The ubiquitous reality of the Internet was God's personal bequest to LeVine. Oh how it simplified his life and the tangle of lies he wove. Consider his three broken engagements: Lori Kravitz called it off when she found out that he never was a silent partner in JFK Jr.'s, George magazine. Ruthie Yuck dumped him unceremoniously in The Four Season's parking lot the night before their planned wedding, when she discovered that the closest LeVine had been to earning a PhD at Oxford, was taking a pee the cafeteria during a tour. And Felice Fishbein threw his two carat ring back in his face when she found out from her father, a prominent lobbyist in Ottawa, that not only did LeVine never tell Paul Martin, the Minister of Finance to, "go fuck off," but that LeVine had never even been to Ottawa. No matter how good the story, the women eventually exposed him.
But on the Internet he was free. A master of the chat-room, LeVine soon became a player. His success was all over North America and wisely never tread the territory of his home town. He scored in every city that had a major league baseball team, in most NFL cities and had a 70% coverage rate in the NHL. LeVine was a cyber-stud leaving only an IP address behind.
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