The Politicians are at center stage. All their twisted little hands slowly strangling the eagle. They wear masks as they show each other their stone obelisk. Some hide under white sheets while others are counting money on granite steps. They would make old George proud. The founding fathers are frozen on display; the image of an explosion slowly thaws them. One whispers “the eagle is dead now”, as the politicians take turns wearing its skull around. They dance with rattlesnakes around their necks, laughing at each others crooked bodies. Suddenly the channel changes.