Teacher of dark lessons

The operative known to me only as LVN--the source of the colloquial "Elviney"--is an enigmatic one. She has been employed by Pinochet's personal security detail and worked with several Maoist groups, and thus her associates have spanned the ideological spectrum. Her motives are her own.

Currently she is responsible for the education center, deceptively primitive in appearance. The children show her unquestioned loyalty and obedience, even love. This despite--or because of--the permanent missing status of a few of her unrulier charges. For me she has inspired surprise, bafflement, and yes, the occasional twinge of fear. (All of which I shall deny if it is repeated to her.)

In all frankness I never asked Lucas to take LVN as a lover. Nor would I have done so. The man's ego and impetuous loins are responsible for that.
Yet, perhaps an advantage. When two of one's officers are locked in marital combat, it tests the mettle of both. Thus I may determine, as the plan progesses, who shall hold the more reins.

On the herd and those who minister to them

Yes, my trusted lieutenant Lucas and I have had many good laughs regarding the citizens of Hootin' Holler and their adherence to "old time" slave morality. They know--if only by osmosis--their Old Testament and their New Testament. But few among them are aware of the Newest Testament: the Book of the Fully Realized Man.

Well, they'll learn. Those who can learn shall be educated. Out of the weak and credulous masses shall rise the strong men and women of tomorrow.

Day's end

Collapse onto the bed? Why of course I did! For a full week I've been testing designs for the new currency to be unveiled in the Western... Well, suffice it to say that I'm deep into a grand R&D project. And every other waking moment is spent securing the loyalty of my minions in these convoluted poker rituals. Well, it wears a man down.

Now I need sustenance. Food!

I trust Luisa. She may be prone to bestial rages, particularly in the presence of certain integers. (Long story for another day.) But in the kitchen, as in so many other locales, she shows a determined forward motion. In the vernacular, she knows how to git R done.

I also believe that children are the future

Yes, a baby born today is a boy or girl who will come of age in the new Eden. The grander, sweeter future that will be brought about by one Ezekiel "Snuffy" Smith and his minions. Yes, the citizens of the world that will be. In a way, they are the reason I get up in the morning. The reason Jörg... Excuse me, the reason "Jughaid" and I spend all that father-son time hacking into weather satellites.

So yes, when I heard that the Wiggins family had brought forth new life, I was excited. And not just because Alvin's wife has always struck me as a paragon of barrenness. No, I thought these youngling's deserved to be greeted by the man who will humbly shape their world.

Instead? Birds. And not real birds, either. Rather, it was three wren-like automata that I had assembled myself as a post-graduate project. (Not the entire project, of course.)

Well, the rest of the day I spent in a foul (not a fowl) temper. Luisa's skills as a masseuse, courtesan, and knife-thrower were certainly needed that night.

All things decaying and foetid

Why, one may ask, does Ezekiel Smith have a dead skunk under his porch? Well, one may ask, but if one is wise one will refrain from seeking too many details. Law of the exile, don't you know.

Suffice it to say that the poor creature was not the intended target of the experimental neurotoxin. But once it had wandered into the cloud, the man of science in me sat up and took notice.

The amalgamation of chemicals seems to have preserved the flesh, in a true paradox. The smell is actually becoming... sweeter? Yes, like honey and roses, although the scent of decay has crept in. Research continues between the poker games. Little two-toned martyr, your death has not been in vain.

Fish and chips

And why do unregistered voters love me. Well, as much as it surprises even me, I have aroused a certain amount of affection in my fellow Hollerites. It could be that I always have a kind word for any soul I meet. It may be my generosity in distributing fish, when I catch one. (Or more. There is a precedent for multiplying fish. But now, now, mustn't blaspheme.)

The monitor chips that I've implanted in the heads of most inhabitants of the Greater Hootin' Holler metropolitan area may also be a factor. Now do not fret. The mechanics are harmless--by and large--and unintrusive. For the most part I let my neighbors go about their tawdry lives.

There is a possibility I could use the cerebral implants to bend these fellows and fellowettes to my will, should the circumstances arise. Needless to say, a forgettable local election does not qualify.

At least not on this side of the Pacific.

Stooping to cammpaign

While I was dubious at first, Lucas has persuaded me that throwing streamers and babbling about "a chicken in every pot"* may make me more approachable to the common folk. Do I want them approaching me? At a time of my choosing, yes.

Meanwhile, I have the boy we've given the codename "Jughaid" patrolling the crowds, apprising me of the next generation in dumb muscle. This day shall not go to waste.

* Chickens are, on the whole, abysmally stupid. If one wants a chicken in one's pot, one can simply leave the pot on the portico and a chicken will step into it before long. That's how we done do it in these parts. To quote the vernacular.