Down at the Plague Mill Mall, news of Cortez's latest career setback (if indeed it was not an advancement) was taken with some equanimity. The usual suspects, pointedly NOT including Emily Dickinson, the Belle of Amherst, were too strung out on Obama Dust--a new kind of hallucinogen made of the dried condensed perspiration of the junior senator from Illinois-- to pay much attention to Cortez's unannounced arrival and general despondency as he played pinball for hours on end at the Plague Mill Arcade. Despite their Obama highs, or because of them, they couldn't seem to rally, even to say hello. These things go in cycles, but part of me wonders if that old tight bond of the Plague Mill Regulars will ever come back.  You know, after Frodo had been to Morodor, he never really could get tight again with the friends from the Shire.

Emily, is that you?

Some fans of the enigmatic poetess from Amherst swear that they've recently seen Ms. Dickinson in a few brief bits of porn on the Internet. According to these unnamed sources, she, longhaired, small-breasted, absolutely naked, beautiful, straddles a supine man of indifferent looks, about forty years old. Her face is said to be glimpsed only briefly in these clips (which I have not, myself, seen), at the moment when she releases her hair from its severe bun and it cascades all about her. She displays for the briefest, shortest moment a look of joy, after which her face returns to its inscrutable gaze of amusement, bemusement, and power. She then turns away from the webcam and there follows about 49 seconds of sex, during which her face is not visible and it could be anyone. I think it would be smutty and sad of me to describe it in any more detail. If that tape really was of Emily, I hope that it was made and published with her consent. And if it wasn't her, but was merely some other gorgeous longhaired brunette sharing a private moment with the world wide web, then I hope that she doesn't mind its having been made public.

I would not condone the viewing of sex tapes made privately for personal viewing  which then made their way to the interet, against the wishes of one or more participants in the activity so recorded. That's all I have to say for now. I'm off to set up a bittorrent tracker.

At the "How to Find a Job" Workshop

As a condition for continuing to receive unemployment checks of $600/week, Cortez was required to attend a two hour seminar at the nearest state-sponsored Job Center. "Nearest" in this case being nearly two hours away --half-hour walk to ferry, forty-five minute ferry-boat ride, ten minute bus ride, twenty five minute walk. Along the way he stopped at the little cafe called Coffee Obsession and loaded up on caffeine for the ordeal he knew was coming next.

At the job placement place, despite his best intentions, Cortez the Killer, true to his name, drew his big cutlass from its scabbard and lopped off heads left and right. Job counselors, claims adjusters, fellow job seekers: all decapitated by a lone genocidal rock star. Cortez's voice resounded above the din.

"GOD DAMMIT, I HAVE 400 YEARS EXPERIENCE AS A HOUND OF HELL AND MASTER OF THE BROADSWORD. DON'T TELL ME YOU HAVEN'T GOT A FUCKING JOB FOR ME, YOU FUCKING FUCKNOZZLES!"

The police were called, and a SWAT team in full regalia surruounded the Plague Mill Arcade. A helicopter hovered overhead. Cortez took one look at them and laughed. "You should have been with us when we stared down Montecezuma," he said. "You would have pissed your pantaloons".  With that, not wanting to make an undue stink, he surrendered his wepon and told the police, "take me now before I change my mind."

A judge was summoned to chambers, he declared the court in session and open for business, a jury was empanelled and sworn in, and a triail was conducted. To the dismay of law-abiding people everywhere, the jury, which comprised twelve buxom, dark haired, scantilly-clad barmaids and ladies of easy virtue from the Home Port Tavern in Hyannis found him innocent on all counts.

The first unemployment check arrived in his mailbox the next day.