Some days, everything goes perfectly. The death squads deploy smoothly. The right people are in the right place at the right time to get shot or blown up or covered with honey and fire ants. The earthquake-ray satellites do their jobs. The extra thirty seconds of the Zapruder film remain safe and hidden in Elvis' bedpan in Nebraska. The Kerry/Bush/Blair/Annan neuro-implant network functions with brilliant efficiency. There are still no purple M&Ms.
Other days, your cat pisses all over the damn house.
But that's life, I guess.
