Working in Darkness

Like most activists, I work in darkness. The absence of light is not a stranger to me. I control events through manipulation of 'facts', shading the truth with the hues of falsehood, and helping myself to wheelbarrows of money around quiting time. Your piggy bank is my cash cow. I use the cups and cutlery from your office kitchen to shovel dirty money into my clutching hands, and never once wipe them clean. I use spit to polish your cereal bowl before I put them away. I let the dog lick the kindergarten plates clean rather than waste money on soap. It is all for the greater good, where my interests are weighted to tip the balance into my bottomless bog of spending initiatives. I care so much about other people, I am so filled with guilt, that it is best that I get the highest paying job, the biggest office, and the most lavish benefits by helping others by doing little but ask for more. I care.

For some years now, I have been 'blackmailing' others to write my posts for me. Call me a villain, call me a good manager of the human soul, call be an exiled extra-terrestrial telemarketer, but call me to give me your money.

One of my more productive minions has taken ill. He tripped over a discarded bowl of fermenting, moldy prune mush. The cracked bowl broke under his homemade sandals, and he fell into the dirty straw that I use to cover the dirt floor in the subterranean pit I use to exemplify a Communist commune. Perhaps it was the poor light, only a stinking candle made by my staff from rancid squeezings. Perhaps he was startled by one of the fat rats that watch the living serfs, hoping they will fall asleep long enough to be nibbled. Perhaps it was murder, an ambitious fellow minion, seeking advancement by means of blunt head trauma. Does it matter? My finger nails are clean.

Poor ikthis is in need of medical care. Bruno and Igor want a warm beer each to hoist ikthis out of the pit. Sonjia wants fifty dollars to hose his stinking, unwashed hide with flea spray. Lady Persephone wants a hundred dollars just for looking so beautiful in her latex ensemble, accessorized with diamonds and rubies. And I want a thousand dollars, because I think that ikthis should be broken up for spare parts, and unless I get the money, now, I will not change my mind. If If I had a conscious, it would be clean.

I know you all care about ikthis. You say such nice things about his posts that he writes pretending to be me. Now it is time to pay to save his skin from Lord Hades skinning knife. You can help ikthis remain in the land of the living with your money, or you can pay up at the pay site to watch ikthis get turned into two purses, three wallets, and a pair of shoes. Platinum members can read up about how to turn a scrotum into a tobacco pouch. Either way I win. So, is it thumbs up, or thumbs down? You have until the full moon to make your offering.

I, Fenris Badwulf, dictated this to ikthis, who lives in fear at both Mitchieville and DustMyBroom.