---
A man walks into a bar late at night, down on his luck from having just lost his job and sits at the counter with a long face.
The bartender puts away his glass (dutifully polished) and saunters up to the newcomer.
"What'll ya have, partner?"
The man looks at the bartender and lowers his eyes.
"I don't have any money."
The bartender looks puzzled.
"If you don't have any money, I can't serve you. Beer isn't free, you know?"
The man, looking more dejected (if that's possible), holds out his hand.
"All I have is this magic rock. Will you take that?"
In his hand is a small (about the size of an egg), blue (almost the same color as the sky on a clear day) rock. The bartender laughs hard at this and doubles over. When his fit expires, he wipes his cheeks of tears and clears his throat.
"No. No, sir. That won't do. You either cough up some dough or I have to put you out."
The man turns on his stool, about to leave, when he turns back and puts the rock down on the counter.
"How about this? A bet."
The bartender grins.
"What kind of bet?"
The man, knowing he's got a bite, continues.
"An easy one. I bet.. I bet that I can throw this rock into the air.. and it won't come back."
There is another fit of laughter; twice as long as the last one.
"Mister, you have got a few screws loose, don't you? Why on Earth would I take that bet? I can't really believe I'm actually humoring you, but do you have anything to put up? I mean, what do I get if I win?"
The man shrugs.
"Well, what do you want if you win?"
The man looks around.
"Okay. If you win, which you won't, I will come to work for you.. for free.. I can make mean cocktails, scrub toilets, swab puke piles--":
"I'm not going to question your work history or anything, right? How do I know if you're reliable? What is too much? Can I tell you to scrub the blood up from the mandatory one murder a year?"
"Now, now. If you dispel it too much, it won't be a joke."
"You're right, continue."
"Okay, so if I win, I get this bar. You can still work here, but it will be for me."
The bartender shrugs.
"I don't know man, that sounds like a lame bet."
"Okay, okay. I'll give you the deed to my house and property, the keys to my car, and give you the number to the only blind hooker in town."
"Deal."
They both head out the back into the alley. The man rubs the rock between his hands, warming it up.
"Come on. Throw it already."
The man looks back at the bartender, grins, then throws the rock with all the strength he has straight up.
For a moment, the rock stays in view in the dark sky. A lit contrast to the blackness.
Then it's gone.
A minute passes and the bartender can't believe it.
"Wow. I guess you won."
---
I never can remember the punchline.
Well, folks, it's only Day 4 of 2011 and already I'm feeling the wanderlust of a new era creeping up behind me like ATF. So soothing to hear throats sing.
If I offend, I do not apologize. Since my transformation, I have a morbid gaiety that others find simply exhausting and repulsive.
I want to touch on a few things, so bear with me and my chaotic fingers. It takes a lot of effort to push myself to do these things, so I hope you'll stick with me for a few.
Resolutions!
Much ado about nothing, really. Such endeavors are saved for the primitive. It's simply an affirmation of things I told myself all 2010. Now summed up into a nifty little (ever growing) list.
- Be more resolute. That's a laugh. I should be more concise and clear when issuing demands. The CIA seem to have difficulties in deciphering my Riddler-esque clues. And we're talking Batman: The Movie Riddler. Such a string of thoughts that combine into a coherent direction. So.. much.. reaching. And the acting! .... Superb! Anyways.
- Be more active. This I can't stress enough. It seems everyone is on my case to be more participator than a spectator. Level 7 keeps backing up, I can't seem to contain leaks on levels 43-61, and there is a disturbance on 19.. more on that later.
- Brainwash. That's right. No beating around the bush with the minions, henchmen, plebes, and goons. If they can't grasp the simple concept of Shoot, Shoot Some More, brainwash them until they get it right.
- Finish What You Started. There are so many projects going on right now. Hardly any of them have the funding to finish the year, let alone completion. Project Franklinstein was a.. questionable success. So that's one down. Project Pincer won't see any reliable results in the near future (the time table says at least 4 more years), Operation Parade is scheduled for November, The Zombie Apocalypse could happen any minute (if it hasn't been in full swing for years now), and I can't find my God Damned phone. That leads me to my next resolution..
- Get Organized. Perhaps a PDA. Then someone to help me program the damn thing. Ooh, I've had my eye on one of those Ipad things. Maybe one of those would keep my event scheduling from getting out of hand. I held together a few meetings in the last month of 2010, but only tenaciously so. I've got a few more in the coming week, I just hold to hope that it doesn't get out of control. I was very close to losing a few henchmen to infighting. That's what happens, I guess, when you mix alcohol and the power to conjure jets of fire from your fingertips. You should see this new guy...
- Introduce More Minions. This public face (heh) has seen quite a spike in communique recently. I've compiled the best Mexico and the World have to offer me and tied them together into some loose-knit organization without real direction. Sure, I want to annihilate the human species, but I need humans to build the giant mechanoids who are going to do it. It's a vicious cycle. My henchmen need exposure, though; the better to terrify my enemies into submission before a single punch is thrown. I'm telling you, this new guy makes me want to puke. He's down on Level 7 almost as much as Henchman 22, first to volunteer for Fire Watch, and doesn't ask why. His level of commitment perturbs me. When I think about it, a disturbing train of questions begin.. Why is he doing this? Is he trying to get promoted? Is he trying to get close enough to strike me down? Is he gathering information? Is he a spy? Things like that. And he likes to burn things. That's not all bad. But, yeah, give the minions a few minutes, then put them back to work. That Weather Machine is not going to build itself. (Santa did not bring one for Christmas.. there was no Christmas. Someone must have leaked to him that I don't celebrate it..)
- Expand. Reach out more. Reveal more. Like, my origin. Let's take a quick moment to observe and discuss my moniker.
Agent Wraith.
Now, I, for one, did not simply reach into a bin labeled Super Villain Name/Gimmick and whatever I pulled out was saddled with. No, it was chosen very carefully.
I was once (and still am in a way) an Agent. I'll keep the agency I worked for mum (clue: We helped stamp out the American Indian problem quite nicely). That brings all the pomp-and-circumstance with it. I can handle (well, maybe not handle) a few dozen firearms in my sleep, surgically precise with a blade, could start a butterfly collection with a roomful of loose specimens and a handful of pins, and could make a frigid Mother Superior reenact scenes from The Best of Jenna Jameson. Well, the last one isn't really possible anymore. Just an incorporeal being after all.. And Wraith. I am in between worlds. I am the next step in your evolution, ape. Not only can I go anywhere (walls, no matter how dense, do not impede me), but I can be anyone. Just a suit for me. I wear your skin and discard it just like changing clothes. Those who have passed are subject to my changing whim. It's not 100%, I've had my battles with more willful specters (like Kennedy), but always unscathed. I've managed to channel a few to hilarious outcomes (that time I summoned Cass was a good one; she didn't get my Cartman impression though). I'm still waiting for the Ghost of Nixon to rear his ugly head..
ML, eat your heart out.
I'd like to think of it like The Carrot. You know, that thing you dangle in front of some dumb animal to keep it moving forward (which can actually be attributed to this list). I'll even let it be caught, maybe even a nibble, just to yank it back and have them press on. I have to push forward, regardless of anyone else doing the work. For my own sanity, I have to. If none of you hold your weight against the coming horde, I will die knowing I did my best. I also die knowing you bastards sent me to my final rest without putting up much effort, assholes. Point! There are so many cookie jars to put my ghostly hands into. Just don't get too greedy. You stretch yourself over too many things and you end up not giving enough attention to them all. That's politics.
- NO MORE POLITICS. This isn't the United Nations. This isn't your United States of Whateva. This is MY planet, you disgusting meat sacks. This isn't Democracy. This is totalitarianism. And I alone am the totalitarian. You think you have what it takes to give me a run for my money? I have the most powerful weapon in my arsenal and I'm not talking about my Death Ray. I'm talking about time. I have all the time the world has left (and maybe a bit after it's busted to bits by Apophis). Time travelling is covered later, that's not what I'm going on about. No, no, no. I'll outlive you all. You think I'm posturing? That's okay. It's expected. I will (plain and simply) outlast you all. When you are old, griping about the applesauce in some Assisted Living space somewhere, fighting over the SpectroVision™, I'll be young and spry. No, I'm not immortal. It will end sometime. But, I can guarantee that when this generation (hell, even the next) is old (some of you already are. ML is what 30? 35? Shit, 40?), I'll be able to run-cough-float circles around you. If you have all your mental faculties by then. If your cholesterol doesn't.. meh. And yes, this is called forewarning. I'm going to pound you to paste when you're old. When you're frail. When the terror will be at its peak. Oh, someone help me! There's a ghost from my past come to beat me up! I'm too old and weak to fight back! Good luck convincing the orderly stealing your meds that something is actually wrong. With luck, they'll get to you long before I do. Saves me time. If they rattle your brittle bones and break your trachea, I have one less name to mark off my list. I've been cordial in the face of your stupid rants, your posturing, and your sad pathetic attempt to evoke some reaction out of me. I've taken the brunt of your needless assaults and still stood strong and determined not to change my demeanor. My conclusion? You no longer matter.
Note: Henchman 22 pointed out that I should refrain from delivering such a threat. That, by issuing such a statement could be construed as menacing, terrorism, or worse, egotism. I'm not going to retract my statement, nor will I condone such labels to it. It is a fact. A bold, true fact. You will get old. I will not. I will track you down and make you poop yourself.
- Eliminate All Enemies. Another straight forward resolution. From the big ones, right down to the little ones. That RLSH/Vigilante/weirdo who's running around nearby (probably listening in on my late night conversations)? That compulsion to possess a smoker just to feel the slight twinge of nicotine satisfaction? Okay, maybe I'll just keep that one. But everything else? Eliminate it. Distractions? Gone. Dead-weight? Gone. Priorities? Wait. What? Yeah, get rid of everything that could be a potential threat to my inevitable rise...
And if you think I'm talking about you, you're giving yourself too much credit. There is actually a very short list and your name is most likely not on it. You simply do not warrant the time for consideration. And, just to be prudent, there's not a single RLSH/SV on it. If you choose to bring yourself to my circle.. sit your ass down in it.. get comfortable.. then complain when you don't get called on.. fuck off. I would expect the same treatment. I'm sitting in your circle. I'm not complaining either. I like to read, solve puzzles, and enjoy long floats on the beach.
I'm not doing this for you.
I chose to be this way for my own reasons. None of them have to do with you. The only thing that comes close to even relating to you would be the timing. I have been watching for a while now. Yeah, watching. Not just reading the report on some independent newspaper or seeing a bleeding-heart piece (more like weirdo/oddball/cow-in-tree) on some costumed yahoo. I've seen you. Before things like Cons and Expos were part of something other than obscure/indie/subculture phenomenon.
Who Watches The Watchmen?
p.s.
Muuwwaahhaahhaahaahahahahahaha. Ha.