But Then We Have To

Tell Me Again What We're Doing Here," I Said, Running A Continuous Scan Of Our Surroundings. Fang Popped Some Cracker Jack Into His Mouth. "we're Here To Watch Manly Men Do Manly Things." I Followed Fang's Line Of Sight: He Was Watching The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders, Who Were Not Doing Manly Things, By Any Stretch Of The Imagination.

Well, I Get Under People's Skins. It's A Gift I Have, What Can I Say?

I Whirled Around And Saw No One. No Psychotic Mad Scientists, Anyway. "jackpot, Max! Jackpot!" It Was Was Fang, And He Was Giggling Hysterically. For Those Of You Just Joining Us, Fang Doesn't Giggle. Especially Hysterically. So For A Second, This Seemed Like One Of The Weirder Dreams Of Recent Days.

Please, I Begged Silently, Please Do Not Let My Last Moments On Earth Be Me Crammed Into A Tiny Boat In The Dark, Surrounded By Mechanical Singing Pirates.

Right Now, America Looks Like A Fatheaded, Shortsighted, Gas-guzzling Arrogant Blowhard To The Rest Of The World.