...whereupon he adduced that he had no standing before the committee, and the room was spinning like mad. He kept fumbling through his pockets for the notes he’d drawn out years ago, but his fingers were cold and numb. As he focused upon the whirring fan, which seemed strangely still as the room gyrated wildly, he felt an impact upon his forehead. “There’s a bullet in my brain, Finally!” he thought. However, his lips relaxed and drooped as he realized that the warm liquid flowing over his face was urine, and not his own blood. He opened his eyes to see the head magistrate holding a bloated infant high above his head…a surgically altered half-dead infant in a black robe, who was pissing green liquid at his forehead. His mind went blank when he realized his head was also on fire…(to be continued)
So, this is what it's like...
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