Mister Saunders, Fox Mulder and Dana Scully are in my audience.

It’s true. One of my customers gave me a chair. I sit in it as I write. Three feet in front of me is a five-foot-tall bookshelf.  On the bottom shelf are my videotapes. On the spines of those videotapes are photographs of the stars of the movies or the television shows recorded thereupon.

A live stand-up performance is executed upon a stage thirty inches off the floor, with the front row of audience members seated four feet away from the stage. A man five feet and nine inches tall, walking back and forth along the edge of his stage will find that his eyes will decline by precisely forty-five degrees when looking at the audience members seated in that front row.

Because of the spotlight upon the performer, there is a remnant of light which illuminates the faces of the audience members in that front row. One row only. No others. That spare remnant of light does nothing to fill the black void behind them. The performer speaks to a single row of illuminated faces and ties and sport jackets.

On the spines of my dozen X Files videotapes are Agents Mulder and Scully. When I sit in my chair as I write, when I decline my eyes by forty-five degrees, my gaze falls upon Mulder and Scully, their images fading into the black background of the videotape cover. They are my audience when I write.

Each volume of the twelve tapes displays Mulder and Scully in different poses. In this one, Agent Sculley has a quizzical look on her face as she tries to figure out what I’m doing. “Why is Chris sending bomb threats?” And in another, Fox Mulder cocks his head as he begins to understand my material. “Wait a minute. I get it now. He is not in our investigation. We are in his show. He has gathered us here so that he might multiply his force. There is absolutely nothing accidental about my being here.”

There is nothing accidental about your being here, Mister Saunders. You are here because I intend to shame your guild. I will use my formidable skills as a stand-comedian to compel you to act. I will multiply my force through you and your men. I will use you. Your guild are here because I find you useful.

I am in complete command of your law enforcement guild, Mister Saunders, and I will tell you why. I command your guild because there is a “marketing breakdown” here. A marketing breakdown is what I call the condition where the curtains don’t match the carpets, so to speak, where a thing does not match its advertising.

Where a thing does not match its advertising, that thing becomes a fraud. And when a certain someone assembles unto himself adequate informational primacy such that he becomes visible to the Future People, he may then publicly divest that fraud of its claimed legitimacy. It is a process that, once begun, cannot be stopped. And when that fraud has lost its legitimacy, it loses power. Frauds have no power. Frauds stand mute. They cannot speak.

That which cannot speak cannot speak law. The speaking of law is the very definition of jurisdiction.

The entity you work for stands mute before me. It therefore cannot even theoretically constitute a jurisdiction. And only jurisdictions have laws. So the entity has no laws to defy.

I killed the United States Government by speaking. It took me an entire decade, but it was conceptually quite simple. That jurisdiction’s first mistake was to deliver to a professional comedian the informational primacy necessary to the exposure of its fraudulence, and thereby did it divest itself of its power, and thereby did it kill itself.

Your jurisdiction killed itself when it made me another one for the history books. Like a heckler, it unwisely elected to make a scene. And like any dominant male performer would, I put an end to that nonsense toot sweet. I terminated the disturbance in my theater. No fuss, no muss.

Your jurisdiction is dead, Mister Saunders. No one here capable of even the simplest chain of reasoning disputes that.

What is also dead, what is also ripe for divesting of its claimed legitimacy, what begs to be exposed as a fraud, Mister Saunders, is your own guild of lawmen.  The curtains don’t match the carpets. There’s this nettlesome little inconsistency with the failure of your guild to uphold their oaths of office. It’s a marketing breakdown. And you know what comes next.

Did your men ever go to show-and-tell day at their children’s preschool? “This is my daddy. He is a police man and he keeps me safe. I love my daddy because he stops bad things from happening.”

What would your men’s preschoolers think if they knew that their daddies in no way intend to make good on their promise to stop bad things from happening? What if their daddies’ fraudulence and cowardice were publicly exposed?

That is why I am in total command of your guild of lawmen, Mister Saunders. It is the law that you will uphold your oath of office. And I intend to enforce that law. Thank you for delivering yourselves to my court for that purpose.

Your men will seize those 28 classified pages and they will publish them. Or you will never again claim to be in the business of protecting anyone from anything. You will never again speak on any law enforcement matter.

I know that because frauds have no power. Frauds stand mute upon exposure. And I have exposed you and your guild. Thanks for the stage.

So which is it, Mister Saunders? Are your men frauds or are they not? Do they possess the first iota of substance? Or are you just another con job like everything else in this world?

Your guild will prepare themselves to receive my instructions.


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