I have been accused by some of fictionalizing events to belittle and otherwise disparage

the minions of Rupert Murdock. Not true. I hold my fiction to the same high standards of
truth and journalistic integrity as FOX NEWS. Bearing this in mind, I now take you deep
inside Rupert Murdockʼs secret bunker.

A long table of old growth mahogany dominated the chamber. Rupert Murdock,
burrowed in a Zero Gravity Recliner, commanded the head. To one side sat Queen
Sarah of the Frozen North. Next to Palin, Glenn Beck wept softly. Newly promoted, Arch
Bishop Limbaugh, ensconced on the opposite side, licked his ample lips as he watched
Bristol shimmy furiously in the soft amber glow.

“She learned that on Dancinʼ With The Stars!” Sarah exclaimed. “Thatʼs enough; now go
wait outside.”

Bristol stopped gyrating and hopped from the table, landing on Limbaughʼs tail. “Arghhh
Ooogee Boogie Woogie,” roared the sometime JABBA the Hut impersonator.

“Bristol the Pistol. Sheʼs turninʼ into quite the little mama grizz herself.” The Queen
twittered, “Guess the cub donʼt fall far from the tree.”

“To business.” The gnarled visage of Rupert Murdock loomed in the shadows. “I have a
job for you Beck.” The voice had a mechanical wheeze. Unpleasant. The auditory
equivalent of chewing aluminum foil.

Beck felt his Depends dampen. “Yes Master, what is your bidding?

“I have decided to green light PROJECT ALCHEMY.” Silence hung in the room.

“But!” Beck blubbered, tears now streaming down his gin blossomed cheeks. A blue bolt
shot from Murdockʼs nodular fingers, slamming Beck to the floor. The point of a red
stiletto heel slammed into his kidney. Glennʼs Depends was about maxed out, he would
need fluid soon.

“Man up you impotent, limp weakling! Stop trying to hide under my skirt,” sneered Palin.
The un-dropped Gʼs registered in Beckʼs subconscious.

To be continued.....