May. 31st, 2011

The pounding at the front doors was becoming more insistent. I put my back against the paneled wood and braced against the slippery floor along with three of my strongest Chulkos. Lopez was balancing on top of my head and peeping through the clerestory windows.

"Uh oh," he said. "The cops are bringing a ram."

We were on the fourth hour of our standoff. After a few initial sorties using firearms, the police finally figured out that their antiquities were fragile. As we weren't fighting back with lethal force, they decided (as Swam1 had predicted) that they would try to take us by brute force. We had done a decent job of holding them off, but everybody knew it couldn't last.

The comm buzzed in my ear. "Jackpot," said Grabsy, "there are snipers on the roof."

"I'm a little busy right now," I grunted.

"Shall I take it upon myself to resolve this little difficulty by any prudent means?"

I had to think about that one. "Uh, sure," I said. "Still no killing, though. Not yet."

Grabsy pondered that one. "Supposing a person were to fall from a great height," he suggested, "and the resulting impact were to kill that person, leaving me blameless."

"Stop splitting needles," I barked.

"Oh, all right," sulked Grabsy and signed off.
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September 2012

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