I walked through the dark underground garage.  Most of the lights had been turned off, as usual. 

A voice came from the deepest shadows, "Roughtyper?  Is that you?"

"Yeah.  Why did you call me, G?"

"I've finally figured out the truth!"

"Another conspiracy theory?  C'mon G, I don't have time for this.  I'm tired of calling you code names, and you never showing your face."

"No, listen!  I've got to tell you.  I've been followed all day!"

"OK, what?"

"The president is being misled by powerful advisers."

"Look G, I'm supposed to be in Redmond, in a hot tub, with a certain billionaire yet tonight.  Tell me something I don't know."

"It's aliens."

"Give me a break, G."

"No!  That's why there's Gitmo!"

"What?"

"We keep space aliens at Gitmo!  The facts have to be hidden from the American public.  If the aliens...even people who know about the aliens...aren't kept totally away from the public, there will be panic.  Anarchy! "

"You know, G, 'anarchy' means without a king."  I said.  "Kind of a funny play on the presidency.  You could take that no less than three ways..."

"Shut up, Rough." 

"Sorry...Continue, G."

"The whole war in Iraq and Afghanistan, too!"

"Aliens..."

"Yes!  Aliens!  France is already controlled by the aliens!  That's why they wouldn't join us!"

"France is controlled by aliens..." I muttered.

"Look Rough,"  G continued, "I hear that they fight with their feet, and fuck with their mouth.  You gotta admit!  That's pretty frickin' alien."

"Um, yeah," I started, "about that..."

"No!" he shouted.  "That why they're misleading the president."

"G," I said, "that's not happening."

He stamped his foot.  "It is!  They never tell me anything!"

"What?"

"They never tell him anything!" G stammered.

"That's not what you said..."

...but all I heard was running footsteps, an emergency door slamming open, and then closing gently.

I was in a  darkened cellar room, its walls damp with moisture.  The musky damp choking my every ragged breath. 

Sitting on a hard chair, my hands were bound to the table in front of me, my ankles to the legs of the chair.

A key grated in the lock and the door opened.  I heard the Inquisitor enter, his robes brushing the rough floor.

As he lit a candle, I saw my tormentor for the first time.

"Roughtyper, You have been charged with the most heinous crimes against society," he purred.  "Heresy against the righteous order."

I spat at him.  "You can't do this!  There are laws!"

"Yes, there are laws.  Our laws.  The secular authorities do our bidding because their laws are the ones we give them."

"Do you want me to turn you over the the secular authorities?" He continued with a sneer.

"No." I whispered.

"Very well.  Let us continue where we left off."

He removed a set of thumbscrews from the gladstone bag he had placed on the floor. 

"I won't confess."

"Of course you won't," he replied, adjusting the screws on the thumbs of my bound hands.

"I'll never tell you what I know."

"I understand," he said, twisting the screws down hard.

"Never!" I screamed as I felt the bone began to crush.

He tightened the screws further.  The pain seared through my entire body.

"Alright!"  I choked through my own bile.  "I'll tell you..."

"09 F9 11 02 9D 74..."

St. Peter had just gone to Starbucks (yes, there is a franchise there) for his daily half-caf-mochalottafrappadappachino.  I was minding the book of Life, when up walked a familiar face. 

"Jerry!"  I cried.  "Man!  Good to see you!"

"Where's Jesus?" he asked me.  "I expected to be met by Jesus!"

"...ermm..." I shrugged my shoulders.  "Just me, today."

I gave him a smile.

He scowled.  "I get to heaven, and I'm met by RoughTyper?"

" What is the meaning of this?"  He began to rant.   "Haven't I done God's work by forcing women to have babies from rape and incest?  Haven't I blamed 9/11 on a permissive society that allows homosexuality?  Aren't women continuing to be denied rights because of the policies I promote?  Didn't I go on record with these things?"

"Well, yeah," I began, "you see..."

"Haven't I spread a policy of hate toward all people who aren't the chosen ones of Jesus, and share my religious beliefs?"

"...erm...just a minute Jerry..."

Jerry steamed.  A black gentleman had just walked up.

"Edward F. Boyd", he said.

"My goodness, Mr. Boyd.  It's been over a week." I said.

He smiled, "I took the scenic route.  I've got nothing but time..."

"Please enter, your place has been prepared."  I said with a little bow, as I motioned him in.

I turned back around to see Jerry red-faced and fuming.

He stormed  "I...will...not...be...treated...this...way!  I demand you take care of this immediately!"

"Yes sir!"  I replied.  "In the meantime...uh...would you have a seat in that handbasket over there?"