confession of a mad nation

I succeeded in killing myself in 1113. Of course, I do not mean physical death, for I am still a walking breathing man, to the extent that no one notice any perceivable, abnormal changes in my daily appearance and my demeanors. Okay, so I was exaggerating and I have guts enough to admit it! I have a persistent and sharp headache from the right side of the brain -- I think I caught something when I played monopoly with my Saudi buddies -- which on occasion affects my thought patterns. Sometimes I just say the hell with it and succumb to my knee-jerk reactions... the hell with it I say! But rest assured that to have a balanced life, I am taking sufficient vacation time during the summer months, and I am remarkably fit for someone my age, riding my $1000+ Air Bike One daily at my ranch. Yet for some reason they (those damned pesty paper rats! how many of them ought I intimidate!!) do whisper secretly that I am often in a daze -- like that time they told me about 1113 as i was reading to them kids -- like the world is passing by right in front of my eyes. But let the devil take them! I am the global conscience, the king of the hill, the baddest cowboy of the...of the... arg... let me catch my breath.

Back to my personal killing in 1113, or whatever you want to call that stupid, sordid sorry episode. Why they decided to take out my saber teeth, i can't be quite sure. why my war buddies -- that son-of-a-weasle Frenchie in particular -- don't bother to watch my back is a mystery to me. It may seem like they are deconstructing me methodically in the dark, but Rummy and us big-bird-lovers assure you that what's left is only pockets of resistance, and our milestones-laden victory is sure and imminent. We will finance a bigger shovel to finish digging the hole my comrades have started, so their deaths will not go in vain! As God as my witness, i will never go AWOL again!