The Orangutang Gang

"But he's an animal, a soulless beast! Not capable of reason or rational thought. He can do nothing more than wreak chaos and havoc and mindlessly repeat phrases suckers want to hear. How can you not see that? This is insanity of the highest order! It's got to stop. It's got to stop NOW! How in God's name can you be following an orangutang??"

The reply was both breathless and resolute: "Because he's the President."

---------------------

It was said when the phenomenon first started that life had turned into a B-grade movie script no one would buy or believe with its outrageous premise and ever curiouser behavior. Sure, the world is screwed up - but it can't be that screwed up. There has to be limits to absurdity even in works of fiction. But come to find out, in real life there are no limits when entering a bottomless pit.

The Moronican party had been around forever, posing as a legitimate institution with alleged ideals and noble-sounding aims. Some were genuinely conned into believing their fairy tale but the overwhelming majority simply sought to rule the lives of others at any cost. To reach this goal they had had to hide behind a fig leaf of morality as the rationale for their pursuit of power. They waged unholy "holy wars" in the name of a God aggrieved by war. Then the idea of an ape leader came along.

The idea had been kicked around for years, never taken seriously but never quite going away either. "How cool would it be to get the masses to worship a monkey we control?" To set a monkey on the throne remained a secret fantasy until lo and behold just the right ape came along. This ape had been spoiled all its life - it didn't even realize it was an ape! Of course, on some level it knew and this caused an endless resentment against actual humans building a lifetime of resentment and perceived victimhood.

The lie of believing it was human had infested the ape, and never could it get enough of this lie, never could it hear it enough times to satisfy its craving, for it knew it could never be a real human. Yet, more than anything, the ape made its life purpose to be thought of as human. It could see the rainbow of this ultimate dream but never reach it. And like any good terrorist, it thought, "Somebody has to pay for my shortcomings, just like we did to that Jesus fucker!"

Its simple monkey brain could only hold one concept at a time: Be called 'human' good, be called 'ape' bad. It reduced all behavior down to that one golden rule. No nuance or grey area existed in its head. Every impulse centered on this singular conviction without restraint or regard. The ape ceaselessly tugged at the skirt of every human it saw begging to belong, wearing them down with pathetic pleas. But no matter how much acceptance the ape received, it always needed more.

The Moronicans had gotten to the point that the burden of their feigned morality had pushed them into unbearable submission. They faced a crossroad of either coming clean as to their treachery or doubling down on their naked lust. The ape-who-would-be-king fantasy was brought back to life in this moment of crisis. "If we can get away with this, we can get away with anything! Daylight robbery, kidnapping and rape, wholesale arson - why we could even kill someone in the middle of the street and get away with it! Just imagine the power!"

No one took the ape seriously when its bid was announced for the Presidency. "Good God, it's a freaking ape without a brain or a conscience!" said Senator Graham Cracker, future servant to the ape. "Our entire party deserves to vanish if we nominate a foul beast like that." But before anyone knew, a groundswell of support rose up in support of the ape. "Hey, him just like me!" guffawed Barney at the Beer Barn.

Who knew he meant this literally??

Even the most rotted of souls could feel superior to the ape, thus giving them a sense of self-worth they'd never known before. Other malcontents and miscreants also banded together in support of the ape as they too had shut themselves out from the halls of competence. Machiavellian misanthropes joined in seeing great potential in using the ape's appeal to push through their agenda of looting the world. The hopeless cried out, "Why not an ape?" as human leadership had failed them up to that point. Combined, they were known as the Orangutang Gang.

Both supporters and detractors knew the ape would never be held responsible for its behavior with it not being, you know, an actual human. The idea of never being held responsible for one's life has always been an appealing idea and in a surprise victory, the ape was able to eek out a win! The Orangutang Gang rejoiced in at last having their time in the sun, gaining recognition after having to hide in the shadows the entirety of their lives. And they especially delighted in seeing the angst and heartbreak of the sanity-minded who lamented the ensuing destruction. "Now the fuckers know how we felt!"

The orangutang was bought fine suits to wear and given fancy words to point to as if it could mean them, and great promises were made (with great giggling) that it would "grow into the role of being President." Many claimed it was their patriotic duty to serve the ape and be a "guardrail" against its more extreme impulses incapable of knowing right from wrong. The Gang crowed how the ape would make the country great even though it had no concept of government or country - just itself. But, of course, in the end it was just an ape - and could act nothing but as an ape - and no good fruit could come to bear.

Be smart. Be like the successful ape.

Cabals who preached death and consortia of black-hearted pirates formed in the ape's orbit, talking it into gross betrayals of "those damn humans and their impractical human needs." When a huge ocean liner flipped over, they had the ape show up to throw rolls of paper towels to the drowning survivors and laugh as they were forced to drink salt water attempting to stay alive. When no outcry was made of this monstrous and inhuman piece of savagery the Orangutang Gang felt their time had truly arrived.

Conniving criminals found that praising the ape as human would get them granted privileges and favors however unwarranted or egregious. This wildly pleased foreign leaders who realized they too could manipulate the ape with simple-minded words, tricking it into committing treason and giving away the country's treasures. Over time, the last of the competent gatekeepers were driven out leaving only the cruel and the corrupt to give orders, redefining incompetence as competence and vice versa.

But it seemed the more the ape got its way, the more angry it got. It resented having to serve humans he felt were superior to it, vowing "no one would be spared" its wrath. The Orangutang Gang were delighted at the idea of dying for their leader which was made only better that they could take the ape-haters down with them. They loved seeing the look of horror and screams of terror they could invoke with their suicide-for-all pact. "Nazi camp guards got nothing on us!"

Left unchecked, the Orangutang Gang is free to seek to consume the world leaving no living creature or inhabitable space. So possessed are these maniacs, they sacrifice their lives, their children's lives and, most of all, hope of any kind. "If you do not steal hope like us we'll steal your life!" they decry in enraged blackmail. In the new paradigm, the peacemakers are labeled "anarchists", the honest declared "traitors", and the caring denounced as "fascists".

Yet, try as they might, however ruthless or murderous their tactics, there never was nor ever can be anything to be gained from the Orangutang Gang. The answer for truly moving forward remains the same, no matter how disregarded, ill-favored, or unspoken that answer may be.

More Sighs Of The Times

I passed by in my ride a closed, old-fashioned movie theater near downtown. It had one of those tall marquees jutting out front with two sides at the bottom. On one side the letters were arranged to say: NOW PLAYING on the top line and below: CRAZY RCH WHIT PEEPLE. Seems they didn't have enough of the right letters.

Below the sign was a motley crew in the dying rays of late afternoon sun. A skinny, hospital-white guy was cradled in a grocery cart stuffed on the sides with pieces from a torn comforter, making himself a quasi-recliner of sorts, his place of luxury.

A large black woman sat splayed on the sidewalk with her back leaning against what would have been the bottom of the ticket booth. She had a genuine smile for everyone that passed. I thought she was either helplessly simple-minded or had the most hateless heart on the planet.

Two older black men in clothes unacquainted with washing stood arguing nose to nose in heavy sentiment. I couldn't catch their words, only their vehement gestures of life and death. Could be they just needed to argue.

A younger black guy in fading athletic build sat on the curb, feet defeated in the street, his head between his knees waiting to die. Don't think he'd read any grifters' editorials in the Wall Street Journal claiming the American dream is still alive.

A middle-aged Hispanic woman leaned dead-eyed against the building on the opposite side of the ticket booth, the sun slicing her body in two. For some reason her black clothing made me think of her as a 19th century noblewoman. She had that thousand yard stare from waging combat too long, death whispering in her ear, making her pay for the sin of another breath.

The whole scene was a sprawling mess in broad daylight for everyone to see. Triggered by guilt, I saw a woman of sunglasses, sex, and finery extort from her rolled down BMW window, "God is good!", then she was gone with the wind from her twilight time. Her plate read "KAITWIN". I think by "God" she meant herself.

I hid from that group as I passed. I didn't want them to know I was actually one of them and shirking my duties. I parked down the street to spy from my review mirror. I had to roll down the windows for air, then I felt the heat of the day rushing in they endured, a tax levied without recourse or relief.

After a while a small Indian man in a suit confronted the crew, chastising them in strict anger. Apparently they didn't meet his code of conduct. He pointed to the re-arranging of the letters in the marquee. Only the two arguing black men responded to him. I think they were happy for fresh meat in their feud.

The Indian was a businessman, most likely the property owner. He didn't want trash on his property. The respectability his American wealth had given him was as valuable as his cash. The marquee sarcasm had gotten under his skin. I found it ironic to see him going ballistic as I remembered the original name of the movie, "Crazy Rich Asians."

Finally he left in a huff, superiority intact. I was grateful his rampage didn't go any further but I feared there'd be a sequel for this movie with more dire consequences, starring the angry upright local business leader.

A young professional female in perfectly attuned casual attire walked her perfectly groomed labradoodle, stopping outside my open window, paying me no mind. Both had exited from a nearby office tower recently reconstructed to be high-rise condos. She listened to a podcast from a life coach guru saying one needs to be more proactive than reactive in one's workday and to eliminate early morning phone calls in order to set a positive energy flow for the day.

I wondered if she drove a car plated "KAITWIN".

The streets call out my name just as those sentenced to die are called out one by one by the executioner, fate already decided by the judgment of madmen. Like twisted children deformed in an unknowing mind, a sick play is conducted before our eyes written by the worst of us for the rest to perform, using a soundtrack from a time gone by.

Crawling scratching creatures wrestle to survive in crumbs of fading life, absorbing energy into an inert sponge of wasted rot, wallowing in the litter of discarded dreams, a planet spinning out of orbit in furious wail. Hell's mouth opens, and like grains from a salt shaker lives fall into it swallowed whole with fools on top insisting the shaking must continue at all costs.

The Ax Man Cometh

The Ax Man Cometh
To chop off my head;
The Ax Man Cometh
Grieving trails of dead

The Ax Man Cometh
What can I do?
The Ax Man Cometh
He doesn't care who

The Ax Man Cometh
Whether right or wrong;
The Ax Man Cometh
His axe his one song

The Ax Man Cometh
To bring a bloody fate;
The Ax Man Cometh
A siren call of hate

The Ax Man Cometh
In mandated kill;
The Ax Man Cometh
Your cries giving thrill

The Ax Man Cometh
For both young and old;
The Ax Man Cometh
With a heart turned cold

The Ax Man Cometh
Who set this hell free?
The Ax Man Cometh
Nowhere to flee

The Ax Man Cometh
Child corpse in the street;
The Ax Man Cometh
Never knowing defeat

The Ax Man Cometh
Lives without rhyme;
The Ax Man Cometh
Blind to his crime

The Ax Man Cometh
Been given to rule;
The Ax Man Cometh
However cruel

The Ax Man Cometh
Bearing fruit of despair;
The Ax Man Cometh
None to be spared

The Ax Man Cometh
Serving devil's own;
The Ax Man Cometh
Hero in his home

The Ax Man Cometh
To swing a holy chop;
The Ax Man Cometh
Will it ever stop?

The Ax Man Cometh
In high complicity;
The Ax Man Cometh
From souls without pity

The Ax Man Cometh
In lies without master;
The Ax Man Cometh
Sowing our disaster

The Ax Man Cometh
No one knows reason;
The Ax Man Cometh
In faith of high treason

The Ax Man Cometh
"There's no other way!"
The Ax Man Cometh
For those without say

The Ax Man Cometh
By Judas defended;
The Ax Man Cometh
The nail has not ended

The Ax Man Cometh
Heaven's angels hear screams;
The Ax Man Cometh
Born of ancient dread dreams

The Ax Man Cometh
His blade holds no sorrow;
The Ax Man Cometh
If not today, then tomorrow

Battles Won In Wars Already Lost

Hell is the soldier's home.

 Victory worst of both worlds: 

the lie of war lives to kill another day.

The doom of peace sees no ally in Pyrrhic parades.

In fighting fatigues, fools finds foxhole favor.

Protecting plastic paradise, a mirage beyond the horizon.

God's will be dumb.

Military fright turns love cold as stone.

Glory dies lonely in the dead of night.

Freedom's dream strangled in chains of command.

Jeers disguised as cheers when the bullet strikes the bone.

The warrior's true struggle: to keep his life undiscovered.

Never a tomorrow, only today...

The end game remains insane.

Home is the soldier's hell.

Sugar Baby

Little Johnny had become listless and depressed. His father was treating him like shit. But Johnny's condition became so acute it could not be hidden any longer.

His abusive father was forced into action. The doctor told him he'd have to stop abusing Johnny and get therapy for both himself and the boy if things were to change. Johnny's father didn't like that. He sought a second opinion more suited to his liking.

A marketer posing as a doctor told him everything he wanted to hear. Johnny's father need not change. No painful therapy required. Just a little pick-me-up would do the trick. For this the marketer was handsomely rewarded on earth.

Johnny gobbled down the sugar he was given as it was the only thing he'd found that made him feel good. But he'd crash and burn when the sugar high wore off. Still, he figured, it was better than no highs at all.

Johnny met a girl. She made him feel better than even the sugar. But she told him he had to choose between her or the sugar because she said the sugar would kill him. Johnny's father said if the boy stopped taking his sugar he'd be thrown out of the house. Johnny broke off with the girl sent to save him, saying that love "isn't practical." Thus, he assassinated the relationship.

Over time the highs got higher and the lows got lower as Johnny had to keep increasing the dosage to get the same high. Secretly, Johnny went to a doctor to find out his condition as doubt had crept in. He was told the sugar was acting as a poison in his body. "But it wasn't before!" "It is now."

Fear eroded Johnny's mind, concocting conspiracy theories of people out to destroy him. In a desperate campaign he sang in praise of sugar and the wonderful joy it brings. He carefully avoiding saying it turns to poison, and anyone who disagreed was labeled "lying traitorous scum out to destroy the world." Millions joined the campaign in high delusion, swearing the good times would never end.

So the rule of sugar ascended to absolute power, even as the effects of the poison destroyed cell after cell. The sugar babies jailed, tortured, and killed anyone who pointed out sugar's deadly effects in a futile but relentless bid to suppress truth. Some fools wanted to "regulate" the sugar in false hope of finding a "responsible" way to keep ingesting it. In the end, reality - in all forms - was declared comfortably illegal.

The longer the sugar is ingested, the more irreversible damage is done, the more pain is required to exorcise its venom, ever deepening the hole of the sugar babies' reality, pushing hope farther away, teetering on destruction. And now you know the state of the world economic health in the year of our Lord 2020.

The King Of Nothing

 The King of nothing fell down his hill 
 Stumbling words cause great spill; 
 He lost a queen whose name is Jill 
 She wonders why she wonders still. 

 Sleek chariot with rack and pinion 
 Returns his hope (in his opinion); 
 Though a slave to his minion 
 A plea for love hides within him. 

 "Forget about the god I am. 
 "Worship me the fraud I am! 
 "On history's eve, a Twilight Man -  
 "No heaven's hope, this blind man." 

 "I ride on wave of pure desire 
 "Living high in failed empire; 
 "Like my heart, set world afire! 
 "Yet I fear no peon ire." 

 Etched of modern medicine 
 Popping pill for ailing sin; 
 Wilts between life injection 
 Calling death, "true perfection." 

 Filled with raged entitlement 
 Forgetting what his life once meant; 
 Pleasing servants bring fresh mint, 
 He knows his pain is heaven sent.  

 Heart shamed in lowliness 
 Diseased by his loneliness, 
 Doomed with the brokenness 
 Losing of his only "Yes." 

 "What's a king upon his throne 
 "If he must sit lost alone? 
 "When e'vry soul has gone on home 
 "I'm left to rule the cry and moan." 

The SS Covid

Trapped in an air pocket in the uppermost region of the capsized ship SS Covid, a tapping sound is heard on the hull. Voices below rejoice.

"Hello? Is someone up there? Save us, please! Air is running out!"

"Yes, we are from the City. We have acetylene torches ready to cut through the metal."

"Thank God! Please hurry."

"We can't start yet. There's a debate on just how sustainable getting you out would be."

"Sustainable? What the fuck? Just get us out first and figure the rest out later."

"Sorry, but we must think of the long-term socioeconomic implications of your freedom. This could be perceived as a socialist act violating our ideological ideal of every man for himself. Bailing you out could set a bad precedent and ruin our way of life."

"Is this some sort of sick joke? We were on this ship bringing food to the City. And this is how you repay us?"

"You must understand there's only so much acetylene to go around. We already used much of it on getting out those who bribed us with jewels and precious metals. Then they needed further cutting done to get out their fast cars and fine clothing."

"Cars and clothing! Is that what you value over human life?"

"Why, yes, frankly. Doesn't everyone? Living well is the best revenge, haha!"

"Fuck your living well, you monsters!"

"See? It's that sort of class warfare attitude that makes helping you so politically difficult. But I can tell you there is some very good news for you as it's been decided to cut air holes in the hull which will greatly delay your death! Kudos for us!"

"What's the point of delaying our death just to let us die later??"

"Because I'll be out of office by then so the next person will get the blame, not me. Clever, eh?"

"The time to help is NOW, motherfucker!"

"Don't interrupt our party with your poverty!"

"This selfish attitude of yours is reprehensible and lessens your chances. And if you can't refrain from foul language you'll leave us no choice but to leave you down there. We have our morals to consider and on that we shall not budge an inch!"

"What the hell is moral about murdering us!"

"Murder? I see no murder going on here! In fact, on the next section over we're having a party congratulating our gracious efforts to date."

"There's no reasoning with you! You're out of control! I can't believe my ears! You party while we drown!"

"You'd have us wallow in misery? It's becoming obvious there's no living with your type."

"There's literally no living with you!"

"Whatever, there's nothing we can do to help you. It's been determined by people who know that we are doing what God wants, that God has used this capsize to judge you unworthy of life, therefore your death is of no consequence. Yay, us! Yay, God!"

"God does not know you! You take the Lord's name in vain."

"If I've said even the slightest of lies, let God strike me down! But see? Nothing happens! We are the Twilight gods, both foul and futureless, eating our poisoned cake yet living still, as God's chosen winners. But - if you really believe God is on your side - don't forget to pray!"

Alas, instead of learning to live together after the capsize, treachery ruled the day, thus setting the stage for the sinking of the ship for everyone both above and below the hull. But none of it had to be.

News From The Front - The Only Story That Matters

"No wonder...no wonder..."

I had to see for myself, with my own eyes, no media filter intentional or unintentional. The curiosity has been driving me mad. And no wonder I cannot sleep at night. No wonder there's so much unborn rage writhing in me. No wonder my seething teeth ache in furious fretting. No wonder...

I can tell no one of what I saw. If we find out we're doomed already - and that suspicion grows every day despite the best efforts of protests and propaganda - the instantaneous backlash would be fatal to the messenger. He'd be crucified by the same outrage as deserved by the crucifiers to receive. And if this crime gains them one more second of delay from the hour of judgement they will commit said crime without hesitation of compunction.

Somewhere, somehow, something inside knows what we've done.

News from the Front is the worst imaginable - and that's no exaggeration. In fact, I don't think it's humanly possible to describe the carnage coming our way, inching closer in an inevitable march to touch and destroy each and every life. I've seen this with my own now-branded eyes, leaving me shattered and shaking,
    of the hearts we are breaking,
        of the souls we are taking,
            of the truths we are faking,
                of the terror we are making...

Prophets of doom are relegated to the wilderness, their voices a distant cry from impolite society. Since my return people ask what is wrong with me - they can see my consciousness has changed and they've begun viewing me with suspicion, that perhaps I know all is not well in their lives and I will cause revelation. But revelation is coming regardless, with or without me, just as the sun rises in the morn with or without me.

I've witnessed atrocities no eye should be summoned see. Just to fake it through the day I must remain speechless and vilely cheerful as an abused child. Only in the most private of moments do I redeem myself. In those sly moments I know...I know all that we do now on this path is in vain.

How do I say what I saw to a proud new mother holding her newborn baby? How can I fully describe the seeds we have sown when I myself am too afraid to face them? I've noticed that when I speak truly, they only look at me not the words I say. My clothing is my fate. If I speak of the coming doom when well dressed I am lynched in unleashed lust. If I speak in vagabond tatters I'm ignored and unheard. I must sleep with the homeless and the outcast to stay alive with a speaking mind - as did Baptist John of old.

My life is a posed pantomime. I've no cares about making plans or daring dreams. Too much of the future is written. Maybe there are some who are strong enough to survive the soul-crushing tsunami on its way but I feared love more than losing. Watch me be thrilled with the bribed success lauded by the masses! I'll boldly lie of mountains to climb and of drinking from the fountain of forever! That is what's expected by the pack wolves who rule in savage infamy.

Where is safety? When I close my eyes the fires from the Front consume me, raging me aware. I wake up suicide screaming still hearing the civilian generals' insane calls for more murder and more mayhem, never enough to feed the frustration of aborted family. Through the dark, fast-moving haze I witnessed soldiers staggering forward, defeated with arms outstretched, begging for the war to stop, only to be killed in grinning glee as those without hope take life from those who breathe in the most stupid of acts.

The scale of it - were it described accurately - is horror few can believe. We must unite, not fight, if we are to survive. Oh, the putrid proposals I have heard spill from the beast's mouth only to be repeated by mindless masses who wreak craven salvation by the gods of falseness. But the Wind that drives the fires toward us cannot be stopped by clever words or counseled deceit. For the Wind is God. This is why under no circumstance can we brook flames under the heavens.

The joy of the ignorant is all that remains. I smile in failure with the surrounding souls when I hear it praised but my sorrow is restless like a rising volcano. I want to come clean and declare the madness before me! War rewards the monsters among us. I wish only to slip quietly in the night out of this world, never to be seen or heard again. The truth can die with me. From the far reaches of the universe I wait for the willfully unknown, painted by my hopes and fears. But no one even knows I'm here.

In the simmering silence, a message breaks through: "Uncle Harry take me to the water park plz! Hurry lets have fun b4 its to late! Time is running out!"

Jesus left the temple and was walking away when his disciples came up to him to call his attention to its buildings.“Do you see all these things?” he asked. “Truly I tell you, not one stone here will be left on another; every one will be thrown down.”

As Jesus was sitting on the Mount of Olives, the disciples came to him privately. “Tell us,” they said, “when will this happen, and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?”

Jesus answered:

“Watch out that no one deceives you. For many will come in my name, claiming, ‘I am the Messiah,’ and will deceive many. You will hear of wars and rumors of wars, but see to it that you are not alarmed. Such things must happen, but the end is still to come. Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be famines and earthquakes in various places. All these are the beginning of birth pains.

“Then you will be handed over to be persecuted and put to death, and you will be hated by all nations because of me. At that time many will turn away from the faith and will betray and hate each other, and many false prophets will appear and deceive many people. Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of most will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved. And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.

“So when you see standing in the holy place ‘the abomination that causes desolation,’ spoken of through the prophet Daniel—let the reader understand— then let those who are in Judea flee to the mountains. Let no one on the housetop go down to take anything out of the house. Let no one in the field go back to get their cloak. How dreadful it will be in those days for pregnant women and nursing mothers! Pray that your flight will not take place in winter or on the Sabbath. For then there will be great distress, unequaled from the beginning of the world until now—and never to be equaled again."

Goupil Files: Unsanctioned Kill

[From the archives of the late French assassin Goupil. Writings of his life and deeds he left behind, currently still classified by the FBI.]

I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."

This phrase, it just come out. I not want to say yes. I not want to say no. She asking me to take big step forward, a commitment for life. She desperate lonely and I want to be hero. And now, as I write here, I must confess what can't be confessed.

It true all my life been horrible bad until I meet Simone. Is true world is bad place no matter what constant commercials say. And it true much the wrought pain is unjust and unneeded. But I didn't have to go bad. I need believe better of myself.

When I start my career killing real reason is because I murderer already. These writings I keep in English because French make it too real. In other language it make it seem I maybe write about someone else.

Simone was glitter in my eyes. God make her perfect to me. I could not think around her and not stop thinking of her when not around. She under my skin and my body heaving convulsions.

If only she not married.

But she want out. That why she look so lonely on cafe sidewalk, this woman I'd always dreamed of. She was sent to save me, I see now. Maybe that why I feel I should save her.

"Will you do this?"

I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."

Simone be little older but much farther down road of life than vagabond me. Even so, her marriage did not take her where she want to be. She trapped inside. I would set her free to be with me, Goupil. But my aberrant wasted life before that show her I am fool boy, I fear. I never feel mature around her. Her closeness make me sweat.

"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."

"I know. It is obvious."

"Will you do this?"

I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."

We meet in shadow bamboo. Those times fantasy to my boy eyes, restitution for wounds of childhood. This seem so right it can not be wrong. Life give justice at last! This be turning point, I think to myself. In that I was right. I become most foul person ever, traitor and thief. When career of killing come along I am grateful there is use for someone like me. But I will die this same wretched creature. I wanted...I so, so wanted it to be true...

"He's not who I thought he was. This man is criminal. If the courts ever get to him, he'd be sentenced to jail - or worse."

"This is terrible! You must escape. Is other way than what you ask?"

"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."

"I know. It is obvious."

"Will you do this?"

I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."

To live at last! That is what I think and hope. My denied dreams manifest in shadow bamboo then I live in light ever after. With Simone I am pulled from dark hole and I take what is mine, that was on my mind. The curves of her body infect me with heat. I must repay for this gift one can never repay! I will sacrifice everything for her, she worth my life ten times over. When we have fatal conversation, I must make choice.

"You must kill him. Take him away forever, or I can never be safe."

"Are you sure? Very sure? This be only way?"

"He's not who I thought he was. This man is criminal. If the courts ever get to him, he'd be sentenced to jail - or worse."

"This is terrible! You must escape. Is other way than what you ask?"

"Someone must help me, but who? My husband will end my life."

"I know. It is obvious."

"Will you do this?"

I was forced to decision. "Ask me five times first."

******

I need be sure. I need be something. I need be somebody. How miserable creature God make us with all our needs!

Second time Simone say how approving she be of someone who save her. She fool to marry this man and to ask someone to get her out of own mess she make, who can not revere act like that? I can prove so much to her.

Third time she say she worry she not worth saving. This angel! Not worth saving? Never! I tell her nothing farther from truth. She most valuable person in world. Was like in movies.

Fourth time she bring her tears. I feel great fear. I feel maybe I be same like cruel husband if I not save her. Maybe even coward not deserving woman. This fear nearly put me over edge. But I need hear five times. Something still missing.

Fifth time I tell her not to speak. It come to me what bother me. I say to her that final ask be this: give me your wedding ring. With that I can know, I tell myself. This she does and I wear ring on gold chain around neck to this day, never take off. I keep her close to my heart that way. Sometimes I wonder what happen if I break that chain. Then I remember it's all I have - all I ever have.

******

I decide to be direct. I am moral hero so why not? I go to her townhouse to talk to this bad man, secret gun in pocket. I leave no room for doubt. Every step from train to house I remember. Muggy evening, happy singers in distance strange soundtrack to a kill, I think at time. Window lights warm and inviting. Every instinct say not do this! The cruel world turn friendly at just wrong time. I must plow ahead and not pay attention to this trick.

"Monsieur Auberjonois?"

His face was not what I expect when he answer door. I not see meanness Simone describe. More tricks of the world! But we sit and talk and yes, I like the man. I can not see me killing him. I start think no wonder Simone like bum like me, a nobody with no future. No real man would be sitting here like this, talking to good man she plan me to kill. My world come crashing down. I have everything wrong! My stomach feel sick. My head spin. I have to leave I tell him - and if God take my life on way home I not complain!

Halfway to train I see her heading my way to her townhouse. Simone is all smiles.

She thinks I did her deed! She laughing at me! Mocking fool boy! Never day will pass I don't hear her laugh in my ears rest of life. Who can ever take? Any good always too good to be true!

"I see your husband," I tell her.

"But how - "

"Do not ask how! Do not ask anything of me! I am idiot for ages. All heaven mocking me. You really think this can happen?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course! I am too stupid to see, you think! I not live with this. I ready to kill so kill I will!"

Running into night like sad dream, drowning in darkness, streetlights like spotlights, faces like judges, sounds of tormented beasts echoing in ears, falling, falling, falling. Never again dare I to believe in me. If I just stay true to my rotten truth I never fall for her and hope that can never be. Most time of that night lost to me. Just feelings I remember. Never a soul so lost.

When dawn come and light arise I ask myself why world bother with new day. What can it possible bring? There's no point to anything, life gone till end of time. End charade already. I spend morning in bottomless sorrow hiding inside abandoned industrial building. Small voice tell me go out anyway to see what I can see. I curse that voice a fool but do anyway because total black hopelessness killing me.

Was not husband I meet. Was husband's brother. I shoot Simone for nothing. Later, true enough, real husband sentenced 36 years in French prison for sex crime ring. Pain of this never far. What is proper retribution on me? If only I keep faith in her. That she could like me was miracle of miracles and had it been so my life change forever better. Instead, it forever worse. I am Greek tragedy. Crucify me in worst way. I do not know how to bring Simone back. I wish I never born. Beware the flint in my eye.

Dear God: Please DIE!

[They called themselves God-Lovers and their leader was hailed God-King. At first, it was assumed to be just another snake cult. But like a tidal wave rising from the ocean without warning, they came crashing ashore in the worst of ways, surprising the naively unsuspecting and the willfully oblivious while welcomed by cheering nihilists who wished to see the world burn down. Woe be to any who stand in the way of the wave.]

In the beginning was the deceiver, and the deceiver was with lies, and the lies were evil. The deceiver's trick was simple: arson for reward. By torching several houses in the community at once he was able to rob banks unnoticed during the pandemonium. Citizens were forced to make a choice between saving their humanity or their bank accounts. The deceiver had no use for humanity as he swindled even himself. Soon, his coffers were full as his soul emptied out.

The deceiver reveled in his hypocrisy, decrying firefighters for not doing enough to put out the fires he started, posing as a moral crusader for the everyman. An unholy cabal of the criminal, the corrupt, and the nihilists marveled at the deceiver's larcenous ways, joining his false crusade hoping to partake in his looting in the name of God. This was the beginning of the God-King.

Claiming God was on their side - and thus any who was not on their side were on the side of the devil - the appeal of shameless lying and riches swelled the numbers of the God-Lovers like a fast spreading wildfire. "We're here doing God's work!" railed the deceiver. "Let no one stand in our way until we control all!" Soon, no home was safe from the arsonists who were left unopposed as communities cowered in fear, homeowners staying home to protect their dwellings, refusing to go out and fight.

Those who did leave their house to fight were deeply resented by those who did not. "You can't stop them! There's no point!" Some even defended the arsonists hoping that would make them safe. "These protests are deeply offensive! The arsonists are God-Lovers, carrying the Bible with their flaming torches." So insane did fear of the cult become that in a fit of mindless hysteria, the God-King was made leader of the land.

"Yippee! Now I get to loot the national treasury, starving widows and orphans, repeal laws that hinder my criminal friends, and spread the gospel of holy corruption!"

As the nation teetered on the brink of destruction - as the smell of burning homes with screaming families inside became so commonplace as to not even make the news - the God-King gloried in unhinged ecstasy.

"I have a plan for the fires that consume us! Only your God-King could come up with such a great plan or entertain with such a great act you would believe me. I propose we destroy each and every dam, releasing water that has been unjustly kept back from serving us, the victimized people! We shall be victims of these cruel dams no more!"

The deceiver cackled to himself watching heated debates of his calculated insanity defended by fools and smirking con men as those who fought to preserve life were doused in verbal gasoline and set aflame. By constantly creating new and ever greater disasters, the deceiver knew he could thin the efforts of the Preservers, overwhelming and exhausting them to the point of no return, the utmost goal of him and his rabid supporters.

If anyone outside of the God-Lovers cult was found torching a home, however, that perpetrator would be immediately captured, harshly denounced, and sentenced to death. In this way, the immoral majority hoped to appear moral and stand for the long lost rule of law. "I can't imagine a more heinous act than burning down a home with the family inside. We will not tolerate this under any circumstances!" Unless, of course, the God-Lovers were committing the very same crime en masse - in that case the cowards declared it "God's work."

But Nature has Her own agenda outside the will of Man (Thank God!), and suddenly news came down that God was dead. Though acceptance of that fact was slow at first, its undeniability gained steam just like the cult had in its early days: irrefutable, unstoppable - and irreversible. The lies of the God-King were seen to be more and more hollow, helpless in the face of Nature's even more stubborn truth. "If God is dead then who does the God-King really serve?" The ensuing silence to that question echoed louder each passing day.

Sick of living in fear, even the self-loathing masses began to wake up to a dawning reality: that the protesting Preservers were their true allies and the so-called God-Lovers their betrayers. The tide turned and the cult's numbers dwindled until only a hardcore few were left who were then hunted down and imprisoned to at last bring safety to the nation. Only the God-King remained to be captured until he too was finally cornered.

"You sick, perverted, murderer, tell us who you really are and who you really serve!"

"Never! My soul to keep! I would rather die!"

"So be it, then!"

But seeing his final bluff fail, the God-King relented it not repented. "Wait! Wait! I'll tell you my name."

"Tell us quick before we get a rope."

"OK, OK." The deceiver tried one final trick. "I'll tell you because I love the truth so much!"

"Well," taunted a now undeceived crowd. "We're waiting."

"Fine! Then by your own mirror be judged! Thy name is...Judas."

The Village Prisoner

He looked to the sky

With a pleading eye

But with no reply

He was left to die

"Nǐ jiào shén me míngzi! Nǐ jiào shén me míngzi!" (What is your name?)

The question was more of an accusation than anything else. But the Foreigner could not answer as he spoke no Chinese. What he did know from the tone of the voices around him was his prying outsider presence was deeply resented and unwanted and they wanted to know what he was doing there. This was the beginning of a lifelong sentence.

No Name had been part of a group of visiting English speakers only when they moved on he did not. The village was rife with wild speculation why this was so but his story was never told. No one wished to kill him but no one wished him to remain. Whatever the truth, they took his being left behind as a sign of rejection from his own people, that he must be shameful in some way - and now that shame had been brought to the village. Maybe they wished to kill him, after all.

The villagers came to derisively call him "No Name", hoping that would help drive his despised eyes away. He was seen but not seen, villagers doing their daily business walking by as if he did not exist. In their outrage of being stuck with this supposed loser, their intent was to deprive him of all hope. Suddenly, they had an answer as to the cause of every ill or unfortunate event in their lives: the Foreigner.

Not knowing what to do with him and as they suffered from "labor worship" as most societies, they took No Name to the mine to dig, the lowest of all jobs. He did not have the look or build of a laborer - more like that of a college professor - but the villagers saw this as a just revenge for being burdened with his presence. Driven mad in the darkness, the Foreigner cried out in his nonsensical language as he came to have the thousand yard stare of every beast of burden who'd been stretched too far.

Over time, seeing that he accepted his tortured life, the villagers gave a grudging tolerance to No Name. Parents scolded their children to be good or No Name would come snatch them in the middle of the night! A burglar terrorized the village and until he was caught the Foreigner was roughed up with constant questioning. No Name could see no way out. To go from one of thousands of villages to another deep in the Chinese heartland was no answer. He was given no money, only food and shelter for his labors; a hamster in a wheel.

One night after several years, No Name came out of his hut fully nude with an erection, his arms held out in supplication. He tried to approach a young maiden who screamed as children and other women duly fled. Quickly and instinctively the men gathered to beat and brutalize No Name, wailing at the top of their lungs as they kicked him in the cloudy dirt of the street. No Name had invoked a primal rage in the men who knew they too were prisoners - of their needs. To see this naked admission, that they lived their lives in submission to their women, was unbearable and had to be crushed at all costs - or so they believed.

Another time No Name was dragged to the woods and chained to a tree. This wasn't meant to kill him though many silently hoped for that as a byproduct. After two days he was released having been fed bread and water as he soiled himself without choice. No Name did not know why they'd done this but prior to the chaining feverish cleaning and organizing had been done in seeming expectation of a great event. He died without knowing that Communist Party Officials had come to inspect the progress of the "regeneration project" of the rural countryside. The idea of the freak Foreigner being spotted in their midst was beyond unthinkable.

Though never able to learn the language, No Name was able to get a feel for things and he knew not to complain of the abuse he received - just as the villagers knew not to complain of the abuse they received from the powers that be. So he made no issue of being tied to the tree nor of the time he was beaten after a baby had been stillborn, undoubtedly from the curse he'd brought them.

No Name's life was to be a short one. After the nude beating his body aged rapidly in the following years with unnatural fallout of his hair and his body twisting in stress. That made him only more loathsome, increasing village resentment. The owner of the herb shop - despite being roundly criticized - offered an herbal solution to No Name that was effective in giving relief. However, extending his life was not a goal of No Name who also desperately wanted his presence to cease. So he faded away in the dead of night in a heart attack.

Initially, a feeling of joy and relief swept through the villagers. The beast god was gone at last. Never knowing his name they buried him in an unmarked grave. But they were not free. A silent shame blanketed their souls in the aftermath, for having given no recourse to No Name they found themselves without recourse for their own condemnation. No Name's name was not to be spoken by unspoken agreement as everyone resumed life as if he'd never existed.

But they became prisoners of this secret, daily arguments and contentiousness increased as the unmarked grave called out to them in perpetuity. So dysfunctional did they become that their behavior was noticed by travelers who labeled the villagers "shameful" - a terrible branding and a de facto betrayal of the "great Communist cause". As the village became shunned the populace dispersed into the countryside leaving their home a ghost town, reclaimed by Nature in the shadows of history, its story not to be told.

"God is a nigger."

Two men watched in awe of old game clips on the living room TV.

"Wow! That boy got talent! "

"The grace of Gale Sayers and the power of Earl Campbell. He's like a dream!"

"Yes, sir, it's as if the good Lord hisself made that boy to be the best there ever was."

A certain silence followed as the weight of that thought sunk in. This preoccupation caused them to fail to notice the entrance of Billy Joe Dupree, the film's subject.

"Shut that off and shut the fuck up."

The TV was hastily shut off. One man stammered an apology.

"Sorry, Billy Joe, we just wanted - "

"Wanted to show what a fuck up I am? Is that it?"

"No, Billy Joe! Come on, man. You know we care about you."

Billy Joe rolled his wheelchair closer.

"Is that a fact? So can you tell me what the fuck I'm supposed to do for the rest of my fucking life?"

"You still great, Billy Joe! You can be anything you want!"

The words came out reflexively and the man instantly regretted it. Really, no one can answer that question honestly.

"You two a couple of fuck-ups, you know that? The universe done opened up a hole I fell in it. Demesha is gone. My legs are gone. My future is gone. The only thing I'm doing from now on is time."

Awkward disgust choked the room. Ever since the car accident - getting goaded into a street race after buying a new Ferrari with his signing bonus - Billy Joe's life had been one of a well documented downfall from hero to laughingstock. He couldn't see how that self-inflicted bitterness would ever leave.

"The Lord has a reason for everything, Flash."

"Don't call me that no more! And fuck the reason I'm stuck in this chain link chair. If God put me here then God owe me! God is a nigger."

Self-forgiveness for his unforced error wouldn't be coming anytime soon.

"Hey, Billy, we don't mean nothin' by nothin'. Don't be so down on yourself. It just bad luck. It's not like you committed a crime or anything."

"Fool! Don't you know nothin'?" Billy glared with a look of pure hate. "I can't believe you two. Get outta my sight. Don't you know all the worst crimes is legal."

CODA: For years Billy wrestled with his dilemma until he decided to "turn my life over to the Lord." Billy said all the expected things and drew praise from everyone around for overcoming such an incredible setback and that he was surely an inspiration for others. Billy was very satisfied upon hearing this and subsequently committed suicide.

SIDE NOTE: [Brien Taylor was the #1 rated prospect in baseball in 1992 for the New York Yankees. After picking a fight to avenge his brother he smashed his hand, effectively ending his pitching career before it ever started. He ended up a package handler at UPS. In 2012 he was convicted of cocaine trafficking, spending three years in prison.]

*******

Pissed I have to wear this stupid hat and robes

and gloves but at least they cover up the wounds.

Teenage Heinz alienated nonstop his German classmates on the playground.

"Oskar, I saw your grades. Not so smart, after all!"

"Bettina, you've got the clothes of a shoe shiner. Ha!"

"Fritz, maybe a blind girl would want you!"

Heinz knew it was wrong but he couldn't help himself. Finally, one day his teacher pulled him aside.

"Heinz, you keep up this taunting and you won't have any friends left."

But her statement made no difference to him. He figured he didn't have any friends already. You see, Heinz viewed himself as a zero with no chance and no hope. And since he was a zero, why would anyone care what he has to say anyway? And based on what he saw as irrefutable logic, Heinz turned away everyone sent by the universe to save him. As a zero, he was doing them a favor, he reasoned. On this he would not budge.

Decades later in the Episcopalian vestry of a small Texas town, Father Heinz was busy dressing for Sunday service with the help of Stephanie, a long time church volunteer. For a long while she'd been wanting to ask him about that which he never spoke.

"Father, it's been five years now and I was wondering if I could ask you something."

"About the wounds..."

"Well, yes, actually. You knew?"

"Of course. Only natural you'd wonder."

"You're sort of a mystery, you know, being from Germany and all!" Stephanie grew suddenly nervous and her voice became hushed. "On your hands and wrists - are those stigmata wounds?"

"No, they are not," answered Heinz dryly. Stephanie worried she'd just stepped into a bear trap.

"Oh, I see." She couldn't hide her disappointment - especially losing out on the chance to play hero to inform her church friends of a stigmatic priest in their midst.

"Wounds on my hand are from a car wreck. Ones on my wrists are from attempting suicide."

The Father continued his dressing motions as if he'd been talking about the weather. Stephanie struggled not to visibly shake.

"Sorry, Father. I shouldn't have pried."

"Technically, the hand wounds are also from an attempt to die as I was speeding in a drug induced haze hoping to end my life when I wrecked."

Stephanie tried to write her own tale. "Then it's surely a miracle and a blessing we have you here today! Your sermons on sin and life are so deep and insightful. You've been through so much!"

"It's all a waste," confided Heinz.

"No! Not at all!" declared Stephanie, the smile draining from her face.

"Oh, completely. This whole thing preaching and pretending is a waste. I never have anything worthwhile to say. I can't: I don't have love. I'm a zero and a zero can't have love."

"I'm sorry, Father. I'm not following this."

"You mean you're afraid to. I can talk all day on the meaninglessness of life without love and make that sound as if it has relevance. What you won't catch me doing is speaking of life with love. Now that would have meaning."

"I see," responded Stephanie who dearly wished at that moment to run screaming from the room. But then: "Then why do it, Father? You must get something out of your priesthood. Why do all this if it has no meaning?"

"Because I can't do what is right." His helper couldn't believe her ears. "Don't believe me? Then look at the title of today's sermon."

Flashing his private notes Stephanie read in horror: "The World Is Shit And God Is A Nigger"

*******

The billboard had stirred outrage in the Bible Belt city that loves to call itself moral. Multiple attempts had been made to vandalize it as politicians made hay by getting out in front of the outrage, daring to go where any man would go. But as one with "Fuck you" money, all I had to say was, well, fuck you. I was having a ball watching and hearing the hypocrites stare into a mirror and think they are talking about me when it's really themselves. They feel so safe, letting it all out!

After a time I decided to respond by calling in to of all things, a sports radio station morning show. Third wheel on the broadcast was a guy they called "The Great Guido", who often likes to moralize behind a cloak of religion. He was very outspoken about my sign, speaking as he does many times out of both sides of his mouth. Bottom line is: it offended him but he didn't want to directly come out and say that. Perhaps he's considering running for office later in life.

The initial conversation with the trio went well and was cordial though with strained undertones, as expected. But then I zeroed in on Guido.

"This is fun, guys, but I want to talk just with Guido for a moment with no one else jumping in, OK?"

"Sure, Harry. Go ahead."

"Guido, I got one question for you: Do you believe God exists?"

"Absolutely, no doubt in my mind."

"Would you go so far as to say you know God exists."

"I would have no problem saying that."

"But do you believe God is love?"

"That too is something I know. I stand firm on all those points, sir."

"OK, then. What would you say if I asked if you know the world is round?"

"Of course I know that. This isn't an idiocracy yet!"

"Great. So imagine if I put up a billboard saying "The Earth Is Flat". You'd just laugh and make fun of me because you know it's not true and that in reality I was making more of a statement on myself than the earth."

"Well, yeah -"

"But on this you get all upset even though it's the exact same situation according to your claims of knowledge and you actually do see this as a reflection on God. Why the change in attitude?"

Of course, there is no answer for that. Guido started spitballing about how yes, in fact, he did see the billboard as a reflection on me and not God - he just hadn't mentioned it yet. Then he muddied the water that "using the N-word" was what really offended him, implying if I'd used a different insult he'd been fine with the statement. This was all rather amusing. Then I got on my high horse and rode away.

"See, Guido, what I or anyone has to say about God is none of your business. Maybe you want to ask yourself why you think it is. Maybe you want to "enlighten" me but no enlightened person would do that. God is what God is regardless of what anyone says just as the earth remains just as round no matter what anyone says. So everyone who's passing judgment on me is actually passing judgment on themselves. They are looking into a mirror."

I'm A Racist, I Swear!

"Look here, ol' Harry's got a secret!"

"No I don't!" I declared in a preemptive strike.

It was the gang of usual suspects: Larry the Loser, Beer Gut Gary, Redneck Randy, and me. You may ask why I would hang out with them but the real question is why would anyone hang out with me. So here - as in my fucking job - I am stuck.

I'd left the monthly receipt out from my ACLU donation on my chest of drawers and since the only bathroom in my tiny abode is in my bedroom it was left to the scrutiny of unscrupulous eyes. Even as a spy, it's too much for me to be able to hide everything little thing every fricking time. So there I was, caught by Redneck Randy as he presented the blasphemous evidence to the kangaroos.

"Thirty-five dollars! To the ACLU. Always figured ya for a librul pussy, Harry!"

"Nigger lover!" spurted Gary - after fully swallowing his gulp of beer.

Larry didn't want to feel left out as he hated everyone - especially those named Larry. "You're not fooling anyone, Harry, on what you are!"

In this this twisted gang everyone's got your back - with a knife in it. "Hey, guys, I hate niggers, spics, chinks, commies, and lefties too! See? I just said nigger, that proves I'm a racist just like y'all."

"Sayin' it once don't prove nothin'. Ya gotta say it all the time - and mean it."

"Yeah! This ain't Twitter shit! One slip doesn't mean anything if you can't back it up."

"You're a real hypocrite claiming to be a racist, Harry!"

Boy howdy, there I was sitting there like chum in the water with these foul faced sharks circling around certain of a meal to come. Yes, I was scared, but I knew it was because they live in dire fear.

"Look, guys, I say nigger all the time. You've seen me when I get cut off in traffic. I always call them a nigger! And I know all the other names too: porch monkey, jigaboo, coon - " Under pressure of the moment my mind went blank and I was forced to grab my "fit in" list out of the back pocket of my jeans. "- Oh ya, and 'gator bait' and 'moon cricket'!"

"I always liked 'moon cricket'," beamed Randy.

"I'm sorry, but the fact you had to get a list out is highly offensive to me." Gary folded his arms in a huff across his beer belly - after grabbing a fresh can.

"We're not stupid like you think, Harry. We know a racist when we see one and you're just not one."

"Nothing pisses me off more than finding

a black man in a klan outfit!!"

"Dammit, I'm just like everyone else! I'll go cut up a pillowcase, write KKK on it, and spend rest of the evening wearing it. How's that for ya."

"We don't want no fakers in the klan."

"You got no credentials. When's the last time you even joked about burning a cross on a lawn??"

"We're people of integrity, Harry. You can't con us with a little black face or empty slurs."

Great. Now they have integrity. When it comes to being assholes they get on their high horse. Rest of the time they slink around like the cowardly snakes they are, never standing up to anyone. For some reason, I always seem to embolden people around me. I really hate that.

"You guys must not have seen my Twitter account. They're calling me racist and homophobe and even sexist too! I swear, I make nuanced points all the time and they hate me for it."

"Them idiot fuckers say that about everyone! Don't mean a damn thing."

"Twitter is for people got nothing better to do than call people names. They full of ideas no one got any sense of."

"Really, Harry! Getting called racist on Twitter is the best defense you can provide? I had a woman on Twitter call my cat a racist. You'll have to do better than that."

"Shit, don't know what to say. Maybe we could go nigger knocking later?"

"Nah, man, I think we better leave."

"I want to drink my beer someplace where I'm wanted."

"I remember seeing you eat watermelon few weeks back too. We're outta here."

"Hey, what's with this 'cancel culture' move? You're acting like a bunch of lefties now!"

That halted them in their tracks, forcing the cruelty of questioning thought upon them. Can I be called a liberal for this?? Anything but that, Lord! Hating on them is all I got!

The three of them slowly, reluctantly, sat back down, as a dog would after having been scolded. Their furrowed brows felt compelled to speak.

"OK, Harry, but you need to watch yourself. Donating just doesn't sit well with me."

"You're gonna end up wearing feathers in a gay pride parade someday if we don't reel you in."

"We don't want to catch you showing signs of self-respect again, Harry. We need to know we can trust you."

"Don't worry," I sighed, realizing I'd just kept three idiots in my living room just to keep from being alone. "No danger of that."

"What do know about that? Ol' Harry here is a soldier."