The musical question "Do you know who I am?"

They thought they could break me in the Albanian prson camp. The solitary. The beatings on the soles of the feet. Hard labor as the harsh winds tore into our flesh.

In my fitlth-strewn cell I kept my sanity by whistling Bach's Fourth Brandenberg Concerto in G major, from beginning to end. And after I made contact with my handler, before I was airlifted out, I recorded my rendition in the commanders office. It was the one thing I left in the splinters of his desk.

The same tune I whistle now in the presence of the current sheriff. Just on the off chance that he should forget which of us is master.

Drollery: I just can't get arrested in this town

My updates to this journal have been scarce of late. Well, there is a reason for that. I've been inside Hootin' Holler's justice system. Deep inside. A quill pen and leather-bound diary tend to be conspicuous in such a setting.

Why am I in jail? The answer is simple. I am scouting new talent. While unquestioning thugs and desperate alcoholics cause trouble if their concentration grows too great, the truth is that every organization needs a few. The hard-luck drifter found walking along the highway with a car door in his hand may have skills that will be needed later. Or at least a pliable rashness.

Mind you, it has become somewhat difficult to get sentenced, or even detained by the sheriff's office. I seem to have acquired a reputation. Yes, it's true. Victims of petty crime are reluctant to even report me. I stole four chickens from four barns in a week's time. Each time the farmer saw the formidable Ezekiel Smith absconding with his poultry, and each time he kowtowed and begged off. The last time I released the chicken in disgust. It was only by scaling the outside of a family home that I got to this point. It was the wee hours of the morning, and the mistress of the house complained of suspicious noise in the night.

I don't need my boy joining me in here just now. When you're attempting to hire muscle, you need to keep your personal life separate. If this tag-ripping was indeed illegal, someone will have to be paid off.

His coin, my realm

Ah, I beg to differ, Parson. Life is the root of all evil. To reject evil is to turn in fear from both life and death. Such is the conclusion I reached after my near-fatal brush with the Marburg virus.

Oh yes, I give. Tourists have been known to give me valuable trinkets during my summer wilderness jaunts. And they had better, if they want to reach their motels in one piece. So I've handed a few treasures to the church. But to be honest, the loyalty of a holy man is not the most precious thing to me. Give me the courage of a sinful woman.

Luisa, I've been looking all over for you.

How I keep my balance

sigh.

If you must know, the salt in my diet chiefly comes from the blood of the star-nosed mole. Well-placed field agents in Canada have reported beneficial effects in the area of tactile sensitivity. Such a talent has its drawbacks, certainly, but in short bursts will be vital for my upcoming plan. And at any rate, I am a superior man. I have no reason to fear the results, the knowledge.

In order to dispel morning grogginess, I've been downing two or three handfuls of Skittles per day. Hence the sweet.

Luisa has missed the act of cooking for me, but science must advance.

Am I snookered?

It has been pointed out to me that I have something in common with the late M. Bonaparte. (A relative amateur in the art of conquest, one with little sense of the long game.) Yes, I too am low to the ground. One sees much that way.

Does my stature hurt my billiard game. A fair if rude question. The truth is, I have been known to throw games. I find that final clattering victory has more of an impact if it is in doubt. As well, it puts opponents at ease, and one must have willing opponents. It has become nearly impossible to scare up a ping pong match.

One final note. I often receive questions regarding LVN and the schoolteacher, Madame Prunelly. Are they in fact the same woman? For now I will only reply that there is a reason every deck of cards has two jokers.

Life as a liquid/Hemoglobin is power

"Bothered by the sight of blood"? I should hope not, my jovial bear of a man! After all, it is lovely to be able to evade violence. One always hopes that one's adversaries will take the functionality of the laser cannon on faith. And when proactive force is required, more sophisticated weapons are pleasant. Still, at times one must pick up the scimitar and get one's hands dirty, if only to prove one can.

Interesting story with the good doctor here. He was employed by... someone, who I believe I know but won't name now. Engaged in staged cattle mutilations and the abduction of cornpone hillbillies, he almost faced his capture without showing fear. Almost. I was impressed with the skill he showed in his hands, and was amused by the thought of keeping him and his Dartmouth elocution here. As predicted, he has picked up on the ways and talk of the plain folk of theses parts.

Je suis Snuffy

Do I know what I am? Well, I could go on at length, but let us stick to the basics.

I am a magna cum laude graduate of the Sorbonne.

I am a chemist so gifted that I am known in whispers as "the cursed alchemist."

Mine is the voice that the leaders of 100 nations dread hearing in the middle of the night.

I am a god amongst a large tribe in Papua-New Guinnea.

I am the keeper--and the original breeder--of a rare species of bee whose honey is rumored to trigger visions of the afterlife.

And not least, I am his majesty's dog at Kew. Pray tell me sir, whose dog are you?

(There is never a wrong occasion for the verse of Pope.)