Super Criminals & This Virus

Virus

Part 12 of 30

This virus -- are you with me so far? -- is not just happening, OK? That’s a big statement, and probably one I'll get a lot of flak over. I understand that. And I can deal. But I’m just concerned about those out there -- a lot of people -- who won’t deal with it if we don’t take it completely seriously. So I’ll put it out there again, it’s not just happening.

Is it a huge conspiracy? I don’t believe it's that huge. It’s just like this, that in particular localities there are agents -- it’s tough to prove because a lot of these shady characters stay in the shade. But it makes complete sense how these agents are acting. Doing their dirty work (1), then slinking back into the shadows to look out from the shadows and behold the evil fruit of their doings.

And you see how effective their plans are, at least in the short-run. Because we will get them. This is something f I can see it, our leaders can see it, and they'll shut down the whole thing.

So we are indeed looking at local agents and national agents and probably global agents at their filthy task, whoever they might be in the particular places. It's a lot easier to see in local situations because the networks on the larger scale, while like the local in many ways, have a lot more ways of disappearing, and shifting blame.

And I haven’t merely been sitting here writing this, OK? I’ve been out, particularly at night, listening at doors in alleys, exchanging certain goods for certain information. Then filtering it through the software in my massive VIC-20 brain. It takes a lot of doing, but I've got all the time in the world (to do good).

So far, then, I’ve narrowed the local scene down to four agents, perhaps one of whom is the biggest threat, while taking into account that if they're in cahoots they’re even more powerful. I’m going to sketch them out with the helpful apparatus of four aces, and we’ll be going the typical left to right in the all important list of their identities and motives. First, we have the town drunk, Skidrow Sal. There’s nothing that’s not observed by Sal. Sal sees the weak links in every scene and gets his booze by reporting to Mr. or Ms. Big.

Second, there’s furniture store owner Martin Van Bureau. Who's really the point man on information, very useful in the ‘hood. It seems that Bureau has run up quite an electronics bill for eavesdropping equipment; he shut down the last few electronic stores in the area. If you’ve said anything about anything, or have bought furniture in the last few weeks, Bureau has you pegged.

Third, we can't leave out the owner of the Third Reich Bar, Alois Himmler, aka “Big Al,” who started out a WWII re-enactor but is now head of the local Nazi protectors. Not only is there a lot in it for him, the virus, the virus is this ace’s ace in the hole.

And lastly, we can't leave out Baby Face Walter and his child bride Lucinda. Baby Face isn’t just a baby in the face, but baby all over, wiry, slippery, able to show up unnoticed, always keeping his crying down lest he be caught. With Lucinda satisfying him continually, his mind is completely free of carnality, making him a super computer of information.

So there we have it. Sal and Bureau have their necessary role in this cabal, but it’s Himmler, virtually bottle-fed by Baby, who’s the number one purveyor of the virus. I’d say bring the pillars and walls down around Himmler and we’ll finally catch a break, spelling the last days for his viral reign of terror.

The Road Commandant

I don't live in the most congested area of the country, but it's still pretty damned congested. They've either lowered the driving age to 10 or issued a second car to everyone, because traffic is crazy, terribly bad! I can only imagine how it must be in the worst places -- it takes three hours to get out of your driveway.

And nobody seems to be doing anything about it, such as tearing out houses and businesses and widening roads, at least not enough to make a difference. I frankly think our city parks would make pretty good holding stations for cars waiting to get on the road, if they'd pave them and put in some roundabouts for easy entrance and departure.

Until then, it looks like we're just going to have to make do. There would, however, be another way to handle things. Such as only allowing driving for everyone every other day, going by your last name. A through H one day, I through Z the next. There's not that many X Y Z names, so it's not exactly split in half. Or assign us all a rank and let the higher ranks have some privileges.

I feel I'm mature enough (61) and healthy enough that I'd make a very decent civilian commandant. That'd be a simple system for the roads, a commandant/peon social system. With higher/lower commandants and higher/lower peons. Keeping it simple. The peons would all have gray cars, the commandants gold, with red stripes showing their ranks.

So traffic stops at an intersection, the commandants go first, then the peons. If there's varying ranks of commandants or peons present, they respect the stripes. That's simple. If there's more than one commandant of the same rank, the first one to salute the other goes first. If both salute at the same time, they keep saluting till one's salute appears superior. The peons hash it out between themselves as well, as best they can, having the incentive to hash it out quickly lest another commandant appears.

I think that's pretty good. And it would work in other areas of life. I honestly can't think of any areas it wouldn't work in, except, probably, in peon adoption cases. As a commandant, I'd be open to adopting another commandant child -- like in a case where a commandant was killed in a crash by a peon. The peons would want probably get up in arms if too many commandants tried to adopt their children. But we could always do it at night or in secret.

It'd definitely be a plus in pet adoptions. Still, you can see there might be problems. Say you've just about chosen your pet when a peon family -- more prone to snap decisions -- takes it out from under your nose. But let's say we have a common sense commandant/peon system in place. The peons are making snap decisions, yet they're held up by too many peons doing it. A commandant enters and all snap decisions are officially put on hold. The commandants can now browse in comfort and silence and make their decisions in peace.

A certain amount of cruelty would be allowed, although a commandant could be merciful if he so chose -- tough to imagine but theoretically possible. I can picture a case like this. A peon family has just lost a pet, and the pet place has one close enough to it to be a DNA match. The peons are just about to make their snap decision when the commandant enters. The commandant chooses that very pet. The peons are left crying. He could show mercy, although you can see the clear downside. Why give them false hope, since that's just going back to the old failed system? There's more than one dog ... Wait your turn!

Lest you think it sounds kind of Gestapo, let this word go forth, to friend and foe: I don't mind Gestapo, just so I get mine.

He Puts His Pants On One Leg at a Time

Oh, the terrible agony I'm facing! Two nights in a row I haven't been able to sleep. Two mornings in a row I'm up before 4 a.m. That's no good.

I'm there in bed -- laying or lying -- tossing or turning -- and nothing works. Prayer, meditation, counting naked women. I thought I'd surely hit on the right combination, five women and two prayers, something, but none of it was good.

Then my mind turned to the phrase, "He puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like the rest of us." This of course led me to Goebbels and Hitler, and the obvious fact that if they put their pants on one leg at a time, like the rest of us, and if it could be demonstrated historically, that'd mean the rest of us would have to change, since you don't want anyone calling you a Nazi. I certainly don't.

And yet -- I suppose the NSA already knows, I may as well make a clean breast of it (there's another phrase) -- up till today, I have indeed done the pants putting-on-thing one leg at a time. But today I tried it two legs at a time, which isn't really all that hard. You just have to be careful not to let one foot get ahead of the other. If the feet come out the bottom at the same time, there's your payoff.

Then there's one-legged men, who, whatever they think about the Nazis, have very little choice. I'm certainly going to say very little about it. I'll turn a blind eye to it, one eye at a time, like everyone else. What do I care, really? I frankly don't buy into the whole "Nazis did it" argument. If you take that to the extreme, we'd all be breathing with air tanks and eating through our ears. Obviously we're stuck breathing and eating like the Nazis. That doesn't mean I sympathize with them, but I understand; how else were they to eat? Even if they ate with a feeding tube, it's got to connect to the same ultimate place, somewhere between the neck and butt.

Not being able to sleep, naturally I got up and did about 10 minutes research on one-legged men, two-legged men, and pants. This was blind eye research, since I wasn't really reading it, just getting a sense of it. One thing I can definitely report, the topic of putting your pants on one leg at a time, like the rest of us, has been covered. I saw newspaper reports back to the 1930s that it was done that way. Generally it takes the form of a famous person -- an athlete or politician -- even though he's famous and in some ways different from the rest of us, at least being the same in how he puts on his pants.

The research also shows that the phrase became more common, I'll say around 1968, then was used through the '70s extensively, the '80s somewhat, the '90s rarely, the 2000s more rarely, till we get up to 2013. Since I didn't see any newspapers from 2013, I think I can draw the conclusion that we don't use the phrase anymore. Of course in 2013 we do stuff online, newspapers are on the skids, cut off at the legs, without a leg to stand on. As for Naziism, it's now more the domain of people with extremely short haircuts, right to the skin. They're no longer that concerned with legs.

The article -- you see the headline above -- about the men fined for taunting a one-legged man ... That's from a newspaper in Jamaica, 1928. The incident was covered in the magistrate's court news in Bethel Town. The one-legged man's name was Lionel Graham. "The case of trespass and assault between Lionel Graham, a one-legged man, and Hines Goslin, Hamilton, Solomon, Graham Ramsay and another -- eight accused in all -- was heard. They pleaded not guilty." I'm having a hard time with that report. That Hines Goslin and Graham Ramsay were involved or not is clear. But who's Hamilton, Solomon, and another? And how does that add up to eight accused?

Anyway, they pleaded not guilty. Mr. Graham, for his part, informed the Court "how he was taunted and jeered by these young men and that they assaulted him. His witness corroborated his evidence." So what response do we get from the accused? "The accused stated that they were all innocent, yet strangely they admitted singing a song about a one-legged man. Their witnesses did not help them so His Honour imposed a fine of 15/ or 10 days on each."

Lionel Graham, the record tells us, was a one-legged man. That said, I won't be singing a song about his condition. Not only is it politically incorrect, he being differently advantaged when it comes to legs, but I'm afraid "His Honour" might come back and fine me 15/, and I haven't got 10 days to waste in jail. His Honour was a very powerful man but he used to put his pants on one leg at a time, probably. Not saying a thing about Hitler.

Nudity On Display At The Library

Regular readers of my blog will remember that I am often attacked unjustly, and so I'm often provoked to respond with righteous indignation to put the hapless attackers in their place. Fury flares up in my face, and in the fire of my wrath I speak, reducing everyone to char and cinders.

I can be even more specific. A lot of this umbrage just happens to be directed at hypocritical librarians, who in my opinion talk a good game about the free access of information, intellectual liberty, etc., but then ruin it all by taking me to task over one thing or another. Be it trying to read the Bible in public, a huge no no -- "You can read the library's chained copy with the other fanatics!" -- or exercising my right to pray with my eyes closed; because they're so farking afraid the "homeless" might be "sleeping," there's a zero tolerance policy on closing your eyes; we've clunked heads over that.

OK, here I am once again on the warpath, as our native friends say, and I'm seriously ready to go to the wall for this, hallelujah, Lord be feared. The fury's in my face again, the fire of wrath is kindled, and surely there shall be a great shaking in the land!

These guys are so farking blind to their hypocrisy, it's like they're completely unthinking. Talk about an easy profession! I should've gone to librarian school. If you can lift a bony accusatory finger and contort your face to a nasty scowl, you pass. Thanks to computers, the rest of the work's done for you. My advice, file that away if you're ever looking for an easy career. Don't throw away that matchbook! It's the easiest gig you'll ever have!

Shhh, I started talking out loud while typing that last paragraph, and now I'm getting a few glances. (Yes, I'm writing this at the library) ... The glances are coming again because right now they're watching me, since we were just at loggerheads ... they see me typing fast, they know I'm writing about them. But they don't know what I'm writing. Although I am using their wireless. So they're probably back there tapping it. It does seem like my keystrokes are a little slower than usual. Farkers are bugging me!? Well, OK, if that's what you want, I'll give you something fun to read: YOU SUCK! THE WHOLE DIPSHIT LOT OF YOU! There, I said it, that ought to raise a few eyebrows at Gestapo Headquarters, LOL. Excuse me while I finger the security cam there. That was fun!

Ha ha, pardon the digression. But I was here yesterday, too, and was watching a guy at one of the computers angrily fingering in the general direction of a camera. True story. A big honking righteous erect finger, too; the farker meant business! I just glanced at him since I didn't want a crazy guy on my tail. He was looking for trouble. The big difference today is, I wasn't looking for trouble. But if they start it, what can I do? I could slink out like a whipped pup, but why should I? I'm a man with high standards. I'm actually probably one of the few people here who even believe in the standards the library CLAIMS to support, i.e., intellectual liberty, with you the individual being the only judge of what you need to fulfill your intellectual pursuits. Now for all I know, the guy at the computer was responding to the "adult" block on the free flow of information the library has imposed. If he wants to learn about breast cancer, to heal his poor old suffering mother, completely wracked with pain and begging for just a hint of understanding, which the library callously denies, that should be HIS business!

I need to keep this quiet. One of their employees, a real iron maiden, is within 10 feet of me, appearing to casually rearrange books on an end stand. Sure, of course, I really believe she just happened to need to do that particular stand at this particular moment! I haven't seen anyone rearrange that stand for 10 years, so it must've been due. The fact is, they're on me, it's ridiculous, this is a vendetta. Intellectual liberty, my ass! They're probably out in the parking lot breaking my car windows as we speak. Of course if they do ... well, I won't say what I might do, but if I really saved my pennies I could probably afford a moderately cheap contract on them. Someone to rough up the decorative plants outside.

OK, she's gone -- I can breathe -- she's back at the desk to document the fact that I'm still typing. They're over there shaking their heads. Bastards.

So what was the problem they nailed me for? It sounds so trivial, but it did involve very minor nudity. I was listening to an album on my iPod, which just happened to be the old Blonde Redhead album "Misery is a Butterfly." If you remember the artwork, the cover shows the exposed breast of some woman. It's far from porn ... and not even very stimulating, unless maybe you happen to be a 12 year old boy and it's the first thing you've ever seen. "Look, Jimmy, a tit -- that's what Mom keeps in her bra."

Anyway, I'm listening to Blonde Redhead and one of them comes over and sees it. The lady I'm talking about reminds me of one of those old toy birds that keeps dipping its beak in the colored water. She's skinny like that and always craning her neck and bobbing it up and down. Perfect one for the library. Nothing escapes her nosiness. I had a friend who was legitimately tired -- a very patriotic guy who stayed up all night memorizing American history trivia -- and fell asleep one day. Guess who was on his ass, all ballistic, the same chick. Like sleeping is such a crime. As I recall, his patriotism meant nothing to her.

Well, you can imagine what she said when she saw the Blonde Redhead picture. I won't quote her exact words, except to say she told me in no uncertain terms that nudity "displayed for all to see" was against library rules. "For all to see" ... that's the critical point. The iPod picture is about the size of a postage stamp -- bigger than an American stamp, but about the size of one of those commemorative stamps from African countries that exploit the collectibles market by ripping off celebrities. About that big. Then take the breast, it's about the size of a pea, even smaller. If you didn't know what it was, you'd never guess.

Well, you should've heard me. I told her I could pull five books from the shelf within 10 feet of my table that had nudity. And I went over and did just that, one on funky model pictures, one on pregnancy care, and the others from the works of famous artists. Plus, I pulled out a military history book that had some nudity that aviators had painted on their planes. Cleavage aplenty, meant to bring down the Japs and Nazis. They took one look at American bazungas and knew they didn't have a fighting chance! (I wish they had books like this when I was 10; I would've never left the library. I remember we used to look at the Information Please Almanac, the page on America's Top Magazines, just to see the word "Playboy.")

She had some justification for the difference, coming down to this, that those things are in books and covered up. And, yes, while they are theoretically within everyone's reach, it still takes some doing. (And maybe she's slightly right. Remember, this is a library where kids up to 18-years-old can be restricted to the Children's Room!) Still, I countered that by saying, "When I was eight years old, I would've sniffed out this nudity and had it checked out before you could say Jack Robinson!" Eight years old, smartest kid in town.

Now she started pulling rank on me. She said that I by merely coming through the doors had implicitly agreed to the rules of the library, which comes down to this: "Your heart and mind belong to us, as much as if you sold your soul to the devil." The old biddy was very explicit on this stuff. She'd make a better warden in the prison than a librarian. She missed her calling. She could be in prison clamping electrical equipment to prisoners' genitals and making them scream. It'd definitely match her sadistic nature, rotten turd, and might even bring a smile to her dour old puss.

OK, I had one ace up my sleeve left to play. With great determination, I strode to the library's CD collection and pulled out the only Blonde Redhead CD they have, albeit a different one, right there in plain view of everyone who cared to see it. (My theory was: If they had one Blonde Redhead CD, they endorsed the others ... implicitly. Her word!) She had nothing she could say to that, of course, except to reiterate that they have rules and I need to abide by them. But she was trailing off so badly, I could only tell it was because she didn't want to lose. Well, Goebbels, you did lose!

Notice how fast I wrote this. I'm always like that when some farking, better-than-you authority jumps on my ass about something. I'm shaking. I'm so farking pissed about this. Which is what the library does to people. They've pulled a few things like this with me. They still have this one slug working here who denied me the ability to read the Des Moines Register one time because that particular copy wasn't properly checked out. It was just setting there on the table. Seriously, that really happened.

When I complained, they told me the Des Moines Register is always "walking out by itself," meaning it's very prone to theft. They were accusing ME of being a thief. Just aching to get my grimy little hands on a hot copy of the Register! You know me: Instead of going over and stealing a $100 book off the shelf, I'm holding out for a $1 newspaper, one that's already rumpled and of next-to-no street value ... like I'm running a used newspaper racket ... selling them to desperate fishermen to wrap fish guts in. Or something.

Criminality Actually Compliments The System

A few of you wrote in after my post yesterday on "My Upcoming Life of Crime" expressing concern about my plans. You had basically two objections:

1) The "bad example" I was setting for young people.
2) Concerns for my reputation.

Of course, I'm thankful for your concerns, and I understand what you're getting at. But with my new-found burgeoning criminal mindset, I must say, "Mind your own stinking damned business!" Nervous Nelly types aren't wanted here, even if you've been faithful readers all these years! My advice to you is keep your mouth shut before I come over and mess up your face...

But let's say I were to take your objections into consideration, just for laughs. First, I'm setting a bad example for young people. I seriously doubt I have that many young readers. But if I turn to a life of crime, I could argue I will finally get some. Because they're more excited by dudes living on the edge, much more so than by normal average old fuddy-duddies. I might get a younger demographic and finally get back to making Google Ads profits, maybe three figures. And as to my reputation, I gladly trample it underfoot! There's nothing more overrated than a reputation. The only people who care are spineless wimps also concerned about their reputation!

There is, however, another way of looking at things, something to note. Maybe your objections aren't taking in the full picture and all its angles. This takes some thought. Because maybe -- think about it -- going for a life of crime actually pays a compliment to the great system of law and order we have in America. As I said yesterday, my turning to crime (and it is after all only a fictionalized thing), was inspired by the writer Jean Genet's criminal choices. So I'm looking at it the way I perceive he looked at it. And therein is an interesting reversal...

In Genet's travels from France around Central Europe (cf. p. 124f of Edmund White's biography of Genet), he made his way into Nazi Germany. When there, he wrote, "I'd wanted to steal. A strange force held me back." What was the strange force? The weird revelation that Germany was "already outside the law," that is, that in Germany crime was institutionalized, the very spirit of Nazism. "It's a nation of thieves,"  Genet said. "If I steal here I will not be performing a singular action that can better realize my nature: I'll be obeying the normal order of things. I won't be destroying it. I'll commit no evil, I'll disturb nothing. Scandal is impossible. I'll steal in a void."

See that? Because the system there was so corrupt, it made little sense, if Genet wanted to stand out, to be a criminal. But in my case, because I am in America, where decency and justice reign supreme, to commit evil and to create scandal, will be a meaningful act, albeit fictionally. All that to suggest that the American system is actually complimented by thieves, who recognize in it a good environment in which to be bad.

Were I to be in the Ukraine or somewhere where corrupt officials and a general lack of civic virtue prevails, like Genet with the Nazis I'd probably find greater fulfillment in continuing to follow my normal lawful ways or even establish them myself as a reaction. But because the United States is so darned good, I have no recourse, if I want a scandal to result from my choices, but to be evil. And I plan to disturb a lot of people!

Admittedly, I am limited by the efficiency of today's police, as Genet was limited in his criminal enterprise in Central Europe, driving him back to France where the police were crap. And they're no doubt a lot more efficient today than they were in the '30s, with all the greater law enforcement technology they have. It's going to be a bastard, me trying to get away with anything, but I'm going to give it my best shot!

The Last Serious Thing -- I Fire Mark!

Anyway, the last serious thing I shouted at Mark was, "Your ass is seriously fired, and don't come back -- you or your beard -- if it's the last thing you do!" He stormed out of the garage, thankful he wasn't soaking wet, and seriously slammed the door behind him.

I shot a look at his brother Trade, still sitting there like he meant to continue as a team player, but I knew he'd be torn in his loyalty to his brother. I resolved never to hire siblings ever again for the blog's Board of Editors. But for the present he still remains. Along with Dale and Delilah, our only lady member.

My serious take on Trade, maybe not the last thing I'll say, is that he knows he could lose his position, too, at any time. And having started as one of only two on the second tier, right below me, his is an enviable position. Dale and Delilah are still on the bottom rung. And look at it this way, with Mark out, Trade has the entire second tier all to himself, in the sole position as my immediate underling. The last thing, probably, he'd seriously want to happen is to lose that.

I've now alluded to the issue that came between me and Mark. It's ridiculous, really. There was even a compliment in it for me, but the way he chastised me made me feel he would soon usurp me at the top level.

Mark said this, that he envisioned "our" blog (his word) as the world's "Last Serious Thing." I thought, Whoa! Has the world slid into the mud -- Nazism or whatever -- that fast again? Were all the great blogs, which I'd just read minutes before, already given over to the dark side? Were the libraries all gone? Maybe so! Their policy of restricting 17-year-olds to the Children's Room was certainly evil. Then of course we had the Republican party "governing" based on a philosophy of vandalism. Maybe I was "The Last Serious Thing!" Thank you, Mark.

But then he lit into me. That I was throwing it all away, and that only he seemed to know what we needed. And that if I didn't get the job done, someone else would step in and do it! I was seething, but asked what he meant.

He scolded me for not posting for two days earlier in the week, two days off -- calling that "abdication." Then he declared how "repulsed" he was that when I posted again it was a "frivolous" post on men with beards not going out in the rain. He questioned that as being "inaccurate, a lie," and pointed to his own beard as all the evidence he needed that he knew better. If I'd wanted to do a story on beards, he said, I should've asked him or his brother!"

Of course this was a personal attack on me. Just because I didn't have a beard! Well, I'm sorry, but I like walking in the rain!

Then I turned his Original Sin against him: "You want 'The Last Serious Thing', Mark? How about this? You never deserved a second tier position! I only gave it to you because of your brother! How's that for serious? And what did you do? You went both ways! You saw me just above you, very easy to knock off, and you saw Delilah right below you, right where you wanted her! I thank God Dale is still on her level, the last serious defense against a predator like you!"

He was about to erupt when I accused him of seriously desiring a filthy three-way with him, his brother, and Delilah on my kitchen table. When he said he couldn't even "imagine" such a thing, I had him. "You're imagining it right this second, your brother getting her good and worked up, then you pulling him back to finish her off yourself! And it's a terrible picture, the thought of you, pasty white in the nude with that hideous beard!"

This was almost more than he could stand. And I knew we were in for the last serious showdown. He pulled out his beard-trimming shears and moved me back, back, back, as far as I could go in the garage. He meant to cut me down to size, when I reached over for my own weapon, stashed there just for a scene like this, a bucket of water!

Mark immediately dropped the shears and backed up, knowing a bucket of water to the beard would be his end. That sucker would mat up and instantly strangle him! I kept it up, sloshing it around, and glared at him, saying, calmly but threateningly, "Your ass is seriously fired, and don't you come back if it's the last thing you do, you or your beard!"

With him gone, and only nervous Trade, Dale, and Delilah, and me remaining, I thought I'd end the board meeting on a friendly note: "If any of you have any other good ideas for the blog, please feel free to share them with me."