Odd Inspirations And Rising Tensions

No, this is not a continuation of my rant from this morning. Though it did feel good to get that off my chest.

A few days ago I was working on a section of the book. The Covenant is busy at the moment preparing for the Very Bad Thing (no, I'm not telling you. Shoo!). As a side project, of sorts, they set off a car bomb to take out a target. The bombing takes place outside a two story medical building in west Jerusalem.

The whole time I was writing the passage, I kept thinking of another glass walled medical building, two or three stories tall, in Toronto. For some reason I was merging the two together, in effect channeling the one building for use in a different location.

As a child, once a year, I'd go down there. Why? My family dentist was there. Doctor Wood saw all of us at once. When we're kids, dentists don't tend to be our favourite people, particularly if one is cavity prone. He seemed gruff and grumbling, and as a five year old kid, I suspected he had a secret torture chamber where little kids went in and never came out.

Hey, come on. I was five. What do you expect?

It's strange, the things that come back to us out of the blue, and that we use in our writings. For me, that glass building got stuck into my head and made a cameo appearance in the book.

I wonder if the good Doctor is still with us today?

Another thing that's been on my mind lately for the book has been the growing tensions that underlie the events of the book. In the wake of an assassination, and then a car bombing, this terrorist group I created is exploiting the natural tensions in the Middle East, cranking it up and up. Every once in awhile I'll add in references to riots, to unrest, to the situation beyond the borders of Israel. The Covenant's actions have made a powder keg situation even more volatile then it is, and once they've got the Very Bad Thing set to go, well....

Oh, right. As usual, I'm getting ahead of myself....

Things That Need To Be Said

If you're expecting my usual snarkiness and sarcasm today, you'll have to wait. I need to vent. And rant a bit.

Family issues. We've all got them. Some relatives we don't get along with, for one reason or another. My family certainly qualifies, and definitely right now. As I said, I need to vent, and I doubt this'll be read by the two people in particular who I'm angry with right now. If by chance it is, well, I'm beyond the point of caring.

I'm one of seven children, five of whom are still living. My parents are retired now. There've always been some frictions, here and there. When I was a child, for instance, I really, really didn't get along at all with one of my brothers. In my teen years, it had deteriorated to the point where I could honestly say I hated him. The odd thing is that now we get along fine. In fact, I get on fine with both surviving brothers.

Our sisters, however, are a different story. There's something of a cliqueness, if you will, between them. Both of them have had some tough breaks. The elder married an abuser much too young, and had two daughters with him. When she had enough, she left him, got involved with a long string of loser boyfriends, one after the other without stop, until she finally married a decent guy. I get her reasons for that long string of boyfriends. Her ex husband made her feel absolutely worthless, so his influence still dominated her mindset for years afterwards. Instead of taking time to find out for herself who she was, she just went and dated a long string of jackasses, drug addicts, alcoholics, and all around wastes of oxygen, passing each off in turn as her latest love of her life. Biting my tongue and not telling these guys what I thought of them took a lot of willpower, trust me.

The second sister is another story. She's always been moody, quick to lose her temper, and holds onto a grudge. She and I never did get along, and the fact of the matter is we barely tolerate each other. She got involved with the worlds' biggest idiot (I am not kidding) when I was twelve or thirteen, and to say he and I never got along is a vast understatement. I'm convinced he's intimidated by anyone who's smarter then him (99.9999999999999999999999 % of the world's population). The man is a bigoted, ignorant, mouthy, argumentative man who keeps getting fired from every job he takes, simply because he can't resist arguing with a boss, fellow employee, or customer. He's a complete loser. An absolute waste of oxygen.

Is it obvious I don't like him?

I spent years, biting my tongue, swallowing back my impulse to tell the jackass off. Why? Simple. For the sake of my parents, and because the two of them have a son who's actually a decent kid. Certainly not for either of them. They're seperated now, and not getting back together, but still. Because the nephew's there, I can't just tell the guy off, knock him on his worthless ass, or really tell him what I think of him.

The problem with swallowing back, if you will, of not venting and ranting when you really need to, is that all that negativity festers inside. It's not good, believe me. So, for the sake of civility, I bit my tongue while one sister's complete ass of a husband would routinely demonstrate his bigoted stupidity on the one hand, and while the other sister trotted out the latest love of her life.

That's the background.

My parents have moved in recent days, to a retirement home. It's a decision I don't particularly like, but one I've accepted. Both sisters, it seems, came in, and essentially took over everything. They ended up yelling and screaming at my parents, treating them like little children incapable of making a single decision. Which, of course, made both of my parents angry. My mother, in particular, rarely gets angry, but in speaking with her by phone, it was obvious she was still hurt by it. Harsh words were thrown at them by both sisters, the elder in particular, and there were no apologies made.

I haven't got all of the details. It seems they think our parents favour the sons. Absolute rubbish. It seems they were both angry with me for not assisting with the move, and with my younger brother for, and I quote, "being off in his own little world." Again, rubbish. In my mother's words, for the first time in her life, after they were gone, she was glad that they were gone. It may be quite awhile before they visit either of them.

They yelled at our parents. They treated them badly. They took all semblance of control away from them, even if only for a couple of days. And neither of them seemed to realize they really should apologize for it.

Well, I've had enough. I'm done with both of them. As I said, I bit my tongue for years with these two sisters' personal choices. I'm done with maintaining civility where they're concerned. To hell with both of them.

I have no sisters any more.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel

Well, every once in awhile we get a feel good story develop before our eyes, and how tremendous this one is.

As pretty much everyone knows, the Chilean miners are all out, safe, and in good spirits. And it happened before the eyes of the world. In a period of less then 24 hours, all of them emerged out of that impossibly small hole in the earth, 33 men who'd spent nearly seventy days deep below. And their actions, and the actions of the rescue teams working to reach them all this time, demonstrates the very best of the human spirit.

The fact that they all survived those first days, when no one knew if they were alive, demonstrated their strength and resiliance. Any search and rescue expert will tell you that if you panic in a tough situation, you're going to die. Simple fact. Most people, in that dark place, in that situation, would have panicked. These guys didn't. They kept calm, and organized, and once the world above knew they were alive, they never lost their sense of focus and purpose. Talk about grace under pressure? These guys defined it.

It goes without saying that the world was pulling for them to be rescued. Something about this captured our attention, our imagination, and our hope. And so, in one of the remote, inhospitable corners of the world, in a landscape that reminded one of the moon, our attention was turned in the last couple of days to the last hours of the rescue operation.

On Tuesday evening, the first of the rescuers descended through that impossibly small capsule to the miners below. Imagine that first moment for these guys, the first physical contact in two months with someone outside their immediate circle. And then the ascent began, broadcast live on television, around the world. I was watching, and watched into the night, transfixed by the footage. One by one, these men emerged, hugging their loved ones, hugging the rescue crew above, hugging the President of Chile. And each of them looked good. None of them appeared shaken up, unsteady. All of them were, in short, celebrating being alive. And as the hours went on, and each emerged to the surface, people around the world celebrated with them. It's a shared experience that I think we'll long remember.

One of the many lingering images that I think will stay with me is actually the last of the rescue team members. The first to descend of the six who went in was also the last to leave. After he saw the second to last ascent begin in that chamber, he was, for the first time, the only person down there. I'd say imagine the loneliness that might trigger, though he had the team above speaking to him the whole time, no doubt. So he wouldn't be that lonely.

It's perhaps strange to say so, but it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. Their resiliance, their spirit, and their strength shone through, and the whole thing was done smoothly. It went off without a hitch, well ahead of schedule. It's also changed, for the better, our world view of Chile. Our image of Pinochet is gone, eclipsed by this extraordinary story of a nation going all out to save 33 men.

The world has changed, for them, and for us. They went down as anonymous miners, and came up to the full attention of humanity. In a world where we so often pay more attention to celebrity gossip, political scandals, or griping about the cost of a tank of gasoline, this experience has shown us what really matters. The news seems to show us at our worst all too often. The miners and the rescuers showed us humanity at its best.

You can't help but love them for that. And to feel, even for awhile, like we're all Chileans, even by proxy.

The Con Artist, The Clubber Photo, And The Arch Nemesis

A few days ago at Writers' Digest, the following comment appeared on my page:

Hi dear!
My name is kate, i saw your
profile today here i became
intrested in you,and i want you
to send an email to my email
address so that i can give you my
picture for you to know me
better.Here is my address
( k_desmond@ymail.com )
I believe we can move from here!l
waiting for your mail soonest.
Remeber that distance or
colour does not matter
but love matters alot in life.
Do have a nice day,
( k_desmond@ymail.com )

Now, before you start thinking "Wow, maybe I ought to look her up and start corresponding and plan my life with her and think about having babies..... pay attention to the rest of what I've got to say here.

Yes, right here.

Below.

Still here? Good.

Norma and I have an arrangement of sorts from Myspace. Every once in awhile someone turns up looking for a relationship, no doubt sending the same message to countless other people. Our arrangement is simple. I get to go all pit-bull on whoever bothers her with those messages, and she does the same for me.

Well, while it's a common problem on Myspace, this is the first time we've seen someone like this on Writers' Digest. It turns out, in fact, that Miss Desmond (more on her later) was sending the exact same message to most of the other males on the site. Spamming us all. For the record, I hate spam.

Norma went into attack mode, sending off a get lost you moron sort of email to SpammerDesmond. Her reply? Here we are:

My DAEREST ONE
firstly I am very sorry for my late response to Your Email,I thank you for your reaction to mine email; Enline with the message, which I have sent to you.How was your night over there in your country,i believe you had a nice night and that the arthmosphere over there in your country is very nice today? Mine is a little bit warm over here in Dakar Senegal.My name is kate Desmond i am (24) but age doesn't matter in a real relationship, so i am confortable with your age,I am from Rwanda in East Africa ,5.4ft tall, light in complexion single,(never married ) and presently i am residing here in Dakar as a result of the civil war that was fought  in my country some years ago.
My late father Dr Philip Desmond; was a politician and the managing director of a Gold & Mine Ind in Kigali (the capital of Rwanda) before the rebels attacked our house one early morning and killed my mother and my father in cold blood.It was only me that is alive now and I managed to make my way to a near by country Senegal where i am leaving now as a refugee under a Reverend-Pastor's care and i am using his computer to send these message to you.I would like to know more about you. Your likes and dislikes,PLAESE Do to not be offended for  this message that come;s from me please, fair which to me obliged to put simple trust on you due to my situation here as the refugee and I shall demand most your conscientiousness after yours to know about me, I shall really grow fond we to have good inspite attitudes therefore I have this as a trust which i belive that you can not betray it at the  end. I have communicated you because of  my difficaute situation here in this refugees camp;Its just like one staying in the prison and i hope by Gods grace i will come out here soon.
 
i don't have any relatives now whom i can go to all my relatives ran away in the middle of the war the only person i have now is  Rev- partric Devine,who is the pastor of the (CHRIST DE SAVIORMISSION) here in the camp he has been very nice to me since i came here but i am not living with him rather i am leaving in the women's hostel because the camp have two hostels one for men the other for women.
 
The Pastors Tel number is (+221 772538321 ) if you call tell him that you want to speak with me he will send for me in the hostel.As a refugee here i don't have any right or privilledge to any thing be it money or whatever because it is against the law of this country.My Dearest,please I want to go back to my studies because i only attended my first year before the traggic incident that lead to my being in this situation now took place.
 
Please listen to this(please it's a secret,even no one knows about it eccept the Reverend that knows about it),i have my late father's statement of account and death certificate here with me which i will send to you latter,because when he was alive he deposited some amount of money in a leading Foreign bank which he used my name as the next of kin,the amount in question is $6.7(Six Million Seven Hundred Thousand USDollars).So i will like you to help me transfer this money to your account and from it you can send some money for me to get my travelling documents and air ticket to come over to meet with you.I kept this secret to people in the camp here the only person that knows about it is the Reverend because he is like a father to me.So in the light of above i will like you to keep it to  yourself and don't tell it to anyone for i am afraid of loosing my life and the money if people gets to know about it.
 
Remember i am giving you all this information due to the trust i deposed on you.I like honest and understanding people,truthful and a man of vision,hardworking and GOD fearing people.My favourite language is english but our language is french but i speak english very fluently.Meanwhile i will like you to call me like i said i have alot to tell you Attached here is my picture.I will send you more in my next mail.Have a nice day and think about me.
Awaiting to hear from you soonest.
Yours in love,
Miss Kate

There you have it. If we're to believe Miss Desmond (which we're not, unless you're a complete imbecile), this club hopping socialite in the above picture is a Rwandan refugee. Oh, sure she is. And if you believe that, I've got a bit of ocean front property in Saskatchewan for sale.

This, of course, is the classic Nigerian scam. You're all familiar with it. Read that little fable there, and it's got all the elements. Tragic story, relative with money, and all you need to do to get a piece of it is send your bank account number so it can be deposited. If you fall for it, you deserve to get fleeced.

So who really is Kate Desmond? The woman in the above picture? No, think again. The con artists behind this little scam no doubt googled their way through Shutterstock or some other social networking site, found themselves a picture of a pleasant looking young woman, and built their story around the picture. You'd think they'd pay more attention to what a refugee should look like, but.... apparently not.

Anyway, "Kate Desmond" and her mass spam of Writers Digest came to an end, with her profile taken down. And not a minute too soon.

It got me to thinking, though, of how to use someone like this as a character. I've thought of featuring a woman with African roots as a villain, perhaps a Somali arms dealer, someone with the right streak of nastiness, for my series with Stryker and Devon. It's much too late in the game to feature such a character in Heaven & Hell. At the same time, she might well serve as a suitable antagonist for my character without a proper book of his own, Lars Ulrich. Of course, he's busy chasing down moose, interrogating Muppets, and picking fights with oversized politicians these days....

What to do, what to do....

Up From The Depths And Into The Frying Pan

It looks like in a day or two as of this writing that these fellows are going to be back above the ground, so it's entirely appropriate to bring this up again.

The world waits for these 33 men, lodged in the earth, to return to the surface and their families. It's something of a feel-good story (unless disaster strikes, and let's not think that way), rooting for these men to see the light of day. Something in their fortitude inspires us, speaks to something fundamental about what we are as human beings.

I'd say more about the experience these fellows are going through and its effect on the rest of us, but, hey, it's me, and somehow it wouldn't sound right. So let's just keep to the basics, shall we?

The crews above have drilled out their escape route, and it seems it's going to take an hour for the rescue capsule to make a trip, so it's going to take time. This is not an in and out sort of operation. It needs to be done carefully. Did I mention it needs to be done carefully, by the way? Imagine being alone in that capsule, on your way up after two months below ground. I expect it might be a lonely half hour to the top for each one.

As of tomorrow, the extraction process begins. A couple of medics and a couple of rescue workers will descend into the mine to check things out and to fully brief Los 33 on what to expect up top (lots and lots of reporters, for one). A general order has been set out, and there have apparently been some good natured disagreements about who goes up last. There's a record on the line, but it seems the record will be shared by all, regardless of who goes last.

I can think of who'd like to go up last. Yes, our friend with the wife and the mistress waiting for him up on  the top. I've mentioned him before. He's got to be feeling a bit nervous. It seems he does indeed have a name (I was going to call him Juan. Or Pedro). In the weekend papers, his name came up in one of the articles I read. His name is Yonni, and he's been something of a leader down below among his fellow miners trapped below. Unfortunately the article didn't mention names for the wife and the mistress, and more's the pity. We'll just call them Maria and Esperanza.

So, our friend Yonni will be back on the surface in the next day or two. He'll be taken out among a glare of media (by the way, Los 33, you're all famous now; the world is watching!) to a tent, where medics will tend to him, and he'll get to see three family members.

Three family members. I'd expect Yonni's not really all that anxious to see the wife or the mistress. Not knowing that they know that he's been naughty. So in that precious little time before either of them show up, he'll need a cover story.

"Well, you see, here's the thing I never told you, Maria. See, I have an identical twin brother, who's also named Yonni. He must have been the one sleeping with Esperanza here. I wonder where Yonni is..."

Oh, yes, that can't possibly backfire on our friend, can it?

Well, the end is in sight. Los 33 will soon be emerging into a world very different from what they left. Two months ago they were anonymous miners working in a desert region that frankly looks like the moon. Now they're returning to the spotlight the world has cast on them, a testament to the human spirit.

What next? Well, there's the obvious lawsuit against the bankrupt company that sent them down there in the first place to get out of the way. There'll be books. Movies. A divorce or two (Yonni, I'm looking at you).

What about the mine itself?

Speaking personally, I can only suggest one final use for it.

Drop Grover into it after his conviction for Elmo's murder and blow up the rescue shaft.

Downfall Of The Alaskan Giant Ex-Governor

Tea Party Devastated As Giant Palin Defeated At Last

Washington, D.C. - The mad rampage of the gigantic Sarah Palin is over. At the behest of the President, RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich confronted and stopped the former governor in the heart of the nation's capital on Sunday afternoon. It was a faceoff worthy of the tale of David and Goliath.

Ulrich, who had only the day before stopped the rampage of another gigantic politician, Prime Minister Stephen Harper, in Ottawa, was brought in for his expertise. Before the confrontaton, Palin was busily destroying the rest of the Smithsonian, to the shock of onlookers. She tore up the original copies of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence. She was heard to bellow, "Hey, look! I can see Russia from here, you betcha!"

Ulrich made his way down from the Lincoln Memorial, along the reflecting pool, carrying with him a megaphone. Reporters, police officers, and the National Guard looked on as the lone Mountie walked towards the gigantic politician. Murmurs and whispers abounded among the onlookers. How could someone that small defeat someone that big? Those of us who witnessed his epic duel with Prime Minister Harper knew better.

Ulrich spoke through the megaphone. "That's enough of that," he called out.

Palin looked down at him. She was busily dismantling the Apollo 11 command module by this point. "What do you want?" she bellowed down at the Mountie. "I'm having my fun, you know, you betcha!"

"You will cease and desist immediately," Ulrich insisted, holding his ground against the behemoth. "Otherwise this is going to be unpleasant for both of us."

"Well, you know, I'm just doing what everyone out there wants me to do, God bless 'em! They want me to come on out to Washington and straighten things out, you betcha!"

"I somehow doubt the American people want you to destroy Washington, Mrs. Palin," Ulrich replied.

"Not if you watch Fox News! They do!" came the titan's response.

"I don't watch Fox News. I'm not a complete moron," the Inspector answered. "You asked for it." He paused, and then spoke again. "What is the average yearly range of the platypus?"

Palin stared down at the Inspector. Her expression seemed confused at first. More so then usual. Then the confusion deepened. And deepened some more. She started to speak, then paused. And then she scratched her head. And pondered. And pondered some more. And then, the confusion in her face changed slightly. Her eyes seemed to cross, and she fell back, almost as if she was fainting. She collapsed onto the Air And Space museum, and all was still. The giant had fallen.

The National Guard surged forward to bring the former governor into custody. Precisely how to reverse the process that made her a giant is unknown at present, let alone where she should be incarcerated. It's a similar question in Ottawa, where the notion of criminal charges against a sitting Prime Minister remain outstanding.

Ulrich walked towards the crowd of police and reporters. Questions were raised almost automatically. "I'll be brief," the Inspector told us. "I knew the best way to take her down was to short out her brain. That meant asking a question she'd never be able to answer. And it worked. There she lies, ladies and gentlemen. Don't ever let her near this city again."

"Lars! Lars!" It was coming from a reporter with TMZ. "How do you find time to play with Metallica and still be a Mountie?"

Ulrich looked disgusted with the reporter. Instead of speaking, he came forward, pointed at the mans' chest. The man looked down at the Inspector's hand, and the Inspector drove it up hard, smacking him on the face, breaking his nose.

The closing chapter of the story? Rush Limbaugh, conservative blowhard, has the last word. "You know, my friends, isn't this typical of the President? Not only does he run in the face of an attack by a giant Conservative Tea Party member, but he sends in a Canadian to save the day. I've had it! All Sarah was doing was trying to clean up DC, and Obama goes and sends in a Mountie! Where's the authority for a Mountie to come on in and take charge! This is America! Not that maple syrup sucking commie socialist health care system loving snow field! And if you don't believe me, just think of this: what's the color of those Mountie uniforms? Red! That's right! Commie red! Now do you believe me? Well, my friends, Sarah's a prisoner of war! I call on all of you, my loyal Dittoheads and Tea Party minions, to march on Washington! Demand Sarah Palin be freed! And punish that Mountie for stepping out of his jurisdiction!"

Ulrich, reached for comment, shrugged. "Does anyone actually pay attention to that tub of lard?"

Rampage of the Behemoth Prime Minister

Lawman Faces Off With Rampaging PM Harper

The city of Ottawa is safe tonight after the gigantic Stephen Harper was defeated in a stunning battle amid the ruins of Parliament Hill. After a two day rampage, in which much of the city has been trampled, Harper has been taken into custody. The Conservative party, robbed of their Prime Minister, boss, and resident tyrant, is in a state of shock. Needless to say, this doesn't make their reelection chances look good.

Before the confrontation, calls were made around the world for assistance. The Japanese government, asked if Canada could borrow Godzilla, politely refused, explaining that the giant lizard was at that moment occupied in battle with Mothra near Tokyo.

RCMP Inspector Lars Ulrich entered the fray late Saturday night. Reporters and police looked on as the giant Prime Minister was on the front lawn of Parliament, kicking CBC commentator Rex Murphy around like a soccer ball.

In a display of courage that astonished all, Ulrich singlehandedly saved Murphy, dragging him away from the giant Prime Minister. Harper was seen to bellow and roar, trying to dismantle the remains of the Peace Tower to use as a weapon. Ulrich seemed unfazed by the size of the monster.

The inspector walked across the rubble on the lawn, coming right up to the Prime Minister. He paused, looking up the full length of the beast. And then he kicked, with all his might, seeming to merely tap the ankle of the Prime Minister.

What happened next amazed the onlookers. The Prime Minister howled, as if in horrible pain. And indeed, his face had an agonized expression on it. He fell back, hitting the remains of the Centre Block, which collapsed beneath him. And then all was still.

Ulrich walked calmly away from the fallen titan. Reporters and police came up towards him cautiously. Reporters started asking questions, wanting to know how he had known what to do.

Ulrich smiled. "I got a call from former Prime Minister Chretien. He told me where the weak spot is in a giant Harper, so I knew where to kick. He was trying to tell everyone else, but do bear in mind that it's a little hard to understand Mr. Chretien. Take him away, boys."

One of the reporters pressed forward. "Lars! Now that you've done the impossible and vanquished the giant Stephen Harper, what are your intentions?"
"The Americans need my help to take down Giant Sarah Palin."

Another reporter, this one the co-anchor for ETalk, asked, "Lars! Will you and Metallica come play for us in our studio down in Toronto?"

Ulrich looked furious at the anchor. "Are you really this stupid?" he snarled, throwing a punch, and knocking the anchor to the ground. The inspector walked off, to the applause of the other reporters on scene. We can only say, having had seen Giant Stephen Harper fall, that Giant Sarah Palin is in a world of trouble.

Attack Of The Giant Politicians

Giant Political Leaders Wreck Havoc On Washington, Ottawa

The governments of two nations are in a state of upheaval after the events of the last two days. Prime Minister Stephen Harper and former Alaska Governor Sarah Palin laid siege to both Ottawa and Washington DC, grown to heights of over one hundred feet tall and apparently able to breath fire.

It was first seen in Ottawa on Friday afternoon, when Conservative leader, Prime Minister, and reputed vampire Harper was spotted coming down Sussex Avenue, kicking aside cars as he went, roaring and setting fire to the French embassy. Local police, RCMP, and military were called in, but were uncertain whether or not they had the right to fire upon the Prime Minister of their country. Meanwhile, Harper went on a rampage, using his fire breath to burn down the National Gallery. Witnesses heard Harper laugh as the gallery burned. "Take that, arts and culture!" he bellowed.

Police and soldiers did their best to get passersby out of the way of the rampaging giant Prime Minister, who next attacked Parliament Hill itself. Members of Parliament and Senators fled with their staffers. Harper managed to catch Opposition Leader Michael Ignatieff and tear him in half, tossing one half, reportedly, all the way back to Harvard, where Ignatieff spent much time in academia. The other half he stomped into paste. "Take that, Iggy!" he roared with laughter, setting the Peace Tower on fire.

At the same time, a giant Sarah Palin made her way down the Mall in DC, kicking water out of the Reflecting Pool, drowning a party of nuns on tour of the nation's capital. She was seen to roar and howl, lighting the White House on fire. President Obama is reported to have evacuated with his family and staff. Palin stomped her way down the Mall, destroying virtually the entire Smithsonian as she headed for Congress.

"What can we do?" The question came from a Pentagon general who'd like to remain anonymous. "If the American people lose their minds, she could get voted in as President some day. I'd really like to, but we can't open fire on a potential President. Even if she is a hundred feet tall behemoth monster destroying the city."

The same problem faces officials in Ottawa, where Harper continues to wreck havoc even now. "He's still the Prime Minister," RCMP Commissioner Elliot told the press. "We'd like to take him out... I mean, really, we would, but he's technically still the boss."

Nancy Pelosi was reached for her opinion on the matter as she fled from Congress. "Look, this has happened before. It's something called the Politicus Gigantus spell. Ted Kennedy used to become a hundred foot collosal monster, but he'd just break into the Sam Adams brewery, get himself drunk, and that was it! He never took things this far!"

At least one lawman wants a shot at both. Legendary Mountie Lars Ulrich, recently involved in the Elmo murder case, spoke to reporters. "Give me five minutes alone with each of them. I'll have them bagged and tagged, and they'll never be a problem again."

One of the reporters asked, "Lars! Entertainment Tonight! How is it you find time to hunt monsters and still be part of Metallica?"

Ulrich shook his head in dismay. "Look, you dumbass little bastard, how many times do I have to tell you? I'm not that Lars Ulrich!"

At this point, Ulrich slapped the reporter, who was seen to break into tears. The inspector walked off, ready to do battle. In the opinion of this reporter, those two giant politicians don't stand a chance.

Heaven & Hell: Hail To The Chiefs

The author, William Kendall, is seated with the fictional President of the United States and the Prime Minister of Great Britain. Several Secret Service agents and British agents are present as well.

Me: Sorry about the above, gentlemen, that's the only one I could find at short notice.

PM: Quite all right, old chap. Capital joke, by the way.

President: Maybe more suited for one of my predecessors though.

Me: Well, I won't keep you long. I know you're busy, after all.

President: When am I not busy? I've got a cabinet meeting later.

PM: And I have to meet with the Queen.

Me: Well, gentlemen, let's get down to it.

PM: Of course. Whenever you're ready.

Me: I'll start by asking how you two feel about the book so far.

PM: Well, you're writing me quite well. In fact, complimentary.

President: Me too. I'm wondering, why aren't you just calling us by name?

Me: You mean why not just call you President Obama and Prime Minister Cameron?

PM: It would be nice to have a proper name.

President: Unless I'm not supposed to be him?

PM: Look, old chap, that's getting a bit existential.

President: What do you expect? We're characters in his head.

Me: I decided to go that way because I didn't really want to tie my narrative to a specific time. It's up to the reader to decide if you're the current President and PM or just a fictional version.

President: Oh, so I'm doomed to remain just a nameless President?

Prime Minister: And I don't even get a scene with the wife and kids?

Me: Guys! Guys! Mr. President, Mr. Prime Minister, look, there's only so many characters I can write.

President: Point taken. We have it on good authority that you're planning on giving the Iranian President a cameo when this Very Bad Thing happens.

Me: Well, yes, I'm kind of going for international reaction once the crisis hits...

PM: In fact, we have it on good authority that you intend to use Iran again in the future for your writings.

Me: How in the world could you know that?

PM: Inside intelligence coming from your side of the Fourth Wall.

President: Someone named Karla doesn't much like what you did to her Grover.

Me: Write one little Grover as a killer blog series and you never hear the end of it.

President: In fact, we hear that you're planning on having a different President in a book down the line. Why can't I stay in power? Come on, I promise not to start any wars, or choke on pretzels, or get impeached, or fumble my way through press conferences. I'm not Dubya or Bubba Clinton, you know. I mean, I actually understand the dignity of the office.

Me: Sorry, Mr. President, but the other fellow I've got in mind has a family history that'll be essential for plotlines in Book Four.

President: Damn. Note to self: start a war with Canada.

Me: Sorry, what was that?

President: I didn't say anything.

Me: Let's wrap this one up, gentlemen.

President: Very well. I have a war to plan.

PM: And the Queen's no doubt ready to chat. I really can't keep her waiting, I'll have you know.

Me: Say hi to her for me. Gentlemen, how are you going to feel when you're in the midst of the crisis?

President: How should we know? You haven't written it yet.

PM: Indeed, this Very Bad Thing had better happen soon.

President: Your readers are getting anxious about it.

PM: As to how we'll feel, well, it'll be my first big crisis.

President: I've been coping with a few since I took office.

PM: Oh, yes, that rotten broadcaster with the glasses.

President: And the not so bright former governor.

PM: Mr. Kendall, are you sure whether or not he's President Obama?

President: I sometimes feel like President Obama. Yes we can!

PM: I have a question for you. Why haven't you written in your own PM?

Me: Because I can't stand the guy.

President: Neither can I.

PM: Me neither.

Me: Thank you, Mr. Prime Minister, Mr. President. Maybe we can do this again when the book is done.

President: That's assuming he and I survive to the end of the book. We've read other conversations.

Me: Fellows, I can assure you that at least you two will survive to see the end of the book.

PM: How kind of you, Mr. Kendall. Thank you!

President: Why not let me win reelection then?

Me: Sorry, guys, we're out of time here.

President: Damn.

Heaven & Hell: Sitting Down With The Boss

Two men are seated together, somewhere between reality and the Fourth Wall. One is the author, William Kendall. The other is a character, Udi Zahahi, the chief of the Israeli Mossad.

Me: Hi, Mr. Zahavi, and thank you for coming to talk with me today.

Zahavi: You're welcome. Let's make this quick. I have a briefing with the Prime Minister to get to.

Me: Oh? What about?

Zahavi: National security. I can't speak about it.

Me: Oh, okay. Well, let's get started, shall we?

Zahavi: By all means.

Me: How do you feel being a character in my book?

Zahavi: That's a loaded question. How do you know that you're the one who's not the character, and that I'm not the author?

Me: Isn't that a little bit too existential for a character?

Zahavi: Precisely. Would a mere character ask that question? I submit to you, Mr. Kendall, that you must therefore be the character in the book, not me.

Me: I can see this conversation is going to get derailed fast. Look, let's try another question. How do you feel about the progress of the book?

Zahavi: Oh, I think it's going well. You're getting your characters all lined up and ready, and you're advancing your plot.

Me: As a career spy, how do you feel about having foreign agents coming into your headquarters?

Zahavi: I can't answer that. National security.

Me: That again. Okay, how about this? How do you feel today?

Zahavi: I can't answer that. National security. I'll ask you something. You keep hinting at this Very Bad Thing all the time.

Me: Yes, I have a tendency to do that.

Zahavi: So, what's that all about? Come on, tell your Uncle Udi what it's all about.

Me: I don't have an Uncle Udi.

Zahavi: Well, then just tell me.

Me: I can't answer that.

Zahavi: Why not?

Me: Book security.

Zahavi glares at Kendall, as if he's wondering how long it would take for a bullet to enter the author's skull from six feet away.

Zahavi: Look, Kendall, I'm the chief of Mossad. I'm used to doing whatever it takes to defend the security and safety of my nation. And whatever it takes involves a lot of shades of grey. Do you really want to mess with me?

Me: I'll tell you what. I'll whisper it into your ear.

Kendall stands up, moves closer, and whispers. Zahavi looks startled, and Kendall sits down.

Zahavi: Are you crazy? You'll give someone ideas! Damn, I'd better update our worst case scenario protocols. We didn't even think of that!

Me: I told you it was a Very Bad Thing.

Zahavi: Where did you come up with that premise?

Me: If you must know, a newscast several years ago.

Zahavi: Damned media, giving writers ideas and all...

Me: I don't like them much myself, Mr. Zahavi.

Zahavi: You doing any more of these interviews?

Me: Oh, sure. I've got two heads of state showing up soon. Then maybe something at the end. Would you like to be part of that?

Zahavi: I think I can pencil it in.

Me: Assuming you survive until the end of the book.

Zahavi: Yes, assuming I sur... wait a minute, what?

Me: Like I told the other characters. I can't promise everyone survives until the end of the book.

Zahavi: Oh, now that's just mean! How can you do that to your own characters? Memo to self: hire an assassin outside the Fourth Wall to take out William Kendall...

Me: I'm sorry, what was that? I wasn't listening...

Zahavi: Nothing, nothing. Forget I said anything.