Hidden Weapons

I heard about the cheers, onlookers chosen by the kindly executioners, who took great pleasure in ripping off the head of that big monster, fed and raised by Uncle Sam. He'd suffered from a plague, a brief attack that changed his endocrine endowment fund, testosterone ran wild, its foam engulfing all gray matter and defiance reared its bearded head to wander off into the world of dunes where kingdoms can be built of sand. With terror only visible inside his cruel eyes, there was an air of simple bravery, the shackles held and fear was smelled by all, the fear of predator and prey. The family went mad, the uncle said we must now bleed the bastards dry, take on the valiant task of altruism, to keep the people safe and well, so all the rellies gathered with their charts, long lists of weapons to be used, at last, it was the stuff that builds and nurtures an economy, a must for a regime that sees itself as having been appointed by the Gods to lead, and to impose its generosity upon the world, its goodness and a system fit for those who would be welcomed in the fold, whose contributions would be seen by all to be the currency's democracy and peace, it would be known henceforth to peasants and to kings and Gods and devils all the same, the great essence, also known as the Good Oil.