Poor Squire Guyer. Initially saddled with the job of keeping Viceroy Hanley out of trouble, he drank from the jug and skipped forward from the bench to be next in line to face the CEV bean ball. Now as the Emperor's grand game plan unravels, and the Dogpatch stadium scoreboard displays the result, it fell upon Guyer to carry the bad news to the throne.
Alas, Big Barnsmell's kickapoo joy juice is almost enough to turn a lonesome polecat into Broom Hilda's suitor. But its not enough to deaden the pain caused by her ill-conceived interjections that have resulted in significant CEV design changes. Despite mandatory vacations, cancellation of all but emergency travel, and the elimination of almost all testing normally associated with the qualification of a human rated space transportation system, the CEV contractor is slowly revealing a real stinker.
And so, skunked by these revelations, Guyer travelled north. But he should have told the cabbie to wait for him on E street, because he was thrown out of the Emperor's den almost as soon as the number left his mouth.
And in doing so, he put another nail in the coffin of his former esquire. It won't be long now. Lower Slobbovia will be welcoming home its favorite son soon enough.
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