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Halloween provided the perfect cover for our plan. We would all dress as clowns, the six of us, in a rented U-Haul, our identities obscured from surveillance of any kind. This year Halloween fell on a Friday. There were Halloween parties all over the city that night, and we knew to expect many drunken revelers and lax security across the board. 

Dressed as clowns, we parked the U-Haul in front of the Federal Court House. Part of our plan, using the cover of the night in addition to our costumes, meant that collateral damage would be minimal. We preferred it that way. We weren't the kinds of terrorists interested in killing lots of people. We sought to destroy property and if the security guard inside bit it, hey, too bad so sad. 

The garbage cans of fertilizer in the back of the first U-Haul did the trick and reduced the Federal Court House to rubble. Unfortunately a procession of limousines ferrying teenagers to a formal dance happened to be driving past the U-Haul as the timer detonated the charge. And we had forgotten to factor in the convent, chock full of nuns, across the street from our target. It, too, fell with the blast. Then there was the Humane Society and Homeless Shelter on the other side of the building that had escaped our notice. Oh well, that's one of the costs of doing our part to avenge Big Government and Homosexual Rights.

When the building came down we were several blocks away, at our favorite bar, enjoying a round of Absolut Citron martinis. Our brightly painted lips curled around the sugared edges of the stemware, leaving smudges of greasepaint. Greg, the bartender, had made them just right, with a dash of angostura bitters and a sugared lemon wedge rather than an olive. As the sound of emergency vehicles filled our ears, we raised our glasses to toast the destruction of decadent Western civilization and a job well done. 

[Forever after at

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Called Incidents of Egotourism in the Temporary World
by the Eyeshot editor -- there's a site for this book
wherein you can now peruse 14 deleted chapters
(consisting of ~40,000 expunged words) --
wherein you can now listen to scrappy
"reading aloud"-type stuff
by the "writer" who's
historically liked
his "reading"


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