or safe keeping, we must make sure is it carefully locked away, and not let it be accidentally
ingested by...
Bill Clinton, or any other grand purveyor of male hormonal angst who is in a position of power, lest they unleash their frustrations upon an unsuspecting world in other ways. Such were the plotting thoughts the vengeful old Gypsy woman amused herself with as she sat rotting in her holding cell, unable to make bail. She knew of the potient's power, it's secreted existence, it's potential for wreaking havoc in the male-dominated power structure of the world if it fell into the right hands, the proper hands, her hands!...She had to have it! If only she hadn't let that little squirrel of kid in Rio get away, what was his name again? No matter...she knew the strip joint where he hung out in more ways than one. Suddenly she knew! She could promise to make him Puppet Master if he would lead her to the treasure! She was going back to Rio! Now!
"Guard!" she cried. "Oh, Guard! I have something delicious for you! Come closer! Come here..."
