The stage photos, the rubble series, the beer series, and the holding-eyeglasses series are courtesy of Gregg Matthews, Orlando. All others by Chris King.
Clicking the thumbnail will show a 300dpi version.
Generally, the staged photos were taken in the olden days, around 2004. I have not aged at all, so you may regard these to be an accurate representation of what my big fat pot belly does not look like.
When the Government Man decides to stab his fat, dirty fingers at things and initiate non-linearity, you may use these in your newspaper or on your TV show if you like.
(Or whoever. Again, I met very few Navy officers who weren't complete snakes.)
As I restore lawful government and close in on 9-11 criminals, Israel will cause trouble. I absolutely assure you that Israelis or their confreres have planted nuclear, biological, or radiological weapons in various American cities, including New York and Washington.
Don't forget: I want that nation looking straight down the barrel of a pistol, hammer cocked.
Also devise means of terminating that nation's infrastructure at a moment's notice. Electricity, communications, all of it. It may serve as a useful half-measure. Retain the means to transport them to the Year 500.
As always, things stay quiet as long as things stay quiet.
Who do you work for, Mullen? And to what purpose shall you put your talents? In service to bankers? Or in service to your own children's futures?
Guess what? You're going to help me put that compressor to good use. We're going to restore lawful government.
You were not put on this earth to wear expensive shoes and have trophy wives and vacation homes. You are to use your talents for some higher purpose. You will do that and you will do so pro bono.
2010 is the year that I drag that compressor through as many courtrooms as necessary to, one, overturn all post-9/11 police-state legislation and, two, arrest 9-11 criminals.
I'm no lawyer, so I sometimes don't know what words to say and what forms to use. That's where you come in.
Step one: Locate that JT9D-7 series compressor, the one that was recovered from Murray Street on 9-11 and unceremoniously carted off somewhere and dumped:
Find it and secure it. Or get depositions or whatever you call them from any FBI agents who may have personally examined it. Have them affirm that the photo above is of the item they witnessed. Get an official determination from Pratt and Whitney of which engines that compressor was and was not a component of. (It most certainly did not come from a 7R4D. I'm guessing that it came from the latest model of the JT9D-7 series, the 7J. Then we determine who was running that model of engine and where those vehicles might be.)
Second, make all United States legislators legally aware of that compressor (which I have already done, as well) and what that compressor means for the validity of post-9/11 security-related legislation and what it means for our expectations of their assistance in any repeal efforts for that legislation.
Determine some legal means of compelling repeal of that legislation, as an adjunct to our separate efforts to have it all overturned. Is there some way of compelling the repeal of legislation which was rammed through on false pretexts? And can legal action be brought against legally-informed legislators who refuse to respond to demands that it be repealed? Wouldn't they be accessories-after-the-fact to something? Or guilty of misprision of something? Figure it out.
Try to secure the paperwork from whoever in New York (Port Authority, I think) about the "asbestos abatement" work that occurred in the Twin Towers in 2001. That procedure was the cover for the nanothermite application. Investigate all sources of gelatinous nanothermite. The nanothermite was, in part, sprayed onto members. I think you will find that it came from Negev, Indian Head, or Lawrence Livermore.
Put your law skills to work to figure out a way for me to annihilate all post-9/11 police-state legislation. I'll bring me and my compressor wherever you need us.
P.S. Try to figure out something about my house. I really don't want to live in a trailer. I'm under enough stress as it is with these criminals and I don't have the temperament to deal with the foreclosure issue. If it takes paying it off, pay it off. I'll get you back. And I'll pay you twenty-five percent on your money. (There will be plenty later on, what with the movie rights and the book deals and all that. You don't take up stand-up comedy for the purpose of restoring lawful government and then actually succeed without there being some interest in your life. And so much the better: We'll use some or all of that cash to finance our legal battles.)
...all of them hot.
I just wanted to make sure it wasn't all some sort of a trick. No: It was hot water, alright.
My new hot water heater is a thing of beauty: It looks like a rocket ship, all six, stately feet of it. It's made of plastic and it won't rust and it has all the various valves and the gleaming, new copper pipes going in and out all over the place. The power company certainly does not scrimp on their hot water heaters, I'll tell you.
And it's energy efficient, too. On the yellow label that shows the left-right scale of least-to-most energy usage, the arrow is all the way to the left, in the "you'd hardly know it's here" zone.
I have arranged with the cable company to get cable TV. No thanks to you, Stephen. And I'll tell you what: I will scrap my demand that you buy me a motorcycle. I can't remember if it was you or Jon who was supposed to get me the foot bath. I still want the foot bath. That's non-negotiable. I want the Furby collection from eBay, too. (And wasn't my joke funny?)
So I will very soon have access to all my imaginary friends' TV shows. I'll give a shout-out when I'm ready and you can talk to me on TV, just like in the old days. (I'm lots of fun when showing a new date around my house: "No, really: If I type something on this machine over here, someone will talk to me on that TV over there. Yup: Welcome to my world.")
Folks, this past decade really sucked, didn't it? In absolutely so many ways? Well, have I told you that I can see the future? I am here to tell you that 2010 is going to be the year that good things happen --for all of us.
I'm off the Terra List, I have a hot water heater now, I have cable TV in the works, and I think I'm going to be able to figure out something about the house.
I will restore lawful government AND bring joy into our lives.
Don't you worry, everyone. I'm on the job. Non-linearity has been initiated. I now stand athwart my stage and I am swinging above my head on a chain the most destructive weapon this world has ever known. The days of lawlessness in this land are over.
Blessings to all for the coming new year. Everyone. Not a single, solitary exception, even those who would consider themselves my political adversaries.
2010 is the year that things turn around for us. Why? Because my intention is pure. And because I have decided that it shall be so.
Speaking on Fox News Sunday, Senator Joseph Lieberman (I-CT), who leads the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee, shared his vision of "tomorrow's war."
"Somebody in our government said to me in Sana’a, the capital of Yemen, Iraq was yesterday’s war," Lieberman explained. "Afghanistan is today’s war. If we don’t act preemptively, Yemen will be tomorrow’s war. That’s the danger we face."
Senator Arlen Specter (D-PA), also appearing on the program, seemed to agree, calling an attack against Yemen "something we should consider."
"Maj. Nidal Malik Hasan -- the Army officer who killed 13 people in a shooting rampage at Fort Hood in November -- was linked to Anwar al-Awlaki, a radical Muslim cleric now based in Yemen," The Hill noted.
Apparently he doesn't know what that 7-series compressor means.
CNN Airs Eyewitness Testimony that ‘Well-Dressed’ Indian accomplice helped Abdulmutallab board without passport and that man on plane filmed entire flight and bombing attempt
December 29, 2009
Evidence is emerging that clearly indicates Abdulmutallab was more than just a Nigerian extremist carrying out his anger through an ill-conceived plot to ignite a powdery explosive substance on-board a flight to the United States. Eyewitness testimony pointing to a man helping the accused terrorist board without a passport, along with an unusual cameraman documenting the attempted attack on board the plane raise more than red flags– they point towards an intelligence operation, run as a drill, meant to conjure up public support for a number of fronts in the continuing ‘War on Terror.’
CNN interviewed key flight witnesses during their Dec. 28 program who raised these very points, making clear that the full story is still emerging and that wider-connections to intelligence handlers is evident.
And here is a radio interview with an eyewitness who clearly observed a well-dressed man who aided Akbar around airport security and who managed to get the airline personnel to allow Akbar onto the plane without a passport.
What good are stepped-up security measures --including asshole searches-- when we've got intelligence agents subverting the existing measures in routing their patsies onto aircraft without passports and without having passed through security?
Do you see what's happening here? Intelligence agencies work for bankers. They are "secret" not because they need to work in secret to protect you, but because their activities cannot stand the light of day.
These intelligence agencies are the "bomb throwers" who provide the "problem" that may be "solved" by agents in the government.
Have you noticed that the sole result of all the terra legislation since 9-11 has been a lessening of your own personal freedom? There are people in this world who want to steal your freedom. It's just business.
I got a hot water heater for Christmas. (No, not from any of you, my adoring yet parsimonious audience.)
I realized that the power company will lease you a hot water heater for ten dollars per month, payable over three years. You sign a contract and they have someone come out and install it. I had a hot shower this morning! Time was, several months ago, that I would just hang one of those black Sun Shower bags under a tree limb in the yard and strip and take my shower. But that got to be just too much trouble. So then it was just jump into a cold shower and shiver and spasm and lather up and rinse off real quick. So things are coming up roses for me!
And I apologize for my infrequent posts. Something happened to my computer the other day. I was watching some music videos on YouTube and I happened to notice some strange hard drive activity. So not quite knowing what my counterpart intelligence agencies might be up to, I terminated all internet applications and all known processes that might account for the activity. Then I started my port monitor and found the strangest thing: unaccounted-for network traffic! To and fro, to and fro! That sure was strange!
So I went and got myself a beer and came back and --well, you know clumsy me-- my stocking feet slipped on the hardwood floor and I accidentally spilled beer on the computer. Well, they apparently don't make computers the way they used to, because it burst into flames! The big nervous nellie that I am, I got all excited and didn't know what to do! So I picked the computer up in an effort to put the fire out and I must have jostled it the wrong way because the hard drive fell right out and it hit the floor. When it did, the glass platters in the hard drive fell out and bounced once, twice, three times! right onto the floor. And the third time they hit, they smashed into a million little glass pieces!
So now I'm really flustered! And I had my beer in one hand and the computer in the other, and the beer spilled onto the floor and I pulled some sort of comic banana-peel routine and I went ass-over-bandbox and the computer flew out of my hands and right into the wood stove!
And wow! It sure was cold that night! The fire I think was the hottest it's ever been! I'll tell ya: I hate accidentally having things fly right into the woodstove, so I tried to get it out! But it was just too hot! All I could do was wait, wait, wait until the fire died down.
But, alas, the whole thing was reduced to a molten slag.
Oh well. I'll let you know when I have another computer.
The man who allegedly tried to blow up a transatlantic passenger jet over Detroit has reportedly claimed that he is one from a production line of terrorists that has been trained in Yemen by al Qaeda.
Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, who is charged with the attempted Christmas Day bombing of Northwest Airlines flight 253, told FBI agents others with similar training to him were now ready to launch their own attacks, according to the US network ABC.
The claim came as al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula released its first communication since the failed bombing.
The attempted plane bombing on Christmas Day, which was intended to kill all 289 on board, failed only because the bomb's detonator did not work.
President Obama interrupted his Christmas holiday to order two anti-terrorism reviews as aviation chiefs acted to close loopholes that let Mr Abdulmutallab, a known Nigerian extremist, take explosive materials on to the aircraft flying from Amsterdam.
Step one: Al Qaeda is an instrument of the CIA. This is public knowledge. It's no secret. Sibel Edmonds confirms that Al Qaeda worked for the CIA right up until 9-11. (And presumably still does.) The purpose of Al Qaeda is to provide a pipeline of dupes just like this guy who will bring their PETN incendiary --the same stuff used by that other patsy, the Shoe Bomber-- onto a plane and attempt to set it off.
In this manner, the CIA --which participated in 9-11, just like compartmentalized elements of the Pentagon-- can provide the "problem" in the "problem, reaction, solution" formula.
Problem, provided by those professional bomb-throwers, the CIA and their agents, Al Qaeda: A guy is on the watch list but yet is still able to fly, bringing with him explosives, thus exposing a "weakness" or "loophole" in the system that needs "fixing."
Reaction, provided by the news media: "Aren't you going to do something to protect the population? Close that loophole!"
Solution, provided by complicit government agents: "You know, you're right! There's a few loopholes that allow terriss to get on airplanes. We should make the rules more stringent."
You can see that it is supremely easy for bankers to completely re-engineer your society simply by having their various paid agents provide the problem, the reaction, and the solution.
If you allow that the purpose of government is to make you safe, you can see that bands of criminals can use this simple problem, reaction, solution formula to ratchet-up "security" measures until the entire society is enslaved.
You should never, ever, ever allow government to get away with doing a thing for the rationale of "protecting you" or "making you safe." The moment you alow this, no argument can be made against any governmental action that is couched in security terms.
Wyatt Earp wore a US Marshal's badge when he hunted down the Cowboys:
It looked like this, if I remember correctly:
I want someone with some money to commission to be made some 9-11 Crimes Tribunal badges that look just like that, but with the wording to read: "9-11 Crimes Tribunal." And I want there to be a raised, embossed representation of that Murray Street compressor in the middle of the badge, or maybe an embossed representation of that 7-Series TOBI, serving as the ring of the star, like this:
Get moving. Don't make me do everything around here.
Are you seeing how this works, folks? We know that carbon dioxide has nothing to do with global temperature: Carbon dioxide lags temperature, not leads it. And according to the historical record, we are in a carbon dioxide-starved era right now. And the "scientific" labors of the IPCC are a complete sham, as I have demonstrated to you.
The thing, the rationale, the true reason:
The thing = Legal mechanisms regulating the output of carbon dioxide, which is only the byproduct of all human activity, including life itself.
The rationale (for the thing) = Carbon dioxide is causing the earth to heat up and is a threat to the world. (Demonstrably untrue, as we now know.)
The true reason (for the thing) = Legal mechanisms providing for the taxing of all humans (since all humans exhale carbon dioxide) and for the regulation all businesses.
Since carbon dioxide touches every last human and every last human activity, business, and industry, a tax on carbon dioxide permits private bankers --like Goldman Sachs, who are in bed with that con artist, Al Gore-- to extract a tribute from every last human on earth.
One problem: God condemned man to forever toil for his own sustenance, right? And no man can interfere with another man's fulfillment of God's command to toil, right? So how could it even be legally possible to tax another man's toiling for his own sustenance? And further, how could you even make the moral case that a man should pay a tribute for the "privilege" of breathing?
If you care to look into the writings of these malthusians, including their Club of Rome documents, you will see that they openly advocate reducing the human population by taxing carbon dioxide. And they will use the carbon pretext to economically strangle individual nations and choke off all future human development. What you are seeing are a bunch of central-banker-financed Super Enviro-Nuts crafting in plain sight the legal structure for impoverishing humanity as their new slave class and implementing globally a one-child policy.
Yeah: I don't think so. If I ever were to have children, I would permit no man to tell me how many children I can have.
These Super Enviro-Nuts are well-financed by central bankers. (Rockefeller is a big, big eugenicist and malthusian.) These Nuts are all gathered at Copenhagen and they're trying to hammer out a global legal structure for the purpose of regulating the entire industry of all humanity.
It truly is as if ten people blew into town, here in Bellows Falls, and started whipping up a frenzy about how the water that everyone drinks and every business runs on is somehow a poison and how if we don't all act now, the town is doomed. All we need to do is to allow that band of interlopers access to brand-new legal mechanisms that let them regulate the use of water in the town.
They don't care about the town. They are using the water-as-poison fallacy as a pretext for gaining access to legal mechanisms that let them regulate all human activity in Bellows Falls.
Even if you are not convinced of the fraud of the global warming scam, ask youself: "to what other purpose could these legal mechanisms be put? Might someone, just possibly, be pulling a scam on me?"
...That is, "is there any other use to which a Terris Responce Kit may be put?"
U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement is holding an untold number of people in secretively maintained detention facilities all over the United States, according to a report set to be published next year in The Nation.
Many of the sites are unmarked and unlisted, going unnoticed in office parks and commercial zones, according to reporter Jacqueline Stevens. The so-called ICE "subfield offices" are mainly used to house prisoners in transfer and are not subject to the basic standards applied to ICE and even military prisoners.
"No, no, Chris. You've got it all arong. Those are just for immigrants and, uh, other designated classes of persons. See? It's all on the up-and-up."
No. Secret detention centers are never on the up-and-up. Nothing good happens in secret.
Do you "journalists" see what your cowardice has allowed? You have secret prisons now. And who knows; maybe bankers or other businessmen will use those extra-special US legal mechanisms to put away their business competitors, or to put away those who might threaten their business interests. ...you know, like journalists.
If you are a journalist or a lawman or a senator, you need to put a stop to all this right here and now.
The United States does not have secret fuckin' prisons. Do you understand me?
...nor has anyone bought a ticket by Paypal.
Folks, the jig is up. I have caught you. You are partaking of my show and I want you to pay up. (And to you guys in Washington: What, do you think you get in for free just because it's your job? You are here because I have ordained it. It's called "assembling an audience." It's the same thing as if I had printed up Fringe Festival posters and tacked them up all over town.)
I have done my job: I have written my show and put up the flyers and stood in the fairway and gotten people into my tent. Now you buy your tickets. That's how it goes.
It has been suggested to me that I lock the show down and make it subscription only. Well, it is subscription only; it's just that Typepad does not offer the ability to make a blog --that is, my show-- password protected by individual user. Even though there is no one physically blocking you at the door or even though there is no electronic means of preventing your entry into my show, I have quite explicitly stated that you are to leave your money in the shoebox by the door. I have stated that this is not a free show. This is a commercial undertaking. You are morally and legally obligated to pay for what you take, no less than you would be obligated to pay the man at the farmer's market even if he's away from his table.
Come on, folks. Let's. go. There is no excuse for this. How do you expect me to live?
If you are reading this, I want you to speak aloud the following question: "Chris has invested every last penny he had to assemble his audience and put on his show --and save the country in the process. What comes next is that I buy my ticket. It's how stand-up is done. What cause do I have to be shoplifting his inventory?"
This is not a blog. This is not a hobby. This is the commercial undertaking of a professional comedian. What part are you not getting?
Folks, if you do not stop shoplifting my inventory, I am going to lose my house. As soon as spring comes, the eviction order will be written and the Sheriff will come to tell me to leave. I've got the trailer all ready.
Why are you stealing from me? Especially when you know that I have no margin for loss? I'm getting by by the skin of my teeth as it is.
Come on, folks.
To whoever turned the circuit breaker back on for my hot water heater that one time, I appreciate it.
You all will recall that the hot water heater has not worked for some months. The issue was not that it would not heat water, but that it was leaking --slowly at first, saturating the cement floor beneath it, then more copiously, the water flowing into the electrical components on the heater.
So I turned off the water supply to the heater, drained it, and shut off the circuit to it. Having a background in electrical things, I knew better than to leave the heating element running with no water in the heater. It might cause a fire.
So I remember quite distinctly flipping the breaker off. It is nothing I would overlook.
Well, a couple of weeks ago I tripped a breaker that runs the microwave oven. So I went downstairs and I see that the hot water heater breaker is back on.
And I cocked my head and a smile came to my face. Someone cared. Someone had given everything a once-over and thought that they had determined the problem: the tripped breaker. So they turned it back on for me.
Bless your heart. I appreciate the gesture. (It wasn't the problem, but I thank you for your efforts.)
I have long known that people have been in my house. I don't mind. What have I long said? Good intelligence makes for peaceful neighbors. States have known this for thousands of years.
I thank you and I salute you. Peace.
One, I'm not dying and, two, I'm not on any terra liss.
I received verbal confirmation from an unnamed somebody whose position in the government might be a, uh, secret, a secret somebody! who confirms that I am not on any terra lists. It's official!
Therefore, I am free to work and move among society and interact with my audience. And the best part is, no one will wind up on any terra lists or get tortured if they buy a ticket to my show!
Let's make this a going concern, everyone. I want to be the first viable internet comedian. I want you to buy your tickets. Even if you can't pay up the whole amount that you owe, I would really like to get whatever bills of mine are unpaid brought up to snuff.
Imagine what we can do: We can do a daily internet radio show or a daily internet television show. I can hire camera people and writers and all that. Or I can use one of those video cell phones and do rapid-deployment stand-up pieces during the day that just end up on your I-phone or your Blackberry. I can be everywhere and nowhere at once, all day long.
So let's go. I know you folks aren't cheap. People generally want to pay what a thing is worth.
Let's make 2010 the year that good things happen for me, okay? I've been slaving for seven years with no payoff.
So because I have received official word that I'm not on any kind of list, that means that no one who communicates with me or buys a ticket will be the subject of roving wiretaps or anything. I have opened up the comment function on all future posts, including this one. Feel free to at least say hi. Or laugh. Or boo. I don't care; pick one; the comedian cannot perform in a vacuum.
Let's make this fun. Leave a comment. Give a call. Buy a ticket. It's a new day, everybody!
Phone: 802-376-0188 (Call me. Anyone! I am so starved for some love.)
Buy your ticket: Ticket purchase processed by paypal.
Buy some junk: http://www.cafepress.com/ckpi2
At the very least, leave a comment. I want to come in from the cold. Okay?
I guess they would be guilty of misprision of something. Any such statute doesn't seem to have any teeth to it, but here is the principle:
The crime of misprision still exists in England, but it has never been fully embraced in the United States. The first Congress passed a misprision of felony statute in 1789. The statute holds, "Whoever, having knowledge of the actual commission of a felony … conceals and does not as soon as possible make known the same to some judge or other person in civil or military authority under the United States" is guilty of misprision of felony and can be punished with up to three years in prison.
Under the federal statute, the prosecution must prove the following elements to obtain a misprision of felony conviction: (1) another person actually committed a felony; (2) the defendant knew that the felony was committed; (3) the defendant did not notify any law enforcement or judicial officer; and (4) the defendant took affirmative steps to conceal the felony. Precisely what constitutes active concealment is a question of fact that depends on the circumstances of the case. Lying to a police officer satisfies the requirement, but beyond that generally accepted rule, little is certain about the definition of active concealment.
Do you child-proof your home? Do you put special safety latches on the kitchen cabinets and put those plastic things in the electrical outlets? Yes you do, for the reason that you are protecting your child from a hazardous environment.
Political structures are no less dangerous. More so, even.
This 9-11 lie is nothing that can be swept under the rug. You cannot ignore it just because your resistance to it may place you in harm's way. It must be struck down, because it provides the pretext for all manner of un-American legislation. You are all willfully permitting to be grown right under your noses a malformed political system that business interests will use to enslave your own children.
You are bequeathing to your own children a political system in which they will have no rights, no due process of law, and no prospects for happiness.
If you news people and senators and lawmen do not strike down that 9-11 lie, I promise you that your own children will curse you.
There has to be some legal mechanism by which government agents can be compelled to act against 9-11 criminals, powerful though those criminals may be.
The principles are these:
The most un-American legislation ever conceived seems to me to be contained in three places: The Patriot Act, the John Warner National Defense Authorization Act, and the Military Commissions Act. Since it is difficult to repeal legislation, it seems that the next best tack would be simply to stop enforcing it, much like the jurisdiction that no longer enforces the statute against walking a cow through the town square on a Sunday.
But how do we do that? Let's say that I have some peeps in the FBI or the CIA who aren't down with torture. In their hearts, they are perfectly willing never to have anything to do with enforcing any piece of legislation that sprang from that 9-11 lie. They despise what this nation has become and they want to play no part in its destruction at the command of bankers.
But enforce the law those agents must. But why? Well, because if they do not carry out their instructions, they lose their jobs. A paycheck trumps everything for most people, even conscience.
So it seems to me that the best thing to do is to get some kind of federal labor union involved. Or maybe the Human Resources Department. Whatever. There has to be some legal means of preventing your firing if you decline to enforce unlawful legislation.
Talk to your legal theorists: If legislation --especially legislation that is disastrous to the American way of life-- was passed based on criminal acts (these would include 9-11 itself and Michael Chertoff's involvement in the storyboarding operation and his known association with the Atta family) then is there some legal maxim that calls into question the enforceability of that statute? Certainly that 747 compressor makes a damn fine legal case for righteously declining to enforce legislation, right?
If there are any decent men and women in federal law enforcement, you need to use whatever juice you have to form a political union of sorts among your ranks --again, through your labor union or HR-- and you all need to resolve simply to not enforce any provision of the aforementioned acts that sprang from the demonstrable lie called 9-11. And you need to figure out some legal mechanism to prevent any disciplinary action being taken against you.
You people need to act. Get moving. The Future People --that is, your own children and grandchildren-- are counting on you to do something.
It has been asked of me if I can see the future. Well, I can see past the nose on my face, and in this age of idiocy that pretty much passes for clairvoyance. I am telling you right now that if you lawmen do nothing, your children will know nothing but soul-crushing misery. Is the badge just for show, then?
I want that legislation gone immediately. I want you senators and news people and lawmen to do every last thing in your power to strike down that monstrous mess that has grown up over the past nine years, the political structure that bears every legal similarity to Soviet Russia or Nazi Germany.
Do it. Time is short.
Rhode Island Democratic Senator Sheldon Whitehouse today called opponents of the Obamacare bill lunatic extremists during a floor speech, failing to account for the fact that in every leading opinion poll almost two thirds of Americans fall into that category.
“They are desperate to break this president. They have ardent supporters who are nearly hysterical at the very election of President Barack Obama.” Whitehouse commented, adding “The birthers, the fanatics, the people running around in right-wing militias and Aryan support groups, it is unbearable to them that President Barack Obama should exist. That is one powerful reason. It is not the only one.”
Clearly, both the Senator and the bastions of journalistic integrity at the Manchester Journal Inquirer have not bothered to look at the latest opinion polls on the healthcare bill.
Had they done so they would have discovered that despite the progression of the legislation through the Senate, it is still highly unpopular with the American people.
The latest Rasmussen Reports weekly tracking update shows that 41% of voters nationwide favor the bill and 55% are opposed. Those figures are essentially unchanged from a week ago. This the fifth straight week with support for the legislation between 38% and 41%.
Oh. I see: If you're opposed to the healthcare bill it's because you don't like black people. I guess 55% of voters are just closet racists. Well now we know that the mandatory 3-steaks-a-week thing has nothing to do with it, nor do the fines or the jail time if you're not interested in the product.
What makes me so depressed is the distance I feel between me and my audience. It is unreasonable to expect the performer to work in a vacuum.
I want Christmas presents this year. I want someone out there to call Halladay the Florist right here in town and have a modest bouquet of flowers delivered to the gas station during my shift.
And I want a hot water heater. I've not had a hot shower in six months. And I'll tell you what, Vermont water gets pretty cold in the winter. The hot water heater leaks like a sieve, with rivulets coursing down the outside of it and into the electrical panels on the side. I have shut off the power to it because I am afraid I'll get electrocuted.
So I want two things from my audience for Christmas: A small bouquet of flowers with a note that reads, "Someone cares," and I want a hot water heater: 40 gallon, 240 volt. Have Home Depot or Lowes or whoever just drop it off at the house. I can install it.
The performer doesn't operate in a sensory-deprivation tank, folks. I need some love.
For nearly thirty years, I have ejaculated at least once per day. And I'm not talkin' dribs and drabs; I mean impressive pumpers. It's amazing that there is any semen left in me. I'm no doctor, so I'm not sure if it gets manufactured somewhere or if there is some finite supply of it and when it's gone, it's gone.
If I were dating someone, I would be the best lover in the world because I could have sex all day long. And in my thirty-year career of it, I have never once had a single problem achieving an erection.
Masturbation is a great stress reliever. And can you guess who around here might have some stress that needs relieving?
I guess I could take up yoga, but that takes classes and all that. Masturbation is pretty self-explanatory. And it requires no expensive equipment like special yoga mats or weights or whatever. It's mankind's most accessible pastime. It's been goin' on forever.
How can I get away with talking about this? It's because I'm not respectable. I have marketed myself as distinctly unrespectable for the purpose of allowing myself access to any topic. For example, for years it was unrespectable to discuss 9-11. If that is going to be so --if that is going to be the tack taken by 9-11 criminals, to try to make it unrespectable to even discuss the topic-- then the solution, obviously, is to simply be as unrespectable as possible.
And that is why the perfect set for any (unlikely) TV show of mine would be the Sanford and Son set. Say anything you want; the place is a dump anyway. The man was pure genius.
My theater is a complete dump. It stinks of stale beer half the time. And the urinal in the men's room over there is stopped up, so the staff put a plastic bag over it. And somebody still pissed on it. That's the clientele here. Give yourselves a hand.
When I jerk off each day, I enjoy looking at pictures of people having sex. Uh huh: That's how it works. That's how men jerk off. Am I going to look at the wall? Should I balance my checkbook while I'm stroking my cock?
Now, we can discuss the merits of sex and masturbation and pornography, but the fact remains that unless some governmentally sponsored home health aide is willing to stop by my house each morning and service my cock for me, I am going to jerk off. I am a healthy man who has his carnal needs.
Do we all have a problem with that?
What's my type? I like various kinds. On the one end are the little cuties, fresh off the vine of the age of majority. I'm talkin' the stroke o' midnight. "Daddy, Daddy, look at my ID! I'm eighteen now! Should I clean the house in my g-string and get you a beer?"
Then we move on to the college guys with their football pads and their lacrosse sticks and unopened textbooks and their drunken frat parties where they finally come out of the closet and perform at the frathouse glory hole for their closet-case frat brothers. Everyone has a grand ol' time at Closet Case U. It's Delta Gamma Dick-In-Mouth.
And then we've got the papis and the chollos (I don't speak Spanish, so I don't know what a 'chollo' is, but it sounds sexy.) The papis have got their tattoos and gold teeth and they're used to having their way. They don't take any backtalk, you can be sure.
And then there's the cavemen, those hairy, monstrous beasts. It truly is like they walked out of the cro-magnon era. They have no understanding whatsoever of the social niceties of sexual interaction. There's just pointing and grunting. I have a real weakness for a hairy man.
So do we mind? We've all been peekin' in the window, watchin' Chris pound his dick for some time now. Can we move on?
...because if we can't, I promise you that I will post, each morning, for one full week, a webcam video of me jerking off. I don't mind. It is well within the scope of what I cover here, which is unrespectable material. I'm not kidding: I'll turn on the webcam and give you full frontal as I finger my asshole and lube up my dick and jack myself off. The whole thing will go on for a hour, and you'll see my facial expressions and you'll see my eyes roll back in my head as I shudder and grunt and fire-pump a juicy load all over my chest and smear it around.
So are we all done with your prurient, creepy interest in my jackoffs sessions?
...because if you're not, I will give you precisely what you want. I am a professional performer and I know how to play to an audience. If it's cum shots you want, then it's cum shots you will get. I will post those videos and I will mark them as 'required viewing.' They will go into the show and you will be obligated to watch them.
So do you mind? Do you want to sniff my jack rag, too?
Or so the hand-written question said. The man on the other side of the airlock door had taken his pocket-sized, spiral-bound notebook from his breast pocket, written the note, and pressed it up against the glass.
Chris' plaintive expression beseeched the man to please, please, pretty please press his hand against the glass too, just like Chris had done. He didn't want to die alone. Chris pointed at the man, nodded and raised his eyebrows and then pointed to his own hand. He mouthed a plea.
The man scrawled another note on the spiral-bound notebook and held it up to the glass. It read:
YOU'RE A GONER, AREN'T YOU?
Chris nodded yes, then clapped his hand up against the glass once more. The man scrawled another note and held it up to the glass. It read:
LOOK TO YOUR LEFT.
To Chris' left, he saw another airlock door. There was big flashing lights over it and a big sign that read:
IN CASE THAT OTHER DOOR IS LOCKED OR ANYTHING,
YOU CAN ALWAYS USE THIS ONE. JUST PRESS THE
BLUE BUTTON RIGHT HERE. ---------->
Uh, I may have jumped the gun, folks. It, uh, seems that maybe I'm not dying. I didn't have any issue with coughing anything up over the past couple of days and I've felt fine, so I cocked my head and wondered what was special about the previous two days and I remembered that I had brushed my teeth prior to seeing blood in some sputum. I sometimes brush a little vigorously, and sometimes I abrade my tongue and there's a little blood. So I think it was all a false alarm. Sorry about that.
But I've been very paranoid about my health recently. Once you reach forty, every pain you feel is automatically cancer. You stub your toe, it's cancer. And I've been under so much stress for the past four years that I can't imagine it hasn't taken a toll on my body.
The fact still remains that I think I need a full physical. But I think we can cancel the funeral dirges.
Again, sorry about that.
Yesterday morning I coughed up the first bit of blood. And there was some this morning.
Shh. I don't know what that means yet. But whatever it is, I want you to know that everything is as it should be in this world. Everything happens for a reason in this wondrous world.
I don't know how long these things take.
I cried a little bit yesterday evening, but they were tears of relief and joy. I have completed my mission. When I had that odd experience seven years ago, I was told that if I did nothing, that this world was doomed. No joke, folks. Getting from there to here was like a space launch, or learning how to pitch a baseball for the purpose of throwing one pitch that just had to go right down the strike zone. And I did it. What happens to me now is not relevant.
I have delivered my 9-11 payload. It went right down the pipe and now the Death Star is blowing out with secondary explosions all over the place as we speak. Lawful government is going to be restored, everyone, so have no fear. All that's left is picking up the pieces and putting the good stuff back into place. I feel us entering the "rebuild" phase of the rend/rebuild operation.
I always somehow sensed that this was going to be a one-way ride, even if I never really knew the precise destination. I feel like that guy in the science fiction movie who has to run into the airlock to jettison the container of the radioactive material by slamming the big red button. Problem is, in hitting that button and saving the ship, the door to the airlock closes, locking him in. And he knows this. And he did know it. And it didn't matter to him. It needed doing.
And now I feel like I'm looking at you through the window in the door and you can see me and I can see you and all I can do is put my hand up to the window and hope that someone does the same.
Or maybe I'm just being dramatic. Maybe it's all nothing. But I sense us moving into a more beautiful part of the show. We're going to take all those hurts down off the shelf and try to wrap things up. This is the part where everyone goes home better off for knowing me.
I want my ticket receipts. I want to hire an attorney and get this house out of foreclosure. I want to buy a hot water heater. And I want this entire yard full of flowers next spring. I need cable TV so I can see my friends' shows. And I need my own internet access. I want a drawing tablet so that I can make drawings more easily.
I want to be able to write full time. I want to write my coffee table book. Do you remember that one? That's the book with the MP3 player in the binding and the jack that you plug the headphones into. It is called, simply, "My Beautiful Story with Beautiful Music." It has beautiful, beautiful illustrations. The sole purpose of the book is to bring joy.
I want to make some comedy friends. I want to meet, in particular, Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. There are more, but I don't want to make the list too long.
I want to give New York one more try, at least to visit for a time. I didn't like it when I lived there only because of the neighborhood I lived in. People would run up and punch me in the head and some guys drove by in a car once and shot at me with a pellet gun. It kind of sours one on things. I am convinced that New York is a beautiful, vibrant city. I used to enjoy skipping out on work and sitting on the grass at the Sheep Meadows or whatever it's called. And I want a proper haircut. I'll bring some more maple syrup and other silly frilles.
I want off that Terra List so that I can join society. I'm the good guy here. Don't forget that.
That 747 compressor is the zipper tab that unzips the entire thing. We're going to work backwards and reverse-engineer it all. Here's a quickie: I seem to recall that the flights took meandering courses for a while before they headed toward their targets. I bet you a day's pay that the meandering course has a few jogs here and there and then all of a sudden, it straightens out and heads right to the target. Am I right? If this is true --that the civilian planes took off, went toward their scheduled destinations, then went off-course and jogged around here and there for a while, and then all of a sudden made a beeline for their targets-- I am guessing that the airfields from which the drones took off were somewhere in the vicinity of where the path suddenly straightened out. Jog, jog, veer this direction and that, then switch planes, then waste no time getting to the destination. The purpose of the jogs this way and that was to make the path appear random so that no one would notice that the purpose of it all was to get the civilian craft right to where the drones would take off. So please investigate that. I think you will find the drone-takeoff-airstrips to be located very near where the final, straight part of the paths begins.
Mullen: Have you determined what went wrong in your organization? Were you in on it? You know my experience with Navy officers: I don't trust them as far as I can throw them. Nothing personal.
Mister Obama, I'm sorry I called you a faggot. I don't know if you're a faggot or not. I found a delightful rumor on the internet and decided to swing it around like a dead cat, just for fun. Everyone's gay to me anyway. Keith Olbermann is gay, and so is Jon Stewart, just so you know. So if you're gay, you're in good company.
You turned out to be a real disappointment, MIster Obama. Do you know why? It's because you don't have evil in your eyes. And still within one short year, that town has made you as evil as the rest of them. Shine your light, mister. Who do you work for? The people whose trust you sought? Or bankers? Do not compromise yourself.
Mister Saunders, I was looking at your business card this morning. It is a model of understated elegance. For anyone who has not seen a Secret Service business card, there is a beautiful, embossed silver star on it, just like in the old westerns. Like the US Marshals would wear. A lot of good men worked hard to load that star with honor. Do your men today do the same? Or is it another case of the curtains not quite matching the carpets?
We're on the same side, you know.
And to whoever is spreading scurrilous rumors about me, can you please stop? What did I say five years ago? I said that one will get his political opponents to expend their finite investigative resources on blind alleys and red herrings. You look ridiculous. It's like we're in a cage match and that toothless guy is hanging on the outside of the cage, screaming, "Two men entah! One man leaves!" and our left hands are tied together so that niether one of us can get away and we've got our weapons in our right hands: You're waving some piece of paper of wishful thinking nothingness, and I'm swinging over my head on a chain a seven-hundred pound 747 compressor. Guess who wins? And who just looks stupid? You brought wishful-thinking nothingness to a compressor fight. So do you mind?
And we're not even political opponents anyway since we're all fighting the same criminals.
You never forget your first --visit from the Secret Service, that is...
And they sent their senior guy in Vermont. I appreciate the consideration; don't think it was lost on me. He was very pleasant and professional, a credit to the agency.
The interview was rather perfunctory: family information, and whether I had ever been incarcerated or institutionalized. (No and no. I keep telling you: I'm the sanest person in this place. And my life is very boring.)
I knew full well this would happen. It's something they have to investigate. ...and now we have all been introduced to each other. I will not be denied.
There's no denying any longer that I have an audience. And that is the certitude that I want. It is extremely disrespectful to me to pretend that I do not exist.
The agent and I discussed my material in general. We discussed that 747 engine on Murray Street. He inquired whether I lamented not being able to work in my field, and I answered yes. He said, "Well, if you're not working, why don't you do more general-interest stuff?" My immediate, flip, answer to him was, "Oh, you mean 'cucka jokes.' " But my more serious answer to him was, "Because there are more important considerations than the mere saleability of the work. There is honor in covering difficult material. And you just kind of hope that your patrons will see to it that you eat."
"But why do you have to do it?"
"Well who else is going to do it?! All these senators and news people refuse to do it. Someone has to do it. I have been blessed with the verbal skills and the knowledge of the material. I regard it as an abdication of the comedian's authority within his theater if he does not cover it. It's cowardice not to cover the most difficult material you possess the skill and the juice to handle."
"But why must it be covered at all?"
And I explained that we're torturing people now and we have warrantless wiretapping and that no one is following the law anymore and according to Taguba, we're sexually torturing children in these hellhole gulags in front of their parents for the purpose of extracting information, "information that could not possibly be relevant, considering that the 747 engine on Murray Street means that Muslim 'terrorists' had nothing to do with it.
"This country has gone insane," I added. "All manner of lawlessness and inhumanity have sprung up like mushrooms in the shade of that 9-11 lie. And it's just going to get worse. All governments tend toward corruption and lawlessness and tyranny. And you mark my words: If that 9-11 lie is not cut down, what will grow up in its shade is exactly what they have in Guatemala or China, where if you open your mouth you just disappear in the middle of the night.
"And I know that my language is strong, but the time for speaking is now --while it's still legal to speak without being hauled off to be tortured."
If you people fully understood how easily governments become completely tyrannical and how societies feed on themselves, you would waste no time and spare no effort and shrink from no threat in exposing and powering down this lie.
It's taken me five years, but I have finally achieved some official acknowledgment of my complaints. Can someone (who's job it is) please cover this? ...'cause I'm tired of being sidelined for doing it.
Is there a journalist in the house who wants to cover their own material? Or a senator? Or an FBI agent?
Do you think it's fun to be professionally and socially marginalized because no one is doing their job?
I want off any and all terra lists. I want to be able to communicate with people by email without them feeling scared. I want to call my friends without wondering if they're going to wind up on some cockamamie roving wiretap. I want comedy agents to at least feel free to write back and say, "Chris, we can't stand you. Application denied." I would be the happiest person in the world to receive even that.
In short, I want a clean bill of health. I want the report to come back reflecting that I am the most highly vetted person in this room.
I want people to feel comfortable buying their tickets, which I have every reason to believe they want to do. I don't believe my audience members are cheap.
And to put everyone's mind at ease, the word "bomb" means information bomb.
...and it went off, didn't it? ...'cause you all can no longer deny that engine. Now cover it.
As I have said, a single word from the comedian causes more destruction than all the bombs in the world. Why trouble myself to leave the couch? I pledge to you that my words shall never take on a physical manifestation. This is a show.
This Secret Service agent has my phone number and I have his. I will extend to him the invitation to call at any time if my material seems unclear to him.
I want a clean bill of health and I want off that presumed terra list. In exchange, I will make every good faith effort to tone down my material.
I just don't want to be punished for being the only lawman around here.
I want several things. I want a complete restoration of lawful government, most importantly. I want all that post-9/11 police-state legislation to disappear. I want those 9-11 criminals brought to justice.
And I want my ticket receipts. I want to earn a living in my chosen field and I want to move among society.
What cause do you have to deny me any of that?