You might have heard that we were recently honored by the state of Washington. We do not absorb accolades especially well, being surrounded by a nearly impermeable membrane of self-doubt and residual teen vengeance. Even so, the grandeur of the setting elevated things to almost New Hope, medal ceremony levels. The addition of the following line:
WHEREAS, Mike Krahulik and Jerry Holkins did, without the use of their targeting computers, destroy the Death Star by launching proton torpedoes into its exhaust port; and
would perfect it.
After the bill passed the House, it needed to pass the Senate, which is the way of things. We had a chance to see sausage being made in real time, and it is not a process I think I could endure for long. I understand that - particularly in these troubled economic times - people rail against waste in government and demand to know what their elected representatives could possibly be doing in their marble capitols. Let me tell you that what they are doing is incredibly boring. Eventually, we started just making up the speeches. Whatever we're paying those people, it couldn't possibly be enough.
I waited, my brow damp with frigid sweat, for the imminent "nay" vote - a speech cleaving the bill in twain, a barrage directed at our sometimes gruesome material and openly debased behavior. It did not arrive. Again, we evaded capture.
If you are curious, the sensation of running from wild dogs is omnipresent. I spend each day in anticipation of The Men whose arrival signals the end of this bizarre pageant. I know them, though I have never seen them. Come now, their eyes will say. You never really believed it, did you?