Society, Part 5
The $565 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Two Down
Shark America Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 171 (Fast Drops Indicate Big Quakes Coming)
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (5)
Today's code is "78th Day, Last Year"
"We are going to addle Charley's brain by killing Charley's children." US 101st Division trooper, Vietnam, August, 1967, to Virgil Kret, UPI combat correspondent.
Today's work is dedicated, with thanks and respect, to those American Iraq and Afghanistan vets who testified at the Winter Soldier: Iraq and Afghanistan conference Thursday through Sunday this past week.
There seems to have been scant media coverage of this event.
I suggest this lack of coverage is because In the religion of itself which is the United States of America, the American military in wartime enters a status of sainthood (until they come home wounded); and there is no desire on the part of the media for the public to know the extent of wanton murder their saint-soldiers commit in places like Iraq, Afghanistan and Vietnam.
The news media's blacking out of unacceptable news events is common in the USA. The American news media considers such voluntary self-censorship to be patriotic.
The sainthood of the American warrior offers to an ignorant and unscrupulous occupant of the White House such as George W. Bush the means by which to entrap the American people into foolish and fascist warfare.
All this monster-president had to do was get some saint-soldiers killed and soak himself in their blood; and thereafter the Republican American Fascists could say "We are at war now, we are at war now, opposition is treason."
Recently that foolish fascist in the White House has made two statements of such gross ignorance and self-deception that I must include them in today's brief report.
The idiot-fascist said before an audience of right wing radio big mouths that the invasion of Iraq was, is, and always will be the right thing to have done.
No, it will be always be known as the perfect storm of evil, vanity and stupidity which is was and is.
The only hope of it being known otherwise is that if the Republican American Fascists control the history books until this word explodes around Christmas time, 2064; but God will grind them so finely into dust well before then there is no danger of that.
This rich-boy jackass also, in a message to American troops in Afghanistan, commented on the great adventure they are having, and said if he were a bit younger and not drawing a government paycheck he would like to join them...but, and here's the butt that stinks to High Heaven, he was of a perfect age to go to Vietnam, but he hid out until the bullets stopped flying.
Had he gone into Vietnam combat, and had he survived, he would likely not be the silly, cowardly killer damned to Hell he is today.
Other than that--and the fact there is a highly skilled assassin on the move against Hilary Clinton--it's a slow news day at I.C. News; so let's return to our story of the Not-Forgetting Society.
In our last episode our journalist-protagonist Tea had arrived in the Japanese Tourist Village of Ama-no-Hashidate, Bridge to Heaven, where the Sun Goddess is said to have established the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Soon after checking into an inn, the ghost of Praying Mantis appeared briefly to introduce him to a Mr. Matsushita, and minutes later Tea was visited by Matsushita Kenji, a famous Japanese industrialist.
Matsushita announced himself as a member of the top secret Japanese organization called the Wasureinai-kai in Japanese and the Not-Forgetting Society in English, and invited Tea to go, immediately, to a seance.
Tea was apprehensive, but the only direction open to him was forward..
Society, Part 5
Tea and Matsushita retrieved their shoes at the entrance to the inn and pushed out into the weather.
Matsushita's car was waiting; his driver was holding the right rear door open, apparently oblivious to the driving rain hitting him. It crossed Tea's mind that he might have been dutifully standing in the rain all the time Matsushita was in the inn.
Matsushita's bodyguard, who was also his son, and who was the man some 20 years later Tea would kill in San Francisco, was sitting in the left front seat, the passenger seat in Japan; the driver took his place behind the wheel. They were both clearly hard as nails. Clearly, Tea was a weakling compared to any of the three Japanese; anyone of them could snap his like a twig.
Once all were seated the car sped out of the tourists village and onto the main highway, heading north along the coast.
There was a bar built into the back of the driver's seat of the '67 Rolls Royce limousine. Matsushita offered Tea a drink. Tea had his usual Suntory whiskey; Matsushita had Jack Daniel's; both drank on the rocks.
"It's a longish ride," Matsushita, switching to English, was saying as the car sped through the darkness, the drumming rain on the windshield making the road a warping blur.
Looking out his side window, Tea could see storm damage to structures as they passed by. Matsushita was swirling his drink, clinking the ice cubes. Tea was feeling like a Black guest at a KKK meeting. These three tough Japanese did not like him, that was unpleasantly obvious.
Matsushita spoke. "I will tell you how I came to meet your friend, Praying Mantis...and by the way, Tea-san, "Praying" is spelled with an "a", not an "e". You are not being preyed upon here, despite the four tea cups.
Matsushita smiled, in part at Tea and in part to himself. He was clearly proud of his telepathy game, enjoying letting Tea know he had heard Tea's thoughts about the four tea cups before he had entered Tea's room at the inn.
"Drink up, please," he went on. "Soldier seances are best attended a little drunk."
Matsushita freshened Tea's whiskey. He was warming to his story, and Tea was interested in hearing it.
"Praying Mantis entered my life by saving the life of my sister in 1945. He was already dead by then.
"We are a Hiroshima family. Praying Mantis, too, was from Hiroshima, in a sense. He was born near here on this coast, as I understand you know, but his family moved to Hiroshima when he was a child.
"Hiroshima seems to have been our superficial common denominator. His, my sister's, and mine, I mean..."
Tea interrupted. "Is the Not-Forgetting Society based in Hiroshima?"
The question was out of place and too prying for this stage of the game, Tea knew; but Tea was there as a newsman so he had a license to be a boor.
Tea had to find a way to make a news story out of this, but what would UPI say to a story about dead Japanese soldiers possibly still killing Americans in 1967--and that seemed to be where this story was going.
As it was, Tea had no future with UPI anyway. His not returning to Vietnam had pulled the plug on that; but any facsimile of a future would be ground to powder with this ghost story.
As Tea now stood with UPI, as soon as his bureau chief Dunkel could figure out how to do it without Tea getting any disability he'd ease Tea out. Tea was crazy. Dunkel knew that; everyone knew that. That Gook rifle muzzle against his head had put him over the edge.
Consider what he had done on his home leave; wander around like a hippie for three months. Then there was that matter of his spending seven-eight hours a day hanging out at Arlington National Cemetery for a week...wouldn't you have to call that crazy?
The UPI Washington bureau had found out about that business when a cemetery security guard had approached the wandering, long-haired bum after having observed him for three or four days, and learned he carried UPI press credentials from Tokyo and Saigon; and cemetery security had called UPI to see if Tea had stolen them.
No, Tea was on thin ice with UPI as it was, and UPI wasn't about to carry any ghost stories. Nothing about what he was learning here on the rugged back coast of Japan, and nothing he had learned at Arlington, was acceptable as news. Yet is was news.
Tea could see the headline now, Journalist laughed into the Laughingstock Hall of Fame for proposing the crazy idea that the United States of America should go to the Pacific island battlegrounds and gather up the souls of American dead marooned there.
Yet they were marooned...yet they were marooned...yet they were marooned.
That collecting of souls had been one of the requests made of Tea by dead US Marines at Arlington. Now how was he going to put that idea out without ending up in the looney bin?
That had been just one of the many requests made of him by dead US military men as he had wandered through their bivouac, Arlington.
All these thoughts, or most of them, Tea successfully blocked before they reached Matsushita's range of telepathy. Best to keep some secrets face down on the table.
As if awakened from these thoughts, Tea heard Matsushita responding to Tea's interruption.
"Please, Tea-san," he was saying in a tone he would use for an adolescent. "no questions". This man hated Tea. He oozed hatred from beneath this ritual politeness.
"Where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you how I came to know Praying Mantis.
"Another common denominator between Praying Mantis and myself was the martial arts. Both he and I had been championship level fencers in high school and college. Of course I mean Japanese fencing, Kendo, not your Western faggoty flip flop of foils."
Matsushita smiled at his clever use of English.
"Shit!", Tea thought, "What a smug ass this is."
"My sister, too, loved the martial arts, and at that time was a third degree in Naginata.
"Do you know it, Tea-san? No? The naginata is something like the old European halberd. It's a long wooden shaft with a curved blade at the end. Generally, it is considered a woman's weapon."
" You said those were superficial common denominators," said Tea, interrupting again. Tea was finding he was liking interrupting Matsushita.
"Yes, Mr. Newsman," Matsushita caught Tea's eye in the semi-darkness. The hatred he had for Tea was electric. There was a pause, Matsushita was exercising his sense of drama.
"All three of us seem to be experienced at reincarnation."
Tea never talked about reincarnation. It was his secret art.
Tea let out a long, slow sigh of boredom.
"Is the idea of reincarnation absurd to you?", Matsushita asked him.
"No", Tea responded in a slightly critical tone, as if a big piece of his thought was that reincarnation was hocus pocus bullshit. "I think I expected something along that line when I first became aware of the Not-Forgetting Society."
"Really, Tea-san?"
"Really. I've known Praying Mantis for a long time. He narrated to me what he feels was one of his past lives. I'm skeptical. I have met a lot of ghosts, that's my knack, but it seems to me the existence of ghosts on this Earth does not prove the existence of reincarnation."
"Do you really mean you do not believe it exists? Matsushita was stunned by Tea's stupidity, as Tea wanted him to be. "Don't you know that some people can be very good at it?"
"That's two different things, but I think both are possible but not probable," he said in a tone of indifference.
Tea had been reincarnating for at least five thousand years; but damned if he's let this smug, rich-assed Jap know it. To that end Tea was working to block his outgoing telepathy, not wanting to reveal his own understanding of reincarnation which was involuntarily surfacing while he and Matsushita talked.
"Frankly, Mr. Matsushita, I don't spend much time wondering about it. I think the Earth is alive and aware of us and trying to figure out if we are parasites or saprophytes."
"You so have a droll sense of humor, Tea-san."
Droll? How proud of his English this Japanese was. Next he would be saying, "quaint".
"I wasn't trying to be funny" Tea responded. "I think that might be the reality. I think the Earth might be a conscious, living being."
Matsushita was clearly seeing himself as Tea's superior already, and Tea's quaint view of the livingness of the Earth supported that image.
That was all right with Tea; the less important Matsushita thought he was the greater his chances of getting this story and getting out of this story alive.
"What..." Matsushita paused. "...do you think about dead soldiers fighting on after death?"
"I think that's more than possible; I think that's probable." While saying this Tea again covered over thoughts of what he had learned at Arlington. Arlington was like an armed camp, waiting.
Matsushita leaned toward him. The rain was drumming on the car's roof. "Don't you think that contradictory. Dead soldiers fighting on, but no reincarnation?"
Tea could hear the faintest sarcasm in Matsushita's voice. Impoliteness was telltale in a Japanese. Tea was a burr under Matsushita's saddle. Things were going well.
"No, one thing's one thing, the other thing is another," Tea responded.
Tea was thinking Matsushita had an ace of a past life of his sleeve and was craving to play past-life poker this him. It was the "I was Cleopatra" game.
In Tea's business, past lives were covered over like footprints in the sand. In Tea's business it was better to have no past lives at all.
Matsushita was running through a checklist of his assumed superiorities over Tea. Money, race, past lives, destiny. Telepathically, Tea was hearing every thought Matsushita thought.
Many people felt superior to Tea. It was his protective coloration. It was an attitude Germans in particular took toward him, and Jews did the same, Superman and Chosen Man looking down on North Dakota Man; but for a Japanese to posture in that way was rare--unless the Japanese was in a position of power.
A car sped by in the opposite direction, throwing a sheet of water against Matsushita's window.
"Tea-san, do you think reincarnation is a stupid idea?" Matsushita's question was almost wistful. The alcohol was making him a little sentimental, a little soft.
"No, Mr. Matsushita, I think it's a beautiful idea. I just haven't seen enough evidence to convince me."
Matsushita freshened Tea's drink, then his own.
Custom said Tea should have poured for Matsushita every other time their drinks were refreshed, but it would have been awkward to have reached the bar from where he sat. It was a strong custom, and Tea caught himself wondering, worrying, if he was being impolite.
In Japan, politeness sometimes approached being everything; but it was not so much an art as a social rule, and the veneer of politeness was thin, very thin.
"You were telling me how Praying Mantis saved the life of your sister, Mr. Matasushita, before I interrupted. Please go on."
"Oh, yes, thank you, Tea-san."
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 78th day of its last year.
Jews Jaws Two Down
Shark America Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 171 (Fast Drops Indicate Big Quakes Coming)
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Society (5)
Today's code is "78th Day, Last Year"
"We are going to addle Charley's brain by killing Charley's children." US 101st Division trooper, Vietnam, August, 1967, to Virgil Kret, UPI combat correspondent.
Today's work is dedicated, with thanks and respect, to those American Iraq and Afghanistan vets who testified at the Winter Soldier: Iraq and Afghanistan conference Thursday through Sunday this past week.
There seems to have been scant media coverage of this event.
I suggest this lack of coverage is because In the religion of itself which is the United States of America, the American military in wartime enters a status of sainthood (until they come home wounded); and there is no desire on the part of the media for the public to know the extent of wanton murder their saint-soldiers commit in places like Iraq, Afghanistan and Vietnam.
The news media's blacking out of unacceptable news events is common in the USA. The American news media considers such voluntary self-censorship to be patriotic.
The sainthood of the American warrior offers to an ignorant and unscrupulous occupant of the White House such as George W. Bush the means by which to entrap the American people into foolish and fascist warfare.
All this monster-president had to do was get some saint-soldiers killed and soak himself in their blood; and thereafter the Republican American Fascists could say "We are at war now, we are at war now, opposition is treason."
Recently that foolish fascist in the White House has made two statements of such gross ignorance and self-deception that I must include them in today's brief report.
The idiot-fascist said before an audience of right wing radio big mouths that the invasion of Iraq was, is, and always will be the right thing to have done.
No, it will be always be known as the perfect storm of evil, vanity and stupidity which is was and is.
The only hope of it being known otherwise is that if the Republican American Fascists control the history books until this word explodes around Christmas time, 2064; but God will grind them so finely into dust well before then there is no danger of that.
This rich-boy jackass also, in a message to American troops in Afghanistan, commented on the great adventure they are having, and said if he were a bit younger and not drawing a government paycheck he would like to join them...but, and here's the butt that stinks to High Heaven, he was of a perfect age to go to Vietnam, but he hid out until the bullets stopped flying.
Had he gone into Vietnam combat, and had he survived, he would likely not be the silly, cowardly killer damned to Hell he is today.
Other than that--and the fact there is a highly skilled assassin on the move against Hilary Clinton--it's a slow news day at I.C. News; so let's return to our story of the Not-Forgetting Society.
In our last episode our journalist-protagonist Tea had arrived in the Japanese Tourist Village of Ama-no-Hashidate, Bridge to Heaven, where the Sun Goddess is said to have established the Japanese race in about 660 BC.
Soon after checking into an inn, the ghost of Praying Mantis appeared briefly to introduce him to a Mr. Matsushita, and minutes later Tea was visited by Matsushita Kenji, a famous Japanese industrialist.
Matsushita announced himself as a member of the top secret Japanese organization called the Wasureinai-kai in Japanese and the Not-Forgetting Society in English, and invited Tea to go, immediately, to a seance.
Tea was apprehensive, but the only direction open to him was forward..
Society, Part 5
Tea and Matsushita retrieved their shoes at the entrance to the inn and pushed out into the weather.
Matsushita's car was waiting; his driver was holding the right rear door open, apparently oblivious to the driving rain hitting him. It crossed Tea's mind that he might have been dutifully standing in the rain all the time Matsushita was in the inn.
Matsushita's bodyguard, who was also his son, and who was the man some 20 years later Tea would kill in San Francisco, was sitting in the left front seat, the passenger seat in Japan; the driver took his place behind the wheel. They were both clearly hard as nails. Clearly, Tea was a weakling compared to any of the three Japanese; anyone of them could snap his like a twig.
Once all were seated the car sped out of the tourists village and onto the main highway, heading north along the coast.
There was a bar built into the back of the driver's seat of the '67 Rolls Royce limousine. Matsushita offered Tea a drink. Tea had his usual Suntory whiskey; Matsushita had Jack Daniel's; both drank on the rocks.
"It's a longish ride," Matsushita, switching to English, was saying as the car sped through the darkness, the drumming rain on the windshield making the road a warping blur.
Looking out his side window, Tea could see storm damage to structures as they passed by. Matsushita was swirling his drink, clinking the ice cubes. Tea was feeling like a Black guest at a KKK meeting. These three tough Japanese did not like him, that was unpleasantly obvious.
Matsushita spoke. "I will tell you how I came to meet your friend, Praying Mantis...and by the way, Tea-san, "Praying" is spelled with an "a", not an "e". You are not being preyed upon here, despite the four tea cups.
Matsushita smiled, in part at Tea and in part to himself. He was clearly proud of his telepathy game, enjoying letting Tea know he had heard Tea's thoughts about the four tea cups before he had entered Tea's room at the inn.
"Drink up, please," he went on. "Soldier seances are best attended a little drunk."
Matsushita freshened Tea's whiskey. He was warming to his story, and Tea was interested in hearing it.
"Praying Mantis entered my life by saving the life of my sister in 1945. He was already dead by then.
"We are a Hiroshima family. Praying Mantis, too, was from Hiroshima, in a sense. He was born near here on this coast, as I understand you know, but his family moved to Hiroshima when he was a child.
"Hiroshima seems to have been our superficial common denominator. His, my sister's, and mine, I mean..."
Tea interrupted. "Is the Not-Forgetting Society based in Hiroshima?"
The question was out of place and too prying for this stage of the game, Tea knew; but Tea was there as a newsman so he had a license to be a boor.
Tea had to find a way to make a news story out of this, but what would UPI say to a story about dead Japanese soldiers possibly still killing Americans in 1967--and that seemed to be where this story was going.
As it was, Tea had no future with UPI anyway. His not returning to Vietnam had pulled the plug on that; but any facsimile of a future would be ground to powder with this ghost story.
As Tea now stood with UPI, as soon as his bureau chief Dunkel could figure out how to do it without Tea getting any disability he'd ease Tea out. Tea was crazy. Dunkel knew that; everyone knew that. That Gook rifle muzzle against his head had put him over the edge.
Consider what he had done on his home leave; wander around like a hippie for three months. Then there was that matter of his spending seven-eight hours a day hanging out at Arlington National Cemetery for a week...wouldn't you have to call that crazy?
The UPI Washington bureau had found out about that business when a cemetery security guard had approached the wandering, long-haired bum after having observed him for three or four days, and learned he carried UPI press credentials from Tokyo and Saigon; and cemetery security had called UPI to see if Tea had stolen them.
No, Tea was on thin ice with UPI as it was, and UPI wasn't about to carry any ghost stories. Nothing about what he was learning here on the rugged back coast of Japan, and nothing he had learned at Arlington, was acceptable as news. Yet is was news.
Tea could see the headline now, Journalist laughed into the Laughingstock Hall of Fame for proposing the crazy idea that the United States of America should go to the Pacific island battlegrounds and gather up the souls of American dead marooned there.
Yet they were marooned...yet they were marooned...yet they were marooned.
That collecting of souls had been one of the requests made of Tea by dead US Marines at Arlington. Now how was he going to put that idea out without ending up in the looney bin?
That had been just one of the many requests made of him by dead US military men as he had wandered through their bivouac, Arlington.
All these thoughts, or most of them, Tea successfully blocked before they reached Matsushita's range of telepathy. Best to keep some secrets face down on the table.
As if awakened from these thoughts, Tea heard Matsushita responding to Tea's interruption.
"Please, Tea-san," he was saying in a tone he would use for an adolescent. "no questions". This man hated Tea. He oozed hatred from beneath this ritual politeness.
"Where was I? Oh, yes, I was telling you how I came to know Praying Mantis.
"Another common denominator between Praying Mantis and myself was the martial arts. Both he and I had been championship level fencers in high school and college. Of course I mean Japanese fencing, Kendo, not your Western faggoty flip flop of foils."
Matsushita smiled at his clever use of English.
"Shit!", Tea thought, "What a smug ass this is."
"My sister, too, loved the martial arts, and at that time was a third degree in Naginata.
"Do you know it, Tea-san? No? The naginata is something like the old European halberd. It's a long wooden shaft with a curved blade at the end. Generally, it is considered a woman's weapon."
" You said those were superficial common denominators," said Tea, interrupting again. Tea was finding he was liking interrupting Matsushita.
"Yes, Mr. Newsman," Matsushita caught Tea's eye in the semi-darkness. The hatred he had for Tea was electric. There was a pause, Matsushita was exercising his sense of drama.
"All three of us seem to be experienced at reincarnation."
Tea never talked about reincarnation. It was his secret art.
Tea let out a long, slow sigh of boredom.
"Is the idea of reincarnation absurd to you?", Matsushita asked him.
"No", Tea responded in a slightly critical tone, as if a big piece of his thought was that reincarnation was hocus pocus bullshit. "I think I expected something along that line when I first became aware of the Not-Forgetting Society."
"Really, Tea-san?"
"Really. I've known Praying Mantis for a long time. He narrated to me what he feels was one of his past lives. I'm skeptical. I have met a lot of ghosts, that's my knack, but it seems to me the existence of ghosts on this Earth does not prove the existence of reincarnation."
"Do you really mean you do not believe it exists? Matsushita was stunned by Tea's stupidity, as Tea wanted him to be. "Don't you know that some people can be very good at it?"
"That's two different things, but I think both are possible but not probable," he said in a tone of indifference.
Tea had been reincarnating for at least five thousand years; but damned if he's let this smug, rich-assed Jap know it. To that end Tea was working to block his outgoing telepathy, not wanting to reveal his own understanding of reincarnation which was involuntarily surfacing while he and Matsushita talked.
"Frankly, Mr. Matsushita, I don't spend much time wondering about it. I think the Earth is alive and aware of us and trying to figure out if we are parasites or saprophytes."
"You so have a droll sense of humor, Tea-san."
Droll? How proud of his English this Japanese was. Next he would be saying, "quaint".
"I wasn't trying to be funny" Tea responded. "I think that might be the reality. I think the Earth might be a conscious, living being."
Matsushita was clearly seeing himself as Tea's superior already, and Tea's quaint view of the livingness of the Earth supported that image.
That was all right with Tea; the less important Matsushita thought he was the greater his chances of getting this story and getting out of this story alive.
"What..." Matsushita paused. "...do you think about dead soldiers fighting on after death?"
"I think that's more than possible; I think that's probable." While saying this Tea again covered over thoughts of what he had learned at Arlington. Arlington was like an armed camp, waiting.
Matsushita leaned toward him. The rain was drumming on the car's roof. "Don't you think that contradictory. Dead soldiers fighting on, but no reincarnation?"
Tea could hear the faintest sarcasm in Matsushita's voice. Impoliteness was telltale in a Japanese. Tea was a burr under Matsushita's saddle. Things were going well.
"No, one thing's one thing, the other thing is another," Tea responded.
Tea was thinking Matsushita had an ace of a past life of his sleeve and was craving to play past-life poker this him. It was the "I was Cleopatra" game.
In Tea's business, past lives were covered over like footprints in the sand. In Tea's business it was better to have no past lives at all.
Matsushita was running through a checklist of his assumed superiorities over Tea. Money, race, past lives, destiny. Telepathically, Tea was hearing every thought Matsushita thought.
Many people felt superior to Tea. It was his protective coloration. It was an attitude Germans in particular took toward him, and Jews did the same, Superman and Chosen Man looking down on North Dakota Man; but for a Japanese to posture in that way was rare--unless the Japanese was in a position of power.
A car sped by in the opposite direction, throwing a sheet of water against Matsushita's window.
"Tea-san, do you think reincarnation is a stupid idea?" Matsushita's question was almost wistful. The alcohol was making him a little sentimental, a little soft.
"No, Mr. Matsushita, I think it's a beautiful idea. I just haven't seen enough evidence to convince me."
Matsushita freshened Tea's drink, then his own.
Custom said Tea should have poured for Matsushita every other time their drinks were refreshed, but it would have been awkward to have reached the bar from where he sat. It was a strong custom, and Tea caught himself wondering, worrying, if he was being impolite.
In Japan, politeness sometimes approached being everything; but it was not so much an art as a social rule, and the veneer of politeness was thin, very thin.
"You were telling me how Praying Mantis saved the life of your sister, Mr. Matasushita, before I interrupted. Please go on."
"Oh, yes, thank you, Tea-san."
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through the 78th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 8:24 PM
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