Cogs, you know

I've awakened just moments ago. A low rumbling in deep in my abdomen. I've eaten things I shouldn't have. Car parts. Gears and switch plates and the like. I've made poor gastronomical decisions to impress erudite young men and nubile co-eds from these swank Northeast colleges of liberal arts and loose moral fiber.

That's money country up there. It grows, not on trees, but in damp Cape Cod cellars tightly guarded and poorly ventilated. Manned by shapeshifting demons who appear to mortals as visor-clad accountants with claws instead of hands. They compost, seed, and fertilize the filthy lucre with liquid greed and stardust mined in the outer reaches of the known universe.

Stardust is magically teleported by those given the names Poseidon, Aries, and Artemis by the Greeks. Today, some call them the Illuminati.

The magicians.

Eternal alchemists.

Gods, some have said.

I'm out of place here. These people don't shower. They don't have to. They sweat anti-bacterial liquid soap. It oozes from their pores. They smell like pine this time of year. Full, rich hair and sparkling white teeth.

The plumbing here is terrible, as they do not produce waste. These God damned alien half-breeds.

When angered they can breathe fire and launch rockets from their genitalia. But they don't anger easily. They needn't show emotion. They're sleep in fluffy beds, stuffed with goose down and well worn $20 bills.

They roll hemp cigarettes with crisp new hundreds.

Ball them up and throw them at each other in ritualistic money fights before the snow comes.

And the snow, like all weather, comes when they command it to do so.

Mortal feats do not impress this crowd. Hell, they shrug their shoulders at inbreeding. How do you impress such a lot?

One way, I learned, is by disassembling and eating aging European luxury sedans and their more aged and less luxurious owners.

He was to have been killed anyway. Teetering on dottering, his time had come. And I here to make a show of it.

Haughty rich believed his side curtain airbags would protect him. Old fool. Time and persistence were on my side.

The car was wheeled into a massive dining hall and driven onto a 20-foot solid oak table.

And I at the head sat down with a hunting knife, serving tongs and a ratchet set.

Over the course of the evening, I ate the entire machine and its then sleeping occupant.

I ache today and my stool bleeds.

This will be important come caucus time.

John McCain, it's your turn.