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(Featuring, as George sTrolls)







Hokkaido Japan;

Several people, with ski masks and automatic weapons, move cautiously through the woods.
After reaching a row of three concertina coils, three of them take out leather aprons and gloves from a green military bag. One man uses a set of aviators to cut the fence and two people are used to pull the wire away. After a gap is cleared the remaining mercenaries slip through the fence and set off flares.





Somewhere in Southern Detroit;

The streetlights filtered through the trees, causing a lightshow to shimmer across the street.
I was ready for some sleep. But, I received multiple phone calls at about 2:00 AM. It was about another "Blacklisting." There is an average of four hours between proposals. So, I brushed my teeth and got ready for my four hour trip to our capital. (Taking into consideration that Denver was running an hour behind the local time.)
I turned on the television to check traffic and weather. Instead, I got static and white-noise. I checked that all the cords were in tact and the receiver had power. But, I didn't have a lot of time for fooling around. I got dressed and put on my shoes. Suddenly, the television was silent. I looked up to see as George sTrolls on television, looking back at me. Here's what he had to say:


...finally, I will have to talk fast, my time may be short...the stinking elitest are likely to discover my foil tent, and bootlegging equipment...just to be clear Elite is just fancy talk for exterrestional, and what of it, you'lls that listening might wonder...sure some of us are useable...after zooming around the cosmos, proportily quite arousing, yet without actual physical contact, leaving particapates merely more randy than before...and the accompaning stench...(muffled sounds)...I am talking about eRepublik the game,it's the stinking elites world wide recruiting network for human collabrotars...ever ask yourself why well established players rage quit, never to be heard from again, no wonder where they go?...the South pole, it's the gravity of it, the pole spins in place, causing things to fall faster...it was a nazi who discover his south pole, jumped for joy, his envious cohorts let him go...immediately the best players migrated and within months an organized dropping of a space station was to be realized...it wasn't long before the nazi were on the dark side of the moon, the movie Iron Sky was meant to be a documetary...the chance to see actors play out there fantazies was too tempting...it is a clear path, nazis imitated Romans who borrowed from the Greeks, leaving us our mythical Greek male, always promising us a better tomorrow, yet disappionting at every turn...


The television went back to static for a moment and I wasn't sure what I had heard. But, I didn't get a lot of time to ponder. Sirens were blaring, outside. They seemed to be getting close. As I took a peep outside, I was amazed at my reception. There was a robot arm, with a camera attached, pressed against my window.
It startled me and I flinched away from the window. A few seconds later, there was a voice over a speaker, which was attached to the robot, "Come on out, Ghost of Tom Joad." "We know what happened and it will all be considered." "I know that you don't want to make it any worse." (Or something like that was said.)
I took off my jacket, which had Betsy in the pocket, and walked out with my arms raised high. 7 Police cars, a SWAT van, an ambulance and a fire truck were all waiting, to meet me.
Several people were yelling, "GET ON THE GROUND, GET ON THE GROUND."
I got down and held out my arms. That's when the officers rushed in and pinned me to the ground.





At a conference in Denver Colorado;

A Senator, from New York, makes a fiery speech about corruption in the capital. Some hecklers shout criticisms about his sanity.




18 months later;

On a hard plastic seat, I ride, handcuffed and shackled.
The Fish-Tank is an imposing landmark. There are many compounds, which are surrounded by razor wire fences and jotted with guard towers. However, this is not the prison, in which I will serve most of my sentence.
I was convicted on three counts, of manslaughter. I don't know how long I'm going to be in prison. But, I know that it will be 10 years before I'm eligible for parole.




Meanwhile, at the Socialist Freedom Party Headquarters;


Jude Conners looks up from a stack of papers. "Has anyone seen GoTJ?"

"Not me," Says Captain Recks.

"Not I," Says shiloh13.

Jude Conners looks at Captain Recks and asks, "Who's going to make some coffee?"

Captain Recks looks at J.A.Lake.

J.A.Lake looks at his watch.

To be Continued.......









Letter from a congressman;


Hey, What's happening;

The forum was out for nearly a week. Congress men and Women started sending letters to one another. It gave me the impression that we were in this together. We worked through the blackout.
Then, the forum was restored. I can't describe what followed, without a curse word. So, I won't try.
Things have quieted on the forum. Although, it could be the calm before the storm.
I've been revitalizing the Writer's Guild. I've also been considering a run for the Socialist Freedom Party Presidency.
I guess that what I'm saying is; I don't know if I have a plan for congress. I need to get some more perspectives, I need to apply the tools that I've learned and I need to meditate on it.
Well, I'll write you again next week. I have some more paperwork.

Take Care; GoTJ






Meanwhile, Back at Nomos Labs;

*Ghost of Tom Joad* Did you analyze the pirated broadcast?

*Intern at Nomos Labs* Err.. Yea

*Ghost of Tom Joad* Well, what does it translate into?

*Intern at Nomos Labs* Move over there's a unstoppable force in your path.

*Ghost of Tom Joad* It's an interesting interpretation. How did you come to that conclusion?

*Intern at Nomos Labs* NO! THEY'RE TESTING THE RAILGUN. MOVE!

*Ghost of Tom Joad* Dooooff!


I was in the middle of nowhere and I had no idea how I'd gotten there. A single road stretched over the horizon, in both directions.
I could see a car in the distance. I stood in the road with my thumb out. (I was hoping I can at least get directions.)
The car slowed and pulled to the shoulder. It was a Black, 1973 Pontiac convertible.
I walked toward the car. The driver was a bald man with cut off shorts and a sleeveless shirt.
"Do you need a ride?" He asked.
"Sure," I replied, "Thanks."
I climbed into the car and we drove toward the setting sun. He reached for the radio dial. After some buzzing, Scar Tissue began to play.
We drove toward the sun, until it was all that was visible.




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