TRUE! —nervous —very, very dreadfully nervous I had been and am; but why will you say that I am mad? The disease had sharpened my senses —not destroyed —not dulled them. Above all was the sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heaven and in the earth. I heard many things in hell. How, then, am I mad? Hearken! and observe how healthily —how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the Hawkman. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! He had the eye of a hawk —a pale blue eye, with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees —very gradually —I made up my mind to take the seat of the Hawkman, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.

Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen how wisely I proceeded —with what caution —with what foresight —with what dissimulation I went to work! I was never kinder to the Hawkman than during the weeks I circulated the recall petitions. Every day, from dawn to dusk, I paced the streets in search of the disgruntled citizen, any who could not bear his designs for our troubled city. Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I enlisted them in my desperation, subscribing themselves to my defamous petitions. And every morning, when the day broke, I counted them, again and again, anxious that the number be adequate to withstand the trial of verification. And I imagined the disgraced Hawkman driven from Council while I kept vigil, seeing his heart torn out by disenchanted voters, his designs rent asunder.

And have I not told you that what you mistake for madness is but over-acuteness of the sense? The dread of that piercing eye, that devil's eye, compelled the exhaustive circumspection I took with the petitions. Each night I arduously compared the signatures affixed to them with the lists of registered voters for the city and ward. I enumerated only those that matched, envisioning each a needle stabbing the relentless Evil eye, that hawk eye, of the Hawkman. My mind saw the Hawkman blinded, stumbling from the council chamber into darkness, never more to return. I knew that in that darkness, bare of arms, he would certainly perish at the hands of the lawless, the riotous student, the impoverished citizen.

Then the deed was done, the petitions filed, and the signatures tallied. The day of recall was selected and the infamy published. Eagerly I awaited that day but with increasing apprehension. What if the Hawkman prevailed? How would I avoid the stare of that cold eye, that evil eye, that would discover my designs for his unseating?

If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the voter rolls and newspaper accounts. The night of the election waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered each newspaper. I cut out the articles and the letters to the editor. I placed all, voter rolls and clippings, in folders, bound together, and locked in a steel box, a casket for the stricken heart of the Hawkman.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye —not even his —could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out —no stain of any kind —no beer spill whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all —ha! ha!

When I had made an end of these labors, it was four o'clock —still dark as midnight. As the bell sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street door. I went down to open it with a light heart, —for what had I now to fear? There entered three, trish83, rocky56, and Liberal Exposer, faces grim, each a bearer of unhappy tidings, we had achieved defeat and nothing more. "Again?" I inquired. Quoth the Exposer, "Nevermore."

It's been a pleasure speaking with you, as always, Mrs. Exposer.

Kent Sheetz, I did see that. I was astonished when I read it. Somebody is in for an awakening.

Yes, The Liberal Exposer deserves credit for debunking Obama from the start, long before it became stylish. I wish she could have articulated herself a little better so fewer people would have been turned off.

I'm going to let her rest so I won't be posting for a while.

Mrs. Exposer, I'm content to let you have the last word on the subject. I never worry who's packing what, and now is no time to start.

Have you seen this letter?

http://www.recordpub.com/news/no_byline_article/4623035

The writer, a new Record-Courier reader, praises the newspaper for publishing a Dan Thomasson opinion critical of President Obama. The Record-Courier, she says, is perhaps "the first newspaper to expose the president for what he is."

Of course, readers of the Record-Courier online know that The Liberal Exposer has been debunking President Obama in these pages for months.

Let's give credit where credit is due.

Not only was I surprised by that trip and its outcome, but Liberal's wife even more so. You see, she had ambitions to go one up on Lorena Bobbitt but found those aspirations nipped in the bud. Or was it in the Schlitz?

Mrs. Exposer,

Yes, that's exactly right, you did mention the unmentionables!

Well, I learned two things today. First, that a person visiting Milwaukee can find something fun to do after the funeral, and second, that Schlitz tastes that way because they make it that way.

If my memory serves me, I mentioned earlier Liberal's penchant for wearing my underwear, and how I told my husband not to worry about it. Well, suddenly I found out that Liberal made a trip to Milwaukee to see how they put Schlitz in cans.

Hi Mrs. Exposer, it's nice to hear from you again.

"I have been busy consoling Liberal in the loss of anonymity. She was so distraught ..."

Mrs. Exposer, I'm not in the habit of arguing with guardian angels, but Liberal was male one day, female the next. It must have involved the loss of more than anonymity.

Not to worry, I am still around and kicking. I have been busy consoling Liberal in the loss of anonymity. She was so distraught that she unleashed some cyber-thugs to assault the good name of both the High Holy Grand Poo-Bah and you, Kent Sheetz (see #75). I warned that this was futile since the Poo-Bah is protected by a Guardian Angel who will also look out for you.

I am worried about the Exposer's Mother. We haven't heard from her for the longest time.

A quaint lady, to be sure, but very nice, lots of fun.

Let's hope and pray that the Exposer didn't go "Norman Bates" on her!