Who Do You Think You Are?

"There's a world that we know nothing about, that we can only imagine. And that is the world of books." - Jack Handey

I pass along the above quote because something has been troubling me for several days now. For the past few weeks, I've operated on the assumption that there are 823 subscribers (give or take a few thousand squatters, who get the service free with the aid of illegal cable hook-ups, or through shady dealings with pols on the take) to this messageboard. But lately, I've concluded that there are only about 15 of us: Dr. N, Maria, Kathie, Gentleman Jim, Jeff Falco, Shirl, John, Kenneth, David, Ray, and the rest (here on Gilligan's Isle).
"Wait a second," you say, "what about the other 808 subscribers?"
They do not exist. They are all the figment of one person's imagination.
"Who are those 808 imaginary subscribers", you rightly ask? Jeff Falco.
Who has the answers to the most inane, arcane, insane, cocaine-addled brain questions - INSTANTLY? Jeff Falco.
Simple, wasn't it Jeff? Cook up some bit of trivial (it didn't even have to be real, did it?) poot, ask the question as if you're Mrs. So and So from Pocatello, Idaho, wait a few minutes, and then RIDE TO THE RESCUE!
Jeff, I've got to hand it to you; you really had everyone fooled. Even my wife was suckered into this little Shangri-La of colliding heavens, hells, and purgatories. Last night, in bed, something wasn't working properly downstairs and she whispered in my ear, "maybe you can write Jeff Falco and ask him what to do."
"Forget that" I said. I slipped my bare feet tenderly into my fleece-lined slippers, strolled casually out of the bedroom and into the library. There I found a book that I'd just purchased - "I Am A Woman (In Love With A Woman): Must Society Reject Me?" by Ann Bannon.
Ya wanna know something? Reading this made me forget about Jeff Falco.
Renewed and refreshed, I resumed my rightful place in the marital bed - riding high with a twinkle in my eye. Now that the moaning has subsided and the morning has resumed, I turned my attention back to the chicanery, the not-so-subtle whiff of mendacity. Jeff, do you want to come clean? Your little Perec/Borges-like fantasy is up.
We've all read "Life: A User's Manual" (or, at least, we intend to).
We're not going to be marbles in your sick little Chinese Checkers game any longer. How many of you are there, Jeff? The snow job is over. This isn't the kind of White Christmas we wanted. COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP!!!!
Here's the shovel, my friend. Start digging.
I await your response with flared nostrils, straight-leg trousers, and open ears.