Once upon a time, not too long ago, in a decadent state in the Pacific Northwest, there was a short-lived revolution. But our noble country doesn't care much for losers (not to mention liberals and libbers), however much they rave about supporting the underdog. While the movement was still propelled by enthusiasm and initiative, it looked like it might take the whole country with it, but when the women gave up, gave in and just plain quit, the whole exciting affair was forgotten pretty quickly. Memories are short in this Mecca of mobility.

I have been delegated to refresh memories and create new myths, or, in other words, to tell the story. The names have been changed to protect the guilty and to protect myself from libel suits -- the truly innocent don't need that kind of protection. Those with longer memories may vaguely recall the incidents which serve as the climax of this narrative. If their recollections diverge from my telling of the tale all I can say is, I'm in control here. The story isn't mine, but I put it together. You can read it any way you want, but the options are of my making.

Perhaps to some this will all seem like an imaginary garden which doesn't even have green toads going for it, but I hope those concerned will forgive me for coloring things up a bit.

This digital web is dedicated to all those whose jokes and adventures I've stolen and then haven't told right, especially the members of the "dirty dozen."