[this is satire] With the assistance of a detailed map provided by Rocky the Diabolical Cat™, I was able to find Walter the Worm’s hole in Military Park last Sunday morning after breakfast at The Abbey. I rang the minuscule doorbell and heard a faint beep. Walter emerged from his abode wearing his silk bathrobe. “Pfffff, who is this bothering me this time of the morning. Pfffff! Oh, it’s you, J. What’s going on?” he asked. “Just in the neighborhood,” I replied. “How are things in the worm-world?” “Fine, thank you for asking. Nothing much changes with us. When it does, it’s slow, and I mean s-l-o-w, like evolutionarily slow. Unlike you humans, where things turn upside-down from one day to the next,” he said. “Such as?” I asked. “Well, look at the head of your junta, that George W. Bush. Suddenly Bush is on a downward slide, like a kid on a sled at Coffin Golf Course after a good snowfall. Man, he’s going down fast!” he laughed. “Yes, it is remarkable, isn’t it?” I agreed. “And he’ll take everybody with him. Just think of that Mitch Daniels! Soon enough he’ll rue the day when he stood on a stage with Bush at the minor league ice hockey stadium and Bush called him ‘My Man Mitch’! What a millstone to have around your neck now!” the worm laughed again. “Yes, it is a bit of a spectacle, isn’t it?” I laughed. “Yes, J.,” Walter the Worm said, “soon enough the tinhorn Teddy Roosevelt will ride off into the sunset on his hobbyhorse, taking his junta with him, leaving the rest of you to reconstruct your debased and pillaged country.” “I look forward to that day,” I said. “As do I. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must return to my ladyfriend Gloria the Glow-worm. Adieu, my friend!” Walter said with a wink.