" Listen! What's that terrible sound? On and on it goes, will it never stop? Oh Lawd, What have I done?"

That is what is going through Spaw's pointy little head. And the sound he hears is that of a clock...tick-tick-ticking away his precious and waning time. The poor idjit is in a panic. Less than 34 hours left.

Look at his frenzy; trying to laugh it off, even trying to minimize the terror by pretending the Royal Forkers are concrete workers. But, his lingering on Ohio will have very concrete results, and he will not enjoy them!

Carol C...the clock ticks for you, too. As you have tried to humiliate the King, you shall likewise be pubicly humiliated, unlees you pay the fine and make the pubic apology that is demanded!

Poor, poor ole Tweed...yall have him so confused he does not know if he is coming or going. The once noble First Duck of Mississippi has become a baleful and woeful has-been. He blows hot and cold. Yes, Tweed blows. I fear it is his mind that has crumbled under the pressure. If I had known, if I had had any idea that this thread would have brought all this disgrace and agony on the once-esteemed Mayor of Tweedsburg, I would have immediately appealed to my Dear and Good Friend, Joe Offer, to delete it.

But the deed is done, the song is sung, the dye is cast, the pie is in the oven, the bell's been rung, and the world will cry "havoc" as the dogs are released!

There is no joy in Mudcatville, the Mighty Crazies have struck out!

King-I hate no joy in Mudcatville threads-khandu