Chapter Twenty-Eight

The president was glum. If there is a dark side to this job, it’s deceit, he thought. His first term was almost up, and change had been slow in coming mostly due to the Republicans’ obstructionist policies. It was tough playing bipartisan in the viper pit that is Washington, but he didn’t realize how many of those snakes would blatantly bite him again…and again. Well maybe he did, but it still didn’t make it any less disappointing.

Stay the course.

Prayer was his mainstay. He wasn’t overly religious, but he valued how calm and clear he got during his meditations. It always made him smile to think of Lincoln’s words, “if you didn’t pray before you were president…” WOW. The first day in office his hair started graying. Secrets tend to do that. Before he was elected, he prided himself on transparency. Within his first year of office, it was reported his administration was more secretive than any previous. Well, a deal’s a deal, even if the other party reneged again…and again. This president fulfilled his obligations because he was a good man. How many are left?

He called one.

The phone rang twice. “Hello, Mr. President.”

“Hello, Mr. Powell. How’s life?”

“Boring,” said Powell, “but from where I come from, it’s worth its weight in gold. How is the most thankless job in the world?”

“Thankless.” The president paused.

“You want to talk?” asked Powell.

“Please. Can you meet at the park in an hour?”

“I can meet sooner…”

“My secret service will have to roll with me,” replied the President, “so I’ll need about that.”

An hour later, they strolled together with a perimeter of agents and a flock of pigeons following. “Sorry I didn’t bring any food guys,” said the President. The pigeons didn’t seem to mind and accompanied him anyway.

“So, how bad is it?” asked Powell.

The president sighed. “It sucks man. I’m staying the course, but it’s really depressing sometimes. Remind me why I’m still playing nice?”

“Accountability,” replied Powell. “You held up your end of the bargain, they didn’t. They bet on you being a one-termer. You’re about to foil them. Their power will be the weakest when the People want change the most…then it’s on like Donkey Kong.”

“You were right about them.”

“I know,” said Powell. “I had to swim with ‘em for eight years. I’m glad I made it out alive.”

“Dolphins know how to outsmart sharks.”

“It’s because sharks are so obvious. Eat, be sneaky, look scary, stick together when there’s danger, kill each other when it’s gone. Dolphins are better teammates, and they live in joy. Sharks just want more.”

The President frowned, “some of my constituents think I’m a shark now.”

“Let them,” continued Powell. “That’ll only make it more joyful when you come back around to their expectations. You finished the first leg and established yourself as a respectful, responsible leader who knows right from wrong and treats women as human beings. Congress’ popularity is the lowest in history, and that gives you People power…lots of dolphins.”

“When I make moves next term, ‘shock and awe’ will take on a whole new meaning.” The president smiled, “what can I expect from the sharks?”

“Hunger,” replied Powell. “The great whites will be united as never before, but so will the dolphins, and there are many more of them.”

“Will we ever be able to just get along?” wondered the President.

“Ever heard of a shark going vegan?” asked Powell. “Me neither.”

NEW VIDEO: "Romancing the Grindstone"

(from the album BOOK OF TOTH by Jonathan Toth from Hoth)


Schnicked up at the Sprint store, dropping bills, copping minutes,
sucking bio-diesel, while my Honda’s huffing gas.
She’s such a bad van, and she’s got a lotta figure,
so bad, she still sports an Obama sticker.

Remember those days, on the brink of change?
We were dancing in the streets when they announced his name,
but after watching politicians go back to their old
ways, it’s like GOD DAMN, more of the same.

They tricked us again, so many false hopes,
was it human nature that choked or the media hoax,
that replaces truth with some public anecdotes,
about how ‘we’ feel, speaking up for us common folks.

I don’t know about you…but I never
asked to be spoken for by the f*cking news.
I put him in office for the bigger view, and he’s
got eight years to do what the last guy didn’t do.

Oh, you don’t remember? You sure better G,
or get served like the rest with short term memory,
who let their news team turn their destiny
into anger, and not bother to learn the rest of things,

like, who in control would want to cause unrest with things,
and are you mad about the past or the present things?
I’m still getting over the last guy who made a mess of things.
Maybe it’s really him who you want to burn in effigy.

You know the media gets paid right?
to state and/or claim what it’s owner wants it to say,
especially nowadays, right Rupert? When your
boys get voted out of office, time for a power-play:

push the public into a dour game, of
playing with our emotions and coaching our pain…

…unless we don’t want to play…
turn a loss into a gain and tell ‘em not again,
spare the rod, spoil the child, guess they won’t learn a lot.
My favorite way to punish is to turn ‘it’ off.

They can’t dictate my dictum,
with rants and raves that pander to victims,
profiteering off fear and indecision, with
no answers or solutions, just sheer bitchin’.

So I let the chaff fall by the wayside,
and keep the wheat in my stash for a great ride,
and cast my pearls before people of the same Mind,
cause when my man says it’s on, it’s GAME TIME…

…we did it once, for the right reason,
saw through the propaganda, and the cheatin’,
the sidetracks, the lies, and deceivin’,
and won…and seeing is believing,

but power itself isn’t beyond treason, and
those opposed to change don’t like what they’re seeing.
So stay focused and back it with that active reason,
cause since JFK it’s been flack jacket season.


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Chapter Twenty-Seven

Assange’s days at the Ecuadorian embassy were accumulating. He had always liked London, a city of the ages that held so much history and so many secrets. Life was still stressful, and his room in the embassy was not much of a sanctuary, but he was grateful for it, especially since the U.S. had just upgraded his status to ‘enemy of the state.’ On a promotional note, Lady Gaga stopped by the week before, and regardless of what the gossip columns and tabloids were saying about them, people were talking…and that was good.

He didn’t hear a knock at his door, but he knew someone was there. He looked around, wondering how he came to that conclusion. Incredulous, he finally asked, “who is it?”

“I’m a friend,” said a voice he had never heard before. Assange could be a nervous nelly, but he didn’t feel any fear. He opened the door. The elderly man standing in front of him glowed with soft light. His hair was white and his smile was genuine. “My name is Michael Quinsey, and I’d like to speak with you.”

“Hello Michael, I guess you know me,” said Assange, “who are you?”

“I am what some call a light worker, and I’ve seen some interesting things that concern you.”

Assange fought the temptation to roll his eyes. “I see.”

“You do,” replied Michael, “and you will. Part of my work is thru channeling, and I’d like to share with you what I’ve been learning.”

“You channel spirits?” asked Assange.

“Some call them spirits, some call them the ancients…I prefer ‘celestial sources’.” Michael continued, “there is plenty of science on the matter, but I’d rather show you first hand to prove it.”

Assange grinned. He could tell something was up, and it felt authentic. His instincts tingled, without risk, there is no gain. “Alright. How should we begin?”

Michael pulled up a chair in the cramped office. “Sit here and empty your mind of any outside influence. I’ll sit across from you, and I’m going to let SaLuSa, a source, reveal some things.”

Assange sat down and relaxed. He immediately felt safe, and Michael began channeling.

“Julian Assange, I am SaLuSa. I see your motive, and it is pure. You are an inspiration, and your work is changing the world. Your light is similar to your brother, President Obama, who is also a soul of immense light under great stress from the dark Ones, giving his services without thought for self.”

Assange’s heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean by ‘my brother’?”

Michael smiled and SaLuSa continued, “you and Obama are brothers working together to oust the dark Ones from power. Your conversations are changing the course of history, and the world is following your example.”

Assange felt heat spreading thru his body. Could this guy really have seen them talking?

“Yes, I enjoy your conversations,” replied SaLuSa, as if he heard him, “and I will be there when you do so again.”

“How can you see us?” asked Assange, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

“I can see anything I focus on, including your martyr and friend Bradley Manning, but you have no need to worry. I am here to further Love and nothing else. Whether you know it or not, you and Obama are highly spiritual souls, who with our help and protection will speedily transform the world’s experiences into ones of happiness and release mankind from the draconian laws that rule your lives.”

Assange was hit with a wave of emotion. He almost began crying. “You know this?”

“There are days to come when at a single stroke the U.S. President shall astound his critics by the changes he will authorize. No President of late has been one specifically chosen by the people, and therefore his decisions will reflect that aspect of his appointment…and you will live to see it.”

“Thank you SaLuSa,” replied Assange, clearly shaken, but energized.

Michael abruptly stood, his trance apparently ended. He embraced Assange and stared deep into his eyes. “Thank you.”

Karl Rove sat deep inside the Pentagon next to the aide showing him the surveillance tapes of the Ecuadorian embassy. “No, thank YOU.”

Chapter Twenty-six

“They have to be working together!” There, Cheney said it. “There are too many coincidences between Obama and Assange going on. Their ideals, backgrounds and practices are similar enough that I want more checks of their whereabouts on dates when they could have met!”

Rove rolled his eyes and wondered if Cheney was finally losing what little sanity he had left. He looked older than he did just from their last meeting. He noticed his hair line was continuing to disappear into the back of his head. Was that a coincidence? The pigeons didn’t care. They flocked to Dick for the free popcorn.

“Don’t you get it?” Cheney continued, “he’s about to win a second term, and the GOP is more toxic than ever. Most of our guys are gonna be tossed into the wind, and that’s too many leak-pluggers leaving. All it will take is for Obama to switch his stance on whistle blowers and the ship WILL go down!”

“There, there Dick,” Rove attempted a soothing voice, “we have plenty of time for damage control when the time comes. I can’t say I entirely agree with you, but I am concerned about Assange and his Ecuadorian stand-off. He’s too at home in life and death situations…I bet he’s a new level of ADHD.”

“Does he take medication?” Cheney asked.

“No,” Rove rolled his eyes again, “and no, we aren’t going to try to poison him in the embassy.”

“Come on Karl!” Cheney looked agitated. “We’ve got to look at the big picture. Assange is making whistle blowing look cool, and HE’S STILL ALIVE! In 2009, it was cute, but it’s 2012 now…what the fuck does the most powerful country in the world have to do wipe him off the map?”

“We need leverage,” Rove looked up from under his brow, “and I believe the murder of Chris Stevens may be enough.”

“The Libyan ambassador?” Cheney’s eyes darted around the park and his hands shook. You gotta pull yourself together, thought Rove. You’re a shark that’s scared of a firefly.

“Wasn’t that guy taken out to make Obama look vulnerable?”

“That’s one level of seeing it,” said Rove, “but what else was Stevens known for?”

“Get to the point man! I’m not in the mood for rhetorical questions!”

Rove sighed and continued. “Stevens wrote several government cables concerning Libya and Qaddafi, WikiLeaks published them, and considering all that talk about putting Americans’ lives in danger…”

Cheney instantly brightened. “We finally have a precedent! Karl, you’re a genius! You are still the Architect! Good old Turd Blossom!” He continued to shake.

“Why kill only one bird with a stone when you can kill two?”
Cheney was out of popcorn, so he balled up the bag and tossed it at the flock in front of him. The pigeons easily dodged his attack and continued to titter amongst themselves.

Give the Job Creators a Tax Break

Here's an idea: for "job creators", how about tax cuts based progressively on how many people they can employ? The more people they employ, the less taxes they pay.


Wouldn't that make the Republicans excited about hiring people again?