Normally, I have to go to the 3rd stall in the bathroom of the Hard Rock Cafe in Times Square and punch a special code into my phone.  The wall behind the toilet unlocks - I step through into a long hallway, where a series of odd-shaped doors open in a timed sequence, leading me to an elevator that takes me 2 miles below the Earth's surface.  It empties into a small room where a voice over a loudspeaker says "Seems to be a chip in the air come October."  I respond "The quail ate my banana."  A door opens, I walk through into a dark room with a big movie screen, and a close-up of an eyeball on it.  From there, I deliver a message to some Darth Vader soundin' guy, then leave.   Two days later a carrier pigeon brings me a note - it looks like gibberish with dots and lines and shapes.  I hold it up to a green lamp and use the decoder ring that band members are given when they join.  I read the message, within 10 seconds the paper disintegrates.  That's usually how we communicate.

(uh, actually, I was responding to a text Del sent, and included the "sup" in my response.)

Ron