Saturday, January 22, 2005


Outposts of Tyranny & Islands of Freedom

Are you all right? the voice demanded quietly. It was a calm female voice, and Sanctiblogger slowly opened his eyes through the fear. It was the woman in the sports bra.

You're sentient, then. Good. I was worried. The word DOG was no longer visible on her forehead.

They were still on the bus, but now it was bright and clean, and filled with attractive young women wearing sports bras. There was no empty seat. The driver was now dressed in the garb of a Cardinal of the Church in full regalia, but he couldn't see the face. Where are we going? Sanctiblogger asked the woman.

I think you're going to an outpost of tyranny. At least that's what it says on your ticket there. She pointed to a piece of card hanging on a string around his neck. It said S. Sanctiblogger: Outpost of Tyranny #6. No Baggage except carryon.

Outpost of Tyranny #6? Where's that, he asked.

I don't know, she said. Does anybody else here know where Outpost of Tyranny #6 is? she shouted to the rest of the attractive young women in sports bras.

No, never heard of it, they all replied. We're all going to Islands of Freedom. Why else would we be wearing sports bras?

Sanctiblogger looked carefully at the women. Then it hit him. They were the Sufi U Chess Club cheerleading squad, the ones who'd been fired by the A.D. the same day he'd been fired.

The Cardinal of the Church driving turned to shout, "Outpost of Tyranny #6! Prepare to disembark!"

Sanctiblogger froze. The face. The face of the driver was that of Alberto Gonzales. Gonzales. Who'd once been Dr. Torquemada, the head of the Torture Studies Dept. at Sufi U. Until. Until he'd been given a new identity in a deal to protect the university from a lawsuit. My god, Sanctiblogger gasped. I'm screwed.

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