Calamity Kid, here. Don't worry, these Israeli Military Industries nine-millimeter Baby Eagles are loaded with tranquilizer rounds. We're ordered to love our enemies, not send them to Hell before they get a second chance, so I pack a variety of non-lethal weapons. This is a spiritual battle y'all, not one of flesh and blood.

My Church youth group?

Church: I'm from Chicago--the year is 2036. Believing in God is illegal and treasonous, so my home-church was captured and sent to government rehabilitation centers. I avoided capture and met up with saints from Chicago's lost wards. Makes it tough to love your enemies when mom and dad are being tortured, but He's the Boss--walk the walk.

Youth Group: The BoC: Body of Christ. We're the saints who've slipped into underground cracks, and resist the One State, against anti-Christian Neros of the anti-Christ. Afraid you ask? *laugh* Saints in the underground have been re-formed with brain-wave technology. If God is with you, walk tall in the valley of death, y'all.

They call me a sandman because I only put people to sleep. I'm the main character of Flashpoint: Book One of the Underground, and War of Attrition: Book Two of the Underground. Read about yours truly nappin' anti-Christian fundi-hatin' Neros in the dark streets of the Chicago Metroplex.

Bad news is, you can meet my author in Shoutlife's fantasy/ sci-fi author section. I'm written by a slave-drivin' workaholic who runs under the pen name Frank Creed. It's a good thing this ain't film, and he ain't a director, or he'd have run over-budget a decade ago. Frank's a perfectionist, always rewriting. Calamity do this: no-no do it that way: Calamity, do the scene again but raise an eyebrow: Calamity, fetch me some coffee: Calamity: write my bio. A real jerk this guy. Click on the author tab and run a search for Frank Creed. If you track him down, tell him he owes me twenty bucks for lunch yesterday.

Hold on, Frank's publisher asked me to read you something--that data chip's around here somewhere. If Frank ordered me to do this I'd tell him the chip fell out of my pocket that time he almost got me smoked by One State peacekeepers. Good thing for him that Cynthia at The Writer's Café Press is a real sweetie. Cyn's the only reason I haven't napped Frank's muse with a tranq round, and dumped her on a plane to New Zealand. Well, I cant find it. Just Google the loser's name and click on the first result. Don't forget my $20!

Hymn to Him.
CK