Originally, there were nine rings of power for mortal men. And still lost was one of these rings of invulnerability.
Galley slaves had it made. They knew
they'd be dead in a couple of years.
they'd be dead in a couple of years.
Every day it gets worse. The walls close in, the insanity rises, the rage roars louder. I keep asking but no one knows what time it is. Maybe they think it helps if they don't know, that maybe time won't run out that way. It does not help.
TV blares "The Nero Hour" in the corner of my ear as I rise up from bed. Fiddlers from across the country compete to see who can make the most beautiful sounds at the sites of tragic disasters. "With lovely music like this we know we need not be concerned." Latest is an airliner crash where the manufacturer cut corners and cost the lives of hundreds of people. I hear many angry words and passionate arguments - when someone believes the incorrect fiddler is picked as best.
Stepping outside my trailer door I see white paper notices flapping in the breeze posted on every home in the park. Rent is springing up $300 a month, another turn of the vice clamp of medieval death and torture. The blackmailer demands we either cough up the ten grand it takes to move or be bled dry drip by drip. My blood is boiling. Everyone's complaining.
"Can't be helped," sneers the office lady. "Somebody Somewhere made the decision."
At work in the call center sweatshop, the nightmare continues. All the monitors we read from have been taken away, replaced by these tiny 6x4 inlaid screens in the desktop. The letters are microscopic, barely legible to the naked eye. One girl is actually delighted we're "getting the latest cool thing!" I picture myself slowly going blind. Jesus-FUCKING-Christ!
Cocksuckers told me I need to "up my game."
Who are these people??
I hear the same explanation as before. "Somebody Somewhere thought this was a good idea." That Somebody Somewhere sure is a busy fucker. A co-worker theorizes Somebody got a kickback for installing these godawful screens. But like with the raise in rent, the outrage is short-lived. Why care about the workers when they don't care about themselves Somebody reasons.
How far does it have to go? The cloud of the holocaust slips back in like Pharaoh's angel of death. Yet many who love Moses in name hate him in deed.
On the way home from work I stop to fill up with gas. A label states a dollar a gallon tax has been added*. Somebody Somewhere lost billions upon billions - some say trillions - gambling and they need our money now to keep on gambling. The vampire bites again and still we hear only crickets on the moon.
Walking downtown I'm assaulted by criminal cops for "being too poor to be trusted." The criminals tell me they know what they're doing is wrong but there's nothing that can be done. A thought tracking chip is placed in my suspect head. "Self-respect," they inform me, "is the true enemy of the state. It would ruin everything!" The brutalizers tell me not to worry because the President is liberal. I'm thinking they need a dictionary.
These are the worst of times, where only the worst among us have conviction. Zombie slaves are herded over the cliff, the shepherds laughing. "What can we do?" they plead as they fall to their doom. Many saviors are proclaimed but none ever save. All around me I hear the same song of ritual: "The end will not come because the end has not come before."
It is written God said that every death diminishes Him/Her. If so, then dear God, prepare to be diminished.
But as irony would have it, while lying in the ghetto gutter after the gang beating from the boys in blue I spied the last lost Ring of Power. I panicked, fearing that if I moved towards it it would roll down the nearby drain only to be lost again. And so I did nothing, feeling the peace of surrender. Perhaps it is not God's will I survive. At least that's a judgement I can trust and understand.
Then a car rushes by, its tires spitting out a piece of debris that knocks the ring to my hand. Putting the ring on my finger I feel the world swirling around me in my center of calm. First thing I do is rip the tracking chip from my head. "You motherfucker! Put that back in!" Seems the cops who were posing as somewhat sympathetic during the commission of their crime were absolutely livid in my refusal to oblige. Were they as livid when they received the orders to become criminals??
They made a mad rush towards me with their nightsticks out ready to beat me to a pulp for defying National Insecurity. However, as they tried to hit me their sticks vibrated so harshly they had to drop them. That's when Somebody Somewhere yelled out, "He's got a gun!" and suddenly dozens of bullets were bouncing off me, driving my would-be killers into a frenzy of rage and tears.
"We have to know what he's thinking!" "He might be hating us right now!" "Control! We must have control!" "You can't go around thinking just anything!" "Kill him! No one can live with this!" "How will we know if he loves and approves of us? How? How??"
Good Lord. Scratch a cop and find a child. "Look, you stupid cunts, I'm not your fucking wife. You want approval, get a dog. Or, better yet, grow the fuck up and quit taking orders. Maybe then you won't be so hapless and annoyingly worried."
Instead, they lay helplessly on the ground rolling in fear and trembling, terrified of my next unrestrained thought. I yell out "Boo!" as I leave and they start simpering anew. Wow, what a big bunch of babies. Got me to thinking what mischief I could cause next. So I made a couple of purchases and began walking along the Katy Trail, home of the young six-figure professionals who feel the world owes them a living. It's fun pissing off the people you hate!
Despite a couple of appreciative whistles from a few (actually hot) babes, for the most part I heard nothing but violence as I walked along in my heels and French maid uniform. Finally, people are getting outraged! "You sick motherfucker! Somebody Somewhere should put you out of your misery, you fucking faggot!" Hey, I know that anger! It's the same rage I felt after having my rent raised, getting raped at work and maimed by the cops. However, I think their anger is a tad misplaced.
Two guys decided to play hero and try to tackle me, only to fall to the ground as if they'd run into a pillar of concrete. But these were men of conviction! They tried to punch me still but that only broke their knuckles as they wailed in agony. Damn, national insecurity is everywhere. "What do you care what I wear, ya dumb fucks?" "Our wives will leave us if we can't beat you up! Oh, this is awful. This is worse than anything."
I have to admit, I was really getting worried about my gender. Still - heh, heh - time to up the ante. I decided to hold a press conference - still in uniform! - announcing my conversion to Islam. "Harry Mohammed Ali! Sting like a butterfly and float like a bee!" I can't tell you the number of groups that pissed off! The Muslims highly disapproved of my frilly attire, the defense department declared me a danger to the country (little ol' me!) and every redneck in the country was spitting beer chomping to get at me.
Gee, guys, might want to reconsider your life perspective if you're that easily sent into a homicidal rage. First thing I did, though, was take a flight to the Middle East where no less than 173 suicide bombers and assassins attempted to take me out for Allah. I told them the reason they were failing was because Allah was on my side and because the men there were failing to obey their women. It was like placing hot coals on their foreheads.
Back in the U.S.S.A the reception wasn't much better. The resident President made a hilarious speech saying how "just because we have the best hammer does not mean that every problem is a nail." He did this, of course, after adding me to to his personal Kill List. "We're going to drone his Muslim Maid ass right into the ground." When asked about this contradiction, the politician laughed and replied, "People don't want their President to speak like a dickhead in public but they do want him to act like one in private."
Even though I was on U.S. soil the drones they were a-coming! I was unharmed, of course, but those around me weren't so lucky. But they were simply declared Muslim Maid sympathizers and the good public was fine with that. I started feeling a tad guilty about the losses so I moved to a place I knew they'd never bomb: Wall Street. Greed trumps even National Insecurity.
After a while, a funny thing happened. People are weak and silly when you get right down to it. Once they saw I was indestructible more and more men started wearing heels and maid uniforms in public. Churches were turned into temples, proudly declaring our long heritage of "Judeo-Muslim" values. Middle Eastern women publicly spanked their men - and the bonered men thanked them for it. People really do rally to the strongest dog!
In time, the Muslim Maid party took over both houses of Congress and the Presidency. The dumb fucks. That's when I decided to switch back to my normal clothes and my non-religious life, invalidating their lives all over again. And the wind cried, "Harry".
*At least a dollar per gallon is due to allowed market manipulation of commodity trades by speculators.