From: ascott@pacifier.com
Subject: Defusing the Dictator
Newsgroups: talk.bizarre
Summary: Lacking time travel and a gun... Ace Lightning was a muse amused.
Organization: Red Rock Occupation Force
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Date: 20 Apr 98 06:12:10 GMT
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  Adolf Hitler, landscape artist.  Charles Manson, songwriter.  David
Koresh, rock guitarist.  Driven men, whose artistic endeavors went
unappreciated, forcing them to choose other careers with disastrous
results.  How much horror could have been averted simply by supporting
these men in their preferred avocations?

  Imagine a secret organization (it would have to be secret), carefully
bolstering the careers of such men, covertly purchasing Hitler's
landscapes, Manson's music... defusing the dictators.

  And what if we're the lucky ones?  What if such a cabal *does* exist in
our world, its operations unrecognized by targets and beneficiaries alike?
There's evidence to support such a thought.

  Imagine a universe very close to this one, a world where such an
organization did not exist...

                                  ***

  Forehead bulging, The Dictator leaned over his electronic keyboard,
crooning tunelessly.  Near-naked concubines crouched at his feet, awaiting
his pleasure with frightened eyes.  His lieutenants exchanged glances and
hand signals among themselves, comparing notes, perhaps, on the day's
battles just won, but not daring even to whisper while the Master played.

  A courier stumbled into the field office.  "Master," he cried,
interrupting The Dictator's soaring solo.  Silence fell.  The courier
cringed, knowing his life forfeit but sworn to deliver his message no
matter what the cost.

  "Master, Washington has fallen.  The continent is yours!"

  An evil smile spread over The Dictator's face... displaying more even
white teeth than any human ought to have.  He stood, unnaturally tall, and
swept towards the door.

  "Yessss... now I can schedule my coronation concert.  Now they'll
listen, damn their hides.  Kill him," he snapped as an aside.  Stone-faced
guards dragged the hapless courier outside the field office, where one
brief scream heralded his payment for interrupting The Dictator's music.

  Once outside, The Dictator stood still, staring up at the stars that too
would soon be his.

  "Emperor..." he whispered.  "Emperor... Tesh."
 
-- 
Alan P. Scott..................http://www.pacifier.com/~ascott/apshome.htm
      "Who will babysit the babysitters?"
                              --Jello Biafra, "The Power of Lard"