Just Manley continued to care about his work. In fact, he swept those floors with a vengeance now. He was so aware that something was happening. Something big. And he was an instrumental part of it. Perfektia would soon be a decent and comfortable place to live; where children would frolic in the sun instead of spending their young years toiling in factories; men would earn the money they deserved for performing honest work; and their wives would not have to scrimp and save in order to produce a respectable Sunday dinner. Just had to fight to keep the tears from his eyes. He would be happy to give his life for the cause, if that's what it took to bring the plan to actuality. Well, maybe not happy, but he would if he absolutely had to. He smiled and waved to Abigail over on her loom.

Abby had found herself wondering how to get rid of Just once they were in power. She did like the boy, but if he thought he was going to get in her way of free reign over the land, he had another thing coming. She'd be happy to kill him to meet her objective. Well, maybe not happy, but she would if she absolutely had to. She smiled and waved back at him.

Just conducted a PASTA meeting the previous night. Nearly one hundred new recruits were sworn in. The larger the army got, the more enthusiastic it's members became. And the more enthusiastic they got, the more new members joined. "What will you wear for the coronation?", Abigail had asked Just as they lay in each others arms after the meeting. "The what?" "The coronation", she repeated, "When we're officially sworn in as Perfektia's new royal family". "Oh, um...I don't know...A suit?", he offered. "Don't be such a peasant, Just. You need to wear a long flowing robe tailored of the finest furs, and a majestic crown -larger than any that Nice King Bob ever wore - constructed of the largest and shiniest jewels in the kingdom!"

"I never thought about it, Abby, but I think we should deliver the nation from poverty before we go about indulging in fancy clothes and jewelry". "Just...Honey," Abigail began as sweetly as she could manage, "A king needs to exude confidence and superiority. If he looks like a mere citizen, he won't be respected. And if he isn't respected, he can't enforce his will - I mean, he can't expect the people to listen to his proposals on how to make the country a better place for all men, women, and children. Those poor children..." She glanced up at him, awaiting his response. "You really think they won't respect me?" "Not if you don't look and act like a king". "So I need to...exude confidence by wearing furs and jewelry?" "For starters". "I never would have realised that, Abby". He leaned over and gently kissed her lips. "See what a good team we make?"

Studiously perusing the official royal research results meticulously compiled by the king's former figure figurers, Nice King Bob thought, and thought, and thought, and picked his nose. After many late hours and several bottles of vintage vino, he finally discovered what he considered an important statistic: His popularity always seemed to peak whenever a battle was being undertaken against some tyrannical ruler somewhere. A devious grin separated his wrinkled jowls as a sinister plan formed itself in his cunning and inebriated mind.

As right hand to Swell King Jack many years erst, Bob had struck up a cosy friendship with Ricardo Cordoba, dictator of Panamagua. To this day Cordoba was still the king's favourite wine wholesaler. Bob's riches would be considerably less, had he not his trusty dictator to sell him the wine so cheap, that Bob's henchmen sold on the black market. Good ol' Cordoba, Bob reminisced.

Before another week had passed, Perfektian troops had landed in Panamagua and were bombarding Cordoba's castle with extremely loud lute playing at all hours of the night. It took some perseverance from the heroic Perfektian Orchestra Battalion, but Cordoba finally came screaming from his abode into the awaiting arms of his newly acquired enemies. The news quickly spread throughout Perfektia that King Bob had had enough of blatant wine sellers, and had bravely orchestrated the capture of the evil and quite ugly Ricardo Cordoba. But being the nice king he was, Bob promised that the man would see a fair trial; He would be defended by Bob's cousin Bill, one of the finest criminal lawyers in all of Perfektia.

* * *

The excitement of the dictators capture aroused Queen Bob to no end. She summoned her Ollie. General Oliver Wimms thought he would be glad to get away from the Harold Daisy problem for awhile. He was wrong. Queen Bob had him smeared with goat's cheese, sprinkled with pecans, and topped off with some hideous form of wild fruit that smelled conspicuously of dog urine. With banana inserted in several orifices, he was forced to listen to children singing nursery rhymes as Queen Bob slowly - so terribly slowly - indulged in her snack. Wimms managed to block his mind from the ordeal he was enduring by concentrating on administering a severe beating on someone. Harold Daisy's dopey face came to mind.

Queen Bob delicately bathed the general after their encounter so he would be in fine form for his meeting with the king afterward.

* * *

"How did the Cordoba capture sit with the citizens?" Bob asked anxiously. "I'm not sure, Sire", Wimms answered honestly, "All our researchers have been, um, retired. We have no real communication with the common man anymore". "Let me get this straight, Wimms. There may be a plot in the works to have me overthrown...and we have no 'communication' with the common-fucking-man!?" "Now that you mention it, Your Perfektness, that doesn't seem terribly wise", Wimms tried. "Not terribly-fucking-wise?!" the nice king bellowed, "If you're terribly-fucking-wise, Wimms, you'll get a spy in there A.S.A. fucking P!" Wimms nodded nervously and attempted to slink from the king's presence before any further conversing took place. "Is it arranged to have the P.O.W.s arrive home in time for Gratitude Day?". With his hand so terribly close to the doorknob, Wimms forced himself to face his king. "We hit a slight snag with that plan, Sire" "What fucking snag? You said Maxwell would let us have them". "Well, um, yes, Sire, but, um...it seems they don't actually want to come home. Apparently they took a vote and decided they were quite comfortable over there". The general winced in anticipation of the uproar to come, but the poor king simply lowered his head to the table and mumbled "Get out of my fucking sight, Wimms".

Wimms got out of his fucking sight, and quite appreciably at that. Now that he was finished with the king, and the queen, he set to thinking about the spy he needed to have infiltrate the resistance. The king would except no less a candidate than a highly ranked soldier, but who could he spare? It may be a severely dangerous assignment, perhaps even fatal to...For the second time that day, Harold Daisy's dopey face came to mind.

Prince Peter the Misunderstood thought the revolution was a marvellous idea. The part about beheading his parents left him a little uncomfortable, but all in all, it seemed like a lot of fun. In order to be closer to his beloved Ksandra, he decided to join the cause, and keep his identity hidden for the meantime. Although he wasn't seen in public very often anyway, he nevertheless decided to alter his appearance; he had the royal barber chop off his long locks, convinced the royal optician that he needed a mild prescription, and immediately grew what could be considered a beard and moustache. Peter was completely unaware that there was cause for any sort of royal upheaval, but he did know that such events always brought out the best in poets.

When next they met, the noble prince announced his intentions to Ksandra. "I've decided, fair lady, that your fight shall also be my fight. Any cause that burns at the very embers of your heart must be considered of the utmost importance to mine, and therefore, must be undertaken wholeheartedly. Since our hearts are, in actuality, one, the independent ail becomes the common ail and must be fought together because the strength of two single hearts joined in principle gives the power of many more. One plus one amounts to one thousand. The battle shall be fought side by side, my sweet".

"Who cut your hair?", Ksandra responded. "The roy\_, um, Roy, the barber. Does it not appeal to your sparkling eyes?" "Yes, yes. It's fine, Peter. It'll just take some getting used to, that's all. Same with the glasses and beard. You look so...mature". "Let not the appearance of the outer shell prejudice the opinion of the nut inside", Peter philosophised. Ksandra giggled. "I won't", she said smiling, "I know that the nut inside is my dear true love".

That afternoon was an enlightening one for the prince. The plight of the common man had alluded his attention all of his life. The more background Ksandra armed him with, the more indignant and furious he became. "A slow and painful death to the oppressors!", he heard himself declare at one point.

Another rebel was born.

Harold couldn't have been more delighted. As aide to General Wimms, he was aware that he was a hopeless failure, but he knew that as a secret spy, the general wouldn't be able to witness his ineptness. He couldn't wait to begin his mission, thus escaping from the daily scrutiny of General Oliver Wimms. He prepared for his new position by doing absolutely nothing. Then he left.

Some of Harold's brothers had already joined the cause, so he had no problem finding someone to have him recruited. That day was the first day of summer, and the longest of the year. A special celebration was held at PASTA headquarters that night, where members guiltlessly pickled their brains with an obscene abundance of wine, the devil drink itself. It cost a week's wages, but it worth it to flaunt the criminal activity. King Bob made a fortune in sales that night. Only two new members were inducted that special evening; they were Harold H. Daisy and Peter Bobson, the beau of young Ksandra Aberkrombie. Harold, who didn't particularly care for it, drank a glass of wine to keep up appearances. He drank with his brother, Hektor, as they discussed Harold's alleged honourable discharge from the PGA. Across the chamber hidden beneath the ground in the abandoned sewer drain, Prince Peter the Misunderstood fought to hold back the tears of happiness as he was introduced to Ksandra's friends.

Harold was rather pleased with himself for infiltrating the enemy's headquarters on his very first day of secret service work. He, of course, didn't consider PASTA the enemy, any more than he thought of King Bob as the enemy, as the other recruits did. In fact, he still didn't think of King Maxwell and his Evil Grape Empire as the enemy. Harold had now been in PASTA headquarters, in King Bob's palace, and on Brocklian soil, and he still didn't give a shit about anything.

After the summer celebrations led by Just and Abigail, Harold returned home with Hektor and they talked together until dawn. He was pained by the lies he had to tell his kin and felt especially guilty when it came time to deceive his mummy. He began to realise how dedicated Hektor was to his cause, and when the sun rose the next morning, Harold swore to himself that he would not put his brother in jeopardy by informing General Wimms of any pertinent information pertaining to the actions of PASTA. Besides, he reasoned, Wimms wouldn't expect him to succeed, he'd just be thankful that he didn't have to look at him.

Harold fell asleep in his old bed - free of guilt and the scrutiny of that asshole, Wimms.

They had been making love like lunatics for two solid hours. Now Just was pretending to sleep as Abigail played with his spent manhood hinting around for more. It was the first such experience for both of them, and Just was completely convinced that it was also his last. He was certain she broke it. Suddenly, without warning...it spasmed! Abigail let out a short enthusiastic squeal of delight as it slowly rose from the dead. It forced it's way from the anxious fingers that thoughtlessly disturbed it's slumber, and sought out the hot and moist cave where it had so recently discovered true excitement and ultimate pleasure.

Just had little choice but to follow it.

Later, much later, when Abigail was satisfied, and Just was still barely alive, they slept. The wine they drank should have let them rest for many hours, but it wasn't long before Abigail awoke her man with a gentle kiss on the cheek. "For the love of God, Woman!", he cried in horror, "not again!" "Relax, baby", she assured him, "I only want to talk". She got up to retrieve a half gallon of wine that they hadn't finished. Just watched her naked body as she bent over to pick up the bottle. He quickly covered himself up so she wouldn't see that the monster was stirring again. As battle scarred and torn as it was, it was still heroically ready and willing to go another round. Just was in awe of it's courage and stamina; the thing scared the hell out of him, but somehow filled him with pride. He decided it was to be the official PASTA mascot from then on.

He informed Abby of his planned role for the Thing of Justice and she agreed that a more noble symbol would be difficult to find. In actuality, she thought it was a fairly ridiculous idea, but she realized the arrogance of the proposal meant he was coming around - and that idea she liked.

They eventually finished off the devil juice and Abby began to feel her way around his inebriated mind. "Remember we discussed the coronation?", she asked. "Yep", he burped. "Well, I got you a present" "What is it?" "It's this", she said and produced a modest sapphire ring from behind her back. Just stared at it's brilliance in amazement. "Wh-where did you get that?", he asked bedazzled. This was the crucial moment that Abby had played over and over in her devious little mind. She prayed that he would act appropriately when she revealed what she had done. And what she had done was this; the "bank" that had been formed by the rebel group, in order to buy materials for weapons and such, had been relieved of a good quarter of it's bulk by Abigail in order to purchase the stone from a black marketeer. She told Just matter-of-factly and then nervously awaited his response. "Cool!" he shouted, "It's fantastic! Hey, let's get one for you, too!" Abigail was so relieved and excited that words failed her. She just smiled and smiled.

Just was true to his word. He bought his lady a beautiful sparkling diamond custom fit for her delicate finger. All the while keeping in mind that in order to be respected by his followers, he needed to appear majestic. And he didn't stop with the ring either. What was left in the bank went to a coppersmith who "erected" a four foot copper tribute to the Thing of Justice.

* * *

The next meeting of PASTA was brought to order by Chester Fields who threatened bodily harm to anyone who didn't keep quiet. There was quite a bit of chatter regarding the large bronzed penis which stood proudly before them.

When order was finally obtained, after Chester had to go about kicking people who wouldn't keep quiet, Just approached the pulpit and adapted a very solemn voice as he explained that although he realized that everyone had dug down deep to fund the PASTA bank, it's contents were dearly lacking. All members must try harder and come up with more inventive ways to keep the bank afloat. "Keep in mind, fellow Perfektians," he added, "Our future liberty from the clutches of King Bob's cruel domination depends on it. When feeling weak and beaten, remember the image of the Thing of Justice". He motioned to the monstrosity beside him. "When you think you have exhausted all possible monetary supplies, and you are ready to give up, think about the Thing of Justice and it will restore your dedication, it will fill you with desire to succeed, and by God, you will find more money!"

A magnificent cheer arose from the crowd as they were overwhelmed by Just's speech. Abigail studied him admiringly, as he left the room, leaving only his Thing behind for his subjects to gaze upon. They all stared at it and gained strength from it's awe-inspiring presence. All, that is, except young Chester, who had been staring at Just's new ring, and then proceeded to follow his leader from the forum.

As quietly as he could, he tailed Just until he found himself above ground, amid the glorious oaks of the Forest Main. Just sat down and leaned against the mightiest tree in sight and closed his eyes. Concealed by shadows, Chester patiently waited. For what, he didn't know, but he waited.

Some time later, his perseverance paid off. Abigail arrived with some well-aged devil juice handsomely contained within a most impressive glass bottle, and two crystal goblets. Chester's eyes widened as she seated herself beside Just and poured them each a glass. She was talking quietly and he had to strain himself to overhear the conversation. But hear he did, and he didn't like what he heard.

"How was I?", Just asked, smiling. "You were sensational", she purred. "Do you think they liked my Thing?" "Almost as much as I do", she teased, and rubbed his crotch. Just moaned and sipped daintily from his goblet with his pinky extended.

Chester waited.

Abigail slowly removed Just's trousers and began gnawing at him like a cob of corn that was too tasty to devour without first savouring for as long as possible. As she continued to please him, Just laid back with his hands clasped behind his head, and contemplated. "You know, when the money starts rolling in again, I'm going to have some crowns made for us", he thought aloud, "Not just simple wimpy little ones, either. I mean great big glorious motherfucking crowns with gold and emeralds and stuff!". Abigail removed the Thing of Justice prototype from her mouth long enough to reply. "How much do you think we'll get?" "As much as we want", he laughed, "Did you see how enthusiastic they were to get money for me? I can make them do anything I like. I'm like a God to them!"

From the nearby shadows, young Chester Fields couldn't believe what he was hearing. His respect for his leader dissipated as his blood began to boil. He watched in disgust as Abigail removed her diamond ring and asked Just if he would get her a larger one. Chester could stand no more. He came charging from his hiding place screaming like a madman. Abigail screamed back and stepped on Justice in her hurry to flee the scene. Just tried desparately to escape his assailant, too, but with his trousers around his ankles, he didn't get especially far.

Crying and yelling and cursing all at once, Chester dove on the back of his corrupted leader and brought him down. Before Just could even recognise his attacker, Chester had smashed the empty wine bottle over his head and proceeded to thrust the jagged remains into Just's throat.

Chester, realising the hideous act he had just committed, held Just's head in his hands and sobbed like the child that he really was. In his last few seconds of mortality, Just Manley understood why his life must end. With his jugular vein spewing blood all over Chester and his own unworthy chest, a final request was whispered from his trembling lips: "I know I deserve this", he forced himself to say, "but please, preserve my "Thing" for it remains noble even though I have strayed". With his plea conveyed, he died.

Although he knew Just was already dead, Chester promised aloud that he would honour his last request, no matter that it seemed a might strange. Still sobbing, he removed the jagged glass from Just's throat and ceremoniously removed his dead leader's penis. He dug a shallow grave with his bare hands, said a sincere payer for Just's soul, rolled the body in, and neatly covered it with loose dirt. Solemnly, he began to walk away, then stopped in his tracks as he realized his mistake; Just had been referring to his bronzed Thing, and not his real one! Feeling rather silly, he returned to the grave, swept aside a little dirt, removed the shrivelled penis from his pocket, and dropped it in. Awkwardly, he apologised and covered it over.

Chester went home and slept little that night.

The underground communication network was abuzz with gossip. Why was an emergency meeting being held at PASTA headquarters? Why was little Chester, who always organised the meets, looking so intense? Why were Justice Manley and Abigail Aberkrombie not at work? There were a multitude of questions raised and no solid answers, only gossip; The revolt day had been moved up, Chester had been demoted, Just and Abby had eloped...the answers were many, but no one guessed the truth. There was little absenteeism at the meeting that night.

As the gossip escalated in the PASTA forum, Chester Fields left the stage to kick no one that night. He simply stood with his head lowered and patiently waited for the clamour to subside. Eventually, it did and he began his sombre recount of the previous night's events. "Fellow Perfektians, I bring you news tonight that could be taken negatively, but I implore you to strengthen your resolve to defeat the enemy. Justice Manley is dead." The room erupted in chaotic babble, and again Chester waited for calm to return.

"Our leader has been the victim of a desease older than time. Although his resolve was absolute when he brought us together in this great cause, the demons in his mind, which exist in us all, tricked him into believing that his personal welfare came before that of the cause".

Chester studied the stirring crowd, then opened his fist to reveal two sparkling rings. "Here is the fruit of our deposits to the PASTA bank. This could have been many helmets, many spears, and many soldiers' meals. And it will be again. PASTA's new leader will make sure of it. Of course, we will lose money on the exchange, but consider it not a loss, my friends, but a cost. The cost of enlightenment...The cost of a stronger resolve...Let this be the cost of freedom!" The crowd burst into thunderous applause and raucous cheers of approval of Chester's words. Someone near the back shouted, "Hail Chester! The new leader of PASTA!" Immediately, the army took up the chant, "Ches-ter! Ches-ter! Ches-ter!", they roared.

Chester gazed out upon them, smiling and with teared eyes. Then shook his head and held his hand out for silence. When they seen he wanted to speak, the shouting died down and Chester's cheeky little cousin, Honey, ran around kicking the members who didn't heed his sign. When all were again quiet, Chester said, "Thank you for the vote of support, but I am only young. Although I am as dedicated as any to the cause, our leader needs to be older and more experienced. I am not a leader. I am a simple soldier who will fight till the death to defend whoever you elect to lead us". While PASTA murmured amongst themselves, wondering who could do the job, Chester had one last point to make.

"Even though Justice Manley lost his sense of direction", he shouted, "we must remember it was he that first brought us together. And it was his strength that brought us this far. Justice Manley was not a traitor, friends. He was a casualty. He is a martyr, and as his dream is realised, he will be with us in spirit...And in this big brown dick here! - The Thing of Justice!!"

Again the crowd exploded into fierce agreement with Chester. Many of the faithful had tears in their eyes as they paid homage to the Thing of Justice.Hektor Daisy stormed onto the makeshift stage. He bowed to Chester, and to the four foot penis before turning to face his compatriots. "I would like to make a nomination for your consideration!", he shouted. "My brother has only just joined the cause. He is the only experienced soldier among us. In fact, he is a Perfektian war hero! On his first day home after an honourable discharge, did he relax and lie in the sun? NO! He joined PASTA! My fellow Pasties...I nominate the fighter...the soldier...the hero...Harold H. Daisy!"

The uproar didn't disrupt Harold's nap. It wasn't until Hektor grabbed him from the floor and dragged his half conscious body through the crowd and up on to the stage, that he realised something interesting must be going on. He rubbed his droopy eyes, focused them, and seen a multitude of happy people yelling his name in what was meant to be unison. Harold Daisy was now the leader of the revolution.

He greatly wished he was still asleep.

As General Wimms was well aware, it was Pervert's Day in court, and Queen Bob would certainly be seeking his services before long. So he decided to walk through the forest in order to avoid her, and to contemplate the problem of the people's uprising. At least his hands were washed of Harold Daisy. Wimms was certain the idiot must have gotten himself killed by now. That possibility cheered the general up immensely. He lifted his head high, took a deep breath, and strode on through the woods.

It wasn't long before he came upon the sleeping girl curled up against a tree. Wimms wondered momentarily if he were imagining things, for the girl's beauty was quite astounding. Even with her golden hair in tots, and dirt caked on to her knees and dress, her radiance could not be masked. She was the most stunning creature the general had ever seen. Upon fleeing Just's side when Chester attacked, Abigail hid behind a bushy sycamore long enough to see her boyfriend and her dreams cut down in their tracks.

She had turned and ran aimlessly into the depths of the dark forest. She cried as she ran on, and she ran until she could run no longer. Finally, she stopped to rest, and quickly succumbed to a deep and fast slumber. Wimms looked gently upon the resting beauty with sincere admiration before kicking her in the ribs with one of his shiny black army boots.

"Wake up, wench!", he hollered. Abigail moaned in her sleep and shifted position. General Wimms didn't have the patience for this. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her savagely to her feet. "O.K., peasant, wake up and answer some questions!" "Who are you?" she managed to whimper while trying to remember where she was. "I'll ask the questions you little slut! What are you doing here?"

By this time Abigail had got her eyes focused and her bearings straight. She tried to untangle her hair as she looked at her inquisitor. Then she realized who he was and waited not another second as her agile young mind raced frantically to turn this situation to her favour. Heavily and unequivocally in her favour would be nice. "Y-You're General Wimms, aren't you?" she smiled. Wimms smiled back, then quickly regained his composure. Abigail noticed he was staring at a tear in her dress that revealed part of the areola of her left breast. She repositioned her dress, making sure he got a good solid glimpse of her nipple first. She smiled shyly up the general. "I'm here looking for you, Sir", she claimed. "For me? Why?", he asked, but he was still envisioning the heavenly view of moments before. "Why? Because I have some information that you will find quite interesting". "Why didn't you tell it to one of the soldiers in town?" he asked suspiciously. "Oh, this is much too important to tell a common soldier, Sir. And besides, I wanted to meet you personally. I have only seen your fine hulking physique from afar", she said sweetly, daring to caress his arms, "This is kind of embarrassing, General, but I've been terribly attracted to you for a long time".

General Wimms began to sweat. He had only imagined such an encounter in his most ambitious fantasies. He always thought he had a fine hulking physique, but no one but Queen Bob had ever complimented him on it. Abigail knew full well that her campaign had already been won. She moved in closer, and kissed him tenderly on his sweating, quivering lips. The last thing Abigail Aberkrombie felt like doing at the moment was having sex on the forest floor with a geeky older man, but she realised that the situation could mean death on one hand, and possibly a fulfilling life as a general's mistress on the other.

Abigail made love to him like he had never had before.

Prince Peter wrote the most beautiful poetry for her, but young Ksandra Aberkrombie could not be consoled. The disappearance of her sister had left her almost catatonic. She feared that Abby must be dead, but wouldn't allow herself to believe it. No amount of sympathy and affection from Peter could make her smile.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter went to the PASTA meeting alone that night. He was reluctant to leave her alone, but they both knew that the cause was too important to shelve. The meetings now opened with a solemn and silent prayer to the Thing of Justice, where each group member silently recited a personal pledge to the penis characterising his or her own reasons for remaining loyal to the cause. Although Peter never would have joined PASTA (or even heard of it) without Ksandra, he now considered himself a full-fledged loyalist for genuine reasons. He entered the underground meeting place with extra pride and determination this night. The very forces they were planning to fight had indirectly caused grief to his dearest Ksandra. He took his place on the floor and gazed upon the Thing of Justice for a long moment, then lowered his royal head in prayer;

"Covering, smothering, thy powers that be

Enslave our will, hypnotically

But now we yearn to break this spell

To make Prosperity's grand banks swell

We must overcome our cowardice

Help us now, oh Thing of Justice!"

The Prince had tears in his eyes as he finished his homage to Manley's enormous penis. He anxiously awaited the meeting's commencement. Directly in front of him, in the very front row, sat a very nervous Harold Daisy, who was as prepared to run his first meeting as he would ever be. That is to say, he wasn't prepared in the least. It amazed him to think that as soon as Chester Fields opened the meeting, he would have to go up and speak to these people - to lead them in offence against his boss! Harold prayed that Chester would say something of interest to delay the proceedings.

And he did.

"There is a spy among us!", little Chester exclaimed. Harold nearly fell out of his chair. The crowd murmured their surprise and indignation. "Although, fellow Pasties, we do not wish to exhibit the same devilish traits as our oppressors, we must protect our campaign with vicious rigidity if we are to survive. Therefore, I feel it is most necessary to treat the offending agent most harshly. If there are any here who disagree, let him speak now". Harold considered saying something in his own defence, but could conjure up nothing intelligent.

Finally a voice behind him spoke up. "I would like to debate that stance", Peter offered. Chester smiled and motioned for him to submit his opposition. "Well", Peter began sincerely, "I believe a severe penalty would hurt our cause in the long run". Harold nodded enthusiastically. "Perhaps a stern lecture would be more appropriate?", Peter finished. He believed in the cause, but didn't wish to see anyone harmed. "That's a very compassionate stance, Peter" Chester said, "Especially since it is you who are the spy!" he shouted to all. "My fellow Pasties! Let me introduce to you the son of King Bob! Please greet Prince Peter, sole heir to the kingdom!" Chester yelled sarcastically.

Harold was completely confused as the crowd quickly fell upon Peter, but not all-together upset with Chester's acclamation of who the spy was. Chester had several lieutenants rescue the poor prince from the clutches of PASTA's most aggressive members, and haul him to the stage for an honest opportunity to deny the charges. "Are you a spy?", asked Chester directly. "No!" "Our source swears that the spy is one who was inducted eight days ago. When were you inducted, Peter?", asked Chester. "It was ... eight days ago", Peter answered honestly after a little calculating. The crowd listened carefully. "Is Peter Bobson your true and actual name?" "Well, no..." "Is it true that in reality you are PRINCE Peter, SON of King Bob and HEIR to the kingdom of Perfektia?" "Yeah, but..." "Do you expect us to believe you are here to fight for what is yours already?", Chester asked incredulously. "Well, it does sound rather far-fetched, doesn't it?", Peter admitted.

The crowd was becoming quite restless. They wanted him. Peter began backing up as Chester could no longer hold back the crowd, nor did he see much reason to. Peter scrambled for words of wisdom to show his dedication...to prove to them that he hated the king as much as anybody. "DEATH TO THE BIG PRICK!", he screamed and backed into the Thing of Justice, which wobbled on it's pedestal.

The crowd couldn't believe his nerve. As they rushed him, the Thing of Justice toppled over and killed him, crushing his poetic mind into the wooden floor of the stage.

Prince Peter always became depressed whenever he was misunderstood.

General Oliver Wimms, happy for the first time in quite a long time, almost pranced into Nice King Bob's private chambers to relate the news his new woman had told him. Queen Bob was in there with her husband, and she didn't like the look on Oliver's face. He looked... contented. She knew what that meant and she wasn't impressed. She stormed from the room and slammed the door. Wimms paid her no mind. He was anxious to speak to the king. "What the fuck is it now, Wimms?", Bob asked while a young servant girl methodically combed his beard.

"I've uncovered a great deal of information regarding the peasant uprising, Your Well-Groomedness". Wimms' eyes sparkled. King Bob swatted the girl away from him and she went scampering off. "Are we going to play a little guessing-fucking-game?" "No, Sire. I've found out that they are fairly dedicated to a revolution, but they have no arms as of yet". "What the fuck does that mean? Do they plan to grow some arms in the near-fucking-future?" Wimms laughed uncharacteristically and King Bob slapped him. "No, Your Good-Humoredness. I mean they have no weapons, no money to buy any, their so called headquarters is in a sewage drain, and their leader has already been murdered by one of their own". This time it was Nice King Bob who laughed. He could foresee no threat from such a motley crew as that. But, not being one to take unnecessary risks, he decided it was time to embark upon the next chapter of his plans to look like a good fucking king. "The Arts in Yo Hall Show is next week already, Wimms. Have you arranged to have them P.O.fucking W.s home for Gratitude Day yet?" "Well, Sire, we offered them a great pension package, but they still refuse to leave. They've become quite fond of Brockley and they say you'd like it too, if you'd only give it a chance". Bob became furious at that point. "I am the King of all fucking Perfektia and I won't like Brockley if I don't fucking want to!", he screamed. Wimms agreed.

"O fucking K, Wimms. This is the new plan..." Nice King Bob went on to outline his most aggressive military campaign in recent memory; "First of all, we launch an all out fucking attack on the cursed island of Brockley. Our peasants might protest in the name of peace, so proof must be obtained that Evil King Maxwell has been killing little bunny rabbits. Them cute furry ones with the floppy fucking ears and all...that evil bastard. And make sure nobody realises that it's our hundreds of automatic weapons against their forty nine sling shots. We must convince them that it will be a very difficult fight that we will win only because of our superior army, and the fact that God is obviously on our fucking side. Then we'll let on to try to assassinate Maxwell, but we wont actually do it, because we have to keep a nasty enemy in power to focus our frustrations on next time it's convenient. But we'll kill quite a few of their soldiers for appearances - and oh yeah - do in a few of ours too, so it doesn't look like a complete slaughter. I'll bravely give a speech to honour the PGA soldiers that die for their country. Then bring them fucking P.O.W.s home at gunpoint in time for their parade before the Arts in Yo Hall Show. Got it?"

"Got it", said Wimms, "I'll get it set up immediately, Your Compassionateness". "Remember, Wimms, this is all in the name of the war on grapes. Make sure that gets out". "Of course, Sire". Wimms left the room still thinking about the beautiful Abigail Aberkrombie, who was so stuck on him.

The assault on Brockley seemed like such a simple manoeuvre that General Wimms set the whole thing up within a day, and didn't even plan to preside over the attack. On the day of the assault, he got himself all dolled up to meet with Abigail in the luxurious cottage he had set her up in. On the palace grounds he met up with Queen Bob and his heart dropped to his shrivelling testicles. Luckily, the queen simply gave his buttocks a quick massage and let him go on his way. His relief was readily apparent, but Queen Bob paid no mind to it.

As planned, the young Abigail awaited her new hero in the cottage. As planned, she wore only a see-through white negligee over a pair of satin pink panties. As planned, a beautiful pink rose was strategically nested in her flowing blonde hair. As planned, Wimms arrived and they made fantastic, passionate love and... not at all as planned, two of Queen Bob's palace guards came crashing through the window and quite adequately bludgeoned him to death.

This time Abigail wasn't as agile. She was taken into custody by the guards and brought before Queen Bob herself, to face charges of murdering the king's security chief and most decorated general - just as planned.

On the way to the PASTA meeting, Harold was thinking about his previous performance at leading the meeting. He thought he did a fairly good job. Basically, he just copied little Chester's sentiments, told them what they wanted to here, threw in a few well placed cliches and bullshitted the rest.

Of course, the death of the prince occupied their minds for the most part. Harold didn't believe that Prince Peter was really a spy, but he wasn't stupid enough to bring attention to himself by saying so. All things considered, he felt the meeting went quite well. Harold was so lost in thought, that he didn't realise the crowd standing at the sewer entrance until he was one of the crowd himself. Young women were crying and young men were cursing the king. They all moved aside for their leader as he made his way to source of the trouble.

Chester Fields stood silently at the mouth of the sewer. "They're on to us", he stated simply without turning to face Harold. "Who is?", Harold asked lamely. Now Chester did turn to him. "Oh, the, um, government", Harold answered himself. "The bastards burnt out our headquarters and crammed the tunnel full of dirt and debris. All our work for nothing. We won't be able to reorganise after this. Ksandra Aberkrombie had made her way to the sight. She was in a terrible state after the disappearance of her sister and death of her boyfriend, but these facts made her resolve all the stronger. She pushed her way between Harold and Chester, speaking to no one, making her way to the mouth of the tunnel. She immediately began pushing dirt from it's mouth, throwing bricks and stones aside, pulling planks and bottles out of her way...

Chester came over and started helping her, and then Harold. The others slowly shook their heads and departed one by one. Several hours passed, and in the wee hours of the morning, the charred, but still intact, Thing of Justice was removed and proudly placed upright on the grass, a part of it's head had been lost, and it's golden shaft was now blackened with dirt, but it remained the Thing of Justice nonetheless.

Harold had never found himself so involved in a purpose before. It was Ksandra's resolve that brought it out of him. "They didn't die in vain...Did they Harold?" Harold put his arm around her and held her tight. "No, Ksandra", he said softly, "I don't think they did". They talked into the twilight about restructuring and getting PASTA back together, but each of them knew it would never be. Chester fell asleep with his head on Ksandra's lap a while earlier. As young as he was, even he knew PASTA would never organise another meeting.

After a long pause in the conversation, Harold nervously cleared his throat, and turned to his partner in principle. "I, uh, I know I can't take Peter's place in your heart, Ksandra, but, if you'll let me, I'd like to try to take care of you". His voice faded away by the end of his declaration, but Ksandra new what he meant. She looked at him with sad eyes and replied softly, "Thank you, Harold. Maybe some day...but not right now". She kissed his cheek tenderly and hugged him. Harold nodded his understanding and returned the friendly gesture.

As Nice King Bob had fully anticipated, Operation Just 'Cuz on Brockley went off without a hitch. Right on schedule, give or take an hour, the Perfektian P.O.W.s in Brockley had been rounded up and escorted back home to Perfektia in time for their parade the day before Gratitude Day. Bob was quite excited about how well everything had went. It bothered him slightly that that peasant bitch had murdered his general, but everything had worked out well in the long run.

The King couldn't see the parade, as he was busy rehearsing his lute for the concert, but he witnessed their arrival at Arts in Yo Hall. The turn out was tremendous. The grounds surrounding the hall were covered with people who came to witness the festivities.The parade had been a success, the acts on stage had gotten a good response, too. Now, Bob would blow them away with his lute before surprising them with the public hanging of the wench that killed General Wimms.

Abigail remained under the stage in shackles guarded by three burly sergeants, patiently awaiting her execution. Or at least that's what she was doing when Bob had personally checked on her a short time earlier.

In actuality, she was stripped naked, sitting on the face of one guard, while another squeezed her breasts, and the other was treated to a blow job. The shackles had been tossed aside with her clothing and that of the guards. All three sergeants agreed with her that she should be graciously allowed her final request of making it with three handsome soldiers simultaneously. They decided it would be uncivilised to deny her this request.

The sergeant that was enjoying Abigail's succulent lips wrapped around his penis howled with delight until she savagely bit it off, then he began howling a curiously different tune. She then jumped away from the guards and grabbed her shackles and clothes with lightening speed. One guard caught her and she promptly smashed him in the temple with the metal cuffs, knocking him instantly unconscious, or dead, she didn't wait to find out which. The other guard, the one who still had his parts intact, started for her but she spit his friend's cock at him, which he foolishly tried to catch. While his hands were in the air she gave his own genitalia such a shocking boot that it is most doubtful if he ever stood erect again. Abigail stopped to catch her breath. Wiping the blood and semen from her mouth, she was amazed to see the dickless guard charging her. And he didn't look happy. She again turned and ran, but her assailant's pursuit was short lived as he fell dead with a thump to the rocky floor of the hall's underground passageway. Abigail faintly heard the lute playing above her and suddenly realised that escaping would have to wait. She had other business to attend first. She donned her dress and made her way swiftly towards the trap door leading to the Arts in Yo Hall above.

* * *

Harold and Ksandra attended the show together. Neither wished to be there, but since Nice King Bob promised sure and swift prosecution of anyone who failed to show, they decided they had better go. Harold stayed close to her throughout the festivities, but not close enough to make her uncomfortable. Ksandra was well aware of his sensitivity and began to feel a great respect for him. She found herself thinking that his dopey looks were really quite cute in a comical sort of way. Harold glanced over at her to make sure she was still alright, and found her looking at him. She smiled sweetly and took his hand in hers.

Just then, while the king was playing a rousing rendition of Protect Our Perfektia, Abigail strode surely past him and straight towards Queen Bob who sat in a throne to the side of the stage. "Isn't that your-", Harold began to say. "ABIGAIL!!", Ksandra screamed. Harold didn't hesitate a second. He took off straight for the stage.

Every bit as surprised as Ksandra was King Bob who dropped his lute and watched speechless as Abigail walked past him. Finally, he managed to point at her and sputter out the command, "GET THAT FUCKING GIRL!" Queen Bob, who had been occupied making goo goo eyes at a strapping young stage hand, hadn't noticed anything was amiss until she heard her husband's thunderous order. She turned in his direction just in time to see Abigail Annabelle Aberkrombie rushing straight at her throne! Abigail's hands were outstretched by the time she reached the Queen. They quickly and firmly enclenched themselves around Queen Bob's humongous throat.

"You evil motherfucking witch!", Abigail screamed as she attempted to kill her queen right there and then in front of the whole kingdom. Queen Bob squealed like a fat pig trying to avoid the inevitable slaughter. If she had been any less obese, Abigail may have very well finished her off before the queen's guards yanked her off and subdued her. The first four guards were having an extremely difficult time containing her, but with the aide of two more they finally managed to hold her down.

Then from seemingly nowhere, Harold H. Daisy came flying across the stage with a rifle slung over his shoulder and a dagger in his teeth. Clinging to the curtain rope until he gained maximum height, he finally released it and flew the last twenty feet to Abigail's side.

He immediately gained his balance, cocked his rifle and shot three of her subduers with only two uncannily well directed bullets. He then slit the throats of two of the remaining guards then buried the dagger deep within the chest of the other one.

Nice King Bob ran like hell and his wife whimpered away into the shadows like a rat, praying that no harm would come to her. A new onslaught of soldiers stormed onto the stage toward Harold. He threw Abigail into a section of the shocked audience, who caught her quite gracefully and lowered her to the ground.

"VIVA LA PASTA!!", Harold wailed and dove straight into the path of the rapidly advancing soldiers. The crowd erupted into a murderous rampage and they too began rushing onto the stage. Weaponless, they punched and kicked and bit the king's soldiers and were putting on a remarkably worthy offensive until...

Until the battle horns screamed to life from all three sides of the revolting subjects. King Bob had had inbred imbecilic soldiers imported from Panamagua for just such an occasion. They barged in on horseback, recklessly hacking away at the mob regardless of age or sex. Mothers with their children were cut down as readily as the brave young Pasties who futilely fought and lost their own lives.

Although a mob has many brains, it has but one mind, and that can be a terribly frightening and perverse thing, but in this case, it made it's mind up to fight to the death, and never was a more heroic sight witnessed. They fell by the hundreds, but it's resolve never wavered. An atom can only suppressed so much and for so long before it explodes into a fiery bombshell. The Perfektians were at that point. No degree of pain or oppression could stop this thing from blowing until it no longer existed. This was an utter massacre of the Perfektian People. Nothing could be done to halt it's ravage until...

Until the Perfektian P.O.W.s that were brought home at gunpoint took up the cry of freedom and joined forces with PASTA. Together, they nearly matched their foes in number, and greatly outnumbered them in spirit. The expertise of the former P.O.W.s aided tremendously in the battle and their involvement heightened the resolve of all the other oppressed citizens.

It was still a long time before the battle had ended, but when it did, the remaining Panamaguans went fleeing back to their homeland. And Perfektia was a free and liberated state.

Many, many freedom fighters lost their lives that day, but since the government were the losers instead of the victors, an actual account of lost lives could be honestly prepared. Each and every Perfektian who died that day had his or her name enshrined in marble, so that no single one would be forgotten. That lengthy list was erected at the sight of the battle. Now forever carrying the name of one particular brave soldier whom, without his unconditional bravery and dedication, freedom may have never been obtained.

When the chaos was over, Ksandra made her way to the stage where Harold Daisy had attacked an entire platoon of soldiers. There were other bodies piled on top of his. Laboriously, she removed them one by one. She broke into tears when she seen him lying there. Little Chester's young body was sprawled across Harold's, a sword protruding through his back. Ksandra gently removed Chester's seemingly weightless body from Harold's, and laid it gently aside. She leaned over Harold and whispered, "I love you, Harold" "I love you too, Ksandra", he whispered back.

Harold H.Daisy would not be a name enshrined in Chester Field, he had too many important tasks still ahead of him.

The poems of Prince Peter were bound in a gilt-laden book and displayed in the new national museum. They were considered an invaluable treasure and source of pride and inspiration for all in the kingdom. Some of his lyrics were combined to create a new national anthem.

Nice King Bob and his queen made a desperate attempt to flee the island. They found a canoe and headed straight to Brockley to plead for political asylum. However, two thirds of the way across the Sea of Love, the boat began to take in water and Bob promptly tossed his wife overboard where she floated for an impressive amount of time before finally sinking. Bob himself made it to Brockley, where he was granted to live as a palace servant to Perfektian President Daisy's good friend, King Maxwell.

Ksandra Daisy helped her husband keep the new Perfektia free from corruption and oppression. Her sister, Abigail, spent the rest of her many days in public service, helping the unfortunate and underprivileged on neighbouring islands. She never once stopped repenting for her earlier transgressions.

Gratitude Day was ceremoniously changed to Chester Fields Day, and swimming in Prosperity was permitted year round by all. The work day was shortened considerably, as was the work week. Many national holidays were created and many provisions were made for workers.

Ricardo Cordoba was released from prison and given a humble apology for his troubles. The term "devil juice" was quickly forgotten as wine became legal and was actively traded with Brockley, Panamagua, and several other surrounding isles, creating the beginning of a healthy trade relationship throughout the South Pasantic region. The Thing of Justice was cleaned up and erected upon the roof of the democratically elected president's home for all to look upon ...and remember.