Ok. So you know how Mary Kate and Ashley, the Olsen twins, were like THE hottest thing of the late nineties? Right? Well what are they doing now? Nothing. Ok fashion, but that’s not where the money is, right? Haha! Right. No. It’s in movies. Olsen Twin movies. But we can’t just see them now that they’re all grown up and plastic surgery face. Blech. Who wants to see that? I don’t. I want to see money. Mary Kate and Ashley money. BIG NINETIES COCAINE MONEY. Ok!? Right? But how…?

Double Babies!
Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen are BACK! And they’re Double Twouble! (“Double” because there’s two of them and they’re twins, “Twouble” because it’s an adorable take on “trouble” and it rhymes and because you’ll see why it makes sense in a minute…).
That’s the tagline, now here’s the logline: they’re secret double-agent babies.
You know how the Bourne Identity is like spy vs spy vs double-spy? Yeah. That plus Mary Kate and Ashley.
(remember how I said the “twouble” would make sense? Eh? Because secret double agents are trouble. Yeah.)

And here’s the best part: guys, I didn’t even come up with this. Mary Kate and Ashley did. They sent me an email. We’re friends. So we had lunch and they said they wanted to move back into acting, maybe become the new Angelina Jolies or Kathy Lee Giffords.
I said “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Tweedledee (that’s what I call Mary Kate. It’s a twins joke.). You guys aren’t old enough for action. BUT…”
Then I was quiet for a minute because I was thinking. I was thinking about money.
“Ok Minnesota baseballers (it’s another twins thing I call them), here’s what I figured out just now: people love the old yous. They hate this new, fashioney, plastic surgery thing you’re doing.”
The girls were quiet for a minute (they’re good listeners).
Then one of them said “But-.”
And I said “NO BUTS Tweedledum! (that’s what I call Ashley) Here’s how it’s gonna happen: CGI. Voice-Over. We’re going to take you back to the height of your fame, before you started this horrible downward spiral.”

Well. They loved it. Look Who’s Talking meets James Bond!
How could anyone resist that? They weren’t able to. And audiences won’t be able to, also. And the best part is, we already have a built-in fanbase with the old fans who aren’t children anymore. But there are new children who don’t know the magic of Mary Kate and Ashley. They’ve only recently been born!
So we do a Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in. Easy. Children love smurfs.
We name two of the Smurfs Mary Kate Smurf and Ashley Smurf. And they’re TWIN smurfs. This is important because the Olsen twins are twins. So we need audiences to know that.
Now there’s a secret double-bonus that I don’t have to tell you, but I will (“double,” ha!).
I didn’t tell the girls this because we’re friends, but they are pretty bad at acting.
You know that. I know that.
BUT a lot of horrible actors can still be good VOICE actors! So that solves THAT problem. Also, the Smurfs 3D Part 2 tie-in will give them a chance to practice their voices before their big re-debut!

As for the rest of the movie, I think we’ve got it pretty much covered. It’s a CGI animation hero story, only with twins who are spies, but since they’re double-spies, they don’t know if they can trust each other, which is tension and story. For the main antagonist…
You sure you want me to spoil it? Ok, well it SEEMS the whole movie like it’s Evil Marky Mark, the president of the Evil United States (The United States is evil in the FUTURE, so it’s sci-fi too), but then really, the bad guy turns out to be Ashley! Ashley Olsen! No, wait. Mary Kate! Mary Kate Olsen! Because she really wasn’t a secret double-agent, she was just an evil single agent all along.

Anyway, the script is being written by Howie Mandel and it’s riveting. Audiences are gonna love it. I say we either do Thanksgiving weekend, or we make them Christmas double agents and turn it into holiday season material. Maybe the bad guys can be Jewish or something so we can grab the Hanukkah crowd. Howie’s Jewish. I’ll pitch that idea to him and see what he thinks.

Let’s cut the chit-chat.
Thank you.
Sorry to be blunt, but this company hired me so we could stop wasting time.
Let’s get to the point.
My name’s Harold Firer.
I’m a consultant.
I’m basically here so we can stop screwing around as a company and start maximizing out potential.
Our investors are demanding a lot of changes, so if you value your job, listen up.
Got your attention?
Good.
Let’s get down to brass tacks.
We aren’t making enough money.
We need to be making MORE money.
How are we going to do that?
I’ll tell you.
Profit.
Nothing makes money faster than profit.
Profit’s not just a buzzword, people.
Profit is real.
It’s the most important thing a company has.
Without profit, a company doesn’t exist.
We need profit.
Think about it like your blood.
You need your blood, don’t you?
Well this company’s blood is profit.
It takes profit to be an industry leader.
So how do we get more profit?
Four things:
Decrease overheads.
Cut unnecessary spending costs.
Drive growth.
Increase Revenue.
One. Decrease overheads. Cut the wheat from the chaff.
Maximize output. Maximize productivity.
Fire people.
Two. Cut unnecessary spending costs. Do you really need a stapler?
Really? You?
Why can’t we have three staplers that everyone in the company uses?
It costs less.
Economy.
Thrift.
Profit.
Three. Drive growth. Encourage thinking outside the box.
Not daydreaming. Not surfing on youtube. Not facebooking your ex.
You think about how you can make your life better?
Start thinking about how you can make this company better.
Or get out.
Profit.
Four. Increase Revenue. Upcharge our products. Maximize their valuability, and thus, our valuability as a company.
Bring in new clients. New customers. We haven’t sold any of our products to your grandmother? Why not?
Do it or get out.
These things are not just “good ideas”.
If we don’t do them, we’ll die. Understand? We have to start thinking the big thoughts. All of us.
Why do we have a break room? For coffee? How much does coffee cost?
Shut it down.
Bring your own coffee or get out.
No fridge. No lunch. Work. Profit. Eat it. Sleep it.
But don’t sleep it at work or we’ll have a little “chat” about it. And our conversation will end when you pile your stuff into a cardboard box and, you guessed it, get out.
Don’t make eye contact with me. Ever.
Give me your lunch money.
Profit is what we’re talking about.
I’ve made 19 out of 20 companies profitable in the last 9 out of 10 years.
You know how I did that?
Profit.
I don’t fuck around. And from now on, neither do you.
I will end you.
Are we clear?
Do you know what I do on weekends?
I fucking take off my clothes and hunt boars with my bare hands.
I am not lying to you.
I don’t even use a knife. I use my hands. And my teeth. And my muscles.
Look at my chest.
You think you can take me?
You think you can take a wild boar with your bare hands?
Shut your mouth.
Get to work.
I will kill you and claim it was self-defense.
Do you understand?
The two of you in the back there? Talking to each other?
Fired.
Get out.
Meeting adjourned.

Ok everyone, settle down.
Settle down.
Ok.
Well. This is really great.
I see a lot of new faces, which is great.
Um.
I called this meeting though, because I’ve been getting a lot of questions recently.
A lot of the same questions, I should say.
So I wanted to clear up any confusion we may- you all- may have.
We’re all here because we love one thing: Throw-
Yeah, throwing knives, exactly.
But it’s not just that.
It’s the potential throwing knives have.
That.
That potential.
Because when you hold the knife that way, I mean, you tell me, can you NOT throw it?
No.
Exactly.
Of course not.
Potential.
And fear.
People fear throwing knives.
And people fear people who throw throwing knives.
Especially people who are good at throwing throwing knives.
And we’re all here to get better at throwing throwing knives, right?
Exactly.
I, but-
Ok. I don’t want to derail, but first I feel I need to reiterate a few things.
Guys.
Some of us are getting hurt. By each other.
Look at Ted over there.
Look.
Ted, show them your face.
For those of you who weren’t here last week, take a good look.
(sigh)
Guys that’s rule number one!
Do NOT throw throwing knives at other Throwing Knife Gang members.
Rule number one.
If we don’t honour that, I mean, what can I say?
We’re hardly a gang. That’s what.
What gangs do you know that hurt each other?
I know the Chain Gang doesn’t. You ever see their members with chain marks?
No.
They may have flame burns or tire welts or knife marks-
Right Steve, always modest.
Please, a short round of applause for Steve, who-
(Applause)
For you new guys out there, Steve was key in our last scheduled gang fight with the Chain Gang.
You’re an asset to the gang, we all know that. But a little modesty-
Anyway, you don’t see Chain Gang members with chain marks. That’s my point.
And please, don’t think for a second that I don’t appreciate the-
The enthusiasm our gang has.
The energy.
I really do.
I mean, when we bring it, it’s just-
I mean, frankly, we have more energy than any other gang I’ve seen, and-
We just want to feel like a team, don’t we?
Yeah.
Sure we do.
So let’s keep that in mind.
Especially you new guys.
Anyway, where was I..
(page flip)
(pause)
(page flip)
(pause)
(page de-flip)
So potential.
Like our throwing knives, we all have potential.
Every one of us.
And this gang.
This gang has potential.
Micky, I don’t want to single you out, but-
You know, it’s not just Micky.
I’ve seen a lot of you guys.
When you’re out, buying a hot dog, or you know, something else-
You pay for it.
Now, that’s not necessarily bad, but I don’t see a lot of intimidation.
I don’t even see a lot of, you know-
I guess-
I don’t know, marketing?
I guess that would be an ok word to use.
I don’t see us marketing our gang to local businesses.
You know?
I mean-
I guess I’m getting bogged down in details.
Here’s what I see, for us.
For our gang:
We start with small businesses, right?
We muscle them around a bit. Scare them.
Not too much.
But a little.
Then we protect them. From other gangs.
I mean, rival gangs, right?
Then we collect a bit of money from them.
For that protection.
We move up to bigger businesses.
Banks!
Right?
We can rob banks pretty soon.
I mean, by at least August, I would say.
If we play our cards right.
We rob a few banks, we work our way up the ladder.
Control this city a little at a time.
We can even expand to other cities and you know.
Throwing knives.
We work our way up to drugs.
Now look.
I know.
Ok.
I know.
No, I know.
(pause)
Hey.
Guys.
I didn’t start this gang to deal drugs.
I didn’t.
But that’s where the money is.
That’s where the power is.
That’s a good point Barney. Politics.
We work our way into politics too.
Everything.
You see?!
That’s thinking outside the box.
That’s thinking about potential.
Let’s keep thinking that way.
About potential.
Where can we expand?
Where can we grow?
We all have as much potential as a throwing knife.
And we’re great.
Throwing knives are great!
(Applause)
Yeah!
Ok!
So everyone grab a piece of pizza and let’s all talk and come up with ideas, ok?
Great!
Thank you!
(Applause)

1. Place a dry, cleanish towel immediately within reach of the shower.
2. Listen for neighbours to see if someone in another apartment is using up your shared hot water. If they are, skip to step 11. If not, continue to step 3.
3. Check to see how hot the hot water is by itself. If hot, move onto step 4. If lukewarm, move onto step 11. If cold, move onto step 14.
4. Turn on the cold water to a comfortable level. Step into the shower. Point the shower head slightly to one side of the shower. This will come into play during steps 5 and 6.
5. Be on constant alert for the sound of a toilet flushing. If you hear one, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm’s way. Wait for scalding water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary freezing backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
6. Be on constant alert for the hot water to immediately give out for no reason whatsoever. When this happens, duck immediately to the side opposite the water stream, out of harm’s way. Wait for freezing water to subside. Do NOT readjust water. This will result in unnecessary scalding backlash when the temperature returns to normal.
7. Shampoo hair with affordable and/or borrowed shampoo. Remember how conditioner used to feel.
8. Soap up with affordable and/or borrowed soap. Curse the soap quietly, but vehemently, for your troubled skin. Rinse off.
9. Daydream about people/homework you intended to do last night, as well as upcoming projects/tests. Do you have a quiz today? Are you sure? Are you?
10.  If you’ve daydreamed for too long, pause to remember whether you’ve completed steps 7 and 8. If you can’t remember, repeat them to be certain. Proceed to step 15.
11.  You have less than three minutes of warm water. Make them count.
12.  Turn on the hot water as low as possible. This will prolong what little remains. Do NOT daydream. Immediately proceed to “lucky” step 13.
13.  Shampoo and soap yourself in one go, then rinse everything in one go. Do not condition. Do not shave. Skip to step 15.
14.  Since you have class in fifteen minutes, skip the shower. If you have done this three or more times in a row, weigh that option against the option of being late. Your opinion should change slightly with each concurrent shower skip. If you reach six skips, take a cold shower and complain about it the rest of the day to your friends or anyone who complains about anything else. Skip to step 17.
15.  Turn off the water and grab the towel from step 1.
16.  Dry yourself off BEFORE you step out of the shower. This will prevent unsightly bruises and/or expensive medical bills.
17.  Wrap your towel around your waist/head and scramble around your room to find cleanish clothes to wear.
18.  Run to class. You are late.

I was a young boy at the time. No more than nine or ten, I believe. I lived a few blocks from an abandoned school, McCulloch Middle School, if I remember correctly.
I spent copious amounts of time playing inside there after-hours, messing around and whatnot.
One of the door locks was busted, you see. It was like my own fortress.

Now, it never struck me at the time, but for having been abandoned for such a long time, there was still a lot of junk lying around. Junk without any dust on it. And there were a lot of other little signs that people were in fact still using the school, although I’d never actually seen anyone going in or out, except myself.

I used to doodle on the blackboards, stack textbooks into little piles to sit on, rearrange the school desks into circles and pretend two of them were were boxers in a ring. Normal things that children do when left unattended, I suppose.
But there was one night that was different- one snowy night which I haven’t told a single soul about until telling you now.

I was playing army, I believe- marching through one of the hallways on the first floor and giving commands to troops inside my head, when I heard an angry voice around the corner.

“Where’s the boy?!”

I froze up, knowing that I had finally gotten caught messing around in this building where I had no business being.

Instead of someone charging determinedly around the corner to arrest me, as my imagination was predicting, I heard a different angry voice pipe up.

“Get out here and give us the boy!”

Then a voice that was too muffled to hear replied. It took me a moment, but I realized I might not be in any trouble at all. However, I was smart enough to know that if I kept standing in the middle of the hallway like a bullfrog in a flashlight beam, I would indeed be in trouble very soon. So, I pulled up against the wall, and cautiously peeked around the corner.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw, let me tell you.

In a building where I’d never seen so much as my own reflection before, now almost a dozen men and women were angrily buzzing outside an office door, shoving on it occasionally and trying to bust it open. To make things even more surreal, most of the men held guns.

Now, even if I hadn’t been playing army and imagining people being shot left and right, the sight of those real guns would have turned my blood just as quickly to ice.

I pulled my head back instinctively, imagining they were already shooting at me. It was immediately apparent to me that if this angry mob was out looking for little boys, I needed to find a safer place to listen from.

Having played in this building for countless months, I knew some of the classrooms had doors to both hallways, so I started checking for one that was open in the safe hallway on the opposite side of the building.

I found an unlocked door door on my third or fourth try, and as I shut it quietly behind me and made my way nearer to the commotion, it sounded like things were escalating quickly. I put my ear on the closed door connecting to the dangerous hallway and listened.

“If you don’t come out here this instant, so help me, I’m gonna shoot this damn door right off its hinges!”

Now I could finally make out the voice from inside the teacher’s office. The door I was listening at was right opposite the door where all the action was taking place, you understand.

“It won’t do you any good. The door’s been sealed.”

The voice in the classroom sounded afraid. It wasn’t angry like the voices of the mob, which suddenly erupted in a chorus of hatred.

“How could you put a monster like that in the same classroom with my little girl?!”
“Yeah! He oughta be locked away where he can’t do anyone any harm.”
“Or destroyed! For his own good! For the safety of everyone!”

This last line was met with several cheers.
The voice in the office wavered a bit in his reply.

“You don’t understand. There’s nothing I can do. I have to help the boy try to live a normal life. I have to.”

“You had your chance. I’m comin’ in there.”

With these words, a shot rang out, followed immediately by screams and another eruption from the crowd.

“What happened?!”
“The bullet bounced right off the damn wood!”
“Is everyone ok?!”
“How could that happen?”

The voice from inside the office wavered a bit now.

“I told you, the door’s been sealed. It won’t open unless I break the seal first. There’s nothing you can do.”

“Well, we’ll see how good that seal is when the whole damn school is burning down around it!”
“Yeah, open up!”

“The boy is very sad. He says no one needs to get hurt.”

“Yeah? Tell that to my son. He got chunks of his arm torn out the last time that kid in there had himself a tantrum!”

There was a brief silence, and the man in the office said something that to this day, still wakes me up ringing in my ears.

“If you don’t leave now, the boy’s going to kill you.”

There was a tense silence, then he finished.

“All of you.”

This seemed to have quite an effect on the crowd for a moment, but one of the braver, or stupider, men finally spoke up and re-envigorated their efforts.

“What’s he gonna do? Make us all explode? Shoot us with our own guns? Poison us?!”

At this sentence, the mob and I parted ways.
As they re-doubled their efforts to get into that office, I turned on my heels and took off.
I’d heard enough horror stories from my father about the poison gases in the war trenches, and even though I had no idea what was going to happen, I wasn’t going to stick around to see firsthand.

I headed straight for the end of the hallway and almost flew up the three flights of stairs, imagining poison gas and bullets coming up behind me; imagining death itself chasing me.

I went all the way to the top of the stairs, and out onto the roof, where it was still snowing, softly. Then, I shut the heavy door behind me and kicked a nearby wedge underneath it to keep back whatever was coming. Not turning away, I backed up as far from the door as possible, and found myself at the edge of the roof, overlooking the street. I think it was right then that I realized I was crying.

I wiped my tears away and stared unblinkingly forward, but nothing came out of that door. Instead, down behind me, the front doors of the school opened up and everyone in the mob walked calmly out one after another in a single-file line.

Then one by one, they collapsed out into the fresh snow. Some sat down first and fell over, some lay down on their backs gently, and some completely slumped down mid-walk into a crumpled heap.

From the few that were looking up towards the snowing sky, towards me, I could tell they were dead.
And I knew in my stomach that that boy had killed them, somehow.

It was like he just… put sleep into them, and never took it back out.

Proof is a strange concept. Evidence can be lost. The senses can be deceiving and unreliable, even among groups of dissimilar individuals, each witnessing the same event. Ultimately, proof is individualistic. It requires nothing of the individual who experiences it, and provides nothing in return.

Aside from hypothetical conjecture, every human has experienced an intimate knowledge of something that is very real for them, that they in turn are being challenged to explain to others, to convince them or convert them, of that something’s reality. Why is this important? Because I intend to relay my own personal experience- something very real for me, because it occurred to me. It happened at me. But, I will begin at the beginning, before I entered the picture.

There once was a key that opened a box. This key and this box may still currently exist, but if so, they are lost so far as tangible proof is concerned. I am of the opinion that they must at least have existed at one point in time, because of the story and it’s relation to my experience. The story involves a ring. I saw the ring, therefore, I believe in the ring. Subsequently, I also now believe in the story of the ring.

The story of the ring is, in my mind, more comparable to the Greek myths than the fables of the Brothers Grimm, in that there is only one variation of the story that remains. There is also a certain honesty derived from the tale’s simplicity, although to be fair, much can be said about the veracity of any story with an abundance of detail, the minutiae locking itself more firmly in the land of reality than in the simplistic dimension of fairy tales. But that debate is for another time and irrelevant here.

The story is very short and goes exactly this way:

“There once was a key that opened a box. Inside the box, there was a ring. The ring was no ordinary ring.”

That is the entirety. The story itself is beautiful in that it follows no successful structure. It has no beginning, no middle, and no end. No protagonist, no climax, no struggle. One may make the argument that it is entirely symbolic or metaphorical in nature, and yet having nothing in the story for juxtaposition, and no insight into historical context, this is a rather weak argument. Upon analyzing for a deeper meaning than mere structure, one discovers that the mystery of the story lies not in the existence or nonexistence of the box or ring, but in what makes the ring “no ordinary ring”. It is my firm opinion that, despite what scholars may posit, this vague mystery is the true reason the story has been passed through the generations, and not the beautiful simplicity of the story’s structure. It feeds the imagination with it’s lack of detail. It truly is a story in which anything is possible.

Hypothetical debates aside, there are also tales of those who have experienced the ring’s physical presence and tangible effects. However, there has been no conclusive, public proof so as to belie the true characteristics or powers of the ring. I am among the quantum of living men who have experienced the effects of the ring firsthand, but I must say, I am more concerned with, indeed fascinated by, the cultural history that once surrounded the ring than I am the actual ring itself.

The ring grants its wearer immortality. That fact is typically where most contemporary men who discover the ring cease their investigation. But I must contend that, being a wonderful distraction, this power (and the means of its function) is not nearly as intriguing to me as the effects of this power, and the resulting properties of everlasting life as the center-point of the culture of Nanah’d.

Having access to everlasting life, I have been able to gather, if I may say so, an impressive amount of data over the years. But even with my extensive knowledge, and the combined efforts of my colleagues, it was never ascertained as to whether Nanah’d is the actual “birthplace” of the ring itself, or merely the one place in history the ring and its power birthed an entire culture; spawning traditions, rituals, and other such common cultural phenomena from such an uncommon source.

This dearth of knowledge is due mostly to the inception of Nanah’d's record-keeping roughly two hundred and forty-three years after the discovery of the ring, which was simply referred to as the “Ring of Nanah’d”. No other proper name appears to ever have been bestowed upon the ring. Since the town’s destruction, it has come to be known even more simply as “the ring” or “the ring of the story”. The details of Nanah’d's destruction are also unclear, mostly due to the lack of record keeping that tends to occur when one’s civilization is wiped from the face of the earth. It appears through most second-hand accounts to have been a rather quick natural disaster of some kind; a flood, volcanic eruption, earthquake, or the like. Aside from these two rather important gaps, the historians of Nanah’d kept very detailed books of the several hundred years the ring was the heart of Nanah’d's culture, many of which, I’ve been fortunate enough to uncover.

The ring, being but a fantastic article of jewelry, was limited in its applications. It follows then, that Nanah’d was ruled as a monarchy. Again, whether this was the culture in Nanah’d before the ring’s introduction, or after the ring offered no conceivable alternative, is of course, both speculation and irrelevant. In one of the early books, specifically Nanah’d Ahu Guanta (roughly translated as “Nanah’d, The Birth”), historians record only in that there was much bloodshed in the first struggle to obtain the ring’s power. However, it is noted that this violence finally subsided, as no harm could come to the ring’s wearer. Fighting for the ring, then, was ultimately of no use. Knowing this, what I find remarkable is that this ring which granted immortality still passed from one owner to the next, and with it, the leadership of Nanah’d. I first conjectured that the ring might perhaps have (in some instances) been removed peacefully, but without the owner’s consent; say, during sleep. After all, a single ring cannot change size and shape to fit each owner’s hand accordingly, so by simple mathematical probability, the ring must have fit a bit too loosely on at least a few of the rulers of Nanah’d, making the ring fairly easy to remove. The next work I found however, put this notion to rest. Bruc Nanah’d Mehai Jedorn (roughly translated as “Nanah’d, Big Day Stories”), specifically recounts how the ring was willingly passed each and every time from the old ruler to the new ruler. A tradition,which would only become reinforced and engendered as time marched on. This tradition is spectacular for two specific reasons; one: the reigns of leadership fluctuate wildly in their durations; and two: this tradition was the single most important aspect in shaping the culture of Nanah’d .

No tradition was ever put in place for a minimum or maximum length of a particular monarchy. This again points to the purity of the system and lends itself to a few interesting cases. The first I can recall is a husband and wife who ruled simultaneously (informally, of course), by trading the ring between each other and thus playing to their differing strengths as natural leaders for any given situation. This union was the only time in Nanah’d's recorded history an informal partnership was observed, and though it was seemingly successful, its rarity in success should be remembered as mirrored in the infancy of the United States of America, when it was highly likely for the president and the vice-president to come from different political parties.

There are also a few cases of the frailty of humanity as the cause for transferral. One of the rulers gave the ring to his mother in desperation, after learned she had passed away suddenly a few hours before. Controversial as this decision was, it was allowed by the society of Nanah’d. The mother reportedly “ruled” from her bed for less than a week’s time before leadership was transferred back to the son through somewhat ambiguous means. There is also the case of a man who teased the promise of a few hours with the ring to whomsoever would bed him. This famously ended when one of the women, Mi’rst Klobs’b, refused to give the ring back, instead going on to become one of the most wise and successful rulers of Nanah’d's entire history.

That the records show the ring was passed as often to successors unrelated by blood as to family, is the key to the most important aspect of the unique culture of Nanah’d. This fact is but a symptom of the much larger and more remarkable feature: unadulterated positive incentive and reinforcement. This pure incentive to become a model citizen in order that one might obtain the positive tangible reward of the ring, is in stark contrast to all other civilization’s intangible religious negative reinforcement of hades/hell/etc as the underlying motivation for good behaviour and social pacification.

Another detail of note, regarding the purity of the system, is that age was of no consequence. Even the very eldest and physically feeblest were on occasion given the chance to rule, the ring rendering their proximity to death inconsequential. Younger citizens were more rarely offered the opportunity, but there is one account of a ruler passing his throne to an eight-year old child for the child’s “lack of corruption” and “ineffable curiosity”. This is not the first time in history a child has ruled. The Dalai Llama and Tutankhamen both come readily to mind as examples, although their success as leaders is still openly debated. By contrast, the ruler-ship of this child, Brug A’ly’aff by name, was unanimously recorded among the books as a very prosperous and artistically inventive period of time for Nanah’d. It is also of note that Brug A’ly’aff held one of the longest periods of leadership before giving up the throne to live modestly on the outskirts of the town so “his body could finally catch up with the maturity his mind had reached over a century before.”

From birth to death, anyone was eligible to rule over Nanah’d, provided they showed great enough potential to the current leader. The power of such an idea put into practice! Every citizen modeling themselves to the society’s communal ideal of perfection. I feel it prudent to point out that it is surely one thing to debate the pros/cons and appeal of immortality hypothetically, but it is quite another to avoid such a desire once it is an actual opportunity within your very grasp. And to exacerbate that desire, the means to obtain everlasting life are as simple as being an ethical and moral person? Well then!

That is not to say that there weren’t dissenters, as there always are, who considered the rulership an arbitrary and imperfect lottery, dependent on one person’s personal opinion and range of knowledge. Much of this can perhaps be attributed to the inherent paranoia that some accounts state as nearly unbearable. The king of Nanah’d, in order to collect opinions and information in an unbiased manner as possible, employed a rather large network of informants (reportedly numbering well into the thousands). This number was constantly growing; all on a volunteer basis, as the act of volunteering to report good deeds was seen in and of itself, a good deed.

At this point, I must settle a matter of personal contention- over the years, I have been party to numerous discussions as to the definition of “pure incentive” for to a tangible reward or what’s been called “being good for goodness’s sake.” These discussions, if handled correctly, are very quickly thrown out as it can be demonstrated soundly and empirically that no one in his/her right mind will choose an intangible reward over a tangible reward if they are exactly comparable. Indeed, this is arguably the reason the ring supplanted any form of religion whatsoever in Nanah’. The greatest intangible incentive religion had/has to offer, everlasting life, was at this point in history a tangible opportunity available to every citizen, provided they followed their naturally-inherent morality.

I’m sure that relaying my findings and thoughts to you will in no way provide the verisimilitude of experiencing the ring itself, but perhaps I have increased your understanding or sparked in you a small curiosity to do so; and curiosity is the first step on the path to empirical, individualistic truth.

Once upon a time, I didn’t like coffee. I liked the smell ok, and even the texture. The taste wasn’t very good, however, and the caffeine made me ill.
Recently I have discovered that the illness my body experienced was not normal nausea caused by everyday stomach wear and tear; it was my body adjusting to a metamorphosis.
The first time I sipped coffee, something was set in motion.
A metaphorical graduated cylinder was created inside me, with a range of numbers from “No Coffee” at the bottom to “Superpowers” at the top.
I did not know this at the time.
In fact, it took several years for this graduated cylinder to fill up, and each time I added to it, I was sicker. Sicker from the changes coming closer and closer to overtaking my body.

ENTER: July 29th, 2010. I was at a little coffee shop reading a book and not buying coffee, as usual.
Then.
I started falling asleep.
But it gets even better!
BECAUSE I was falling asleep, I decided to order a coffee.
And not a large coffee, either.
A single shot of espresso, the smallest amount of coffee you can legally buy.
I had a sip. Bitter.
My body began to wake back up. I was satisfied. BUT NO. That was not all!
My mind started racing!
After so many years, I had finally filled this metaphorical inner graduated cylinder all the way to the top, and like the “applause” light in a live studio, the “Superpowers” light blinked on.
Oh, people.
I put down my book for a second to think all the thoughts I was thinking, when I realized time had stopped. No one moved. I stared at a fly, not two feet from my head, and I saw that his wings were very very slowly moving. Time HADN’T stopped! I had increased my reactions to superhuman speed. Like one of those superheroes with superhuman speed. The Blast.
I spent at least twenty relative minutes debating whether or not to enjoy the fruits of my new abilities by groping a few women on the premises. I will not tell you my decision, but I will say it was very tough to decide what I finally decided.
I then tested the physics of my new situation, and let me tell you, Force does INDEED equal Mass times Acceleration.
I was able to lift cars as if they were pillows made of dough. French lightweight flaky dough, not Italian heavy chunk dough.
My shoes demolished themselves within a few relative minutes as well. Gooey rubber puddle footprints marked the inside and outside of the small coffee shop, chronicling my travels.
I then noticed that the low bass note I had been hearing was none other than the thoughts of the people around me, playing in extremely extremely slow motion.
Then I went to the restroom and BLAMMO! Everything was back to normal speed. My reactions had slowed back down.
I will continue further testing of the activation and implementation of these new superpowers.
I hope they aren’t going to be coffee based forever, because I really don’t like coffee that much.

Update:
I have spent several months in testing.
I have discovered that coffee is indeed the impetus for new powers revealing themselves. Also, after every time I use the powers, I throw up a bit and have to drink extra coffee next time to make up for it. Ultimately this is not a good long-term strategy, since I lose more coffee every time and therefore, must drink more for each subsequent episode. This is especially bad news considering how much I don’t like coffee in the first place, regardless of the respect I have for the superpowers it has given me.

Update 2:
I am not able to stomach the amount of coffee I need to activate my superpowers. However, I have had a good run of helping people, including myself, to a better life through mostly legal means. I have also had superpowered sex, which is NOT great unless the other person ALSO has superpowers. I don’t see how Greatman and Arachnidman do it with their normal girlfriends/wives. Fortunately I have found a few women with superpowers. In those cases, it is very similar to normal sex. I’ve given up on coffee. It makes me sick with no rewards.

Update 3:
Drugs ALSO give me superpowers!
I found this out after a friend gave me some at a party.
I will execute further testing to see how high my tolerance is, what superpowers they give me, and what sex is like.
Take that, coffee.

DOCTOR COWBOY’S RADIO ADVENTURES!!!!!
… will be happening today from 6pm-7pm on KOOP 91.7FM
(streaming from the site as well: http://www.koop.org/)

I wrote it with my friend Jono and will be playing the part of Biff Nails.
I’ll also read a sample storyline from my new Maximum Decision!® book The Pirate Treasure of the Himalayas.

Hope you enjoy it!

She wiggles when she walks.
Just a little.
Her beautiful white dress hugs her hips enough to show just a tiny, perfect wiggle when she walks. The white dress is accented with hand-painted flowers, but I hardly notice.

Her sandals wrap tightly around her ankles, hinting at bondage and other things she might enjoy. Good calves, good thighs, good legs. Good god, good legs.

She has bracelets on her left wrist. White, to match her dress. A necklace of some kind. Silver.

Her wavy hair is pulled up, but not tightly. Casually. Beautifully.
She embodies casual. Beautiful. Personifies.

I can’t see her face. She’s walking away from me. I follow her discretely along the shops to our left. What a beautiful little wiggle. I’m a fan.

I hope she’ll turn right to go to her car, or left to enter a shop. She doesn’t.

So far, the only thing I can tell from her face is that she doesn’t wear those stupid huge sunglasses. I like that about her. She doesn’t hide her face. She doesn’t hide her wiggle. She’s upfront.
She stops walking. She starts turning around. Fuck. Look busy. Keep walking. Just going to my car, which is parked over here. Walk past her. Almost brush her skin. She’s throwing something away. I don’t see her face. Dammit.
Keep walking. She’s walking again. Behind me. Just go to a car somewhere and pretend to own it. She’s going to enter one of these strip mall shops.
She doesn’t.
We’re away from the shops now.
Plan B. walk straight across the lot to the liquor store. She’s just going to her car.
Walking. Walking.

She’s going to the liquor store.
Perfect. I can go to one part of the store and casually make my way to where she is, so I can see her face.
Enter the liquor store. No I don’t want to try the new cinnamon vodka. Thank you.

Make my way to the coolers in the back.
Did she enter the store?
She’s still behind me!?!
I’ll fix that.

Stop to look at the rum on the left of me. Ah yes. This one has a pirate on it. That one has a parrot. But what kind of a rum man am I?
She passes.

I look casually over at her. Delicious is honestly the only way to describe that wiggle now. I don’t know why, but it is.
I grab the bottle of Winking Pirate Rum and slowly walk in her direction.
She slows down.
She turns to her right.
She bends down to look at the bottles on the lowest shelf.
I stay where I am for a while.
This rum I’m pretending to read sure is interesting.
She must not see what she’s looking for.
She straightens back up.
She’s my height. Slender. Toned.

I grab a bottle of Laughing Parrot Rum.
I’m going to have a rum party.
Makes sense.

She continues walking. Wiggling with every beautiful step.
I can’t believe I still haven’t seen her face.
This is ridiculous.
She makes her way to the cooler.
Maybe I can see her reflection in the glass.
I look at her reflection.
She is looking me dead in the eyes.
Fuck.
Look away too quickly for details.
Walk to the left of her.
Oh, do they have that beer that I want?
The one that goes well with the rums I have?
Hm?
My neck is hot as I open a cold door and grab a random six-pack.

I look over casually at her.
She is looking me dead in the eyes.
I smile at her.
A too-big smile without showing any teeth.
The smile that makes my lips look like earthworms.
I look back at my spirits.
Yep, they’re still the ones I was holding a moment ago.
She is stunning.
Mystery solved.
Great.
I wasn’t prepared for that.
Usually things balance out.
Her eyes.
Piercing.

My stupid heart is trying to give me an anxiety attack.
I want to look back over, but I can’t.
I don’t think she grabbed anything out of the cooler.
I turn to walk to the front of the store.

She’s standing in front of me. Eyes piercing mine.
I can’t look away.
She walks up to me.

“Hi.”
“Hello.” I rearrange all the items i’m holding.
“Are you going to buy all of that?”
“Yeah?”
“Why?”

I pause for a minute, crinkling up my forehead.

“I’m having a.. rum party.”

It’s her turn to make a face.

“Rum party?”
“Yep.”
“What’s that?”

Why is she still talking to me?

“It’s just a party, except there’s a lot of rum.”

She raises her eyebrow.

“And no other liquor?”
“Exactly.”
“So why do you have beer?”

God.
I think I love her.
She’s doing exactly what I’d do if I caught someone following me.
Interrogation.

“I don’t.”
“You don’t have beer?”
“No.”
“Then what is that?”
“Oh this? This is a six-pack of rums.”

She laughs. She’s more beautiful when she laughs. My heart twitches.
I decide to press my luck.

“Would you like to come to my rum party? Everyone’s gonna be there. It’s a very popular party.”
“Who all is going to be there?”
“Patrick Stewart, Jennifer Lopez, George Washington.”

She laughs again. Her blue eyes are so wonderful. Her lips.

“It really brings people together, huh?”
“Yes Ma’am!”
“Even dead people?”
“Especially dead people.”

She smiles.

“That sounds like something I’d be up for.”
“If you’re too busy, I understand.”
“I’m not too busy.”
“I mean, it might not be your thing.”
“It sounds like my thing.”
“The rum might not even make it to the party.”
“That’s ok.”
“Also…”
She smiles with her whole face.
“Yes?”
“…no one else will probably show up. It might just be the two of us.”
“Hmm.”
“I know… See?”

She smirks at me.

“Why were you following me?”
“Probably the same reason you were following me.”
“Hmm.”

She bites her lip and makes mischievous eyes. Such a pretty blue. I wish I could kiss her. Hug her. Something.
I decide to be upfront.

“I like your wiggle.”

She smiles.

“I like yours too.”

It’s my turn to laugh.

“Do you like coffee?”
“No.”
“Me neither. Let’s go have coffee.”
“I’d love to.”

I put down the rumbottles and follow her out the door.
Such a beautiful girl.
Such a wonderful dress. Wiggle.
Perfect.