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The Weasel

The Weasel was born in the far Northern climes, where the nights are long and the days are blurry. Stumbling across a solar-powered laptop abandoned near the Temperance River north of Lake Superior, plans for World Domination were soon spawned, along with several batches of returning salmon. Hiding under bridges from routine overflight patrols, The Weasel invented several new artforms, poetic licensing organizations, and tapeworm hacking techniques involving sugarcubes, tearing frenzies, and a Fez. On the run from The Thought Police, The Weasel is still at large, hacking her way through red tape, UN scissors, and the clutches of flying lizards, with abandon, glee and superb aplomb. Be on the lookout for whisker twitches.

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Copyright 2004 Avatar Review