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Tuesday, November 4, 2014


                                                           Last Laugh

     Dark horse no more.

     I stand at the abyss of power. Everyone who defies me or seeks to undermine my authority will be shoved into the eternal fires of Hell where  Lord Lucifer will mete out sweet justice. Call me what you wish: man of sin, the Antichrist, he who wears the sign of the beast. It matters not. To me belongs the power.

     Too many times when names have been mentioned as possible candidates for the Presidency, mine has only been murmured as a possibility, a maybe if all else fails and we need a compromise candidate. A dark horse. Never a front-runner. Seemingly, I had the potential, the credentials, but not the spark to ignite the passion of untold millions of followers.

     Flame on, Larry Murdock! The fucking fires are burning now!

     Two years ago I made a speech on the steps of the Capitol Building, my wife and two young daughters by my side, when some fanatical right-wing religious bastard gunned us down, our blood and the blood of many of my followers running down the stairs like red rivers flowing to the sea. Thirty five people killed that day, including my wife and daughters. And me? In a hospital on the verge of death for months.

     The Dark Angel came to visit and promised me that revenge would be mine with no one to stand in my way. Never.

     “Your God let you down, Larry!” he said. “Work with me. You will be my right arm, my son, my avenging Angel.  Your power will be second only to mine. Yes, my son . . . you will rule, infused with my spirit and strength.”

     One by one, the other candidates fell by the wayside, some dying horrible deaths, others caught in compromising positions of varying sorts, my evil Father there to push them into the center of a maelstrom of controversy.

     Two left now: me and that do-gooder Tim Johnson, the too good to be true candidate; handsome, happily married, perfect voting record. Everything is there. Or is it?

     His wife is his Achilles heel. Hah! Too many nights left alone while Mr. Perfect is currying favor with the politicos. A lonely, beautiful woman. She waits for love. That wait will not be long.

     The night before the convention. Tim seems to have the edge, Yeah, right! While he walks the floors of the convention center, I visit his hotel room, and using my devilish charms, I work my way into the arms of his ravishing wife. Her clothes come off  with total abandon, my fast moving hands performing the task with much finesse. We make love for hours, not mindful of the time. She is under my spell. What does time mean to her? As for me, I fear no man.

    Tim walks into the room and finds us totally entwined. I say nothing.

     Enraged, he comes at me, but Lord Satan grabs him from behind and slits his throat, almost severing his head. As he drops to the floor, his wife comes to her senses, and before she can scream, I take her head in my hands and break her neck, the cracking sound reverberating against the walls.

     “Get cleaned up, my son,” Lucifer says. “Tomorrow is your big day.”

     I dress, walk to my room, and shower. The hot water feels good on my body, cleansing me of the righteous rabble. My party needs me, and I will gladly accept the nomination.

     Slipping a cold beer out of the fridge, I toast myself. The last laugh is mine.

Blaze McRob   

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