I'll Never Apologize to The Industrial Powers

I missed Sunday, couldn't post, thanks to the industrial powers. They're still seriously on my case (Get off my case!) over this stupid "apology" issue. They think I should apologize -- no, check that, they demand that I apologize.

For what?! Holding opinions that aren't in line with the party line, their line. That's ridiculous. It's my right as a loyal American citizen -- I take the loyalty oath daily -- to think what I want to think. At least I thought it was! My Grandpa fought in the war, one of them, to guarantee his grandson the right to get up on a soapbox and spout as much as I want.

But no! The powers that be, the industrial interests, the flakes at the industrial section of town, who were so offended at my attacks on them, have banded together. They knocked me off line the other day. I was only able to post because I was driving around town, tapping into people's unsecured wireless accounts. They expected I'd be doing this, so they had a big snow fence around the library to keep me away. Even the Super 8 motel was surrounded.

Lately they've taken to following me in my car, jamming me with a radio controlled jammer. It completely confuses my computer, more so than usual. So the thing doesn't know whether to stay loyal to me, its owner, or to listen to the powers. Then, being a mechanical device, not knowing anything about loyalty, naturally it responds to whatever mechanical force is strongest in its vicinity. Meaning it betrays me and is disloyal when it breaks down completely due to the rays of the jammer.

But I will never apologize to the industrial powers! May I underscore one of the key words in that declaration: I will never apologize to the industrial powers! To do so would bring everlasting shame on me.

I'm typing tonight really fast. Why? Because I managed to leave my car in the garage. I put my bike over by the fence at 4 in the morning, looking ahead to tonight. Then under the cover of darkness I crawled out the window, attached my wireless to the bicycle handle, and I pushed my bike about two miles. Now I'm parked outside one of the cheaper motels, which still happens to have wireless access, and typing this as fast as I can.

I'm typing fast because I see the industrial powers are beaming a light through the night sky, perhaps hoping to catch me if they determined that I wasn't in my house, which they have no reason to suspect. They're devious, true. But two can play at that game, the second one being me, who also knows a thing or two about giving the industrial powers the slip.

I've always been good about giving people the slip, kind of like the Lone Ranger, who, you may recall, never hung around to the end of an episode. Clayton Moore. Take out the commercials and they had a 23 minute episode. Clayton was picking up his check at the 21 minute mark, every week. He was a do-gooder who gave the people he helped the slip. Because he'd just as soon not see them humble themselves by being thankful.

I'm sort of like that, except I give the industrial powers the slip to show them who the true man is, who the true victor is. It's not them, because, to repeat, I will never apologize to those filthy scumbags. They can kiss this side, then they can kiss this side.