Went So Wrong

            “Oh shit!” Clint exclaimed as he stood up and finished examining his briefcase bomb. “This is where I went wrong, you see that, Sean? I should have put this wire right here… and… wait, Sean, that’s a zero on the ti-“ and the bomb promptly blew the fuck up, eradicating Clint, Sean, their buddy Fae, and the park in which they were testing their little contraption.

            Meanwhile, in the underground Lair of Doom (a.k.a. Clint’s basement), Chris rubbed his hands with glee as he watched his idiot cohorts blow the fuck up. He had warned them that bad shit would happen to them if they continued to avoid paying their taxes, but did they listen? No, they didn’t. This is what they got. Chris would not settle for being caught by the Feds because his dumbass associates were being investigated for tax evasion. That’s what most of the good ones were caught for, though. He was better than that; he had planned too well for something as piddly as that to trip him up. I guess I get to keep the basement now, Chris thought to himself. To the victor go the spoils, right? 

            But what should he do now? He needed to recruit, and that was a delicate operation when looking for pissed off citizens willing to terrorize their localities to scare politicians straight. One couldn’t just go into the nearest trailer park anymore and get some help for an angry speech and a six-pack. It required more tact than that now. People would go around, calling him a terrorist if he wasn’t careful, and he didn’t need that kind of attention. He was a patriot, damn it! The American people were fraught with laziness and apathy while their politicians raped their rights. Something had to be done, and if he didn’t step up to the plate, who would? He wasn’t a lobbyist, so he didn’t have the politicians’ ears yet. He would fix that whole system, but now he needed new people. The crew he was familiar with had blown themselves up to bits in a park somewhere in Wisconsin. It would make the news tomorrow, but it was a sideways movement, rather than the forward march he wanted.

            He tapped a pen on Clint’s keyboard as he thought to himself. Craigslist? Facebook? Both of those could turn up good people, but they easily caught attention from the authorities. Should he go to the Tea Party? The conventions for that group were like a farm for discontented white people with money, exactly what he wanted. That’s the plan, then, he thought. Wait for a local convention, and set up shop there. For now, though, he needed to go back upstairs. Jerry Springer was on, and he didn’t want to miss that.