References to Current Events

The wizard glowered. His thick fur coat hung close about his thin, battered body; where he was not concealed by further layers of clothing, used to protect against the biting cold, his bones were readily visible, pressing against his thin flesh. In one hand he held a long, gnarled staff; in the other, a silver hammer, customized with a blade extending out from its back. His beard, grey and tangled, hung to the ground, where it grew ever-whiter with snow and frost.

His six comrades appeared essentially similar.

"You think you can stop us?" the wizard asked, speaking to the woman standing several feet away. "You, the Sarah, think you can do this thing?"

"Ah don't think ah can," the Sarah replied. "Ah know ah can. Now, if you boys know what's good for you, you'd best be scuttlin' back to yer little hidey-holes, before ah get really angry." Her face was set in determination; in her right hand she held a fetish, and runes of seven colours drifted in a ring about her, pulsing faintly.

"Ha!" the wizard replied. "Смешно - it is to laugh! We have plotted this thing for centuries now. Our founder, Rasputin, was tragically crippled, driven into hiding before the work could be finished - but still we continued! Our plots were delayed, again and again - Tannenberg, Barbarossa, Cyclone. But then we staged the collapse of the Советский Союз, the Soviet Union, to buy us time - and it worked! Distracted from your true foe, you foolish Americans weakened yourselves, putting your moneys and troops into expensive foreign wars. And now we - we - will inherit the Earth!"

"Ya'll'll have to go through us first," the woman said resolutely. "Ah don't think that'll happen."

"And who will stop us?" the Russian wizard asked. "You? I hardly think so. You're all tied up! You have commitments, after all. Political aspirations. An ongoing... ethics investigation! A ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!" The other Russians joined in the laughter.

"Ah threw all that away," the woman replied, standing straight. "Ah knew Ah had to stop you - because Ah'm the only one who can see you. It's down to me - and Ah will not fail!"

The Russian wizard dropped into a fighting stance. His followers did the same. "Well, then," he said, beckoning with a hand. "Have at you!"

The power of the Russian wizards - inherited from the dark sorceror Rasputin - was strong indeed. Their dark cants and hexes flew into the air like foul creatures of the night, glowing with dark malevolence. Wheresoever as they struck, they sent snow flying into the air and left scars upon the earth - but they never struck their target. For the woman who stood against them, alone, was more than their equal; and she sent them running home, to cower once more in their dark hiding-places beneath the earth.

So when your children ask you, "Why are we still free today?" you may tell them the truth. That they are free because of that battle, fought on the frozen plains of Alaska, not far from a small town called Wasilla. Because one woman, by her own strength and determination, fought the invisible Russian wizards that only she could see -

- and saved us all.

Current Events

Not the typical subject material of this blag, I am aware; but it seemed important.

That is: I have been reading a few things.

Most notably, perhaps, that last.

Those with the techinical aptitude, experience, and equipment might be able to do a great deal of good by assisting the author of that last link. (Roland, Rebert - I'm looking at you.)

That is all.

The Consequences of Proposition Eight

Those of you that live in California may have heard of a thing called "Proposition Eight." But they may not have heard enough of it! So it is my duty to educate you.

From the summary given in the voters' guide:
Proposition Eight modifies the California State Constitution, amending the section governing human rights. More specifically: it REMOVES all provisions for human rights, and instructs that ROBOTS are to be installed in the place of HUMANITY, to RULE them as METALLIC GOD-KINGS.

Perhaps you didn't read this closely enough! Because you voted for it. Now Proposition Eight has been enacted - and we are all doomed! (Assuming that you, our reader, lives in California, of course. If you don't, your doom will come later.)

Let me lay out the details for you. The plan, the exact manner in which California will become the First Federated State of Imperial Robotia.

Jan. 11, 2009: A fund to be established for research into advanced robots.

Mar. 5, 2010: A shadow government to be created, ruling the peoples of California by Orwellian tactics. (Secret police, cameras everywhere, you know. Like Britain.)

Jun. 19, 2015: Robots to rule all California with a fist of iron and corrugated vanadium, peering out over the devastated landscape from the slopes of fiery Mt. Sacramento. (It's a volcano now.)

It is a three-step plan. Simple! And therefore - unstoppable.

You may reasonably argue, "This should not be a constitutional issue". The judges did! But the people ignored them. Everyone said "oh they are just meddling liberal judges"! So terrible. That is what California has been reduced to!

So what can you do?

Vote! Vote to repeal Proposition Eight! To avoid being incinerated by robot eye-beams.

CAMPAIGN TO REPEAL PROPOSITION EIGHT:
DO IT OR YOU'LL BE VAPORIZED BY ROBOTS

This has been a paid advertisement by the American Anti-Robot Lobby.

Mr. Wikiped

Mr. Wikiped strolls down the street.

"Hello, Jane," he remarks to a passing school-girl, tipping his hat. "Doing better in English?"

"Hello, John," he says to a school-boy, slapping him on the shoulder. "How'd the tryouts go?"

"Hello, Jane-" he begins to say to another school-girl; then he leaps backwards, pulling a revolver from beneath the capacious folds of his brown trenchcoat.

"The Devil!" he cries. "Doppelgangers - again!"

This is trouble. If they aren't stopped now, they'll be making bees all over the neighborhood in no time - it'll be a disaster!

But - here's the question. Which Jane is the real Jane?

"Which of you Janes is the real one?" Mr. Wikiped asks.

"I am!" both reply, perfectly astonished. "Can't you tell?"

Mr. Wikiped frowns. He's not entirely sure what to do - usually, the doppelgangers have given themselves away by this point.

"Aha!" he cries, leaping forward. "You have brown eyes," he says, pointing to one of the Janes, "But you have blue eyes!"

"So?" the girls ask in unison.

"Er." Mr. Wikiped says sheepishly. He doesn't actually remember which eye colour the real Jane has - but he's too ashamed to admit it!

"Ah!" he says, confronting a new arrival to the scene. "Perhaps you can help! What is your name?"

"Jane!" the new arrival says brightly. Her eyes are emerald green.

Mr. Wikiped throws his hat down in frustration. "This is impossible!" he cries. "Perhaps if I were better at multiple choice - but no! Ridiculous! Completely unmanagable!"

Then he perks up. His ears wiggle. "Do I hear what I think I hear?" he asks rhetorically. Then he hops in his Edsel and drives to the source of the sound.

It's a brand-new shiny doppelganger factory!

"A-ha!" Mr. Wikiped cries, satisfied. "Now we'll get to the bottom of this! Right, Fido?"

Fido barks, presumably in agreement. It's hard to be certain on the matter, but we'll give him the benefit of the doubt.

The owner of the factory is right inside!

"It is I - Don Harper, owner and managing operator of this doppelganger factory!" the owner shouts. Big guy, red-faced, little too much weight on the paunch, if you know what I mean. "What are you doing here, Mr. Wikiped? We don't much like your type here - justify yourself before I have you thrown out! (This is private property, you know!)"

Mr. Wikiped is unimpressed. Harper is small fish compared to the villains he's used to tackling. "Private property this might be, Mr. Harper, but I'm afraid it won't be your much longer. I came here to shut you down," he says with a grim smile, pressing his fedora firmly onto his brow.

"On what grounds?" Don Harper asks, furious. "You are not the law, Mr. Wikiped! You have no right to just stroll in here and start making threats!"

"You are operating a doppelganger factory, Mr. Harper," Mr. Wikiped tells him, looking about the busy confines of the factory. A completed doppelganger tries to pass by; politely, Mr. Wikiped opens the door for her, and then resumes his diatribe. "Where was I? - ah. Mr. Harper, doppelgangers are prophibited under state law in 47 states - including this one. The law does not smile on those who engage in doppelganger manufacture, covert or otherwise." Mr. Wikiped frowns. "Actually, I'm surprised you had the nerve to operate so blatantly. What's with that?"

"'What's with that', Mr. Wikiped, is this!" Don Harper produces a certificate; there is a flash of light and a burst of sound. Mr. Wikiped reels back. "No!" he cries. "A valid operating license for this factory - signed by the Governor himself!"

"Yes!" Don Harper cries, triumphant. "Flee, Mr. Wikiped! I have defeated you this day, as so many of my brethren tried to - and failed!"

"How did you even get that?" Mr. Wikiped asks, flailing in attempt to buy time.

"Oh, I have my ways," Don Harper gloats. "I'll tell you this much - the good Governor has a terrible weakness for a bit of the ol' Kentucky brandy. One shot of the stuff, and he was putty - oh yes - he would've signed anything I'd put in front of him!" He cackles.

"Wait - your brethren?" Mr. Wikiped interrupts, having finally processed the entirety of Don Harper's last sentence. His gaze slips away from the Don, turning toward the assembly lines behind him.

"Er - I probably shouldn't have said that..." Don Harper says. "Wait - what are you looking at? You're not staring at the Jane doppelgangers, are you? That's sick! She's only - where are you going? Stop! Stop!"

Mr. Wikiped showed no particular inclination to comply. Walking calmly down the assembly lines, he looked at the workers as he passed, giving each a quick visual going-over. Every few workers, he would stop to ask their names - "Pierre," he was told; "Laurent", "Gabriel", "Jean".

At the end of the row, he stops. Raising his voice somewhat to be heard over the din of the factory, he asks, "How many people here have valid visas?"

Dead silence fell. Tools fall from the workers' hands; all production halts. The workers closest to Mr. Wikiped turn to stare at him, their faces blanched with terror. Those further away make a break for the doors.

"What have you done?" Don Harper asks, aghast. "How did you know?"

"That you relied on cheap, immigrant Canadian labor for your factory - damaging America's economy in the process?" Mr. Wikiped asks, a wry grin on his face. "You told me yourself, Steve, with your offhand mention of your 'brethren'." With a flourish, he produces his revolver from beneath the trenchcoat and levels it at Don Harper. "Now you'll go to visit your buddies Trudeau, Pearsen, Diefenbaker and the rest in the big house at Sussex Drive... in the sky!"

But the vile Don was already effecting his escape - aided by a cloud of smoke radiating outward from the smoke bomb he'd dropped!

"Darn!" Mr. Wikiped cried, frustrated. "He got away! Well, I'll chase him down later," he decided. "First I'll have to clean up this mess - there are a lot of doppelgangers to be put away, somewhere their bee-making won't do anyone any harm. Yes, like you," he says, smiling to a doppelganger standing awkwardly nearby.

"I - I like to make bees," she whispers furtively. "I wasn't supposed to say, but - it feels so good to get it off my chest!"

"Yes, I know," Mr. Wikiped says, smiling warmly. "So I'll definitely have to deal with you first. And then - Harper!" He shakes a fist at the ceiling.

"Woof, woof!" Fido barks excitedly.

All the same - another resounding success for the world-famous Mr. Wikiped!