I have reached Ashland, Maine, a small little place with some living people in it. I found a house that looked like it had been abandoned, but it was just uncared for. I found some people with big, tooty smiles in the yard and called out to them.

"I'm escaping from a summer camp that I was forced to counsel at, for I am a camp counselor who became a sensual executive assistant. Can you help me?"

"What do you need, friend?"

"Some money, a car, and a gun if you have one."

"No problem, follow me into the back of the barn where my brothers and I will give you all this and more."

"You guys aren't funning me, are you?"

"No, we don't fun in Maine. We have a car and a gun back there. The car is a 1978 Pontiac Firebird with a fake registration and fake Rhode Island plates. The gun is untraceable and the numbers, they've been removed."

"That would be very helpful. I'm going up against the Werner van Goats Corporation. They run the camp."

"Aren't those the people who are building work camps for liberals in South Dakota?"

"Yes, and I am morally opposed to those."

"So are we. Why don't we get you in that Pontiac and give you that gun. All we ask is that you give us all handjobs."

"How about you give them to each other? You all have hands."

"Okay, that will be fine. We are very agreeable Mainers."

"Yes. Yes, you are."

A half-hour later (delayed because they wanted me to watch them give each other handies), I was driving down route 11, heading south into the mighty Aroostook area. Beautiful region. Lot of good looking men in the woods. If you go in there, you will find them. I promise.

A long journey was ahead of me. A lot of woodsmen in the woods.

I'll check in when I get to Bangor.

And then I can start to free the world from its chains.

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