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Show Acting Alone Page 3Q9 Chapter Seventeen He never even thought the word Nazi before. And he sure never thought he'd hear anybody say "Eeew, gross" about the Hostages for Freedom. Fight them, yes. And curse them, heck yes. Arrest them, kill them, prosecute them, why sure. But not wrinkle your nose up an say "ick" like as if the Hostages for Freedom was some runny catshit that you found buried in your sandbox or something. But, the Good, they always get theirself ranked on. Spikey give his freedom, his spotless police record, his unsmutched international reputation to the Hostages for Freedom that day in Wheatville. And his only wish was that he was marching shoulder-to-shoulder with the boys on their serious business today. Doing more of the exact same stuff that newspapers all across America was saying he done in Wheatville. Doing the exact same stuff that guys in bars and poolhalls all across these United States was joking and singing about in rowdy bar-jokes and -songs about Spikey: The Hostage That Come Home to Kick Him Some Foreign Ass. Two hundred-plus million people was joking and singing and reading Senator Nimrod's son's paperback book all about Spikey. Two hundred-plus million good folks was mailing ten to fifteen bushels of postcards and letters per day to Mama Mae Bell, congratulating her on raising up such a boy and asking for the political theory guy's mare's milk recipe and |