What a Webb We Weave...

Well, well, well!

We haven't heard from our unemployed angel from the Third Galaxy for such a long time I was starting to think the fellow had gotten a job sorting damned souls!

As a matter of [almost] fact I suspect it now is on contract to rewrite rules for inflicting pain which does not result in organ failure or death and therefore is not torture.

As you may not know, in the Third Galaxy, Hell is regulated by an antiquated set of rules they refer to as the "Bill of Rights". Foreseeably as well as unfortunately, this leads to a number of bureaucratic headaches and problems when souls are actually sent to Hell and Damnation.

This so-called "Bill of Rights" is but an addendum to the Ground Law of the Uniformed Arrogant State which, in unfortunate ways, restricts the authority of Ronald Rexona and therefore should be stricken not only from the Ground Law but from the memory Public Mind.

You may ask why and you can be forgiven for such a lapse if, for example your tee-vee has been out of order. Furthermore, what is described below are events which took place before Guanocow, the official creation of War Zones to Maintain World Peace and the Ceremony where Ronald Rexona became Supreme Hole in fact as well as name.

It was after one of the last elections before everything changed, that is the voting machines were still so unreliable that they sometimes actually counted the votes of Arrogant citizens.

Thus it was that Senator Webb got elected and as a freshman senator had to attend the reception for new senators and representatives. Senator Webb, however came only to chow down on the hór deurves and finger food, he had no intention of standing in line to shake hands with Ronald Rexona.

You should know that Mr. Webb had a military history. He served in the War to Protect the Dominoes and had been extremely critical of those who had protested against the war. However, he possessed a quality most unusual for a political creature -- integrity -- and changed his views and opinions over the years. Another thing that made him a sort of odd-man-out is that he actually had a son serving in the military.

This was most unusual. Of the seven hundred members of the rich people's club called Congress, whose responsibility it was to declare and finance war, you could count on the fingers of one hand the number who had children who could come in harm's way.

Webb not only had a son in the military, he was in a combat unit in the personal war Rexona had started in Wuta Wreck. In fact, just the week before, one of the armored tucks in his unit had been blown up and three soldiers as casualties.

That was a long introduction, but necessary to make it clear what a bully, a fratboy asshole Rexona once again showed himself to be when he singled Webb out, buttonholed him and slyly asked with the same sneer he used when he had signed death warrants as a governor a few years before he became Supreme Hole: ng>

How's your boy doing ?" Rexona asked, referring to Webb's son, a leatherneck serving in Wuta Wreck.

"I'd like to get them out of Wuta Wreck , Mr. President," Webb responded, echoing a campaign theme that had got him elected because the voting machines were still counting votes .

"That's not what I asked you," Rexona sneered. "How is your boy doing over there where the bullets fly?"

"That's between me and my boy, Mr. President," Webb said coldly, ending the conversation on the State Floor of the East Wing of the White House.

We should all thank our lucky stars that we don't live in the Third Galaxy and have a leader like Ronald Rexona!