“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere. And there will be more of your children dead tomorrow.”
“There are real monsters in this life but they are not out there in the darkness somewhere just out of eyesight. The real monsters are sitting right next to you smiling and laughing the whole time they are thinking on how many ways they wish to kill you. The real monsters are entwined in the society of humanity since the dawn of time.”
“I knew there was something odd with me when I was a small child. Other kids would not have nothing to do with me. It would come to me in just a short few years that I thought I had a monster within me. Then at true revelation struck me, damn, I’m the demon within. I accepted, embraced, and loved my bloodthirsty insatiable appetites upon all I would cross without care or reason.”
Brandon “The Worm” Reed
“I lost my virginity while inside a woman and then immediately starting killing her. As I was doing so, I realized there are far greater pleasures than sex could ever offer me. I simply followed my strong urges. I became a god over who lives and who dies.”
Standing upon Mount Moriah are two men, both wearing their white hard hats and their matching Corp of Engineers shirts. The oldest in silver hair and sharp blue eyes is rolling up the overall plans of a major project. Behind them a small surveying crew doing their work just out of earshot of the two.
“So, you’re on board with the plan or what?” The older said snidely.
The younger man looking rather pale from this immoral plan. “Yeah, you actually want me to go with that? You want to only move the headstones and leave the rotted bones right where they’re at?”
The older man turned to face the younger, “Listen slick, it isn’t like your goddamned grandmother is among the dead buried down there with all the other whores. Mount Moriah Cemetery is just some fucking forgotten place in the annals of local history, superstition, and any other redneck beliefs. The goddamned rotting bodies stay right where they’re at and we’ll move the stones to the new location.”
The older man paused only for a second. “If you can’t be a part of this, then you’re off the team. Besides, you like being married to my daughter, don’t you?” It is nothing less than a viable threat.
“Frenchy, what are you gonna do, take my wife way from me if I don’t agree to this unspeakable bullshit of yours?”
“Taking away? No, I was thinking more along the lines of her being a widow. Accidents happen all the fucking time, Bob. This is a huge project, you may find yourself prone to one such fatality or something.” Frenchy paused with a determined grin froth with rage painted upon his otherwise, white face.
“Look, I brought you on so that it would help you both financially and making a goddamned man out of you. This would be the first big project you have ever been on. I won’t allow you to fuck things up here – too much riding on this – too much money to be had wasting it on bullshit. The getting is good, so for god sakes, pull your head out of your ass and join the team or you can be lying face down with those there at Mount Moriah Cemetery in an unmarked grave all covered by three feet of crushed rock and gravel with another two feet of reinforced concrete. Go along with my plans or simply be a result of an accident. Hell, I’ll even dig the grave with the traditional six feet of earth for you Bob. Now how would that be?” Frenchy’s eyes looked like two slits of rage.
“So, what’s it gonna be, Bob? I don’t have all fucking day goddamn it. Make up your mind now you fucking cocksucker.”
Bob Weber browbeat and threatened by his own father-in-law wiped the sweat off of his own brow with his white handkerchief. “Okay, all right, I’m in.” Bob looked up to his father-in-law shaking his head affirmatively.
“Well alright then…” Frenchy then put his hand on Weber’s shoulder and whispered in Bob’s ear. “And if I catch your prick in another woman or that boyfriend of yours, I’ll kill you myself and I’ll put your body down a hole that no one shall ever find – not even God could find you.”
Weber stunned in the realization that Frenchy is already well aware of his two affairs also shook his head affirmatively in both overwhelming shame and wonderment.
“Good then, I won’t have to bury them next to your grave down there where the new outer parking lot will be,” Frenchy smiled ever so coldly as he removed his firm grip on Weber’s shoulder.
“Fly right, son, and we’ll both be fucking rich. You’ll see.” Frenchy turned away and walked up to his white air-conditioned pickup truck then driving away from the scene.
Weber watched him go and realizing that no matter what and how he personally felt, his father-in-law had him under Frenchy’s thumb, and there would be no way of getting out from under it.
Then like a bolt of lightning, a though entered his mind, “Accidents happen all the time on major worksites. My fucking father-in-law could easily be an accidental casualty.” A smile broke across Weber’s face.
The massive construction of the Whispering Pines Sanitarium with its own super-max facility will begin shortly after the transfer of the headstones and all things above ground belonging to the Mount Moriah Cemetery. These opportunities will afford Weber the chance to not only get out from under Frenchy’s thumb, but to shatter it completely.
Good evening, good afternoon, and or good “mourning” to all who follow this unique blog of horrors and grim eye-candy. I know it may have been a while since I wrote anything like, “The Sheriff” who finds himself confronted by a possible werewolf of unknown origin responsible for at least one immediate death of a loved one. One might say it’s a short story, a prelude, a sample of things to come.
Oh, yes indeed. Things are changing on DarcWorX. One of the major changes is the fact that I listen to my fans and friends. In doing so, I will not be publishing any more eBooks but instead I will be offering traditional paperbacks through Amazon Publishing and like the former eBooks, these new editions will be sold Internationally. I have taken down, “The Haunted Library” from the damp and mysterious corridors of this blogsite only temporarily. Everything else remains the same but only better. In the past, organizations along with fans demanded the paperback version of what I write. This I am going to do. Naturally, I need your help, your financial donations made possible through PayPal. This is also set up for the International Audience on a very secure and familiar service that everyone already knows.
I promise you with funding, my little “Darc” world will greatly expand in both marketing and in advertising costs.
You as an avid fan and reader has certainly experienced my personal growth in writing and in the “Darc” arts. There are many stories, short stories within this blog to easily convince you that I am indeed gifted as a writer and in graphics design. I don’t say these things lightly. I don’t say these things first hand. These positive things are said by tens of thousands of fans world-wide.
DarcWorX nor do I ask for much. Any donation of any amount will go to what I have mentioned plus expedite the publishing of the paperbacks that will be made available only on Amazon throughout the known world. Additional funding will also go on equipment and upkeep of my future home office.
Oh yes, as I stated time, and time again. Subscriptions to this blog are free for everyone. Now, I don’t keep email addresses, and WordPress assures me that they don’t SPAM or give your email addresses out. I never see them or have to deal with that and you should not have to worry about things like that too.
Let me bring you up to speed on some other things, or additional projects. Now, I want everyone to know that “Tales From Under the Concrete” in all three volumes of these eBooks will be, as they are, buried in a deep vault and shall never see the light of day again. Leastwise in the eBook fashion. I will no doubt create an updated and overpowering version of this ominous collection that included such grisly tales as, “Dead Indian,” “The Devil in Deadwood,” and so many others that touch upon various common elements and characters like, “The Whispering Pines Sanitarium,” “Raven Blackstone,” and for the “Werewolves of Deadwood,” most will agree that needs to be its own novel or a series of novels. There is just too much going on down at, “The Gallows,” and “The Busted Bitch Saloon.”
Deadwood amongst other things has its own history, gaming, adult entertainment, and more than enough paranormal activity to capture the minds and souls looking for such things. In fact, Lawrence County to include, Lead (pronounced as “Leed”) is an old gold mining town with stories of its own. For me, Lawrence County in its entirety has a lot that an over-active imagination can take in. It is a pleasure for me to write about what possibly can be called an otherwise “Raven State” that no one gives a second thought about with a grand total population of only 700,700 people with a 4 to 7% decline with the biggest export is our youth as they fly overhead.
Yeah, that saddens me some. Sure, but what are you going to do, right?
For me and my family, we chose to move out here after my exile at Pierre, South Dakota. I did my time in hell thank you very much. The prairie never done anything for me and nothing in sharp contrast to the Black Hills here. Plenty of great things to do and actually see. I am not a travel agency, but you can Google or Bing it all you want though.
As far as my life is concerned and according to Laura, Lawrence County has been the longest place I personally lived at. This is a personal record. I thought I might throw that in there too.
I would like to take this moment in time and thank the tens of thousands of folks who have come to read and take with them a little something in return. So, if you do find DarcWorX which is synonymous to me, Douglas S. Taylor. Well, I am certainly thankful for that too.
Don’t make yourself a stranger and when the time comes to release my next novel that I am working on between things, I will make sure you all will know about it and the “Haunted Library” page reinstated.
Thanks for your time, your donations, and your support.
Today I find myself out checking the higher trails on my usual routine as the sun was at its zenith, in which says so little in these parts. One thing is the fact that the sun sits lower and rides along the hills, just above actually. Secondly, the sky, seems to be a storm, a bad winter’s storm brewing up in the north as the low-pressure front is just coming upon us.
Listen to me, I sound like a fucking weatherman. I crack myself up sometimes at the shit I say to be quite honest. The new snow, the heavy snow anticipated is the whole reason I am out here today and making, well, a full day of it. You see, world renowned snowboarders, skiers, and the likes will be swarming down from all over the world.
Even in the spite of the time of the season means very little up here. One could always say, “It’s so damned gloomy all the time…” They’d be right in saying that while they’re constantly bellyaching about their trivial shit.
Nevertheless, this portion of the Black Hills is a very secluded, and some might say, “With trails less traveled upon.” In that would be the truth. Though, once upon a damned time, this area all around me was bustling with active gold mining, a railroad, a small town just up the side of the eastern slope here that included a brothel and a school for all the whore’s children. Mining isn’t much of a family life, was it?
It isn’t much of a life period as history would tell us. That is if you were some piss-ant working for the owners of these old mines now in utter ruin. Sure, there are a few openings but you have to know where to look and hope to god you don’t fall into some old air shaft leading a couple of thousand feet down. Most are about a couple of hundred or so into utter darkness. Regardless, it’s more than enough to fuck up your whole day if you fell into one. No one would know, no one would find you. Out of the entire history of this area, there has never been made mention of anyone that fell, and saved, or for that matter, ever recovered.
This area, yeah, it’s not for kids and idiot adults to go off this beaten path. Most of the folks, those even from out of state don’t come up here. They don’t visit the old graveyard now overgrown by the woods reclaiming the scarred land. They don’t even know about the wretched ruins of the old Miller’s Place that looks like an old castle made of crumbling stone. Shit, it’s all cordoned off and there are trees, squirrels, ravens, and whatnot that holds residence there. The state was going to restore that some time ago since the Millers were so filthy rich and powerful. They ate up and owned most of the mines eventually. I don’t really know anything more about those kinds of people or the history, which is not all too flattering according to the local historians. Still, that old place, all dilapidated and all, yeah, that’s on my rounds too. I’ll be seeing that soon enough. You see, it sits up along that ridge east of me. One will see it if you keep on walking south along the trail. Comes into view now and then. That is if it isn’t covered by the low clouds, fog, and the likes.
Regardless, no one has any business leaving the trail and heading up there to look around or explore. Never a good outcome.
You see, the Northern Black Forest remains shrouded in heavy mist and the kind of darkness that plays upon the weaker minds out here. I mean, just the gloom in the area, and pick whatever season, it don’t matter and it just throws up one hell of an “Unwelcomed” sign to anyone with some wits about them.
Out here miles from nowhere is not for the frail of heart. In fact, you must cultivate a strong mental attitude if you’re out here. People lingering around these parts especially in the winter has one hell of a death wish. You see, they just don’t last long and if these fools are lucky enough maybe by late spring or mid-summer, their mortal remains may be found. But that’s the exception to the rule in these parts. Out here, most of the time, it’s the wildlife, the environment that gets you in the end. And trust me I know all too well.
It’s my job, it’s what I do as sheriff and all.
Do you want to hear something that will raise the small prickly hairs on the back of your goddamned neck?
Last week before all the people from out of state for all the snowboarding fiasco would be showing up, I was out here like I am now. The only thing different is I’m carrying this rifle. I didn’t need anything like this out here before. That in the past. I saw something that gives me more than enough cause to carry such a cannon. Better to be safe than sorry – better to be alive than dead, I say. That is, if you’re carrying special ammunition like I have. I won’t bore you with the details.
Back to the story of my adventure up here from last week…
I guess I was up by Murderer’s Creek along the old Iron bridge, the “Hanging Bridge” aptly named for the executions of some gold miners gone wrong along with some of the other social “Shames,” Interesting name for the despicable who found a noose around their condemned necks. You’ll find all this just south around that bend in front of us.
That bridge and most of the old events are now two full centuries ago and whatever ghost town it later becomes fell to the insurmountable grip of these woods. These very haunted woods. Just before noticing the sun dipping lower across the hills is when I saw the bloody unmistakable tracks of an adult Silverback Werewolf. The tracks left off to the right side of the bridge, breaking through the thin ice as it stomped through the shallow creek to the freshly laid maiden snow on the other side and disappearing into the tree line.
I reached down resting on my feet for a closer examination when I took into the account the size of an animal, a paranormal creature that some professor says doesn’t exist. I put the creature about three hundred plus pounds and nearly seven feet tall by its gate. I suppose some village idiot would think its Bigfoot or some Bullshit like that – I would leave it right at that. No need for anyone really discover the brutal truth otherwise. I took off my heavy glove from my right hand as the frost built up on my beard. With my index finger, I dipped it carefully into the small freezing pool of blood in the right paw print and tasted it. I found my eyes widen as the blood began telling me the story. You see, I have a secret to tell; He is not the only changing out here in these woods.
And before you go off half-cocked and say something you’ll soon regret, I for one was born this way just like a few of my kind in the region. You might say, “We’re as old as the hills.” You wouldn’t be too far off the mark.
Listen, you’ve been around my kind, my kind are your doctors, your teachers, bartenders, friends, in-laws, and the like to include police and law enforcement. Moreover, I got this problem and it’s bigger than you or I.
The blood I tasted wasn’t his at all. The blood belonged to the victim, a woman that would be found brutally raped while he was still in human form. How do I know this?
The blood never lies…
The blood doesn’t hide anything…
All is revealed through the blood…
I can see through my mind’s eye of what her blood was telling me. I saw that he began to change into his normal self-reaching into her stomach and pulling out her backbone. My ears rang with the snap of her spine. Damn, she was very much alive at the time. The Werewolf barely knew of her and under his false pretenses of being quite the charmer and lover boy. The bastard, he brought her along this otherwise beautiful winter’s day. Oh yeah, a right down gorgeous day all things considering.
Yeah, after he finished with her, sexually, and otherwise, he dumped her remains under the ice of the creek about a mile further up. The blood also shows me his identity in human form and of course, again in his more natural form.
There just isn’t any way I can cover up this hideous crime this time with the people involved. The victim is a resident and much loved in the region. I know the woman killed, her father in which is a good man, and his wife, Betty that I’ve been banging for at least a full decade now. For those of you pretending to hold the higher moral ground, you can hold that against me too. But remember, when you slip, you fall a long ways down and I hope it hurts. Judge if you must, but Betty and I are more than a thing.
Now, this awful news was going to hit the family the hardest. The community will panic as it did before, and even before that as I can remember as for the last full century clearly.
Snowboarders and the like will be flocking to this region and I can’t hide this one. No nothing like the other ones.
I rose up and reaching for my radio, I called it in. I’ll lead my deputies to a haphazard roundabout to the woman’s mangled body. When the dust settles, I’ll square things up with this new idiot stranger in town…
“There are always those that say hindsight is twenty-twenty. In my life this is not true in the least. My hindsight is in all truth, a bit fuzzy, distorted, and, at times, based upon actual events. Fortunate for you that this account is in all things, grimly true. The story yet to unfold is contritely factual, and for me, it is crystal clear. For those that cannot stomach strong adult content – Exit doors are on the left and let us who are adults continue unabated and uninterrupted. I, we, thank you in advance…
It is strange on how a broken mind such as my own works. I can certainly remember what I had for breakfast yesterday, cannot remember names of people for shit, and some memories well, should be better off left alone in the boggy swamp of my mind. Some memories are so clear to me that it really does seem like it recently happened – like yesterday so it were.” Excerpt from “Cracked Actor.”
Created by Douglas S. Taylor and Emilie Flory of Icone Label Pictures
This is not a movie mock-up poster that I created. No, this is the real thing. Don’t want to believe it?
Please check out the 16th Shriekfest 2016 show. Yes folks, via Shriekfest catch a Blu-ray Version of this beautifully edgy short movie. Shot on location in France, Emilie draws you right into a very dark world very quickly. Sound, cinematography, and the cast is all top-notch. The editing crew – spot on!
After all, I should know. I have already seen the 1080i on my unforgiving 27” HDMI monitor that would spot anything amiss. There is nothing awry and this short movie is like a large-caliber bullet hitting your skull and shredding your brain within.
I am “spoiler-free” and you good folks will need to see this movie for yourselves!
However, I will tell you that a full-blown full-length movie is being put together in pre-production with a team of highly talented screenwriters very excited as well as gifted taking the reigns in writing. Richard Charles Stevens is co-producer along with myself. However, there are plenty of opportunities for anyone in marketing, distribution, and always room for those producers to aid in making this an International Phenomenon!
Look, let me tell you wonderful “darc” folks the real deal. This movie, this Independent Production is just going to happen and the only thing you’ll be wishing while kicking rocks walking down the road of, “Only If…” Street and on the corner of, “I Should ‘a” Boulevard.
“I should have gotten in when I had the chance…”
You will be saying just that!
Created by Douglas S. Taylor and Emilie Flory of Icone Label Pictures
As for myself, working with International and beyond boundaries had its moments for me in this project. Personally, to be perfectly honest, I had some reservations as to the name of the movie, and me being involved. I support my friends in their endeavors any way shape or form. After seeing the short movie, I was stunned. I had to watch it ten more times and again with my wife, Laura.
From that point on, there was no turning back of the challenge of creating a spectacular graphic movie poster layout that, like Emilie Flory, and Icone Labels are not some cookie-cutout Hollywood production. As you can clearly see by the Blu-ray jacketed cover, the Bus Stop full image, and this simplified billboard, well, it isn’t anything “Hollywood” about it.
This movie deserves nothing but the best and trust me, there is nothing but the best working in this project.
Nevertheless, this project, and my involvement at Team “DarcWorx” has been so far, most exciting. If you live in America and you are close by Shriekfest – Go to it and have a blast and tell them, DarcWorX sent you.
I am providing links below for more information that I have discussed with you all today!
Copyright Protected © 2016 By DarcWorX
Hello and thanks again for visiting. First off, I apologize in the email notifications being sent out stating these posts are temporary, and the like. I have been working with WordPress to bolster up on security and browser smart-devices the world over. Much of this heavily-lifting was done by the magnificent WordPress Team. Many thanks are in order – Great job, Gang!
As many of you good people and dedicated fans of DarcWorX aka, myself. I want to thank everyone of you with a special darc satyr I first wrote on Facebook to include a friend called, Heidi Heartbreaker.
Also included in this post is a darc humor and a darc political story. I strongly suggest that you folks be warned that this is a parody based on actual events ripe with the conspiracies from past to present.
Now for those who really love this stuff as much as I love writing it, this piece is akin to the award-winning post, “Morbidity News Special Report; ETEATIG is Suing U.S. Government!” I realize that the mentioned post went over a metric ton of heads out here. Those that got it, really got it good. Least those folks that are into the Independent Authors, and well, the Independent Genre entirely.
I will also furnish within the post links to my other site, Black Reign Operations which is an Investigative Journalism site of mine. The information there is not a “Conspiracy Theory Site” but one of actual conspiracies that the site diligently proves. Needlessly to say, the information there and the sources listed are secrets that the government doesn’t want you to know.
The Unknown Man in the Darc
Listen, we have worked decades, and I literally mean decades of dummying down America. How fucking dare, you Heidi to attempt to wake up the good saps of America with your contrite “Conspiracy Theories” on things. You’ll never complete your plans. I can assure you, Mrs. Heartbreaker, all duckies get got in the end!
Let me enlighten your sweet ass on a few things first before you get involved in some tragic accident, plane crash, or suicided for your troubles. We have created False Flags since the Spanish-American war. I’ve personally been instrumental in assassinating a president in broad daylight and corrupting heads of state in other countries so they would play ball with my regime or be buried face down in a jungle somewhere in some banana . It’s my elite cartels I represent that controls every aspect of government. I am a faction in the CIA and NSA as well. Just so you know who you’re fucking with. We spent a shitload of time scheming in the dark, tons of cash, and adding fluoride to the public water system. Heidi, this kind of work costs mega-money and serious lethal time invested. I suggest you start drinking some if you want to see tomorrow.
We don’t need you to exacerbate the situation here, Heidi.
Allow me to further enlighten you and for God Sakes, we own the Pentagon, the Department of Justice, the FBI, the DEA, all the way down to the BSA as well as the USPS too!
We’re behind the scenes in commercials, news, radio, the net. Oh, I bet you’re watching TV right now. You can partake in our mind-numbing tactics. We tell the saps how to think, what to say, and what they do. We got this shit down solid, Heidi.
Let me do you a real service of how this shit started…
Shit, it was us who created fractured banking in the United States in the first goddamned place. Fractured Banking is solely based upon debt. It generates perpetual debt that the taxpayers and thus the government can never pay off. You see, when we were pulling strings on “Jew-Hating” Nixon to get us off the gold standard we had completion of the Banking Cartel.
Now it’s time for a deeper and clearer look into how far the rabbit hole really goes.
We’ll go back to the days of Woodrow “Sell-Out” Wilson about the Federal Reserve Act. My people were writing up the Fed’s Constitution on Jackal Island way back in 1910. You must understand, we owned Wilson, we guaranteed his campaign – Check that; our campaign to get a stooge into the Oval Office. There would be many more we would elect in such a high position and Heidi, we never leave anything to chance. Yeah, we owned the whole entire Electoral Processes faster than a Methhead all jacked up.
Example: We didn’t want Al Gore to ruin things. His wife is a total fuck-up to boot. So, we called in George W. Bush’s little brother to smooth things out in our favor with the Florida issue. I was there in the shadows to insure things went our way.
I know what you’re thinking and you can keep your thoughts to yourself if you like breathing Contrail laced air. You see, we give the good saps in America the illusion that they have a say in the voting processes – They don’t!
They don’t even know that they are in the game – our game where the house, that’s me and my kind always wins!
Talking about the good little lemmings. More like coked out hamsters on a wheel sort of thing. Look what we did to Compton, Watts, Harlem, and other places that the CIA flown in crack cocaine so we would have even more money to buy weapons for the good little terrorist groups in the Mideast. Real terrorist groups, Heidi.
CRACK IN AMERICA is CIA ALL THE WAY, BABY!!!
Flash to the past…
Yeah, GP Morgan was the man back then baby girl along with others such as Rockefeller, the Rothschild’s, and so forth. GP Morgan, now there was a man with true decisive vision. You see, GP fostered rumors and promoted runs on the little banks just to show to the rubes that with the Federal Reserve, shit like the times of 29 could be avoided. But we still fucked over America anyways and no body alive ever knew what we were doing. We bought up the competition for pennies on the dollar. We live for this shit and we’ll fuck over anyone who gets in the goddamned way!
I got to tell you that the glory days of the Bush Family was instrumental except for that fuck, Granddaddy Bush who was on our board was caught red-handed in skimming from the top in which we fired his shagging ass. I told everyone that he was a fucking thief amongst thieves – a real gold-bricking opportunist. I told everyone, “Look you motherfuckers, Granddaddy Bush was a Tire Repair Man – Yeah, a fucking tire repair stooge.” Alas, they didn’t listen evidently.
Then comes his son. Now what I’m about to tell you is pretty much unknown and on the down-low. Father Bush fought in WWII. He was stranded on a remote island with 14 others. By the time the Navy finally found them — Daddy Bush was the only man alive and the others were victims of cannibalism.
Well with that kind of fortitude and dedication, we placed his ass eventually as the head of the CIA. Now I want to be straight here with you all. Daddy Bush wasn’t all that creative or imaginary. He had trouble making up names. This fact is shown in the names of his two fighter aircraft and again using the name of “Al-Qaeda” a name of a database in which has all the CIA assets in Afghanistan when the Mujahedeen, aka, the freedom fighters, aka, the Taliban during the invasion of the Soviets.
Yeah, that’s right, the same name given during the 9/11 Conspiracy that I was very, very instrumental in the beginnings – Bush Daddy suggested we call the imaginary Terrorists by the same fucking name.
Point man back in those days then was a rich Arab by the name of Osama Bin Laden. Oh, he was a fully paid valuable asset. A few decades later, Osama Bin Patsy also known as the Primary Camel Jockey that Papa Bush wanted to use as the “Middle Eastern” boogieman.
Lack of imagination and a reflection of a very shallow gene pool. A one-handed golf clap in the dark would be appropriate for Team Bush!
I just slapped my forehead in despair and told the group that this is so absurd and no one would buy into this good bullshit.
Boy oh boy, was I wrong or what?!?!?
To this very day, the average rube still believes 9/11 was an outside job masterminded by the Arab Poster Child, Bin Laden. Oh, the media slaves, and marionette did their magic in the spite of the absurdly of a rushed plan into making the saps believe it was the not so lucky lad from the fucking dunes, Osama Bin Laden. You see, Baby Bush, or Little W wanted you all to know that Bin Laden was the arm-chair quarterbacking this whole affair hiding in a cave armed with a Cell Phone, Laptop, and Satellite Phone?
Fuck me, please already!
I was asked to resign from the program actually called, “Operation Goodin-Tighte.” When you have very imaginative skills in dark creativity, you need a man like me as Papa Bush said to me once when he was president passing gas at the Oval Office, “Wish I had ten more just like you…” How quickly he has forgotten.
I wished to hell he would have opened a fucking window first!
Clinton, Bill Clinton said the very same thing when he was throwing an Arkansas Orgy at the very same room that Papa Bush first told me. Yeah, the sex was great, the job as the Late Warren Zevon stated ever so aptly in his 1982 album, “The Envoy.” I have all his albums since by the way. Warren was also in the inner sanctum and I bet you didn’t know that. You see, where there ever is a problem, like Zevon said, “…Wherever there is a problem in the world, the President(s) sends his Envoy – They send me…”
I was that man that fixed things if you know what I mean. Speaking about fixing things, I began fixing the Superbowl Games since 1981. Why else is the scores always lopsided?
Now you know…
I am kind of retired these days on most things.
Still, the NSA and CIA has me to cap a few heads of state and taking care of some twit that is able to connect the dots in the grand scheme of things. I enjoy killing, it’s better than therapy, drugs, whores, and medication any day of the week. Though, I’ll tell you this much about my assassinations. I wish I could kill a motherfucker more than once. Now I would be a very excitable boy as Warren puts it, god rest his fucking soul. I got a picture of him and I back in Egypt shaking bloody hands. He had a cool way of laying things out.
Yeah, Obama is nothing new. In fact, he’s a total fuck-up. However, I have my own fleet of drones at my disposal. I have the fucking Joystick to prove it!
Technologies of the most heinous I have at my disposal. Cruise Missiles at six-million a pop too. Shit, I may be spying on you right now through various insidious means necessary. If not, allow me to make up a sweet air-tight case on you. If you’re using Windows 95 RC2 and above, we’ll be in your computer, smart phones, and all kinds of goodies if we’re not already monitoring you. There isn’t any operating system we can’t get into.
I also want you to carefully consider, Heidi that I will re-task a satellite if you even think about going off the grid.
Shit, let me tell you something more. If this religious shit about a hippie named Jesus was actually true, you can bet the house that we had boots on the ground in Jerusalem when he was under Intensive Investigations by my predecessors. Then of course, the powers that be had the motherfucker crucified. Hey it was all kosher with the Israelis at the time – I mean if it were all real and shit.
Here is something more you might want to think about, Heidi.
Looking back on things back at the golden age of taking over the government here in America I had a couple of problems with the Bush Family fucking up the game plan. I reminded Daddy Bush, “Who capped that rat-bastard president and his brother?
Not to mention, who pulled the fucking trigger on Martin Luther King?
Yeah, I have the rifle to prove it. I liked King, but he said the wrong things and needed to be slightly adjusted via a bullet through his skull. Yeah, he had a dream, motherfucker! So get back to the game plans and read the fucking scripts before another assassination should accidently happen, old man!”
The look on his face was priceless!
I also reminded Daddy Bush that we owned, President Ronald “I don’t Recall” Reagan and that we own the entire political shit and the fact we always owned the Bush Family. Yeah, those were the days. Do you remember, the “Contra-Aid” scandal?
Yes, indeed, the CIA got caught in the South American Cookie Jar. So, the CIA got slapped as the Agency goes. I was tasked to kill off certain CIA members and the handlers, the middlemen, and those countrymen involved.
Henry Kissinger would be green with envy at the body count I racked up. Of course, if you want to ask Kissinger about the whole affair, you’re gonna need an Ouija Board to fucking do it with!
AT&T won’t get you there. Besides, we own AT&T and like a good little trite they are for the NSA and the FBI, their always too busy spying on you.
Again, looking on back in the day. One job I hated to do was capping King. I really hated that job. I just hope he’ll never take it personally; it was just business.
As for Obama, that’s when I decided to go into semi-retirement. I mean, I had to draw the line in the sand on total absurdity. What a delusional double-minded nightmare he must be to manage. He’s crazy as a bagful of cats!
I will also go on record with you, Heidi that the fact that Obama encourages our world enemies imaginary or not.
Oh yeah, I was never officially here or otherwise…