See? It’s true: Rank has its privileges.
So when reading a news story or watching one on TV, I always ask myself, “What makes this story worth the expense?” That is, why are these news outlets spilling so much ink and burning so many radio waves on this?
What’s with all the interest in Bill Cosby all of a sudden? Why would a news organization lend its platform to accusers lodging allegations of events forty years ago? The allegations are certainly titillating enough, and that does make for good television. But I’d like to think that the news biz would aspire to a standard higher than boobies and boners.
If I were a criminal investigator –which, in some respects, a stand-up comedian is– my first priority would be to verify facts before they become facts. That means that when we proceed from false fundamentals we must necessarily arrive at false conclusions. For example, if this nation were to have taken a breather and examined the physical evidence plainly available at Ground Zero on 9-11, we would have dryly noted that the presence of a Pratt and Whitney JT9D-7 series engine compressor on Murray Street quite logically and necessarily precluded the presence at the scene of the crime of Flight 175.
You might have then gone on to get the right guys instead of murdering millions and bankrupting yourselves morally, financially, and militarily. You’re completely spent. As a result, your nation is now dead. If I had to take a guess about what happens next, I would say that the bankers and the foreign and domestic intelligence agencies that effortlessly conquered your nation will divide white against black, starting with riots in Ferguson. And as your nation distracts and consumes itself with a civil war sparked by this engineered internecine strife, the Chinese and Russians will terminate your nation with EMP bursts and neutron bombs.
You have no idea what’s about to happen to you, do you? Your nation has lost the moral claim to continued existence. It will be terminated. Your nation will be completely annihilated. Every universal sense of propriety and justice demands it. It’s cosmic law. Crime doesn’t pay. There’s no cheating the hangman. You’ve incrementally wound that clock spring in the wrong direction for years and it will now spring back violently. What comes around goes around. And the world will laugh as your nation dies. The land of truth and justice is about to get a heaping helping.
But anyway, let’s take a look at the Washington Post and NBC, two of the prime spillers of ink on this Bill Cosby story. Those two organizations have no cause to be bringing items of discussion to the national table because they routinely avoid covering the most relevant news items of the day. They’ve managed to get the 9-11 story wrong for a baker’s dozen of years. Do you suppose they will ever break that most explosive of stories about that incompatible engine hardware that disproves the entire erroneous Kindergarten-level fairy tale about Osama bin Laden and his merry band of malcontents, and how they could not have theoretically installed incompatible engine hardware on Flight 175 without anyone noticing?
Of course not. That’s a bit silly, isn’t it?
NBC and the Washington Post are not really in the news business. They’re in the propaganda business. It’s not that the talent there are incapable of speaking the truth and doing some really bang-up journalism; it’s that the corporate owners of those outlets will immediately fire anyone who speaks the truth.
Print and television are dead media. Nothing of any relevance happens there. And as far as comedy goes, television is the Faberge Egg of transmission media: You look at it crosseyed and it smashes into a million pieces. There is nothing of any comedic political significance occurring on any television channel. No television personality is stepping on the toes of anyone possessing the first iota of political power. And again, it’s not that the talent are incapable of it. It’s just that they’ll lose their shows. And they know that. They know where their bread is buttered. Though he was not involved in comedy, witness Dylan Ratigan of MSNBC. Can you fathom that man’s effrontery? He got a thought into his head! MSNBC long ago got rid of anyone doing news.
So. We know that the Washington Post and NBC are not in the news business. Despite the preferences of the talent there, the corporate chieftains are in the propaganda business. And we also know that those outlets have spilled endless ink on Bill Cosby. Why? What’s their motive? Why represent forty-year-old, unsubstantiated allegations to be the scoop of the century when there are so many genuine scoops of the century so close at hand?
The host of Meet the Press said the one sensical thing I heard this morning: “Bill Cosby bridged the divide between white and black America.” Bingo.
What do the bankers who conquered your nation require? They require that the nation remain divided. A nation divided cannot stand. And a nation that cannot stand cannot arrest these bankers.
Bill Cosby has the potential to be a political figure, one who brings white and black America together. So that political potential, obviously, had to be neutralized. His credibility had to be destroyed, employing that thinnest of evidence, completely unsubstantiated allegations, some of them anonymous, allegations of events supposed to have occurred thirty or forty years ago. It’s pretty thin gruel.
So since I know that the Washington Post and NBC do not do news, and since they spill endless ink on some pretty thin gruel, that tells me, absent any corroborating evidence at all, that there is likely nothing to the allegations. It tells me that the corporate owners of those outlets have instructed their employees to ruin Bill Cosby’s career and smear his name.
In short, known propaganda outlets like the Washington Post and NBC are smearing Bill Cosby. He must pose some sort of a threat to the system. What other possible function could those two outlets perform, since we know that they are in no way doing news?
That’s how you read the “news” in contemporary America: ‘who,’ ‘what,’ ‘where,’ ‘when,’ and, most importantly, ‘consider the source.’
It’s an unfortunate reality, isn’t it? You take what the Washington Post and NBC say, invert it, and you’ll have the truth. And as usual, I’ll be the bad guy for pointing that out.
I very much appreciate that someone over there fixed up my credit rating to a respectable 650. I would not have thought such a thing possible, considering the financial wreckage in my life over the past several years, what with losing my home and my savings while fully expecting to be murdered as I saved the republic.
So I managed to get a credit card several months ago. I was pleased that I’d been given a second chance. It had a credit line of a thousand dollars, with which I fully intended to rebuild my credit. I wanted to be a properly functioning adult again, and maybe purchase a house someday.
But it seems that my good intentions were not enough. I am now two months past due on the hundred-dollar payment. My seasonal work drops off a cliff as soon as autumn passes into winter. And I will not be making much money again until spring.
Of course, as we both know, my financial difficulties are directly caused by United Nondiction, which had long ago scared off all my comedy customers, an action all the more vexing considering that I could have been working in television ten years ago had I not elected to do a more socially valuable form of comedy in service to the biggest piece of dog shit the world has ever known, the United States “Government.”
It goes without saying, then, that your diseased three-holer of a “jurisdiction” will pay my credit card bill.
Here’s what you do. Go to the Justice Department and say, “Bring me to your cunty nonsense.” The lawyers there will gasp that someone knows of their secret cache of kook law! They’ll speak in hushed tones to each other: “He knows about our cunty nonsense! What do we do?!”
And once they realize that it’s no use denying the obvious cunty nonsense that spews from their mouths, they will consent to showing you the source of their guild’s power. And one of them will say, “Very well. Come with me.”
And he’ll lead you down corridor after corridor, down into the bowels of the Justice Department, down stone steps and along stone hallways, past smoking torches on the walls. And somewhere nearby you can hear human wailing! There must be a torture chamber nearby! You have entered the inner sanctum of the world’s filthiest race of human, lawyers!
“Here is our source of power. Behold our cunty nonsense.” And the lawyer pulls down on a torch on the wall and a stone door slides open to reveal that guild’s power source: It’s your standard, steel, gray filing cabinet standing upright upon an altar in the middle of the chamber. Hooded, robed figures endlessly circle the altar, chanting their words of art.
“Step aside, you fiends!” And they hiss at your interruption of their religious ceremony! “In the name of all that is decent, return to your holes! Be gone!” And then you stride to the altar and kick aside the candles and the colored sand and the burnt offerings. Upon the filing cabinet is written a legend:
The Pure, Unadulterated Cunt Talk Bullshit by Which Our Filth Guild Operates.
And therein, Mister Saunders, will you find the magic words you may employ to pay my credit card bill.
And once you’ve grabbed the manila file folder containing their filth-beast words of art, you’ll have to shove those wretches aside as you escape their filthy hellhole and return to decent human society aboveground! Run, Mister Saunders! Run like the wind! Your soul depends on it!
And once back in the safety and sanity of your own office, you may peruse their lawyer filth language at your convenience.
And then you may compose a letter to the credit card company, employing your newfound understanding of that filth guild’s secret language, their purposely ill-defined words of art, the cunty nonsense they worship:
“Dear credit card company. There’s a guy by the name of Chris King. He is the Grand Wizard of the Global Caliphate of Doom. I know this because if that were not so, we would not have been able to traipse into his house whenever we felt like it as if it were a bus station. And he would not have been able to perform his routine for us in his living room with his feet up on the desk while eating pistachio nuts. But anyway, it is of the highest urgency to United Shitstain that you permit us to make his credit card payments. If his credit card does not work, he will be unable to finance his global terror operation. Incidentally, I’m still not sure why this idiot jurisdiction ever thought it was a bright idea to declare a professional comedian to be a terrorist. Oh well. But anyway, thanks!”
So I trust that that freak show you call a jurisdiction can make my credit card payments? Excellent.
Do you remember so long ago when President Fraud disclaimed any knowledge of Gruber? Obama’s all like, “Oh, this just now came to my attention. My staff tell me that Professor Gruber provided input, you know, some sort of generalized feedback and such. But he wasn’t a member of the team.”
Turns out that another embarrassing video has surfaced, posted on Infowars, wherein President Nobody states that he “liberally stole from” the work of various geniuses including John Gruber of MIT, the economics professor paid $400,000 for his “econometrics work” on Obamacare. And by Gruber’s own, proud confession (which I’m sure he now regrets,) his job was to devise methods of making the mandate appear not to be the tax that Roberts later ruled that it was (while Roberts seemed not to understand that indirect taxes, by definition, contain built-in avenues of avoidance –just sit there, buy something else, or even die. Are the estates of dead people fined for not buying health insurance because the deceased’s non-participation in the health insurance market is actually secretly equivalent to participating in it anyway? That is the reductio ad absurdum of this manifestly unlawful personal mandate– and also that such a tax could not even theoretically be a direct tax, which, definitionally, contains no avenues of avoidance, as we now know that the 16th Amendment conferred no new taxing authority and placed the income tax into the class of indirect taxes to which it, and Obamacare, inherently belong) and Gruber’s job also was to make it appear that healthy people would not be subsidizing the health care of unhealthy people, such legerdemain all made necessary by the “stupidity of the American people” and because with transparency, “the bill dies.”
Huh. It’s just pure brilliance, con artistry, and fraudulence all ’round, isn’t it? And people wonder why I have nullified all United States so-called law. Legislation which was designed from the start to deceive the public, legislation unavailable for reading by the lawmakers expected to vote on it, is no legislation at all.
And I love how Gruber, in those videos, makes like he’s best buds with Barack Obama. He’s just got stars in his eyes! And he apparently plays to a crowd of college students too naive to yet know that every piece of legislation in the history of mankind has contained a screw job hidden somewhere inside it. You just have to look, which you can’t do, because Pelosi says “You have to pass it to see what’s in it.”
Like I said, nice. jurisdiction. you. got there. It’s a carnival fun house.
Gruber says something like “Barack Obama’s such a nice guy, you know, in person. So I turn to Barack Obama and I say–” just to let his enraptured audience of eighteen-year-olds know that he was in the same room as Barack Obama and he smelled his farts and then probably had secret penis time later on in Obama’s hotel room because Gruber is such a fawning fan and little boyfriend of the biggest fraud ever to pollute the White House, a con artist who uses Harrison J Bounel’s Social Security Number whenever he files a tax return. Barack Obama commits criminal fraud every April 15th. I assure you that fraud is second nature to him by now. The man is a congenital liar. I bet he would lie about the color of the sky. The thing about liars is that they actually believe that other people believe their lies. I maintain that Barack Obama would be diagnosed as clinically insane. He’s not the type to run around with a knife or accost passersby on the street, but he inhabits a dreamworld reality where he gets to create his world just by stating it to whoever will listen. He actually believes that if he verbally describes his desired reality to his satisfaction, that it manifests externally. He’s a kook. He belongs in a rubber room.
So we’ve got Fraudster A and Fraudster B, two peas in a pod, probably playing footsie under the table in the conference room, stealing a kiss when no one’s looking, whispering into each other’s ear about how “your fraudulence completes me.”
“What’s that chick’s name with the long hair?!”
“Hey, Raputa… Raputa the Beauta! Raputa the Beauta!”
What’s that dipshit’s name who singlehandedly sank Obamacare? The guy who wanted to be a big shot and tell everyone how skilled he was at misrepresenting one thing to be another? The egghead genius college grad who boasted several times of his prowess in employing a “lack of transparency” which is “useful in politics” owing to “the stupidity of the American people” lest “the bill die?”
That would be Gruber the Goober!
And now he’s another one for the history books. He’s right up here on stage. Give him a hand, everyone!
I want my law degree from Stetson University. A real one, not some fake honorary thing.
If they go through their records, they will find that I bought a library card in the summer of 1995 or 1996. I likely also secured a parking sticker for my car. I lived on Hummingbird Street at the time. (I never saw any hummingbirds, but no matter. It did not detract from the experience.)
I will not be paying any fees or getting any licenses or anything. It’s just not my modus operandi. I would appreciate it if you would call Stetson and just get my degree for me. I want to be able to tell my customers that they have the finest day laborer in town: some guy who shows up with both a hangover and a law degree. I’ll finally be the loser that everyone thinks I am.
What does the word “Esquire” mean, anyway? Is that a title of some sort? Is that what lawyers are called? It’s a bit grand, isn’t it? It’s like my friend who sells cell phones at the local strip mall, the one that has the dollar store in it. My friend’s title is “Account Executive.” He is an Account Executive to the welfare recipients who use their EBT cards to buy soda and potato chips at the dollar store and then come in to the cell phone store to buy a five-hundred-dollar smartphone that they can do Loserbook on. Wouldn’t the term “Law Talker” suffice? ‘Esquire:’ It sounds like I’d be riding a horse through the wood, past a refined country estate and on to the castle to beseech the sovereign for some remedy at law for my client. That’s not remotely related to draining the system dry or causing decay merely by speaking. So I would prefer to be referred to as “Christopher King, Law Talker Extraordinaire.”
I know you’re busy, so I’ve put together a script you can follow when you make your phone call. Please adopt an adequately imperious tone for maximum comedic effect:
“This is Senator Leahy. You know who I am. Get me the man in charge. I’ll wait.
“Thank you for taking my call, Dean. It seems you’ve got a star on your hands. There is a known, dangerous terrorist who also was a professional, critically acclaimed comedian long before this idiot jurisdiction ever waddled onto the scene to declare him to meet the legal definition of the filth-beast word of art ‘terrorist,’ thereby conferring upon him what he calls –let me see here; what did he call it? Ah, here it is: the ‘informational primacy’ necessary to the divesting of the United States Government of the moral authority by which it operates, and thereby did he kill the federal jurisdiction by speaking. I’ve asked around and no one can seem to recall precisely why anyone thought it was a bright idea to declare a professional comedian to be a terrorist. Oh well. I guess he can add that to his list of professional distinctions. It’s another one for the history books. And people still wonder how he gets off calling himself America’s Senior Comedian.
“Listen: You know how we all just want to vomit at the pure trash that we’re forced to churn out from our hallowed, ivy-covered halls these days? Spoiled little brats goin’ to law school on mommy and daddy’s dime, snot-nosed little bastards who sit there in class, chattering like little rats, just waiting to get out of the starting gate so that they can amass as much money as possible, leaving nothing but ruination in their wake? Yeah: It seems I’ve found the fabled Redeemer of the World’s Original Filth Guild, the world’s second oldest profession. (We lost by a nose.)
“No, he won’t pay any fees or buy any Student Union memberships. And he won’t sit for any exams. Trust me, I know this guy. Just give him his degree and consider yourselves fortunate that he selected yours above all other law schools –you know, what with you being right down the street and everything.
“I have found he who would restore our guild to its proper place of honor, a man who respects our once-beautiful machine, a simple man who only ever wanted to know the rules of this world so that he might prosper by them.
“Thank you for your kind attention in this matter. I trust that I may expect the delivery of his degree forthwith? Excellent. Good day, Dean.”
“I used to work for the Secret Service, so you had better darn well be scared of me. You’re a terriss now and you dishonorably served your nation, quite unlike me who could not get my limp dick up to kick in one fuckin’ door and seize one fuckin’ document, the publishing of which would save the country.”
I guarantee you that there will be violence in Ferguson because I’ve already informed you that the bankers who own and govern your dead nation very badly need plenary police powers within the territorial jurisdictions of the several states.
If there is no violence to be had, the Justice Department and DHS will engineer some.
I absolutely guarantee you that those DHS vehicles will roll, one way or another.
Yes, yes; I’m always the bad man. But the several states will eventually hoist me on their shoulders and celebrate my inherent excellence when they realize that the legal structures I have assiduously created under the aegis of United Sovereigns of America shall be their states’ salvation against that freakshow nutjob Frankenstein’s Monster running amok in Washington.
USov legally kills United States. It’s novel, but it works.
And it sounds like it’s time for a boycott of the hotel this guy got fired from. They’re collaborating with the enemy.
My favorite sequence is the final fight scene. In it, our protagonist, Cloud, terminates the town villain. That character obviously represents the primary illness in this world, the entity formerly known as United States, a ding-a-ling organization that can’t seem to catch the bad men. And it eats tapes and otherwise defiles its environment.
So the malefactor of that scene starts off kind of cocky. He gives a little laugh, as if to say, “Hmhm! Here comes that Chris King Pop Icon. I’ll show him!”
And all it takes is one clang of their swords to change the game entirely! “Huh. Not bad, Mister King.” Mais zut alors! Cloud’s sword has been flung apart! By our malefactor’s own strike! Now he’s trapped!
And Cloud goes to work! Strike after strike after strike, it’s death by a thousand cuts! First this way and then that! The jurisdiction is so stupid that it doesn’t even know where the next attack is coming from! And all that idiot jurisdiction can do now is grunt like an ape! It can’t even speak now! It can only vocalize, like a shriek to the other apes in the jungle for help! He’s under attack! Come quick! “Unh!”
(That’s all your jurisdiction can muster now: a pathetic and helpless simian shriek of ‘Unh!’ I’m not sure that constitutes speaking at all, much less the speaking of law.)
I do not envy you your job. I had a friend once who worked as a salesman at an electronics store. He knew full well that the store was going out of business and that the doors would be padlocked in about a month. But the store offered an in-house warranty on all the electronics. So he had to continue trying to sell electronics to the customers, knowing full well that the store wouldn’t exist soon. He absolutely hated working there, now that he knew that his product could only be a total fraud and that he had been reduced to just taking hapless customers for a ride.
I imagine it’s a surreal experience, sitting there in your robe every day, looking at the hapless in your courtroom, well-meaning folks who don’t yet know that the entity no longer constitutes a jurisdiction. It’s like it’s our own little secret! You and me and Leahy and Roberts and Madam Prosecutor and, most important of all, the Future People –those future audience members not yet in their seats.
Oh, they’ll trickle in, most assuredly. It is the nature of the passage of time: future people necessarily become present people. All you have to do is sit there and scrutinize your fingernails and wait. Waiting is the easy part.
It is only a matter of time. There is no perfect seal to keep out information. No gasket will forever keep out the rain. Eventually the seal fails. Information cannot be contained. Your Kook Law Containment Field is for naught. First it’s a drip, then a trickle. Then a rivulet and then a torrent, the leak increasing exponentially until no one can even remember that a seal ever existed.
The inexorable force of truth cannot be held back.
Executing the United States Government by speaking was fun. It’s my finest piece yet.
P.S. If you can prevail upon that idiot organization to power down my Kook Law Containment Field so that I can get on with my stand-up comedy career at long last, I will do what I can to save the jurisdiction. No guarantees, but I will, in good faith, try to salvage what I can –you know, broker accords among elements of that fractured jurisdiction to put it back together. As I’ve said before, why go to the trouble of reinventing the wheel?
But if I am inconvenienced into having to wait until that seal completely fails, which it will, I promise you that I will not speak a single word in defense of that jurisdiction. I’ll just stand back and fold my arms and smile as it collapses into a million shards.
The choice is yours. I’ll give that jurisdiction one week to make it.