What shall I do with the heavenly forces at my command? What shall I do? Shall I call up the 33,000* angels – who wait only for my voice – to unleash their power upon my political opponents? Shall I shut them out of the Senate, cut them from the House? Shall I change their laws? Shall I change their times and sacred seasons?
I am a medieval monkey, a mid-level primate driving a bus without supervision. I am the Prince of Assassinations. I am Torture and Dismemberment. Extraordinary rendition is not enough.
Shall I create a hurricane for them – serrated wind and slashing rain? Shall I bring down weather revenge upon them? I am the parasitic wasp, the zombie cockroach. There is a red line direct from me to the missing tooth. I am the ransom note left in the copy machine. How are we not destroyed?
*Approximate number only. The census cannot be trusted.
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