A ghost story.

I see him everywhere. He haunts me. Like a fever I can't escape.

Jeff Merkley, the fiend. Driven mad by his ravenous hunger for taxation.

In mystical [tele]visions, I spy him. Lurking in the forest, crimson red with a bloodthirst for [job] KILLING [tax hikes]. Or engorging himself on some beastly swine while the machines of war tear through the ancient kingdom of Colchis.

Only the white knight, Gordon Smith, can vanquish this foe. He defends our lands with prudence and virtue, his squire Edward Kennedy at his side.

Even in the safety of my web, I hear sinister whispers beckoning me to follow. Only to reveal Merkley's disembodied head threatening to levy a pox on us all.

Count your blessings states whose fate swing not in the balance, lest ye be haunted by PACs too.