what d'you make of the God's Plan blog? Who d'you think could be behind it?”
The woman takes a moment, contemplating… “Uhhh,” She makes a wry giggle, “That’s a big question right there.” She takes another moment. “I think it’s probably a network of highly sophisticated and effective computer hackers, and militants. That’d explain how their able to pry into information no one should know, and execute the things they want people to think they're predicting.”
After that, the reporter now speaks with a man in a suit in front of an office building, asking him the same question.
“God,” the man answers, “God’s doing it. He's warning people to turn away from evil, or face severe repercussions. It's the only logical explanation.” A moment of silence, as the man and reporter contemplate each other.
And then, the news caption reads, “Authorities offer $10million reward to anyone with information on who runs the God’s Plan blog.” Footage of a government man in a suit, making the announcement at a press conference plays. The man refers to the blog as a mysterious and possibly criminal affair. He makes a statement that it behoves whoever's responsible for it to come forward now and explain themselves, lest whatever punishment there may be be too severe.
Blake and his co-executors are like, “Not a chance.”
“And,” says Joanna, “as regards the reward money, ten million doesn't hold a candle to what we're gonna be making in a week, after we got Ent to start doing sport updates.”
“Yeah,” Blake and Olly smile.
“I think it's high time,” says Joanna, “we contact the programs director.”
“It sure is,” says Blake, “Now Olly, you're sure this email account you're gonna be emailing him from is untraceable.”
“Yup,” Olly works his laptop, “It’s actually his Instagram. I won't use an email, what if it turns out to be his work email, we don’t want anyone else seeing the message.”
“Yeah,” says Joanna, “good call, good call. Just make sure you cover your tracks, no one can know it's us.”
“I don't know, man,” Blake has his doubts, “Instagram?! Isn't that too public?”
“Dude,” says Olly, “trust me on this, it could never lead back to us.”
“Okay, man. So, we set?”
“We’re all set, what should I send him?”
“Just type as I dictate.”
“Right,” says Olly.
“Mr. Cassidy,” Blake solemnly dictates, “you don't know me yet, but I think we can help each other beyond your wildest imaginings. I write to you on behalf of, and as one of the people running the God's Plan blog. Now, what I'm about to tell you, you should take with openness of mind, and weigh the enormous benefits, even with no cost at all!” He now speaks directly to Olly, “ ‘No cost at all’ should be in all caps, that would resonate with everyone.”
“Right,” says the typing Olly.
“Now continue in a new paragraph.”
“Right.”
Blake resumes dictating, “The only way we're able to predict all those incidents on the blog is because someway somehow, our TV is set in the future: It's showing programming from one week in the future of your station, Ent. Now, I know it sounds crazy and impossible, but just think about the facts. How else is anyone supposed to know all the stuff on the blog? It blows my mind too, and of course I can't explain it. No one can. But it's here, and we have to make the most of it while it lasts. Really, I don’t know how long it'll last.” He now speaks directly to his typist, “Take a new paragraph.”
“Right.”
Blake dictates, “Why I'm contacting you is because I have an idea, an idea that'll make us extremely rich; rich beyond your wildest imaginings. How? Sport betting. This gift of future TV can only be maximized if we got the TV to show sport updates; future game results we can bet on and become unstoppable. Just imagine. We could never lose. Wouldn't that be something? This wouldn't be an issue if it were the sport channel showing us programming from the future. But it's not the sport channel, it happens to be your channel, Ent. See, that's where you come in, because, you're the only one with the authority to get Ent to start showing sport updates; Don't get me wrong, not that Ent has to really start doing a sport show, or show sports in any major way, but give game results, you know, score sheets. It shouldn't take much screen time, and could easily be worked into any lifestyle segments. I'd like us to meet face to face, so I could show you the future-TV feed,” He now instructs Olly, “ ‘Future TV’ should be one word with a hyphen.”
“Yes sir.”
Blake continues dictating, “…future-TV feed and we could talk more on this. I can come see you at your office, just tell me when. And the sooner the better, because we really don't know how much longer the TV’s gonna keep showing the future. Wouldn't you want so much money you won't have to work or worry a day in your life? Wouldn't you want the experience of a lifetime? Wouldn't it be nice to get in the habit of winning, non-stop. All we have to do is help each other. Yours sincerely, The God's Plan blog.” Then, directly to Olly, “Proof read aloud.” Olly does just that, and it's all good and fine, spectacular in fact, and the message is sent.
“I gotta give it to you,” says Olly, “you sure are a good fraud.”
“Where did I lie?” Blake asks.
“No where, it's just, anyone that can compose a message this good, has to be a good-ass liar.”
“Hey, I'm a journalism graduate. And it didn't take me seven years like some people right here talking with me.”
“That’s just another lie,” says Joanna, “you really are a good-ass liar.” They giggle. “But really, excellent composition, honey. I wonder why you got fired as an editor.”
“For the umpteenth time,” says Blake, “I didn't get fired, I was downsized. Those new management fools, don't know anything about quality editing.”
“That’s right, baby, it's their loss, and now it's turned out to be a blessing in disguise for us. You need all the time you can get, running and forwarding God’s Plan.”
“You bet your ass,” says Blake. “Now all we gotta do is wait for Mr. Cassidy's reply.”
“And that,” says Olly, “we shall.”
The next day passes with them waiting for a word from Mr. Cassidy, but nothing. Then at night, Blake and Joanna cuddle on the couch watching Ent News. The news caption reads, “Cynthia Aldrich arrested for possession of Cocaine.” Cynthia Aldrich is the host of ‘Your Best Self,’ a popular health and lifestyle talk show, that discourages people from vices like drinking too much and smoking, although she's never really talked much about Cocaine itself or dealing it. The news footage is of Cynthia being handcuffed and put in one of the several police vehicles parked in front of her home. There was actually a stand-off. Cynthia won't let the cops in, and she took out her father's antique Stanton hunter's rifle and fired a few shots at no one in particular. The cops were a bit shocked to hear shots. It wasn't like they expected there to be any cause at all to arrest Cynthia Aldrich (most of them being fans), they were just following a lead from a less than trustworthy informant, and when the lead pointed to Cynthia Aldrich's house, the cops were like, “Well, let's just cover all the bases.” But then, Cynthia Aldrich, their alluring and delightful sweetheart, wanted to blow their brains out by high-power rifle. The cops scrambled for cover, most of them jittering and breathing hard with their hearts pounding out of their chests. They immediately called for backup. They thought it's probably not Cynthia in there; it doesn't make sense. Backup arrived, and they decided to deploy a smoke grenade. An eternity passed, and no one came out of the house. The cops were starting to wonder if it was a good idea; If they'd just killed people; if there was a baby in there. The rookies turned to the sergeant, panic in their eyes, but the sergeant was just as dismayed. But just then, Cynthia Aldrich ran out screaming as her eyes never burned so terribly. She was apprehended, and all the officers seriously expressed their disappointment in her, some of them in tears. She held their gazes, frowning, defiant. The woman's really a hard ass. And off course, the cops wondered why she needed to deal drugs; She’s a popular TV host, she should earn a big buck. But of course, wealth and satisfaction are ‘relative’ to most people, and they’d stop at nothing to keep up with the Joneses. Cops donning gas masks, rifles at the ready, surge into the house, and moments later, they emerged with the Cynthia’s hunting rifle, and two shopping carts filled with bricks of Cocaine.
“I’ll be damned,” says Blake, rapt by the news report, “Who woulda thought?”
“I know, right?” says Joanna as Blake jots down all necessary information in his notebook, smiling.
The front door opens, and Olly comes in, wearing his backpack. He's volunteered for something called ‘Give a Hand,’ a community outreach program that urges college and high school students to do all manners of community service and social welfare. “Dudes, rough day! I had to tutor some kids at juvy. One of them stabbed a guard in the neck with a pencil.”
“Shit,” says Joanna, “Did he die?”
“Not yet, he's in surgery.”
“Someone needs to find out if the guard's been screwing the kid,” says Blake.
“I hinted on that,” says Olly.
“The kid's gonna say ‘yes’ anyway,” says Joanna, “after they've gone and stabbed somebody.”
“True,” says Blake and Olly.
“So Olly, Ollsman,” says Blake, “any word from our guy, Henry?”
“Nope … nothing. Imagine that. Bums me out, man. What is the guy? Dead?”
“Are you kidding me?!” Blake's incensed, “The son of a bitch hasn't replied?”
“The son of a bitch hasn't replied, and I'm depressed about it.”
“Maybe,” says Joanna, “he just hasn't gotten around to it yet. It's only been a day.”
“A day,” says Blake, “with the opportunity of a lifetime! Anybody with half a brain will drop whatever meaningless shit they're doing and jump on God's Plan TV. What is wrong with this guy?”
“I don't know,” says a disappointed Olly, “I don't know.”
“Message him again,” says Blake, “Let’s think by some bad juju of the devil, he didn't get the first one.”
“Right,” He takes out his laptop from his backpack.