Central Oregon's high plain in the morning;

Central Oregon's high plain in the morning; crisp air, clear blue sky, birds flitting from tree to tree, steaming deer scat, a squirrel cussing me for trespassing. Home! Peace! Joy

filled my shallow heart whenever I looked at that photo. But this is war, and all good things come to an end. I shoved it back into my coat pocket and peered out of my bunker.

In the distance I could hear the sound of enemy bombers -- dozens by the sounds of it. I thought maybe this time would be -- the time they brutally nuked our balls to gelatin orbs.

I have always admired the SS uniform. A fine wool outfit, a silver-white eagle against flag black. I gripped both handles of my Flak 41 and looked to the skies. Through the clou

ded haze of my delusion, I could see the president's plane flying overhead. I grabbed the handles and started shooting. I heard "boom, boom" but no one else did, it was sad,

because I was the Ace of Bass. My subwoofer and sonic charisma was becoming less and less relevant as the world continued to

shy away from the music of fish hatcheries. "Ace of Bass" languished on shelves, but I was determined to share this pescal melody with the world in ichthyologist harmony! Fishy

Tunes with Bebopping Barracuda backing the "Ace of Bass" & his Sawtooth guitar made the canned fish aisle swing. Canned music finally broke out of the supermarket intercom & into

Nikki Minaj and Mariah Carey were both fired from the show and replaced by the Olsen twins because everyone knows that twins never fight. The ratings plummetted, but no one cared.