Thanksgiving at the White House was always special. Pardoning two turkeys wasn’t as funny as the President had hoped, although it certainly generated a whole new slew of Assange/Manning memes, that was something. Then again, he wasn’t feeling particularly humorous lately but, it was Thanksgiving, grey skies are gonna clear up…grey hairs, not so much. The girls ran through the main hallway laughing. They are growing up so fast, he thought. I’m glad they’re still young enough to enjoy this old house…maybe that’s what I need. He tore off after them.
“Your old man’s still faster,” he yelled gaining on them. They cackled with delight and split up taking separate routes. He was about to follow Sasha when he noticed one of his aides standing in an adjoining doorway.
“Pete wants to see you sir, he’s holding an important call.”
“I’ll be right there,” said the President. He back-tracked to the office and took his time, calming his lungs.
Pete was waiting, his face taut. “Vladimir Putin’s on line one, B. It’s almost midnight in Moscow. I don’t know what he wants, but he seems to be in good spirits. Might just be the ‘wodka’.”
“I’ll take it here Pete, thanks.” The President inhaled one last breath to compose himself. “Zdravstvuyte tovarishch, happy Thanksgiving. How’s mother Russia?”
The phone clicked and he heard some muffled sounds, then, “hello Mr. President.” It wasn’t Putin. “I trust all is well with you and your family. It’s just another day here in Russia. They don’t really do Thanksgiving.”
It was Snowden. Wow…talk about unexpected. Maintain poise. “Yes, well it’s a bit chilly, but the sun’s out. How’s Moscow?”
“Frigid, but my hosts are being as warm as they can be. How are your hosts?”
The President was unsure of how to answer. “What do you want?”
Snowden jumped right on in, “I want to prepare you sir. I have some information you need.”
“Oh?” asked the President. “You can’t relay it to my aides? It’s kind of a big day around here…”
“Your safety and the lives of Americans are in jeopardy. I’d rather not risk talking to another robot. Can I borrow you for ten minutes?”
The President sighed, “yes. What’s up?”
“If you hadn’t figured it out by now, the 2008 financial meltdown wasn’t an accident, it was planned. It started with the Reagan deregulation and Clinton’s repealing of Glass-Steagall, but during W’s tenure, it snowballed. The big banks avalanched into a kind of organized corruption we’ve never seen before. I know this because the NSA, the IRS and the SEC all did our homework and investigated it once you were inaugurated. We found extensive fraud, market manipulation, secret deals between the families, pension funds loaded with fake documents, and average people’s life savings sucked dry…all because ‘greed is good,’ right?”
The image of Michael Douglas’ latest PSA denouncing his role in Wall Street came to the President’s mind.
“Well, they went further,” continued Snowden. “After looting everything, they colluded for one last insurance policy, and withdrew all their money at the same time, taking a third of the world’s wealth with them. That’s blackmail Mr. President. If we were to prosecute them, they were content to let the system fall apart. Our bosses had to make a decision about what to do, and we backed down for the sake of keeping the system in place. We allowed these families to run game on us, and then we turned a blind eye out of fear.”
“Sure,” said the President, “but it’s all been fixed now.”
“No,” Snowden paused, “it’s not. Have you ever been in an abusive relationship Mr. President? Do know what bullies do? They win and you lose over and over, until you stand up to them. These families are going to do the exact same thing they did at the beginning of your presidency again, and soon. That is a fact. The question is: what are you going to do about it?”
The President was at a loss. What the hell am I doing talking to this kid? he thought.
“Do you think I’m a thief Mr. President…or some kind of spy?” asked Snowden. “Do you think it’s fair that I’m being hunted by the most effective killing machine in the world while these gangsters walk around free? Is this civilization, or are we still cavemen?”
“What do you recommend son?”
“Take a stand, man!” Snowden spoke passionately, “don’t let America be blackmailed again, call their bluff, they're going to do it again anyway, and if you give in to them again, you're just becoming complicit. They’re using their propaganda machine to make it look like it’s your fault. They’re using white America’s fear of color to shift their hatred of your virtue to the racists. They’re assassinating your character and making money off it!”
“It sounds so simple,” said the President, “but it’s not.”
“No,” replied Snowden, “but this is.” He shuffled some papers and continued, “I have something that might be of interest to you. Since the NSA, the IRS and the SEC wouldn’t prosecute these bastards, some of us decided instead to keep a list of those involved. We call it the ‘black book.’ It’s a collection of names, bank accounts, and all other pertinent info on the people who stole from the rest of us.”
The president felt a wave of heat spread across his face. “What good is that to me?”
“You don’t want to know who’s stabbing you in the back Mr. President?” asked Snowden. “You don’t want to know who’s robbing your children’s future? I can’t believe you are that indifferent.”
“I don’t mean to sound indifferent, but I don’t have the kind of power needed to bring this to the attention of the People.”
“Really?” asked Snowden. “With a few keystrokes, I can upload the black book online for every hacker, activist or con-man to take a gander at. Wouldn’t that garner some attention?”
“Yes,” said the President, cracking a smile, “yes, it would.”
Snowden paused. “I hope you know I’m a patriot by now Mr. President. It’s a sad day when those in favor of truth are persecuted by those with power built on lies…but lies are like sand…and it’s tough to build a strong foundation on sand, if not impossible. Eventually, you have to start over.”
“Yes,” said the President, “you do.”
“Happy Thanksgiving sir. I hope I can meet you sometime under better circumstances.”
“Happy Thanksgiving to you too, son. Stay safe, and stay alive.”
Friday, November 15, 2013
5. Karl Rove (aka the lynchpin)
“There is no constitutional basis for a tax on the wages on Americans living and working in the 50 states of the Union.”
It was a dark age that I came to,
but don’t worry, I won’t blame you,
I bring more pain for the game,
Mind if I play thru?
That was a rhetorical question…
if you don’t know.
I’m Karl Rove,
Get hip quick, or get hips broke.
I have an appetite, first course
whistle blower lips, second course,
hearts of traitors, know thine enemy
treat ‘em like animals, eat ‘em like cannibals
Snitching will not be tolerated. Ask Ashley Turton,
John Wheeler III and William Colby,
yes your honor, I ate ‘em,
now you know me,
Karl Rove, roaming the globe,
simultaneously creating, disseminating and
dismembering al-Qaeda, with CIAida
the real reason the Taliban hates us.
Keeping governments unstable is no fable
It’s how I make the bread and butter for my table,
trading, world trade center secrets,
keeping rich peeps rich, as long as I get my cut bitch,
All for the sake of national security,
I kill in the name of my father,
you will too, when you work with me,
you’re in it with the rest of us or don’t bother,
whenever you go, it’s because I say go… so…
GO, NOW…
only way to save yourself is get tipped like a cow.
The economy is my fault…why? I said…halt.
Staying on a “need to know” basis is how to escape this,
most “need not”…sorry,
commiting Hari kari’s, what probably killed him dead,
caught up in enough oxycontin to kill the Fed,
what a Rush, sick in the head. The limbo of Limbaugh,
dumbass, fatfuck, cunt-nigger-faggot,
get us all pinched in a jiff…but not this kid,
it’s Karl Rove, aka the lynchpin,
I’ll be here last, atop this pile of cash.
No one can fuck with my ass,
I don’t speak fake peanuts,
I’m talkin’ gold bars that float fast.
It’s just not new to me, I’m swimming with the fishes, but
they’re all nude to me, like Sushi,
and I’m gonna eat. There’s nothing you can do to me. I got a
wet suit, made of diplomatic immunity…
don’t hate, congratulate American ingenuity.
WINNING at any and all costs,
cause America wouldn’t survive the loss…and
I won’t have it, not while I’m boss.
Contact my satellite celly, area code 666, extention 911,
I’ll be playing Led Zepplin on my stairway to heaven,
ever since the Skull and Bones made me a reverend,
the banks call me lucky number seven.
Best on the DC tax hike, but none were paid by this bad guy.
Karl Rove, roaming the globe, but where does he go?
Nobody knows…not even the shadow, cause even he knows
you don’t rock the boat…and guess what?
Cement shoes don’t float.
“We are now going to progress to some steps that are a bit more difficult.”
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Thursday, November 14, 2013
666. Scary! (get the w)
“Ready, set, and begin.”
[knock, knock]
W: You wanted to see me Poppy?
HW: Yes Junior. It’s your turn to be president.
"Oh SHIT!"
W: Uhhh…you sure that’s a good idea Poppy?
HW: It’s your turn son. Make the family proud, don’t be a dickhead.
Become president? Scary!
Protect the country from terrorists? Scary!
Save myself from embarrassment? Dumb Scary!
John Stewart and Colbert are slick and uncaring!
Poppy when he’s angry? Scary!
Karl Rove his brain baby? Scary!
That old, white-haired Bush lady, sick scary!
Any average day in the life of Dick Cheney.
Vietnam was pretty scary, but
luckily my military career was miscarried,
Skull and Bones? Big and scary!
Back in school, they made me memorize dictionaries!
Saddam Hussein was real scary,
but we got him hanged, then he got real buried.
My mood swings were real varied, so they
put me on lithium when things got real hairy.
[break]
Bin Laden and his Muslims? Scary!
The People might become one? Scary!
If Republicans vote Ron Paul their number one,
All the shit I did’ll get undone? Real scary!
WMD’s? Yup, scary.
We got away with Iraq, but just barely.
Yellow cake ain’t fake, it’s just scary,
and we got a 9-11 license to hunt terror.
Sodium penothol? Stupid scary.
What I seen can’t be viewed in the library,
cause they’ll kill me. Death by something scary,
but at least it’ll be quick, they ain’t gonna tarry.
The big banks been scary,
way before the NRA hated on Jim Carrey,
way before JFK been carried off to
who knows where, but it ain’t no cemetery.
[break]
W: No shit this shit’s scary, but you know what’s more scary? There’s a shitstorm of shit coming in, and if the next administration ain’t one of us, it’s all gonna fall on them.
HW: You just might be right Junior.
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