G-20 Synopsis

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to G-20. In these difficult days one's eyes tire from the sight of rabbles pouring unsavory sentiment towards our esteemed corporate/public partnership. These disheveled miscreants riot against the establishment in the streets holding their banners. Adjacent signs read: "Capitalism Doesn't Work!" and "No Socialism for the Rich!" a testament to their hopeless need for direction. Each zealot is a walking contradiction, united in their strategy of disorder and mayhem, dedicated to whatever happens to bother them. We are delighted that their ignorance precludes them from any valid common cause, lest we toss and turn for one extra minute at night. On this lovely day one breathes a sigh of relief to know that they are trapped on the streets and far removed from the good and honorable stewards of civil global society gathered here.

Now, your Majesty, let us continue with the work of restoring integrity to the human race. We have the following topics to address this morning.

• The Economy
  
• Terrorism
• Education
  

I would like to address them in order, as we believe these topics are inextricably linked.

Let us first discuss the economy. I am afraid we all know that our global economy is doomed. We could stand here all day pointing fingers at one another, but let us move forward. We will not be able to save the world. However, with prompt action we will be able to save ourselves. And, by ourselves, I mean everyone in this room. With that privileged information, I am ready to make you a one-time offer. All who do not wish to be spared from the global crisis, please leave. Defectors will be escorted to the basement, tortured with electricity, and fed to hungry wolves.

Anyone?

Thank you. Wonderful of all of you to join us. Now that that ugly business is over, let us decide how to restore the economy to one in which we all enjoy extravagant and easy returns with no work, much as we did a few years ago. First, we all know that production is the only means of wealth and prosperity. (Thanks to our partners for the very effective propaganda that obfuscates that fact.) So, we must control all means of production...all businesses, companies, and organizations that create profit. Right now we have the opportunity to procure most of the globe's means of production, but are a bit short on cash. Fortunately, we have secured access to a limitless spring of cash that we can draw from as needed. These SDRs, or whooziwhatsits are just the tip of the iceberg. By printing money we can acquire lots of property from various independent owners depriving us of what is ours. After all, how do we expect to protect the world from global economic cataclysm if we do not have complete control over it?

Second, terrorism. Without a real global threat there is much less reason for us to even be here. We have our super secret folks working on that one. You do not want to be bothered with the details. Trust me.

Third, education. Alright look, folks, if the people knew what we were doing they would sink this ship. Right now we are on the Titanic, sitting in life boats, assuring the crowded, tilted deck that everything is under control. The faster we cut loose and drift away from this whole mess the better. We don't need to be dragged under too. I am not even going to demagogue this. I am not even going to insult you by pretending to care about educating the citizens of Crackerblackistan. As if we could! Bring me the dumb. To protect ourselves we need a population who's head is so securely jammed up its own ass it wouldn't recognize a tyrant if he stood in front of millions of delerious screaming followers promising free life-extension juice for all. The only true power we have to assure the stupidity of the next generation is to eliminate competition from the schoolhouse. All of our tinkering with textbooks doesn't hold a candle to keeping bad teachers chained to otherwise good schools for life.

Are we all in agreement? Very good. Please join me in the reception hall for nibbles and drinks. Good meeting everyone.

Trouble in Geitnerville

Today, children, let's visit three inhabitants of the tiny village of Geitnerville.

• Meet Larry. Larry is a farmer. He produces food.
• Meet Barry. Barry is a builder. He builds houses and barns.
• Now meet Mary. Mary is a seamstress. She makes clothing.

Larry Mary and Barry lived peacefully on the outskirts of town, just on the edge of the countryside. They were pioneers in their time, having uprooted everything to escape the perils of the east in search of a better life. They traveled to Geitnerville in covered wagons, settling on the lonesome prairie where they were delighted to find a place where they believed hard work just might bless them with an honest, rewarding life. Let's learn about how these courageous, hard-working folks spent their daily lives among the tall grass and tumbleweeds, and how Geitnerville became the vastly different place it is today.

Let's take a regular Monday in the early days, just after Geitnerville was founded. On these calm summer mornings Larry would awaken to the familiar call of the rooster, don his overalls and boots, and walk across the yard to his tiny chicken cage. It was a small and rickety old structure, and occupied with as many chickens as it could house. There he would feed and water the fluttering birds and gather all the eggs, placing them carefully into a straw basket cushioned by tufts of hay. As the sun would just begin to illuminate the purple clouds Larry would walk over to Mary's house. He usually had, oh, from about 6 to 8 eggs.

The dirt path to Mary's place wound over some hills, through some woods, and right past the property of our builder, Barry. Barry was a gruff, disagreeable man, with "No Trespassing" signs posted all along the outskirts of his land. Larry would usually see Barry hammering nails into some building during these morning excursions, and the two rarely spoke. Barry was always building something. One day, Barry was working on the tall wooden fence that buttressed the side of the dirt path, perched a few yards high. He didn't notice that Larry had approached. He was standing almost directly beneath him when he shouted a greeting:

"Good morning to you Barry!"

Barry looked down at Larry for a moment with iron nails sticking out of his mouth. He mumbled something, and then resumed his hammering. Larry continued...

"Say, Barry, I've got a couple extra eggs this morning. Would you like them?"

Larry wasn't sure if Barry heard him over the pounding of nails, and was about to repeat himself when he saw the hammer bounce off a post and fall to the ground. Barry grunted, and looked down for a moment, reaching to the side of his tool belt for his extra hammer. Larry noticed two hammers sat on the ground next to each other. "Oh, he must have dropped both his hammers," thought Larry, and saving Barry the trip down from the fence, decided he would be helpful and hand them up.

Seeing Larry reach for one of the hammers, Barry jumped off the fence and landed hard on the ground, tumbling a bit. It was quite a distance. He rose to his feet and snatched the hammer from Larry's hand.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Mr., um, what's your name again?"

"Larry. I'm the farmer who lives down the path over the hill."

"Oh, right, well, you can keep your hands off of my property, Larry. I'll do just fine by myself, thank you."

"I was only trying to help. So, will you take these two extra eggs? If you don't want them they will go to waste."

"Ya," said Barry, "sure am hungry."

Larry handed a gift of the smallest two eggs to Barry, who took them and walked back to his house without saying a word. Larry had never met so gruff a man, but was glad his two extra eggs didn't go to waste.

Larry continued on his journey to Mary's place, which was down a slope in the heart of the river valley. When he got there, Mary and Larry ate breakfast together. In return for his eggs, Mary gave Larry all kinds of clothes...hats, scarves, shirts, and gloves. Mary was the best seamstress around, so Larry preferred to exchanged his eggs for the clothes Mary made. On this particular morning, Larry received some work gloves, as his had almost worn out.

Larry could never stay long at Mary's place. There was a lot of work to do back at the farm. That day, on the way back from Mary's, Larry saw Barry again working on the fence. Larry waved at Barry on his way past and Barry seemed to ignore him. Then, after Larry had passed by, the pounding of nails stopped for a moment and Barry hollered:

"Hey, Larry, you got any more of those eggs!?"

Larry turned around and walked back to where Barry was sitting way up on the fence.

"Sorry, Larry, I'm all out today. But most days I have one or two extra. Would you like me to bring you some tomorrow again on my way to Mary's place?"

Barry, raised his hand to his chin, thinking for a moment.

"Those eggs were tasty. Larry, tell me, do you need anything built on your farm?"

Larry was surprised as he looked up at Barry, who had always been quite uncharitable and a bit of a recluse. Larry had, in fact, been planning to build a new chicken coop himself, but never had the time. There were simply too many other things to do on the farm.

"Well, Barry, I do need a larger chicken coop. I could sure use your help sometime if you're not too busy."

"I will build it for you myself, Larry, if you promise to give me two eggs every morning. I'll build it just like the one I built for Henry."

Larry knew a chicken coop like Henry's was exactly what he needed. With it, he could raise many more chickens in the future and assure himself many extra eggs. But, he would need to get by with very little while it was being built. He looked at Barry, arms folded, waiting for his response. Everyone knew that Barry was a good builder, and a man who kept his word. He thought about how many eggs he could spare. It wasn't very many, but there was no harm in offering them.

"I can spare two eggs a day for the next 60 days if you will build me a chicken coop like Henry's."

Barry extended his hand and Larry shook it, wincing at the extremely firm grasp. Then, Barry nodded earnestly, turned around, and dutifully walked back to his fence. Larry continued on his journey back to his farm and spent the rest of the day finishing his chores. There was a full day of work ahead of him, as usual, and no time to lose as he skillfully worked his fields.

As Larry dug his hoe into the rich soil he pondered the seemingly magical quality of his agreement. He, of course, always took good care to understand every aspect of his activities, and knew this promise with Barry included some undeniable risks. He thought about all the many possibilities:

• Would the chickens lay enough eggs?
• Would Barry build it well and in a reasonable amount of time?
• What if Barry got hurt somehow or the chickens died of disease?
• Or, what if any number of unexpected things happened?
  

There was no way to know, with absolute certainty, that Barry would actually build the chicken coop. At the same time, Larry could not be absolutely certain that he would be able to give Barry the eggs as promised. In fact, when he really thought about it, he wondered how he could have possibly made such a claim. What he and Barry actually did was make a prediction about the future. They both made assumptions that the other could accurately make this prediction, even though both knew it was absolutely impossible to do such a thing.

Yet, if he did deliver the eggs, his prediction would come true, and Barry would see that not only was he a farmer, but a person capable of foretelling the future. This seemed like a risky, but thrilling proposition, and Larry was far from a coward. "Why not," he thought. After all, he depended on his own predictions all the time. Without them he could not live. He always predicted that...

• The snow would melt in the spring. It always did.
  
• The rain would water his fields. It (almost) always did.
  
• The seeds would grow into plants. Yes.
  
• The plants would bear food for him to eat. Yes.
  

All of this happened with enough regularity that he could depend upon it. He realized that if he did not make predictions, he would starve. Larry decided he could, in some sense, follow the example of the crops and the seasons. If he kept his word, and delivered the eggs as promised, Barry could depend on him like one depends on the seasons. Also, if Barry built his coop, he knew that he would trust Barry's strong handshake in the future.

"Wouldn't it be great," Larry thought, "if it was a fact that predictions could be made about other people? That would mean wonderful things."

He realized that if Barry could transform 60 days worth of eggs into a chicken coop, from Barry's point of view, Larry would transform some time and labor into delicious eggs. This had wonderous implications. That meant that one day, perhaps, eggs could be transformed into other things too...even a new barn. After all, his new chicken coop would mean more eggs.

Larry knew it was a risk, but it was a risk he was willing to take, because of the many years he had spent making good predictions for himself. Still, he was a bit nervous about this new idea, and was willing to go hungry if he needed to to make sure Barry got those eggs. If he could prove this new talent of his...making predictions...he could accomplish many things never before possible.

The next morning Larry awoke from his restless slumber at the usual time, but, something was different. Along side the rooster, Larry heard the sounds of sawing and hammering. Startled, he hurriedly stood up from his bed and rushed to the window. To his astonishment, there was Barry, already hard at work building the new chicken coop!

Larry got dressed, walked across the yard, and gathered the eggs for himself and Mary as the pounding and sawing continued. As he walked by Barry, he shouted:

"I left two eggs for you in the old coop. There's a frying pan in the kitchen. The door's open."

Barry looked up from the wood he was sawing long enough to nod, then continued to concentrate on his work. Larry made due with one egg for breakfast that day, and every day for the rest of the week, making sure Barry got the two he was promised. Even if he was a bit hungry, this new idea was working far better than expected. By Friday, the new coop was finished, and Larry moved his chickens.

Larry was amazed at how fast Barry completed the project, and how soon he was able to begin expanding his flock. But, he was still very hungry, not having enough eggs for himself. At first he questioned whether he made the right decision, not realizing that his supply of eggs would be stressed so much. But, as the weeks and months passed, Larry was able to triple the number of chickens, and eventually he could count on enough eggs for both Barry and himself, as well as the ones he needed to trade to Mary for her clothing.

Barry was quite satisfied with Larry, and received his eggs every day for the full 60 days. He learned that Larry was good for his word, and continued to build additional projects for Larry in exchange for an even greater quantity of eggs, which were now available in abundance.

This was the routine in Geitnerville for many years.

Finally, one day, Larry decided he was tired of walking over to Mary's place all the time. And, he now had even more eggs than Barry needed. So, he gave Ziggy one egg each morning to carry the other eggs to Barry and Mary and bring back the clothes from Mary. Ziggy delivered all sorts of things to and from all three, and was able to live comfortably on the eggs, clothes, and even a small hut built by Barry in return for his delivery services. With every new project and agreement, it became more certain that his predictions could be trusted, and that they were beneficial to everyone involved.

But, there was a problem.

Barry learned that he also liked ham with his eggs.

Hearing this, and liking ham himself, Larry decided that he would raise hogs in addition to chickens, so that one day he could afford to ask Barry to build him a barn. Barry agreed that he would build the barn, so long as he had ham every morning with his eggs for 100 days. They signed the agreement that Barry would begin work after the first three weeks of ham and egg breakfasts.

By now Larry had several extra chickens, and traded 6 for a hog. (He learned that things were just as easily traded for other things as they were for time and labor.)

But, one hog was enough for many, many breakfasts. This was a conundrum. Larry wondered how he could provide Barry with ham every morning when meat only lasted a day before it went bad. He certainly couldn't butcher one hog every day and waste almost all of it...he would be out of chickens to trade in days. So, Larry told Ziggy to deliver a hog to Baxter the butcher so the meat could be smoked and preserved. Baxter, who lived in town, agreed to preserve the meat, but, the preserved meat only lasted a week and there was enough to feed one man months of breakfasts.

Baxter had a solution.

"I will give you 8 pieces of silver in order to keep the extra ham."

Larry found this ridiculous. He responded,

"What will I do with silly pieces of metal?"

Baxter explained that Larry could use the silver to help acquire another hog. "In fact, Jim, the man who raises hogs will give you a hog for 12 pieces of silver," said Baxter, "you can exchange the 8 pieces of silver and two chickens to get your next hog, rather than trading a full 6 chickens as you did before."

Larry had never seen or touched silver in his life. He didn't see how the tiny pieces of shiny metal could be exchanged for things, but he knew he could trust Baxter. If it was true, that he could take the silver to Jim in return for a very cheap hog (only 2 chickens!), he would be able to maintain a steady supply of ham for Barry's breakfasts. This meant all he had to do was tell Ziggy, once a week, to deliver the hog to Baxter, bring back the 8 pieces of silver and the week's worth of preserved ham, then, tell Ziggy to take two chickens and the silver to Jim, and bring back another hog. He knew he was depending on his predictions, but he had learned to trust Ziggy and Barry, and had no reason to assume he couldn't also trust Baxter. Besides, this is what it would take in order for Barry to build his barn. Barry would not build the barn without ham. Larry knew that once he had a barn, he could raise hogs himself, and wouldn't have to trade chickens or silver for them at all!

And, he had a little known secret he kept all to himself...he knew that even if Ziggy and Baxter let him down, he still had enough eggs to survive under the power of his own hard work. After much thought, this was the final reason he decided to proceed on the quest for his barn.

On the first day of this grand experiment everything went according to plan. Ziggy brought the hog to town where Baxter exchanged it for a week's worth of smoked ham and 8 pieces of silver. Ziggy carried the ham and silver to back to Larry. Larry grabbed two chickens and the silver, and headed over to Jim's place to trade it for another hog while Ziggy carried ham and eggs to Barry, who was busy drafting up a barn design, and eggs to Mary. Mary had a shirt to trade for the eggs. So, Ziggy carried the shirt back to Larry's farm, and arrived about the same time as Larry returned from Jim's place with the new hog. But, to Larry's delight, the hog only required 6 pieces of silver instead of 8 because his chickens were extra plump. So, Larry hid one extra silver piece under his mattress, and gave the other extra one to Ziggy. Other people around Geitnerville were trying to get Ziggy to carry things around, and Larry wanted to be sure Ziggy would continue to work for him.

Everyone was benefiting from this arrangement, even Baxter, who happened to acquire his silver by selling the extra smoked ham to travelers and other town folk. In fact, pieces of silver became quite popular indeed. While Larry was able to farm and continue to offer eggs and ham to Barry, he was also able to save 1 silver piece a week. At the same time, visitors from far away lands would sell farming tools that made Larry's job easier. In fact, when Larry had saved enough silver he purchased a steel plow and an ox. This allowed him to grow more corn, which allowed him to feed more chickens and hogs. Before long, Baxter had so much delicious smoked ham that he lowered the price in order to sell it all before it went bad. As a result, people traveled from far and wide to purchase it.

One day, Larry asked Barry if he would accept silver as payment instead of ham and eggs. Barry thought that was a great idea. Then, he asked Mary if she would take silver as payment instead of eggs. Mary also agreed. It turns out everyone liked silver for the same reason Larry did. Barry traded the silver for building tools and Mary traded her silver for finest, most durable fabric. With the extra tools, Barry was able to finish Larry's barn well ahead of schedule, and Mary's work gloves and overalls were lasting Larry twice as long as before. This allowed Larry to save even more of his silver, Mary to charge a bit more for her clothes, and Barry to finish the barn early and get started with other projects.

In fact, one day Barry met with Ziggy and Baxter. The three of them decided to build a market in the middle of town. Barry and his builders would build the market. Ziggy and his helpers would bring food to the market from Larry's farm, and other farms. Baxter would smoke and prepare the food for purchase. Before long, Larry didn't have to bring food to anyone himself. And, he no longer needed to acquire hogs from Jim now that he raised his own in the barn Barry built for him. Ziggy's helpers brought all the food to market, and everyone simply went to the market to purchase his food.

One day, Ziggy came to Larry's farm and handed Larry the bag of silver from Baxter. Larry reached in, handed Ziggy his payment of 4 silver pieces, and placed the rest in his pocket. Ziggy took the silver piece, dropped it in his own bag, and emptied his own collection of silver pieces into his hand. Larry was amazed. Ziggy had saved a large handful of silver.

"I would like to purchase one hog and two dozen eggs from you, Larry. I will pay you 50 silver pieces for it."

Larry was surprised. He had only sold his hogs to Baxter. Ziggy was just the delivery man.

"If I sell the hog and eggs to you, I won't have any for Baxter," said Larry.

"I know, but you will have the same amount of silver. Besides, I intend to sell the hog and eggs to Baxter. This way, you do not need to pay me a delivery fee, as I will keep the extra silver from the transaction."

Larry rubbed his chin, and after some discussion, finally agreed to take the 50 pieces of silver for a hog and 2 dozen eggs. He realized that Ziggy's 50 pieces of silver was just as good as anyone's.

So, in other words, instead of collecting silver in exchange for food and delivering it back to Larry, Ziggy was actually purchasing the eggs and ham directly from Barry with silver, and then selling it to Baxter at the market for a bit more silver than he gave to Larry for the food. When everybody first learned that he was doing this, they did not like it.

One day, as Ziggy was carrying food from Larry's farm to the market, Mary approached Ziggy. She told Ziggy she knew what he was doing. She said:

"I know you gave Larry 50 silver pieces for those ham and eggs. And, I also know that Baxter will pay you 55 silver pieces for those exact same ham and eggs when you get to the market. How can the same food be worth 50 silver pieces at Larry's farm and 55 silver pieces at the market? What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I never really saw it that way," said Ziggy. "I am only saving Larry the trouble of waiting for his payment. You see, I once carried all those ham and eggs to you and Barry and others each morning and then returned the next day to give Larry the silver you paid him for his food. Then, he would give me a portion of that silver for delivering those goods. Before long, I brought back 55 pieces of silver on every trip and he paid me 4 pieces for the fast and safe delivery. Well, one day, when I had saved enough silver, I offered to take the food and pay him 50 pieces on the spot. Larry was amazed that I would buy it all. He asked why I would do such a thing. I told him that I was going to sell all the food to Baxter for 55 pieces of silver and keep those 5 pieces instead of the 4 he would have otherwise paid me. Larry thought about it. He decided he liked receiving the silver right away. It allowed him to buy more hogs that particular day. So he agreed to accept 50 pieces instead of the 51 he would have received the next morning (after paying me 4 pieces). Then, Baxter paid me the same 55 pieces as before and I could afford to purchase more food from Larry the next day and do the same thing. Do you see, Mary? I'm just doing what anybody could do. You can be sure that if anyone else offered Larry more than 50 pieces of silver for this food he would sell it to them instead of me. Also, if Baxter could buy the food for less than 55 pieces from anyone else, he certainly would. So, in order to make my small profit, I must pay a specific amount to Larry, and sell at a specific price to Baxter."

Mary was impressed with Ziggy's explanation, and understood that there was nothing at all wrong with Ziggy's plan. She understood that he was simply earning an honest living by hauling food from one place to another, and that both Larry and Barry approved of the arrangement. Then, she looked down at the pile of shirts in her arm...

"Say, I was expecting to walk all the way to the market and spend all day selling these shirts. I would much rather go back to my house so I can spend that time making more shirts. I was expecting to trade them for 20 pieces of silver. I will sell them to you right now for 18 pieces."

Ziggy thought about the extra weight the shirts would add to the cart he was pulling. He thought about how busy the market would be, and what he would do with the shirts if they didn't sell. He figured he could sell them at a later time if they didn't sell right away. Then, he looked down at his tattered shirt, smiled, and made his decision.

"Yes, Mary, I would be glad to purchase your shirts. In fact, I will wear one myself to show everyone at the market how comfortable and stylish your clothes are."

Mary handed the shirts to Ziggy and Ziggy dropped 18 pieces of silver into Mary's hand. Mary smiled broadly and they both cordially bowed their heads and went on their way. Secretly, Mary knew that she would have gladly accepted as few as 15 pieces of silver for those shirts. At the same time, Ziggy knew that not only did he need a new shirt, but that he would be able to sell the others for at least 25 pieces of silver, which he later did. Both Ziggy and Mary could have received more silver from the transaction, but neither complained.

About this time Larry was getting enough silver from Ziggy to pay helpers to plant and harvest the corn and raise the chickens and hogs. Barry had enough silver to pay fellow builders to help him with his construction projects. Mary had enough silver to pay seamstresses to help her make more clothes. So many people came to Geitnerville to sell their products that many decided to move there permanently. The new residents all traded their silver for food, houses, and clothes, and Larry, Barry, and Mary were always very busy.

Larry was so busy that he stopped farming altogether, and spent all of his time managing his helpers and dealing with his large collection of silver. By now, Larry had a whole dresser drawer filled with silver. This pile of metal wasn't doing him much good just sitting there, so he hired Barry to build a grainery. Barry was already too busy building houses, so Barry's partner, Terry, built it instead. Then, Larry decided he needed new clothes, because all of his farm clothes were worn out. He hired Mary and her helpers to sew him a new wardrobe. Ziggy also had so much silver that he was able to buy a large carriage and Baxter now had an enormous market in the middle of town.

Baxter was selling so much ham that he offered Larry much silver for many more hogs. In order to raise the hogs Larry invited many more helpers, which he paid with silver. Ziggy paid his own army of helpers a portion of his silver, and Barry paid his many builders a portion of his, as did Mary, who now had a bustling clothing store. Larry, Barry, Mary, and Ziggy needed so much help that the tiny village quickly expanded to a township and then a city.

One evening, as Larry was relaxing, reading a newspaper, he heard a knock at the door. He opened the door to find a visitor he had never met before.

"Greetings, Larry, my name is Timothy Geitner. I am here to relieve you of your silver."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me."

Larry looked behind Mr. Geitner and saw five men with rifles pointed directly at him.

"But Mr. Geitner, this is not my silver. These are simply pieces of metal that represent the hogs and chickens I am obligated to deliver to my customers. They are simply placeholders for time and labor of the people I have made agreements with. I must ask you to leave these pieces of metal alone for the sake of, well, everyone in town."

"I'm sorry, but this is my silver now. I have renamed the city 'Geitnerville,' and now lay claim to all of your money."

The city had been named something else up until that point. No one today remembers what it was.

Then, Timothy and the men with guns entered Larry's house and loaded his silver into wheelbarrows, then emptied it onto their large cart along with all the other silver in town and carried it away.

The next day everyone in town gathered on Larry's farm wondering what to do. Larry reminded everyone how he and Barry and Marry and Ziggy were all able to get along just fine before any of them had even seen a piece of silver. He told them the story of how years ago he carried eggs to Barry in return for his new chicken coop, and how it was the trust and hard work between Larry and Barry that allowed them to succeed. He reminded them that all trades are nothing more than a bond of trust between two or more people, and that silver is only as valuable as the trust behind it.

Now that we know a character like Timothy Geitner can simply haul away this means of exchange, it is no longer backed by trust anyway, and is completely worthless. Therefore, citizens of Geitnerville, I ask you to follow the example of Barry, Mary, Ziggy, Baxter, Jim, and myself, who will be writing signed contracts with each other for all of our trades. When you see our signature, you will honor it as well as you honor our word.

Most of all, look around you. Look at the good people you have worked with for so many years. These are honest, hard-working, trustworthy people, and you know as well as I that their promise is worth more silver that all the piles in Mr. Geitner's grand estate.

Alright folks, you get it. Let's get back to work. There's no shortage of that...

Sarge

Sarge seemed outside himself in those awful days. He wouldn't speak, and didn't even blink as the rocks bounced off the side of the fuselage. Strapped tightly by the window he casually watched them approach from afar, analyzing each one as the universe spun gradually around him. He would try to predict the exact time and place of impact with calculated dispassion, like counting the red teeth from inside the mouth of a starving lion. The crew questioned his sanity, but feared him enough to know that mutiny was not an option.

We had lost all power weeks earlier, and were now turning on some haphazard axis from the battering. Several had struck us, altering our spin and trajectory. We were frightened, helpless, and alone, living on borrowed time. Pending another impact we huddled in the dark boarding module, assuring each other that everything would be okay. There was an irrational hope that our companions were ignorant of their near-certain fate. We could persist by living through them vicariously. Then, we acted foolishly so that they could join us. It was a strange way of convincing ourselves that death would not be painful, or that we could escape it. All along, deep down, we knew it was the surest way to encourage it.

Sarge conditioned himself to absorb the impacts over time, and even seemed to welcome them with relieved acceptance. Some would call it a trance, others a coma. Whatever it was, it allowed him to concentrate as the technician's screams were drowned out by the powerful hiss of oxygen from one of the main titanium arteries. His hands fluttered on his keyboard, engineering some hack for the auxiliary support systems. It kept us breathing as we tried to forget the giant purple orb drawing us near. What was he saving us from? He wanted us to survive the loss of atmosphere today only to be scorched to a crisp during entry tomorrow. What are the motives of a man delirious from exhaustion, pushing for moments of extra time under conditions of total futility? Is it some base instinct? Habit? Conditioning?

I could not confuse his glossy stare with apathy, much less with laziness. His accusers suspected him of both. They said he wanted to die. I knew he was the only one of us who actually could.

Traditional, liberal education

is the most persistent threat to our global empire. Disciplined, targeted instruction by competent educators tends to produce pesky, inquisitive children, curious adolescents, and dangerously mindful adults. We can all agree that literate, critical-thinking populations are almost impossible to control, and participate in activities corrosive to our goals. Through methods of research, analysis, discussion, and logic, these individuals tend to do things like:

• Defame and scrutinize our foreign economic policies
• Unearth and disclose our hidden agendas
  
• Reveal popular logical fallacies upon which we depend
  

For example, only a relatively disciplined, educated person has the intellectual resources needed to explain how our foreign policy actually threatens our national security. Worse, when they follow up, they tend to look right through our cover of well-intentioned ignorance, and discover our actual motives, which sound, well, a bit contrived without all the details. They begin to understand some basics about how our organization functions, and this is also unnerving. We are not especially concerned with the few folks that see it for what it actually is. We fear the few who can actually communicate these unbelievable facts to normal, publicly educated, brainwashed populace. Such a thing sounds incomprehensible, as we have handily veiled our actions in tactics that no "sane" person could possibly take seriously...much less one drugged and assimilated by the intricate propaganda network so painstakingly crafted by our specialists. Those children who slip through the cracks of our system threaten everything, and must be stopped as they are the only force that could possibly hinder our global conquest for human enslavement.

Children must be raised as servants of the corporate political complex. First, they must be bored, as bored people seek direction and purpose. We must give them purpose, or they might find one of their own. Second, they must remain childish and retain their infantile sense of entitlement, as such individuals are easy to convince with promises of wealth and notoriety they always believed they deserved anyway. Having access to most of our planet's resources, a little can go a very long way. Third, they must be reformed to meet the pressing needs of our corporate partners. After all, these are the human resources we need to run the national machine of industry.

We all know that people are predictable by mathematical formula and are easily manipulated according to certain specifications. We can justify our actions for reasons of national security. We must ensure they specialize in a narrow field of study, so they have no chance at comprehending the department of the system upon which they depend...much less the goals of the system itself. We know that incomplete people make the best corporate employees, but we prefer to call them "specialists." The indoctrination process must begin as early in life as possible, preferably immediately after birth. Universal preschool to support our ends must be mandatory.

Of special importance are the citizens we choose for procreation. We will focus on encouraging low-class single mothers to have many children, as these vulnerable youngsters happen to be prime subjects for complete assimilation into a more efficient global system.

A proper, national education is the key to our prosperity and to global empire. We must be courageous in this endeavor because, after all, the children are our future.

Quote of the Day

Why do we fall down, Master Bruce? To learn how to get up.
~ Alfred, Batman Begins

When I take that first sip of latte and the espresso is just a wee bit toasty for my taste there is no one to blame but myself. I chose the brand of bean and steamed the milk. The abuse perpetrated upon my tongue is the failure of no one but myself. In such times I have learned get back up, pour the tainted liquid into the sink, and restart the deluxe espresso machine. Yes, I might fall again and again becoming the source of a caffeinated river before the milk, espresso, and temperature fit together perfectly into that small window of acceptability. To ignore our weaknesses is to submit to them, which means I must not rest until I have perfected the preparation procedure for these finest of beans collected by native hands in some rain forest or other. I must toil at great expense and through unknown hardships, but perhaps one day, the horrors and frustrations that come along with an espresso compulsion may cease with that perfect blend and the obsessiveness can be transferred, at long last, to cappuccino.

Incredible

in·cred·i·ble

Pronunciation: \(ˌ)in-ˈkre-də-bəl\

1 : too extraordinary and improbable to be believed

2 : Amazing, Extraordinary (incredible skill) (incredible appetite) (incredible woman)

When I first pondered this word a few weeks ago I suspected it may have derived from the root "cred," as in "Lil Wayne and Slim Thug have ascertained street cred with their new tune turn my swag on." Many of us are familiar with the other form that means the same thing: "credible."

It was not a far jump to assume that something described as incredible would simply be not credible.

• cred
• credit: cred
  
• credible: having cred
• incredible: not having cred
  

After all the in added to the beginning of a word often changes its meaning to the opposite:

• visible/invisible
  
• valid/invalid
  
• consistent/inconsistent

Perhaps "inconsistent" comes to mind because I suspect the word "incredible" is inconsistent with the remainder of the English language.

Let's look deeper at the word "credible." (It turns out it's a little more specific than "cred"):

1 : offering reasonable grounds for being believed

The key word is "reason." If something is credible it is always reasonable to believe. Now, what is considered "reasonable" varies from one person to the next, but regardless, one might logically surmise that something incredible is always unreasonable to believe. This is not the case, as we can all agree that:

• Widgets in cans of Guinness infuse the malt beverage with nitrogen when opened...both incredible and reasonable to believe.
  
• We all live on a large sphere that orbits an even larger ball of fusion...both incredible and reasonable.
  
• This essay might be read by any one of billions across the world immediately after posting...incredible and reasonable.
  

As I have just proved, what is incredible can also be reasonable. Yes, as reasonable as something that is credible. We, the human race, have forsaken the antonym of the word credible altogether. I might describe this as "amazing" or "extraordinary," but I would never dare defile my native tongue by calling this incredible, since, as I hath shewn, it is nothing of the sort...it is completely, unequivocally, credible.

Therefore, a word that indicates something has absolutely no credit really does not exist.

• Uncredible? Not a word.
  
• Creditless? Nope.
• Credifaux? No.
  

I find this ironic, as roughly 80 percent of communication falls into this category, and constitutes 100 percent of content originating from the Internet and mass media. It's almost as if the world's collective marketing forces, and all communities dependent on deception, lobbied Webster to ensure "incredible" was not, in any way, available for use as a word opposite from credible...that would be way too easy to use.

The global assault on the word "incredible" is a conspiracy of vast proportions. It's goal is to discredit all words that can be used to describe the opposite of what is true, reasonable, and correct, in order to make all falsehoods increasingly believable...not based on merit, but on the grounds that nobody knows the right word to describe them. The goal is the eventual destruction of all such words, so that reality itself is not subject to anything "false" or "erroneous," but so all things popular enough to be spoken of can only be described as being true and correct.

On their agenda:

• "Unbelievable" shall be interpreted as that which can likely be believed.
  
• "Undeniable" shall be interpreted as that which is probably deniable.
• "incorruptible" shall be interpreted as that which can probably be corrupted.
  

The eventual goal, of course, is to reverse these terms entirely so they are all out possible, as they have already done with incredible:

• "unbelievable" - that which is entirely believable.
  
• "undeniable" - that which is entirely deniable.
• "incorruptible" - that which can definitely be corrupted.
  

Our masters have already succeeded in many other cases:

• "stimulus" - (pertaining to economies) that which depresses.
  
• "reinvestment" - (pertaining to communities) that which divests.
• "reserve" - (pertaining to the federal) that which emits.
  

Backed into a corner, we have been forced to contrive a colloquial term meaning the opposite of credible...one resilient to the abuses of the establishment. There is only one such example, which has been a rampart for the cause, and which I now submit:

bullshit

This word has stood up to the firestorm of cultural destruction with grace and aplomb, foiling all attempts to suppress it, which has no doubt been tried in many a back room...

"Mr. President, our product has been compared to bullshit. This is not positive for our image, and therefore, something must be done. Our technicians are in the fields now collecting samples from a local herd. Count on us, sir. Before long, every product will be honored to be described as "bullshit." We are confident that within a few short months, consumers will be up to their eyebrows in bullshit and loving every minute of it."

While those mighty stewards of civilization may be able to surgically and graciously relieve us of our wealth by redefining words, there is only so much a people can tolerate. Yes, they may be able to get away with the plunder of our labor, time, and resources. They may be able to convince us that we need to pay their bonuses and support their decisions until they have changed the meaning of every word in the English language.

But, there is a wall that cannot be penetrated. There is one last bastion of truth that can be counted on when every last shred of credibility has been removed from society. When all language has been redefined and all our prosperity has been plundered and wasted, there is one stall wort resource that cannot be polished, spun, or repackaged. It all comes to a head when...

those wizards sit down in front of an actual piece of manure...

when that global committee congregates around a long table staring at that large, steaming pile of cow shit, rubbing their chins...

they will only have one word to describe it...

incredible

A Take at Real Political Commentary

Kami and I just participated in the civilized purging of GOP Senate District 60. Some good talent and many years of experience were voted out in favor of our band of libertarian-minded Ron Paul sympathizers. The gentleman who defended the establishment's war on terror by quoting Churchill and powerfully warning of Islamo-fascists was respected for bravery, given his unpopular position. In moments such as that we remember that we must fight for his right to say these things, even if what he is saying encourages the destruction of those rights. I would casually comment "what a silly system" if it didn't tend to perpetuate the bloody slaughter of youth in wars fought for the sake of political image, extremist religious ideology, and the bottom lines of well-connected CEOs.

Anyway, it was a small victory for those local courageous souls who continue to restore bits of integrity to the Republican party. Many suspect the same thing is happening throughout the country beneath the radar screens or interests of the people's media. Maybe one day those ideas that actually prevent terrorism will make it to the higher-ups...we'll see.

Some say that getting involved a bit is a lost cause, and that Republicans will never shed the intellectual chains of theocracy, corporatism, and nepotism. That may be the case. But right now, within a framework so shaken from the scourge of these things, with a frosting of stupidity, those with principle, will, and intelligence have an opportunity (or even an obligation) to step up and commit themselves to reconstructing a government who's power derives from the consent of the governed.

So, that's my expert analysis of the situation at hand, and will rightly return to the much more managable and exiting world of Anastican and Balthizan into the forseeable future.

Shelly and the Man in the Black Suit

I've noticed that many children's books encourage reading. Yet, we should ask whether our youth are learning about the proper concepts given today's economy. With the realities of a new millennium, we must prepare our youngsters for the inevitable world they will be entering...a world of:

• Credit default swaps
• Derivatives
  
• Fraud

And, while a toddler usually does not have access to the resources required to benefit from such things, we should take care to plant a seed early in life. Take, for example, a tale for the young investor...

======================
Shelly and the Man in the Black Suit

Shelly sold sea shells by the sea shore in the mornings. In the afternoons, Shelly took the money she earned selling shells, and purchased thumb tacks. When she had accumulated enough tacks, about once every month, Shelly threw them onto a nearby bike path and then hid behind a big rock and watched the cyclists ride over them. No one knows why she did this, she just did, and she was very good at never getting caught.

One time a man in a black suit approached Shelly on the beach. He said:

"I'll take 100 shells please."

Shelly was exhilarated. No one had ever purchased so many shells at once. After he paid her, he lifted his sunglasses and said:

"This is a tidy profit...enough for enjoyable evening, am I right?"

Shelly smiled brightly and nodded, lost for words.

Indeed, that evening, Shelly threw the tacks onto the bike path and hid behind her rock. Sure enough, after a few minutes, a bicyclist rode over them and the tacks blew out both of his tires. Shelly smiled. She heard the man say something like: "hm, the tacks usually aren't here until Saturday."

Then, as the man began patching his tire, Shelly noticed something far off in the distance. Peeking over her rock, she saw hundreds of bicycles storming toward her. The remote bike path somehow became a major thoroughfare. Shelly ducked behind her rock and waited in anticipation. This would be a fine display.

Despite the silly man's yelling and arm-waving, the stampede of bicycles rode directly over the massive bed of tacks. The sight was incredible. There were arms and legs flying all over the place and wheels rolled and bounced all the way down to the water's edge. Before long the path could not even be seen beneath the large pile of handle bars, frames, pedals, helmets, water bottles, and cyclists. It was a veritable bonanza for Shelly, who was accustomed to a catch of not more than one or two cyclists a night.

After the police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances finally left, Shelly emerged from behind her rock and enjoyed the most pleasant summer rest she had ever had.

The next morning, Shelly sat on the beach with her shells as she always did. She was delighted to see the man in the black suit approach her shell stand. This time, he purchased 200 shells! He said:

"Did you spend yesterday's profit wisely?"

Shelly smiled broadly and responded: "More so than I ever could have expected."

"Well good." The man lifted his sunglasses. "I hope this one suits you just as well."

That afternoon Shelly purchased a large bag of tacks...more than she had ever seen at one time. Then, she stood on her rock to get a good view. Sure enough, way off in the distance she saw the herd. This time, there were thousands. She poured the bag onto the path and hid behind her rock, beaming with anticipation and excitement.

Shelly never had to worry about acquiring money for however-many tacks she needed until she was sentenced to prison for life. The man in the black suit lived happily ever after.
======================

The sensible investor knows that Shelly is an integral risk minimizer while investing in credit default swaps, but especially, the sensible future investor.

Tale of the Twin Wizards (cont)

(Continued from part 1)

Anastican's bubble bobbed up and down in the shallow waves of an expansive sea. His shield had become little more than a floating raft, and he admired a school of brightly-colored fish pass beneath him. He seemed to be helpless to adjust his course, but was fortunate to be floating in the general direction of some land on the horizon. Finding himself completely helpless, Anastican made the best of it. He relaxed against the floor of his spherical confines, placing both hands behind his head. He took a deep breath and admired the particularly blue sky, then closed his eyes and began to nod off. He figured he would awaken when he reached the shore.

An unknown amount of time had passed when Anastican felt a small pool of water beneath him. He opened his eyes, then dipped his hand and looked at it curiously.

Splash!

His protective shell burst suddenly and he fell into the water. He flapped his arms in a frantic panic. Anastican had never swam, having preferred to avoid water altogether (or roll over it in his bubble when absolutely necessary). Fearing a watery grave, Anastican flopped and wiggled with all limbs, fighting desperately to keep his head above the surface. The weight of his robe seemed to pull him asunder. Finally, when he grew weak, his feet fell to the sand beneath. He stood on his toes, and his nostrils barely broke the still surface. Relieved, he turned around and saw the beach in the distance. He began to trudge toward it.

The sun glimmered off of the turquoise water as he gradually approached the shore. Over seemingly miles of shallows, his distant destination began to come into focus. The beach had a backdrop of coconut palms and exotic shrubs, and colorful flowering vines offered a bounty of easily accessible fruit. Several natives had gathered on the beach, apparently to welcome him. There were three men and three women, all tan and sparsely dressed in grass attire. He realized he had been transported to a tropical paradise. He looked to the sky and shook his fist in the air thinking of Balthizan's unusually bitter prank. This was definitely no place for a wizard.

A young woman wore a flower in her long dark hair. She walked knee-deep into the surf, took Anastican's hand and escorted him to onto the sandy beach.

"Welcome to Otheria Island. I'm Asrial."

"Anastican."

The natives stood around him in a semi-circle, observing his relatively diminutive figure. Anastican waved, a bit disheveled, then lifted the thick fabric of his robe in both hands and twisted to squeeze some water out of it. The robe had never been wet, so when he squeezed, a reddish-purple dye squirted all over his face and beard. He coughed and winced, shaking his head and spitting the opaque liquid onto the sand. Embarrassed, he wiped his mouth, and smiled an awkward smile.

"Well, it appears I've been marooned."

It was not his worst first impression...yet, they stood like statues around him. They were completely calm and absent, with the tiniest hint of curiosity. His expression turned from silly and apologetic to serious and dignified...as dignified as possible with large swaths of die splattered upon his white beard. He suddenly questioned the appropriateness of his remark. He did not mean any disrespect, and could not tell if he was welcomed or not. They watched him eerily, with lazy vacancy...

"Hm. Tough crowd. Alright, well, nice place you have here. Fruit, sun, monkeys...really, very nice."

They were mysterious and silent, although completely at ease. Anastican approached one of the men, and they both looked at each other with the same confused stare. He backed away and walked over to one of the women, and they also exchanged a look of mutual curiosity, noses almost touching. He looked at Asrial, who was smiling slightly. She wore wooden shoes with tall soles, elevating her a couple inches above the others. She seemed to be savoring the uncomfortable situation...

"So, Ms. Asrial," Anastican muttered, nodding towards the group, "these yours?"

Asrial looked at Anastican with a cheerful willingness to answer, but also painful confusion. She was muzzled by something. After several moments she lifted her head and looked at her companions with restrained concern and uncertainty. Then, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, regained poise, and carefully spoke...

"Would you like me to introduce you to my companions, Anastican?"

It was something Balthizan would say. Anastican squinted and looked at her suspiciously, wondering if she was in on the prank. Her innocent, candid appearance quickly changed to fear as Anastican's relaxed expression grew frustrated. The word drifted softly from his lips...

"Okay..."

Asrial smiled triumphantly. Anastican tried not to shake his head in bewilderment...

"Anastican, this is Ari, Athel, Jed, John, and Jude." She motioned to each as she spoke.

"Thank you, Asrial."

Asrial nodded and smiled. The others retained their pleasant, neutral appearance.

"Well then, you see, I was kind of relocated here as a joke and am trying to get back to Tinsley village..."

Silence...

"Tinsley village in the Darshu Mountians? Anybody?"

Silence..."ah," he thought, "the magic word..."

"Please, can you tell me where Tinsley village is relative to here?"

All six immediately chanted: "8506.53 nautical miles at 47.8 degrees true north."

"Well then, why didn't you just say so?"

They all responded again in unison: "Because you didn't ask."

"Oh, well then, can you tell me how to get to the Darshu Mountains from here?"

Asrial held her hand up to stop the others from responding. She had a look of confidence that softened as she turned to Anastican...

"No." She had a slightly worried expression on her face.

"Why not?"

"Because we require more information."

"Excuse me?"

"You...are...excused." She looked very sorry, as if she couldn't resist the words.

Asrial's look of concern and concentration grew more intense. Anastican stepped closer...

"Who are you? Did Balthizan put you up to this?"

"I am Asrial. Balthizan did not put me up to this."

"Ah ha! But you know Balthizan!"

"No, I do not."

Anastican was growing impatient. This peculiar race had a strange manner of communication. He approached her...

"Do you know someone who can tell me how to get to the Darshu Mountains?

"Yes."

Anastican nodded and looked at her inquisitively, then waited...

Silence...

"Can you tell me who this person is?"

"Yes."

Anastican nodded and approached Asrial. She was nervous...

More silence...he spoke loudly...

"Who can tell me how to get to the Darshu Mountains?"

"Larphus."

"Can you tell me where Larphus is?"

"Yes."

"Can you help me find Larphus?"

"Yes."

"Are you willing to help me find Larphus?"

"Yes."

"Argh! What do I need to do to get you to help me find Larphus?

"Ask."

"Okay then, bring me to Larphus, please!"

"Yes, sir." She smiled and hopped a bit.

"You are infuriating to talk to, do you know that?"

"Yes. I know that you find talking to me infuriating."

"Does that bother you?"

"No." Indeed, she did not seem bothered.

Anastican was not amused, but smiled awkwardly and followed Asrial. The others followed behind Anastican. He didn't know whether he was being joked with or not. He wondered how elaborate Balthizan's prank was, and if these people had been planted to confuse him. If so, their sarcasm was relentless.

They walked along the beach, around rock formations and skipped over shortcuts through the dense jungle of broad leaves and colorful birds. Monkeys swung on branches high in the canopy above. They stepped over large turtles and through the thick vegetation. Not a word was spoken.

Finally, Asrial stopped and looked out into a large bay. She cleared some sand away with her foot and revealed a panel with numbers. She pressed the upper right corner with her toe and the numbers illuminated. Anastican was relieved to see something magical. He had found even his most rudimentary spell completely inert, and was afraid the whole island had been cursed or something...an anti-magic curse. Seeing this was not the case, he wondered if it were only him who had been cursed. The thought made him feel helpless and concerned.

A high voice erupted from the pannel. "Whooo a a a....hot, HOT...just a sec, Asrial..."

Asrial and the others stood still and calmly admired the sun reflecting off the gentle waves.
Anastican looked at the panel curiously. It was black, seemingly of metal with a glossy surface, as smooth as a still pond. The numbers had been invoked from total blackness when she touched the corner. It was unlike any item he had seen, even in the halls of the great magicians. Suddenly, the panel erupted again...

"Alright, have you found it?"

"No. Larphus, you have a visitor."

"Oooo! A VISITOR! Stay right there!"

"Yes, sir."

Anastican knelt and looked at the place where the voice had derived. It was a grate, or mesh. Every young wizard learns to throw his voice as a young boy, even for miles, but this sound was different...distorted by some unknown force impossible to identify. He brought his hand close to the surface and the numbers faded to blackness. He was intensely curious, but distracted to notice that Asrial and the others had arranged themselves on the beach in a semi-circle again, precisely as they had appeared when he arrived. They were all looking towards the middle of the bay.

Anastican squinted to see through the sun's reflection off of the water, wondering what they were looking at. He heard a subtle rumbling through the breeze. He wondered what other strange magical items existed in this foreign place. He still couldn't cast a single spell, even one so simple as viewing the bay from the seagull's eyes which hovered high above.

As he scanned the shimmering sea, he noticed something agitate the water about a half mile out. Bubbling and roiling with steam, he watched a large mass slowly break through the surface. At first it appeared to be a whale, but then it came to a stop a few feet above the water. It was like a small island. Anastican's expression turned to amazement as something slowly rose from the center: first, two long horizontal sticks, then a tripod frame that seemed to be supporting them. When the contraption had risen so that it was sitting on top of the island, a man in an orange suit jumped up beside it, dancing and waving like a lunatic.

His head turned back to the others. They were still and silent, standing patiently as if this was a regular part of their day.

The man walked behind the contraption, bent over, and reached out his hand. He appeared to pull something with great determination. Then, he tugged again, and then a third time, uttering some terse incantation. He appeared to be holding a tail or leash of some kind. He repeated the same action several times, and then began chanting a diverse collection of magic words. As he continued to pull with greater force as his enchantments grew loud and incoherent. After several minutes of this behavior, a puff of smoke billowed into the sky and the island roared with violent thunder. The orange suit jumped up and down, arms in the air. Anastican rolled his eyes.

The horizontal sticks grew short and long again...a rudimentary spell in Anastican's eyes, but much more advanced than a simple puff of smoke. But then, as he looked more closely, he discovered that it was only one long rotating stick with the top of the frame as the pivot point. The stick began spinning very fast, and the man scurried beneath and strapped himself to the frame. The roar from the tiny island was almost as loud as his conversations on the mountain peaks, and the stick spun at so furious a speed he could no longer identify it as a stick at all.

Then, the contraption elevated slowly from the top of the island, hovering about three feet in the air. A mist of water appeared beneath him. Anastican found all this fanfare a bit silly for a bit of levitation. Yet, it was quite unlike anything he had ever seen.

The frame was hovering unsteadily and drifted over the top of the water. Less than a few yards in front of the island, the whole frame began spinning, and then the whole entity began moving in a great circle while gliding from inches to several yards above the water. After about 30 seconds of wild, erratic flight, the sticks finally smashed the water, splashing violently, and the roar bubbled and choked. The top of the contraption floated for a moment and then vanished beneath the water. The orange suit could be seen swimming back toward the island.

Anastican watched with utter confusion, trying to detect some sort of explanation from Asrial and the others. They continued to stand in virtual silence. Only Asrial had responded to all this...nothing but a tiny chuckle as the contraption struck the water.

After a few moments another roar could be heard from the island, and a boat stormed into view trailed by a large white wake. It was moving faster than any marine vessel he had ever seen, although he had only seen the ferries used to traverse Tinsley's single river. The boat glided to the beach in front of Anastican and the man in the orange suit jumped into the ankle-deep water and splashed towards him.

"Greetings, Mate! Name's Larphus."

He reached out and aggressively shook Anastican's hand.

"I'm Anastican."

"Welcome to Otheria, Mr. Anastican. Or, should I say, 'Anastican the White,' heh. That's quite a giddup you got there. I would have arrived a bit sooner, but I had a little trouble with the dual rotors this morning. You might have noticed. Stabalization has always been the trick with anything VTOL...that's Vertical Take Off and Landing. No worries though. Mr. Solocopter is completely waterproof. I'll have one of the girls fish it out for me this afternoon. So, what brings you by? Let me guess. Entertainer overboard from some cruise ship?"

Anastican quickly recovered from his puzzled expression...

"It's quite embarrassing, actually. My brother, Balthizan, transported me here from the Kingdom of Tinsley. He was playing a joke, I think...his Transport spell has always been rusty. He accidently sent me to the bottom of the ocean a few miles in that direction. My invisible force field protected me from the intense pressures of the ocean floor and I quickly bobbed to the surface. I drifted close to your island where my force field mysteriously burst. Then, I waded to the beach where I met Asrial and the others."

He looked at Larphus with a 'matter of fact' expression.

"Heh, cute mate. Well, no time to lose today. Let's get you some dry clothes."

Larphus walked back into the water and pulled the boat adrift. He jumped on top and waved Anastican on-board. Anastican was hesitant...

"Come on, man, never seen a jetski before? Hop on!"

He held his robe and placed a foot on the back, then pushed his staff against the sand to help nudge himself onto the back of the seat. Before he could get his balance the boat roared to life and the force was sudden and intense. It was all Anastican could do to grapple Larphus before being torn behind from the severe accelleration.

"YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAH!!!" yelled Larphus as the vessel screamed out to sea.

Anastican closed his eyes and held tightly around Larphus' waist as the boat slalomed back and forth, then spun in wild circles. Anastican was perplexed, and wondered how such flawed magic could be celebrated as he clug tightly, desperate to prevent himself from slipping off the side and into the deep, watery grave that zipped beneath, only inches from his feet.

Soon, the boat straightened and Anastican could relax, enjoying the fierce but mild wind against his cheeks. It blew his beard and hair back like the tail of a comet and his robe fluttered behind. He admired the scenery of the island and noticed massive rock formations and strange metalic structures that shot high into the sky, each with three blades spinning slowly.

Finally, the vessel entered a bay and the boat approached a long dock. Anastican looked ahead and marveled at the strangest-looking castle he had ever seen. It was tall with perfectly square corners, and held up by what appeared to be long horizontal stones that slightly overlapped one another. The brick chimney was the only recognizable characteristic of this obsurd structure. Anastican was beginning to realize how far he was from home...