FOR ALL INTENT AND PURPOSE

FOR
ALL
INTENT
AND PURPOSE

A Short Fiction
By
David A. Archer

02/15/1968

10/06/2006

It wasn’t that long ago that it was still quite possible. Even though, even then it was still decades before the beginning motions toward would ensue.

Imagine being able to grow stronger, and progressively live longer simply through existing? Imagine humanity not only having reached the beginnings in the development of immortality, but further having attained the ability, through our own existence, to directly influence the development of our own kind, and other living things within our reality.

I know that immediately people will tend to envision some switch to click, some task to perform… maybe something you might ingest to bring forward the effects desired. I know as well that such leanings are directly as per design in the effort to actually keep humanity our of its own way.

They are all distractions meant to bring the actual goal a bit closer.

Unfortunately, the want of said distractions and their use has effectively been the deliverer of what is now the realization of no potentials of any sort, much less attaining unsurpassed longevity… and further less, the ability to interact with our existence to the level of being a living, moving development of our own right.

It is said that the results are even hard to imagine as per what humanity alone would have benefited. It is also said that our atmosphere and physical realm would have become somewhat unimaginable as well. Provided of course, and depending entirely upon our own aspects of living.

It was going to manifest much as a person might imagine a direct relationship in a psycho-kinetic manner, but humanity, as with most all else couldn’t manage to keep out of its own way. Many even putting forward the ego based efforts of producing a similar effect in some competitive interest.

As it was, such a short time ago, we as a species were consecutively only parts of a greater whole in designs that few can begin to understand, much less have actually put into motion. It seems through recent discoveries, that one of the last stitches in that progression was to be implemented within the next few decades.. thus producing the beginnings of a larger motion. This “larger motion” being the starting point of our living then resulting in our furthered existence and bettered forms of said.

Unfortunately, the only way this could have transpired was through no effort at all. It may sound backwards to some degree, but effort toward such ends only served to close off the possibility of it in any way.
Even more unfortunately, it is an inherent aspect of human nature to
want of doing in such matters. For what ever reasons, that inherent tendency almost predictably has rendered the goal itself non existent for every intent and result.

Just as predictably are those which put their efforts in the direction of posturing themselves to be factors of said goal for nothing more than reaping what they saw as immediate benefits. As described, all that such pretense served to do was in effect, remove the possibility of realization for everyone else.

I suppose it is a matter of self importance and want of perceived station which fueled said efforts in posturing, but that is really neither here nor there now.

Laughably, in review of the said efforts in posing of importance it can
be seen in a time line sense, where there were even those so determined to hold such recognition as having been directly of that which brought about the magnitude of potentials known to have been possible, that they immersed themselves into a realm of mental instability based on and within a dynamic consisting entirely of “pretending not to pretend to pretend about pretending to not be trying to attain said goals.” This,
while actually attempting in every conceivable way to get such results, but only for themselves.

There is truly no mystery as to where the idea of comedy came from. All one need do is review the efforts of those fitting such descriptions, whether or not the pretended pretense being pretended states that it is not obvious.

Sadly, many now realize that it was very much within our control as a species.

Even more directly we had managed to realize within our progress, the
efficient effects of rendering it a bit more focused as per now having been entirely dependent upon even communities.

But such ease in attaining the unimaginable obviously was far too much for many to bear.

It just didn’t possess enough frivolous, self absorbed and manufactured
dramas. There weren’t enough difficulties through the actual direction of existence which would render said goals effortlessly for the multitudes, to suit the tastes of those being of such importance as to posture and pretend their direct involvement.

In so many words, society was lead to “screw the pooch” by those whose designs seemed within their own mind, far greater than the designs of even eternity.

The effortless attaining of the ultimate goals just could not be afforded! At least without the lay of claim and the blessing hand of those existing within such levels of pretense.

Nothing less than incredible when a person considers the potentials having been set aside for the brief moment of those sort of lives so desperate for anything. So desperate for someone’s acceptance that they become willing to remove even the potentials within their own lives.

To think of it as it may have been is remarkable. To realize only and what it can now be, is just as remarkable but trimmed with the ever present distaste of knowing it didn’t have to be. And further
knowing the reasons such transgressions against even our own existence transpired… and yet further in continuing to hear the sad if not pitiable excuses still used in the attempt to justify such transgressions.

What can now never be, is always and will always be far more than anything now attainable.

And is so by our own hand for our own reasons. Reasons far greater and much more hidden behind those postured in the pretense which brought about an end no one will ever really realize.

For all intent and purpose, what we are now is the apex of what we can ever be as creatures. Even more and especially given the want
and tendency to mechanically force the change we have systematically removed as potential.

Regardless of where you may insist that you reside within it.

Regardless of the amount of money you may have that seems to corroborate your claims as some benefactor… resulting in postured self importance.

Regardless of whom so ever else you may get to substantiate your claims.

It is all down hill from here.

A BIG HELLO

TO

HAVERHILL

A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer

02/15/1968

10/19/2006

I had heard how nice it was. Haverhill was touted as a grand little town in the way that a mini grand is comparable to a grand piano.

Everyone knew each other at least by sight... and a goodly number of "back door acquaintances" could be noted.

A person could say that it lacked nothing. Left not one thing to be desired as far as townships go. Preferable places to live.

This town stood out from all of the other perfect examples of communities in one pronounced and very secret way. It is a which had much to do with the back door familiarities that no one wanted anyone else to even pretend they knew about. Even while participating in such extra-everything activities.

You would never know that for some reason, the town was full of sex maniacs. Sex maniacs that were in such a state of denial that they would never bring themselves to admit even a brief interest in sex in any way.

It appeared to be the uptight, even "W.A.S.P.y" community.

But that isn't the outrageous secret. The secret is even better.

All of these people... most being involved in the most interesting of quickie back door excursions with everyone from the mail man, to the kid happening along the obstacle course of backyard fences, they all shared a secret that none of the other of them knew about.

For some strange reason, they all tended to blame their activities of that sordid sort on the local public greens keeper.

If you asked any of them why, they would not have a response of any sort resembling anything which made sense.

It was and is still, a genuine phenomenon.

This peculiar tendency has been passed from generation to generation.. with no explanation and no effort in doing so. It was only revealed to a few people in a recent common investigation of rather nice places to live and the histories around them.

Everyone interviewed, had separately mentioned the promiscuity of that gardener. Regardless of how old the people being interviewed were, they all noted in some passing manner, the distasteful habits of the given gardener from their particular generation.

Something which makes this all the more interesting, is in the fact that no linear relationship has ever existed within the position each generation found some inspiration to blame as it were. No familial ties. No prestigious lineage to speak of.

Just the title and position of being the local, public gardener.

Some of the people which discovered this momentarily speculated that perhaps it had been something in the water, or maybe remnants from very early witchcraft. But no one could come up with a good reason for this apparently crazy, though rather segregated and anonymous tendency.

The people didn't seem all that different from any other people of similar communities.

There weren't any signs of "Alien Invasion" and definitely no signs of cult like activity.

Only a huge, generational coincidence pertaining to insisting that the gardener was the person involved in the back door excursions, and not themselves in any instance. Sometimes even including those activities seen as normal with their legal spouse.

Something further that became a notable amazement, was that every third or fourth child from every generation ended up looking just like the gardener from that era. Without any actual sexual interaction beyond the occasional fresh cookies or some other token in a common neighborly manner.

Just as they were about to publish their documentary of interviews, they received just as mysterious of a visit informing them that it was in fact a government experiment which involved technological advances and psycho-active drugs that no one had ever heard of and wasn't about to.

Timothy Leary would have to move aside, as the quiet community of Haverhill now had a corner on the "tripping" market.

And a magnificent gardener, to boot.

THE HAIRS

ON

THE BACK OF MY HAND


A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer
02/15/1968

09/07-08/2006


I suppose most people would think I should be wanting of at least a prison cell by now, but that only exposes their desperate plight in ignorance of even themselves.

Society left me for dead long years ago, and I suppose it is just as well considering the majority of the sort comprising it.

I literally live out of sight, and forage through refuse for anything that I may need.

I haven’t spoken a word to another human since almost as long as I have been ignored.

It is really no big loss.

I can’t say as having actually seen another human to converse with in that time period, anyhow.

Mostly they must keep out of sight as well.

I have watched it all whither over the years – through different excuses and ploys, though yielding no less of the same decay over and over. Like a public toilet or even a street whore; society resembles more closely those within it nearly every minute.

They don’t seem to understand the importance of mystery. Only a desperate want to be seen as having figured something out. Not knowing that even if they had on some odd chance, they would then be all the more incorrect.

It thrives on it, you know? “It” being the massive body of “they” in one instance and then being the result of their predisposition of corruption in motion, in another. Both hand in hand through all of the various and even naturally occurring forms of distortion and altered form. Many times purposefully put forward as “cure” and even “progress.” All of the time, being the victim of its own design quite purposefully though well beyond the comprehension of those posturing their roles.

We are the violation beyond a doubt. Especially those without self knowledge enough to realize, that they are, while seeking that recognition of having been correct in conforming to someone else’s method of contravention en masse.

There has never been a country, society or government which existed without corruption.

We as creatures are proof of its omnipotent and ever wakening existence in even or most mundane and everyday activity.

We are the only species which purposefully corrupt our minds. And do so calling it superiority and progress.

I do laugh when it is that I consider the various forms of society, many existing together without realizing it… even within the same house holds. Each and every one feeling as though they are doing the proper thing in conforming to the corruption which we sow as we continue to violate our very potential with profitable avenues of tried and true depravity in disguise.

The rules themselves are a form of corruption when you consider it. Violating the everything and fluid motion, with the limitations of our small minds and that which results from generations of rotting interpretations passed from one diseased stage in descent to the next. Most likely infected with a new strain of the same old deterioration, which we somehow manage to convert into sustenance.

It gives me cause to consider said consistency of corruption metaphorically. Perhaps corruption itself, in its various forms…is the hare? Always skittering and bounding... Crouching and awaiting the next opportunity in relative safety to advance its position of no certain direction or intention…other than, I would imagine, to elude the predators, and of course, fulfill the want and seeming obligation at finding the finish line before the tortoise.

How is it that we manage it? Through all of the rises and declines. Victories and defeats… Blazi’s and blah’s…

It truly is brilliant in my opinion. That mechanism which now houses the majority of this bane called humanity, and all of its leanings toward corrupting even the very moment with exhale.

I noticed it finally, with no real concern beyond that which I found when first I noticed the hairs on the back of my hand. I just knew that it was and always was, and was by design. Brilliant design at that… which tends to force the corruption of having served better purpose than the hairs I mention in comparison, into the realm of productivity effortlessly. The nothing and subtraction of our existence converted into something other than is our refuse.

Simply put, it puts the direction away from the toward, which then renders advance through utilizing the negating aspect of our very presence and ignorant efforts in conforming to the blight of our own tendencies…which, until said designs, had always rendered pitiable levels of existence and demise.

I am glad that they don’t see it. I am glad that most all still focus on the impossible task of rendering themselves entirely safe, even in contradiction to their own existence. I think that is part of it, too. That effort to conform within the ignorance. It would have to be, seeing that it is, in itself a corruption.

When I finally look at the sun again… whenever it is that I may decide such is worth the discomfort of recognizing emptiness in faces on creatures where once might well have been understanding, I am going to remember to notice those hairs on my hand. I want to see how they respond to the warmth and sunlight.

I have a sneaking suspicion that they will only be as those numerous droves of human like bodies I will most assuredly be exposed to in that endeavor. Not even noticing the warmth of sunshine.

Not responding at all save for reaction perhaps to a breeze, as it pushes them this way or that, swaying… while staying anchored firmly to the back of my hand.

But for now I can rest easy knowing, that the very horse which carries the horses of apocalypse, is safely haltered to the treadmill of eternity…

.......through the perception and unknowing cadence of vacancies posturing as humanity.

THE

ELECTROMAGNETIC

BOX

A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer

02/15/1968

09/06/2006

I was looking around the other day when I noticed the first indications of something so common, so saturated of our existence that it is never even noticed. I believe I ignored it as long as I did simply as a matter of disinterest, being so much else to experience in life. I managed to spy the first suggestion pertaining to the overwhelming consistency of it through the minds eye of course, in something which resembled thought intertwined with epiphany.

The rubber chicken stepped out, just as I stepped in. I caught a glimpse of it in the form of shadow moving within shadow as I fully now found myself within the confines of something many hardly consider, and few ever realize.

I knew that it was “out” in direction of which the rubber chicken was going, as its shadow grew on the translucent and shifting wall while it skittered farther away in rubber chicken fashion. The shadow eventually dissipating in a style and form as being far too big and dilute to any longer be considered a shadow. The “out” part now drew my interest a bit more as well.

Since it was that I was now “in,” and “out” was seemingly only through a thin division of physiological acknowledgement. And further that both were actually “in” in more ways than either could be considered “out.” It very much was that any rational individual would surmise themselves either being out of their right mind or conversely, in to something to the degree of now being privy to an as of yet fully explored separation of “out” and “in.” In regard that is, to an area of consideration which is hard pressed to fully measure.

I knew one thing for sure at this point, and that was the fact that a rubber chicken was now in the “out” part of where I had just left to become “in,” to some degree. Again, “in” being relative and alterable with the level of acknowledged in-ness or out-ness regarding the separating factor, which I would soon find was not so much a partition as structure, as simply an aspect to this different level of consistency quite normally in life.

I then further found the question as to what exactly it could be that supported the running shadow of a rubber chicken upon the area of acknowledged division which now surrounded my person lending to the idea of “in” opposed to “out.”

I don’t recall installing a drop light at a distant point in my mind, especially a given distant point from the non specific point I now found myself occupying with the commission of being “in.”

No epiphany was this. Nor standard pattern of thought, either. In fact, I am surprised at myself for even having found the means with which to manifest such a notion, the notion itself being beyond the confines of said notion…as even a notion… but once I glimpsed the very edges of it directly, the avalanche of recognition set itself upon its course imbuing the freshness one might expect of having rearranged their furniture, then walking again into a familiar room for another “first time.” This again however, not being a room…but being the recognition of mind.

The similarities with paradox are remarkable… though readily anyone can see the specific and very definite manufactured aspects of and within this grand emulation. It is very much one aspect within another, then again within even itself to some degree.

There are really few ways to describe it accurately. As it moves and changes and is perceived while being entirely ignored in everyday life.

It is never the same, though consistent even from person to person, respectively. That aspect I personally find rather intriguing as per the emulation which it is of life itself, beyond of course, the incessant presence of a rubber chicken.

The fact that within such variation and distinction much becomes and remains as a constant, to some degree is remarkable of itself. The fact that it has become such an unfailing normality with little notice is even more remarkable.

It is in no way symmetrical, though at times it may appear to be if it were that it could actually be viewed. And it is by far the most perfect imperfection in the creation of the human species as far as I can tell from my humble perspective.

It makes sense that such rings true unarguably, being that the flowing and changing body of it consists entirely of varied and inconsistent range and confines, as constant if not a continuum. This occurring as result of modes and means with and within the production of it as we absent mindedly maintain it. Even through simple existence…. that is, what we now consider “simple” in that regard.

When I consider it, a person could even liken it to a more advanced sketch type of animation flipping from card to card as it streams and courses effortlessly, immediately and quite firmly limiting the capacity of that which we call “mind.” Each being somewhat different than is another as per individual consideration. As per individual and likewise as per influence.

We do it to ourselves it would seem. Unless it is that a rubber chicken is ruling a control panel somewhere, but I can’t see it being as some “science fiction evil guy plot” simply because it is far too inconsistent. Even the most bumbling of “science fiction evil guys” and rubber chickens combined would manage more consistency, if even only as a matter of “evil guy” and rubber chicken pride.

From what I can imagine, it is very much because of our every day lives… a conditioning of sorts combined with our progress in and through that in which we put ourselves as a common occurrence.

For instance, you sit in a living space that is rather consistent in design. While in that living space you are subject to various other consistencies which are of human make. Even the sixty cycle frequency of the electrical configuration can and does qualify as said conditioning. This, combined with whatever other electromagnetic elements you may frequently experience, then renders… just say for the sake of argument, an imprint of sorts within that conditioning upon your mind… which obviously, is roughly relative to that very contained space. Further, it is that even conditioning alone attributes to this confined perspective… that is in meaning to convey, that the consistent experience of a given space, then eventually sets in as a representation to some degree.

Further then, when considering this direction of thought, it then becomes a much easier thing to consider the various effects of something such as headphones. Further within that then, is the consistent conditioning derived from the various and varied symmetries within the consideration of where the information you are experiencing, was produced. Not to mention the harrowing effect which results when it is that a rubber chicken is present within such an area of confinement.

To make this a bit more clear, the artificial atmospheres consistently utilized and constantly present in most modern forms of musical (and other electronic) entertainment, are just that. The actual space and expanse which transpires in relation to said “capacity” is only to the size and even shape when you think about it, of the areas and rooms in which, from which, said entertainment was produced. Many said “rooms” being of different size and shape themselves, which then creates a rather entertaining visual in thought when considering the motion and interaction of it all. That then, is again limited – more so amplified in effect within the very nature of electromagnetic frequencies, and within that amplification arises said limitations.

I’m not saying this is good or bad per say. I in no way feel qualified to make such a judgment call. I only know that in realizing it from a certain perspective, it brings an entirely different consideration of even basic perception…into, perception as it were. Especially if you somehow overlooked the rubber chicken.

I even find it odd that I happened upon the thought given the incredible consistency of said forms and variations of conditioning. It is as if the thought in and of itself would not be an obvious possibility within said conditioning, being of course that the thought of the electromagnetic box would have to be recognized outside of the electromagnetic box – knowing full well in such a situation that a person cannot perceive an “outside” if they do not recognize being within an “inside,” and then further could not perceive such a containment or consistency in prospective “shape,” much less recognize the presence and imprint of something as subtle as a rubber chicken. In fact, it is considerable that those being firmly within their specific type and sort of consistency, might see such a thought as outrageous never having had the call to consider it.

Perhaps, within the sparse exposure to extreme measures of said influences through my life time, I managed to retain more of my capabilities beyond that area of standardization? Again, not meaning to suggest any sort of “science fiction evil plan,” but plainly noting an obvious, however imperfect and inconsistent it may be, consistency.

I do not believe that this electromagnetic box is all encompassing. It couldn’t be quite frankly…as I am sure that none would tolerate a rubber chicken lording over such a small confinement. I also do not believe that it is of a solidified nature, as I have described. I feel it is more in the manner of an overlaying consistency bearing great potential and display in variation and actuation within said flaw of inconsistency. It is something that is just part of our daily conditioned existence, and really always has been to one degree or another. Only that it is with modern advance that we have found the amplification in effect through the various means I have described, and others as well I am sure – even aside from the rubber chicken, to impose and maintain said “structural manifestation” and said confinement.

Another aspect of this consistent imperfection, is then the capacity it serves in becoming a filtration of sorts. A “standard” area of focus and perception magnified and contained over and beyond any similar consistencies throughout the history of humanity… or even rubber chickens for that matter.

I suppose the phenomenon itself could stand to serve as example in favor of the idea that things aren’t meant to be overly defined. Even the emulation that it is, of which it is… is very much dependent upon the use of “different” frequencies simultaneously.

That in and of itself indicates the presence of inconsistencies as per “plural,” in tandem components.

Then heaped into that “equation” is the obvious existence of various band widths which exist again, simultaneously… and further then, becoming as much as any other – and simultaneously, the stroke which forms and maintains said “geometric” patterns of consistent conditioning…. Again, much through our very simple and plain existences.

To further explore this in example, it is that any various combination of recorded audio for instance… sets forward its own “room” and/or combination of “rooms” within a given spatial consideration. Basically then, it would be within the largest “room” where-in all other present, smaller though just as dominant “geometrical” considerations, would reside…even so when considering various different representations simultaneously – as result of said conditioning. Then, within that configuration is added the aspect of motion. Changing configurations of “rooms” and other influences.

I should state that I am not referring to the common use of “effects” processors. As I have stated, they, even in regard to the “biggest” representation of effect… are still confined within the given geometrical space from which the example signal was derived. The “sound” of more space, is simply illusion in regard to the real effect and reaction of the real sound waves, so to speak.

Then of course, is the added peculiarity within the effect of our modern digital sequences even further contained within this in-flux perimeter.

I think it really freaks the rubber chicken out and I can definitely see why as it streams and flows mechanically. Really nothing much more than a smearing blur through the rest of it.

It kind of adds a touch of décor one might say. As if it were the “woman’s touch” on the bland and mundane aspects of existing décor. It contributes a factor as it streaks through, which in effect results as a person might imagine the motion of an electrical shock upon a conductor….but it isn’t of the electrical variety… it simply moves as such, smearing in flow as would a sparkling pastel smudge , following the confines and established shapes of that geometrical configuration in motion.

That must be as result of the time codes…the motion of the “décor” that is…where the colors and sparkles might represent content attached to said time codes. All of it then rendering a rather interesting effect. Interesting I would imagine, if it were that you didn’t happen to be a rubber chicken.

I might speculate… in the most far off reaches of imaginative conjecture, that the presence of such an attribute as is said digitalization now existing within the already established emulation… could arguably signify the possibility of other dimensions. Just as a matter of course in the consistency presiding over the various emulations in conjunction and comparison with the actual aspects of existence. Then of course in respect to that old tried and true concerning proofs in opposition and of course, the ever looming dichotomy so precious to those game show freaks and rubber chicken hounds.

How could it not be so with only those monolith type of examples alone?

Of course, the use of such consistency as is the game show freakish element… means that the rubber chicken might be out of the loop so to speak in regard to game show participation. Given that the digitization seems to really put the rubber chicken in a snit.

When you think about it though, it is a small price to pay in order to begin proving the existence of other dimensions… not to mention, other forms of dementia within such efforts… given the level of exertion needed to maintain any sort of superiority within the illusion that a given individual “discovered” of “invented” something that they most likely can’t even begin to really understand anyhow. And further then, that dementia is a sure thing as everyone knows it has long been the rubber chickens that have kept it at bay.

Once the rubber chickens are left out… we all might as well be popping happy pills and playing touch my product on the “Spin The Family Brawl” game show circuit.

I suppose it won’t matter much though.. as long as there are trinkets and prizes… and no rubber chickens around to scare the mental illnesses away.

THE

YARD SALE








A Short fiction


By


David A. Archer

02/15/1968








09/26/2006

We were sitting around the other evening. Some of us sipping our wine and others imbibing of beer, as usual. The wine was alright, of good quality as it always is but seldom noticed beyond knowing that it tastes like wine after the third glass. And the beer was much the same, higher priced labels being swilled as if it were just that.

All in all it was just another gathering we seem to do out of habit to perform some social ritual so as to keep in step with the expectations of our peers.

As it normally transpires, we managed the same old conversations with different words. Pleasing one another though nowhere near as much as in the effort to please ourselves, just knowing that we were fulfilling our duties to one another. At every chance embracing the opportunity to pretend at being impressed or even better, impressive to the swarm of hollow compliments sure to follow.

We clucked and oink-ed and moo-ed the evening away until those in attendance not of a certain unspoken seniority “stature” had done their part in leaving in a timely manner. This of course left the veterans… the “sheppard element” of our grouping to lounge and begin the gossip and snits pertaining to the “young blood” rising in the ranks.

For some reason this evening was different. Some began the mechanized notion of upper classmen reasserting themselves when together about their superiority to those fledglings in their midst through out the evening, but then for some reason everything just kind of got quiet. Pensive if not introspective.

No one even had to say a word about what had just befallen the now lounging group, some even beginning to show compliments in wisps of gray around their temples and most all now adorned with the slight glaze one finds toward the end of an evening. Lethargy wouldn’t be far from accurate in describing the motion in mood.

Then someone just said it as someone usually does, just as reserved as usual. Most definitely just as distant… as if the conversation hadn’t happened numerous times before. As if there were still some answer they longed for, even having known their part within the transition.

“He was here for quite some time” you heard a quiet voice break through the suspended mood as if to move and change the atmospheric pressure within the enclosed living area itself.

Everyone knew who she was thinking about, but as was customary and just as predictable as was the conversation itself, the response came in a similar tone; “Who do you mean?”

“Okay, so it wasn’t a really long time… but it was rather productive.. where do you think he ended up?” the question rang through and hung in the moment.

No one seemed ready to even address that question. As if none were prepared to even venture a guess.

The quiet then resumed as it became obvious through several subtle shifts in the heavy air. Even so much as to move through the thin drapes with the chill in the new autumn breeze as the cracks yet weatherized for the season, breathed along the edge of the window.

“We know he still isn’t working anywhere…at least not in the industry” someone nearly whispered, “we would have heard about it for sure.”

“Is it just me” began another soft tone to match the mood and time of day, as if any loud noise might shatter into some other reality somewhere, “or did he really never freak out about anything?”

“Yeah” came a response, “there was just always this ease about him…. Even in the heat of it… a calm and uncomplicated ease that made you want to cling to him or at least stay close when the shit was hitting the fan….it was like you just knew he was always going to get through it…. Smooth…….”

“Yeah…. And then that smile when it was all done… that calm and that smile…. Like he was catching his breath to jump back in…”

“Man that pissed me off” then chimed a voice… “but in a fun way now that I think back on it…. Here I would be dragging my ass and look over at his sweat drenched body looking like he was ready to move past the warm ups….”

“Maybe we aren’t ever supposed to even hear of him again?” said a voice as the gentle volley began to pick up. “Like he was a secret…. Or something.. something we aren’t supposed to understand from someone else’s explanation… like the question that wasn’t on the crib sheet back in college….?”

“I hated that question!” clambered an exclamation in a slight slur which was accented with the shifting clunk of the end table in response to sudden motion. "What did we pay our money for if we have to worry about passing and stuff…." Grumbled the voice in motion to somewhere away from the conversation.

"Some of us… some of the guys that lived with him… would even sneak into his simple and rather humble bed chamber when he was out and about living his seemingly mundane and un-interesting life…" yet another voice added to the growing conversation that managed more substance now, still without volume. "Every one of us had a good reason we thought… but every one of us did it for much the same reasons I guess… maybe the biggest of which was to associate ourselves somehow with how we saw him… that simplicity we still sit here and contemplate as if he may walk in again any minute…but knowing he probably won't."

"It's more like we want him to walk in again I think" said the quieter voice… probably for the contrary of those reasons we all had before… like we should take something back that we never took the advantage to extend… if that makes sense…. Like we want to take back our having missed opportunities or something…."

“Shut up!” the slurred voice again exclaimed from somewhere outside of the now common area, “I hated that question!”

“Sometimes..” continued the near confessional tone with no regard to anything beyond the current thought now on the tongue, “we would just sneak in there to look around… nose around the knick knacks… which made it even more strange… it was like they spanned decades, and he wasn’t that old… even after nearly ten years… he didn’t seem to be much older.”

“What are you mumbling” came again the softer voice just past pursed lips taking in some drops of wine…

“Yeah…” began the spoken thought again, “like we started to get jealous or something… that’s when we started taking stuff… borrowing it” the voice stressed, “as we told ourselves in our most coveting drenched moments… and I guess it was because they were his” the voice again stressed, “and not ours…. I can’t remember any other reason besides maybe the sense of possibility that was always around him.”

“He was a freaking slob!” said the slurred voice from beyond the conversation… “I went in there once… when I borrowed some rose oil…. And he had just done his laundry… he left it in a pile on the foot of his bed…. Freaking slob…the journals he had on his headboard were boring, too….”

“I had a friend look him up once… on the internet” chimed one of the more quiet tones with a bit of excitement falling from the lips as if just behind the words, “he looked him up on one of those people search things once…. And he said it was some pretty cool stuff… but he didn’t print it… and then when he looked it up again, it wasn’t even there…. Kind of creepy…he never said anything else about it…”

“Yeah.. potentials.. possibilities” another of the softer voices rang through, mixed with the sound of lazy high heels on hard wood moving toward something definitely. “Like he didn’t even know the air about himself…like being normal was his gig…”

“I freaking hated that question!” Again spewed the grumble from elsewhere in the abode… “do you guys know how many chicks wanted to say he was married to them? Fuckin’ asshole…” the voice continued now noticeably roused…

“We might have a guess” replied a more feminine voice with the suggestion of anonymity in her voice… “but if you guys only knew how many wanted to say he was a dad… if you know what I mean” continued the teasing string of words as the issuer of them reached again for more wine while glancing toward the destination having been reached of the clacking heels near the hearth.

“Funny you guys actually borrowed things from him….” The voice said as the clacking stopped and the faint scraping sound, nearly as profound in the blanket of silence as it was pronounced in consequence briefly punctuated the statement. “I got this for seventy five cents” the voice continued as the patron displayed an antique vase just plucked from the mantle as if it contained tradition itself.

“I thought that looked familiar” said one of the more masculine voices.

“Yep… seventy five cents at a yard sale… one of his former roomies was stoned out of his mind and said there might even be a Genie in it… he was so stoned he didn’t even recognize me and kept acting like it was his…..” she continued, “I got it like a week after he just wasn’t around anymore……. I asked the guy what happened to him…. Like I just noticed he wasn’t around anymore.. and the guy was soooo stoned that he actually told me that they tried to frame him.. so he just left. Something about a phony rental contract or something….then he went on about how cleverly disguised the average, everyday appearing Genie vase was….”

“You know…” said the masculine voice in a thought… “he might be right about the Genie thing… there was just something about that guys bedchamber… his stuff and how he arranged it…that vase I remember being on the shelf…and then on the headboard…. It’s like somehow they represent something… his stuff, you know… but not to him…like to other people… like it happens through our own wants and fantasies or something… things we never think about….”

“I remember hearing you guys talk about asking each other what some of the things were when he wasn’t around…. Guys are so stupid” she added with a pause, “you can’t even recognize an average everyday magical Genie vase when you see one…. How dumb do guys get?” the voice chided in the slight echo from a wide rimmed wine glass.

“He really didn’t see them like that, though… which I guess should make our silliness all the more embarrassing…” said the voice with a noticeable blush….”how dumb do guys get?” he then added rhetorically.

“It doesn’t get much dumber than his roomie that day…. all stoned…” continued the voice now gazing upon the vase between somewhere and her comments…”a few minutes after I talked to him about the vase… he then retold me the story…probably suspecting I had known him at that point…. But he changed it up to be that they actually tried to frame him so they could have a really cool yard sale with all his neat stuff…like it was a good idea or something…. Stoned. No question about it” she said as she placed the average, everyday mystical vase back on the fire place mantle and simultaneously joining her closest conversation companion in a deep swill of the beverages in hand. “I totally scored” she then stated looking again at the vase… “seventy five cents.”

“I got it!” said the distant voice now noticeably drawing nearer.

“Speaking of stoned” said the deft yard sale hound.

“I know what it was about his neat stuff…” continued the traveling voice now nearly booming in a slur. “We thought something that they were because of what we thought… what ever it was they really were, which we know….knew.. them to be.. while not knowing what they really were in our decidedly authoritative authority and knowledge…and of course with some help from the slight mental illness which we incurred when thinking about what we thought they were… in thinking them something other than what they were, to begin with…which as we all know, through the wisdom of the cool stoned guy, were really very cleverly disguised articles of personal possession that had an essence of average everyday neato things….”

“I just think he knew how to arrange… now that I think about it…. It made the place interesting just in how he would even pile his laundry…” said the beer swiller next to the lazy heels…. “now that I think about it…. I always hated that question, too…. What kind of guy knows how to decorate a place…”

“He was gay..” said a voice that had been silent until that moment in a drone that made it hard to recognize as a voice.

“No he wasn’t” came an immediate response with a pronounced firmness, “guys just say that about any guy that happens to have a touch…even if they aren’t trying to have a touch... he definitely wasn’t gay… reserved, sure.. gay… ummm…” the feminine voice then seemed to dwell “not a chance in any form of hell...”

“And how do you know” stated the drone…

“I watched” she replied..

“You watched?” the drone again posed in question.

“Not like that, perv…” she again responded with a firmness, “I watched… allot of us did… we even chatted about some things now and then…. Definitely not gay…” she then seemed to stop before adding a finishing note, “but maybe that makes it all the worse that we played so stand offish….. maybe it’s better if we just say he was gay and leave it at that?” came the statement indicating far too much to describe in far too many ways followed immediately with uproarious laughter from others near the hushed exchanged.

“Will you guys stop talking about that guy… he will probably turn up in some magazine somewhere, some day and we will all have to put up with you going on about having known him and listen to that story about the seventy five cents thingy until we all want to die…” touted the booming slur now down the hall way somewhere… “Did I mention how much I hated that question…” came a audible blur seeming to bounce from wall to wall in the tunnel like passage.

“Yes you did… a few times… and no, he probably won’t….” came a slightly louder response as if to reach the ears down the way, which was concurred by several motions and grunt like sounds in the quiet of everything else, “just wasn’t his style… anyone could have told you that…just wasn’t the spotlight kind of guy…..”

“He was a sissy” came the booming voice again…

“No… just reserved” again an immediate response, “reserved, diligent and committed…. Not to mention rather nice in most cases as well.”

“He was a drunk… I got him drunk a few times…” again came the slurred booming voice.

“You’re jealous…everyone gets shnockered…least wise most people without some other hang ups….” Said the drone in a slightly louder drone…”I got drunk with him a few times, too… just to see…”

“See what?” asked one of the more feminine tones still rather quiet to match the whisper of the space.

“See if I could throw him off his game… I guess… see how much he could drink?... I don’t know… just to see.. nothing wrong with that is there?” plied the drone.. “the chicken crossed the road, didn’t he?” he continued as he then glanced toward the lazy heels now leaning against the fireplace and meeting his glance momentarily.

“Yeah, I guess the chicken did cross the road” she said without an ounce of meaning or suggestion which acted to lay heavy on the suggestive elements of it. Then turning her head and slightly stroking the vase in a single motion to move away from it to somewhere else, even the blotto down the hall could hear the whisper becoming air; “I really hated that question, too.”

The

Digital

Stream

A Short Fiction

By

David A. Archer
02/15/1968

09/30/2006

When I woke that morning it was evident beyond any doubt that I was not going to work that day. It was just too beautiful, too incredible of a day to spend locked away in some dungeonsomewhere several stories above the street level.

The “cubicle” was not to fill my life
experience for the duration of this particular day. I was rather glad I had managed to stay out of prison as well, if for no other reason than being able to experience this day beyond description.

It reminded me of some days from my early teens for some reason. Maybe it was the crisp fall breeze that took me back to long days spent in wilderness areas and near rivers and streams?

Maybe it was just the fact that I had managed to remember to turn the timer on to brew coffee in the morning?

Either way, I wasn’t going to work and even more, I knew precisely what it was that I was going to do.

I was grabbing my bate and tackle and heading directly for the digital stream.

I didn’t even care If I caught anything. I might not even bait the hook.

Just the prospect of some quality time in the shade near the stream, was enough to base the decision for being absent of my professional enclosure this day.

I doubt anyone would even notice my absence from the maze of a cubicle configuration in which I seemed to exclusively exist these days. I could probably just send an email to the guy in the cubicle next to mine…. I can’t seem to recall his name at the moment… that says I am in the rest room, and no one would even think twice about it.

“In fact, I might just do that” I thought as I poured the first cup of pre-determined coffee, which really was a success from the night before.

I sent the email and then sat back in an effort to ready myself for the coming day.

It was going to be great, of that I was most sure.

Before I really knew it, there I was next to the object of my most recent thoughts and attention. It looked cool and inviting as I watched it rush by. It was clear and a person could easily see the bottom. I knew then that I probably wasn’t going to even drop in a line for some time. Just sitting there next to it for awhile would be a great start to what would have otherwise been another average, boring day.

I looked down stream about a hundred yards, and noticed that someone was already fishing away having two or three poles already gently bobbing with the pull and current of the stream itself.

“What’s bitin’ today!” I yelled through cupped hands around my otherwise rather reserved mouth.

“The usual…” he yelled back, “mostly one’s and zero’s….but now and then you get a real surprise of some over looked waste from the algorithm itself…something from farther upstream so to speak.”

“Sounds like fun!” I then yelled at my distant companion, “What are they bightin’ on?”

“Do you just want me to fish for you all day… then give you might stringer before you go?” He then replied in a manner which left a subtle confusion as to how serious he was, but was more than effective in conveying what I already knew about just wanting to enjoy the day.

“Alright” I then responded knowing it was to be the close of our conversation, at least for some time, “but don’t forget the side of fries and a medium orange beverage!”

I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t even bother responding as I then found myself considering the task of rigging my line.

“What to bait with, today” I found myself thinking as I began to tie the tiny little number zero hook, much the same way I had always tied other hooks to my fishing line throughout my youth and early adult hood. “Let’s see, here…” I then thought as I began looking around the general vicinity. “That should do it…” I then thought as I moved
toward a large stone near the streams edge and began to gently tip it so as not to let any wash of light frighten my quarry. “Yeah…” I found myself in mild celebration as I looked upon the slowly writhing subject of my present task. “They should like that…”

As I then began to bait the hook I had so carefully fastened to my fishing line with the slight squirm between my finger and thumb… I couldn’t help but feel a small rush of excitement at the coming activity of simply dropping it into the stream.

I know it sounds nerdy… kind of silly actually, but anyone that has ever experienced it knows what I am talking about.

It isn’t just the very plain and boring action of dropping a baited hook into a gurgling and fresh digital stream. It isn’t even the prospect of landing the “big one” so to speak while doing nothing but sitting next to the comforting motion of said stream, under a shade tree and dozing off. It is very much the culmination in a single moment of many things beyond the ease of human description.

It is the success of knowing that I had become much more successful in my chosen endeavor for the day, than I would have been in a hundred days at the office. It is the fact that I was correct in my superstitious suspicion that I was to be rather successful in this choice of direction for the day, when I first saw the “sign” this morning of fresh coffee waiting for me to drink in a coffee pot I had successfully set the night before, to be as such.

At this moment, it symbolized the possibility of any man in the known universe being able to feel what it must be like to be invincible, as it were. A self sufficiency with no boundaries to speak of. To know the pleasure and success of the most successful people populating the lime light, with no risk of radiation poisoning or any other sickness from such types of extended exposure to various forms of ultra-violet frequencies composing the majority of such forms of “light.”

It was definitely a culmination in motion and extended application.

I wouldn’t be surprised if I managed to catch all of the one’s and zero’s, and maybe even a few of those mysterious glitches… on this one hook… this one, now baited and obviously irresistible hook that symbolized so much in this simple moment.

It was even more I then began to realize. It symbolized even a productivity which fewer and fewer in our society to even begin to understand.

“How odd” I thought as I made the realization. I am actually participating in an activity and a plan through my day where I really have no sort of laid plans. But within that is found the most profound possibility and realized productivity.

As I let out the spool on my fishing pole to accommodate the several yards now growing between myself and the stream while I moved toward the shade tree, I happened upon another thought.

“What if I managed to hook one of my co-workers somewhere down stream? If just by accident, as I plopped this hook into the stream and placed myself against this shade tree…. I managed to ride
the current right into one of their cubicles? I know they would bite… the experience and feeling I got when I was baiting, told me that. They would be utterly helpless against the tantalizing allure of all which I knew it to be at that moment.

Should I feel bad if I did? Maybe I should just catch and release just on the off chance that in all of the possible one’s or zero’s which may happen upon my bait… it will be someone I work with?”

As I lay there watching the gentle sway of my pole in the current, I then realized another direction of thought within that previous direction; “If it is someone I work with… I hope it’s that annoying guy from the mail room… he would be fun to catch just knowing how
annoying he is….if not him… then that hot little number in accounting. Man would that be the icing on the cake! Even though she is a bit of a tease… it might make it all the more fun.”

The noon hour neared and I found myself again in jubilation of realizing where it was that I most certainly was not at this moment. I couldn’t help but smile at the simplicity of it all.

I still had a good eight hours of doing absolutely nothing I didn’t want to.

It felt good to know that most of it would be filled with naps and watching the tip of a fishing pole move in a cadence that harmonized precisely, if not exactly with that of the rest of the known universe.

Could I really have been this brilliant in following a hunch… a mystical and pre-ordained sign contained in the small success of a fresh pot of coffee sent to myself all of the way from the night before?

Man, could I set a timer!

THE
MOST BEAUTIFUL
THING


A Short Fiction
By
David A. Archer
02/15/1968



09/21/2006

There is a most beautiful thing. It also happens to be the funniest thing I can recount in my life as well.

It is the most beautiful for obvious reasons, as beauty truly bespeaks itself.
It is the funniest thing for reasons just as obvious though less known to the most. Most definitely, less spoken.

It is said that should a person be able to adorn themselves with this thing, that none other would ever match the beauty perceived of those bearing.. more so wearing this thing of beauty.

It…. and the funniest thing consequently - being that they are obviously related though in a way more related to co-existence - resides at the bottom of a bottle. The bottle itself is similar to no other in make or strength. It can’t be broken.
The beautiful thing itself, is most definitely at the bottom of this bottle and is so small that the naked eye could never see it. Not even with the most advanced of modern assistance.

It is said that the only way even to see it, is to be made to the size of it precisely and then only if that person managed to find it within the bottle… now being there, themselves.

I have heard that this can be rather formidable as per challenge, being that once a person is as small as it is.. and further then finding themselves within the bottle to find it… they then will see that even the bottom of a bottle becomes immense, proving that size is relative to any endeavor.

Sure, it would be easy enough for a person of the average or normal build… to simply retrieve the beautiful object in smashing the bottle and sifting through the remains. But as I stated, the bottle itself cannot be broken, least the beautiful thing be destroyed itself…. Mayhaps even get away, and that would just not do.

The danger in pursuing this beauty for ones own is the evident pitfall of becoming trapped in the bottle as well…. And presumably never to escape.

It is a great risk as anyone can surmise… but as they say; “nothing ventured, nothing gained….” That is of course in regard to those prone to such endeavors as procuring such beauty to claim as their own.

I personally have no want of it which I believe is part of what has allowed my observation of the invisible clamber about, around and pertaining to that hidden and so simply guarded prize.

I don’t think it is meant to be seen as “prize” at all… but if you try telling that to anyone with designs on possessing it, you will surely find other reasoning presented, most times in an impatient manner which connotes the focus and intention pertaining to the “problem” at hand. That “problem” of course being the task of first locating, and then successfully obtaining the object of desire.

This of course through of and after having completed the various (and in most cases innumerable) tasks which such a success does demand.

There are several tactics which I have seen in a rather remote form. Many of which transcending and further commanding the proofs and fact that there must be “something new under the sun” within the endeavor itself. Contradicting even the most proven of ideas pertaining to a finite realm, where in all has been attempted and explored.

The concept of it, itself presents the idea of an apex that humans can hardly imagine to begin with. “It” being the presence of such beauty and further then the tasks and actions which even the notion of it seems always to put into motion.

Maybe that is why it ended up invisible to the human eye, and placed securely at the bottom of an indestructible bottle?

Perhaps such an apex never really existed and is only yet another elaborate creation of the human psyche? Something even to rival the idea of cognitive thought, itself.. though I would contend that cognitive thought rests even beyond the idea of such a beauty in the realm of paradox and eternal concepts.

To think that somehow, within the tendencies toward fiction regarding the idea of cognitive thought, we as a creature have managed to insist that something so elaborate as is our idea of beauty within that fact itself (further being of our own design), could somehow be manifest in one point of focus.. is a rather interesting thought, even if I do think it myself.

That all perceivable beauty is somehow smote, and subsequently then gained into the fold of one point of said perception – being beauty, is a considerable feat. Even for something as incredible as cognitive thought… and even if it does reside imperceptibly, at the bottom of a bottle.

A person might then consider that within all of the efforts throughout the centuries to attain that elusive goal, that such efforts have then mutated into other actions and designs, with a similar facsimile… an emulation as it were, in mind as the prize.

How frightening it would be if, through the centuries of effort, that someone somewhere began the notion of destroying all other perceived beauties which were obtainable… only in the effort to remove all other references other than those which they could possess? This in the attempt to place that which they could, and probably did possess in contention to rival that which none could possess. And within that concerted design, effectively then laying claim to a less than provable assertion… making the said results there-in perceivably as desirable as having gained the impossible prize.

“Less than provable,” that is – if it is you don’t realize that presenting such an assertion is in effect discounting the validity of itself. If for nothing more than knowing that perceived beauty is, as they say, in the eyes of the beholder.

The beholder then, must be pretty small when you think about it in regard to the most beautiful residing in the bottom of a bottle.

Could it be though, that as we exist with such directions… we in effect have created an emulation of paradox itself?

It stands more to reason within the workings of my fiction generator, that such would have to be counted as merely an extension of the existing idea of “paradox.”

I have to say that I am somewhat relieved though in realizing where the most beautiful thing ever, resides.

It isn’t as though I would ever be fool enough to pursue it…especially knowing of the dangers and difficulty presented with even only the bottle problem…but it is a relief all the same to know that there is one less unsolvable problem in existence, that I will have to personally deal with in my own existence.

It’s kind of like knowing that all of the holiday shopping is already done, and it isn’t even Thanksgiving. I simply do not ever have to worry about contending with it.

Kind of nice when you think about it… from my perspective, anyhow.

So there it sits, in the bottom of the bottle somewhere. Presumably moving about of its own will and volition to anywhere it wants to inside that bottle… making it all the more illusive.

Is it enough then, to possess the bottle in which it resides?

Could it be that such would present a validity in some form of success? To possess the container in which it has been said such a wonder does reside without ever having seen it or proof of such an assertion as to the inhabitant?

Could it be that through the very same line of thought which dictates the presence of such beauty in the world somewhere, that it could be in every bottle simultaneously… as a matter of course in fictive transfer and relation? Being that a bottle is a bottle, right? And who is to say that they aren’t really all the same bottle, right?

Perhaps then it is that beauty itself resides within the bottle only as per our perception… but in hard reality, actually resides in a suspended state of existence which then allows for the presence of it in one and all forms of bottles simultaneously and without concern or connection.

Perhaps beauty itself simply wants nothing to do with the human species? Perhaps it is only our narcissism which tells us that it does?

Perhaps it is really only using us through those tendencies to get to something it may see as valuable about or of our existence?

Something as arbitrary as wearing dress socks with holes in them, for instance.

Having found such an affinity through some mix up of information transfer and interpretation between the whining and displeasure a person may show in the discovery of such a hole in their sock, and when it is that beauty itself actually receives the information. Maybe, just because of some reflective consistency between perceived realities, where it is that beauty truly resides in that suspended state then interprets such trivial annoyance as some form of grand pleasure.

As if the subtle discomfort in such a discovery as a hole in your sock, only serves to please even the very idea of beauty itself within its own understanding…thus tempting it further into the use of our sad existences for the pleasure in experiencing what it must surely think is a wonderful sensation. All the while we exist within our simple ignorance of such goals and pleasure… lost in our own quest to find said beauty and claim it as our own in which ever form.

Strange though, to digress just a bit… that anyone would hope to compete with existing beauty in all of its forms. It just doesn’t seem possible to eradicate it.. if such were the ploy. If only through the consideration that a person can hardly ever find a mother’s ugly child…. Let alone do what ever ghastly things would need be done to run them all from existence.

I’ve seen a few. Ugly children, that is. But mostly in my own family photo albums and of course, no where near any bottle where-in I may have suspected beauty to reside.

In fact, when I recall looking at those photo albums, it is evident that a few of us even got left in the ugly puddle a bit too long. But what can be said, it was an inexpensive place for us to play during hot summer days.

I guess there is a price for everything.

Sans Thumbscrews, Please.
Or
You Vill Sign Ze Pay-prz!
Transcripts from a recent disclosure obtained purely through government sanctioned use of telepathic communications devices.

A Short Fiction
By
David A. Archer
02/15/1968


09/07/2006

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Yeah, sure…. why not…."Pin and Taller" did it, the "Ponk Magician" did it, that anonymous magician guy did it, so why shouldn't I?

Allot of people don't know it, even most of those which others might normally call friends. But I have had a long standing correspondence relationship with Wink Martendale…

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((Do you mean the former head of the C.I.A.?))
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….Yes, the former head of the C.I.A….... and up until most recently, we have conversed about a good many things. Many things, which I am now going to divulge in nothing more than the modern and quite accepted mode of trivial vengeance and tantrum throwing based on a slight discrepancy between our personal interests…..

…Now, with all professionalism aside and since it is that such matters are best not dwelt upon, I am simply going to cut right to the chase so to speak…..

~~~~~~~~~~~

• 
  The conspiracy theorists were all wrong pertaining to the Kennedy assassination; There WAS a magic bullet. Up until that point, "they" had been developing it for years and were just looking for a place to use it. To test it out as it were. They since have stopped using it even in warfare as it just presents far too many questions which no one wants to spend time answering. I know it sounds silly... “why didn't they just openly market it as a "Magic Bullet?" You may ask…? Everyone would have purchased it and then used it is the biggest reason... and that just wouldn't sit right with the N.R.A. or the various groups which oppose them. Not to mention, hunting season would just be far too crazy.

• 
  We haven't ever actually been into space. We were just the first country that figured out how to get the best professional baseball pitchers to drink a secret "growing formula" which acts temporarily, so they could throw things there. Particularly cameras and the like.... but if you ask any professional pitcher, they of course will lie in the fear of losing their chance at the baseball hall of fame. I should state that there have been experiments using basketball players and even some quarterbacks, but allot of ego stuff got in the way being that the basketball players always want to "dunk it" and the quarter backs always seem to need a receiver with a definite route to "throw into."
  
• 
  There is actually a Santa Claus, but he is one pissed elf these days, so all of the corporate interest that actually pissed him off, teamed up to kind of keep it all going until either our version of the human species dies out, or the little fat elf gets over it. In fact it is widely known within the more prominent circles of American society, that it is all anyone can do to keep Bush and his corporate influence, from sending a crack squad of Santa catchers to put him into Guantanamo, simply out of spite from some discrepancy in his childhood.
  
• 
  Watergate actually did happen, but it was really only a practical joke played at a cocktail party by a bunch of old frat buddies. It seems that they were all just kind of bored so they drew straws to see who would play what part in one of the best applied versions of creative use of Shakespeare ever to happen. Of course that is, until the activity caught on, and they have all been trying to one up each other since. There really isn't any political atmosphere in the United States, it is just a bunch of old frat buddies and sorority girls playing with old scripts.
  
• 
  There are various secret society organizations related to the encrypted messages a person can find on American forms of currency, but they aren't really used for anything except getting free all day passes at any Disney amusement park... or free promotional materials at any Disney affiliated corporate business. It has been like that since they stopped using it for free pony rides at county fairs... which coincidentally is around the same time that the first Disney Theme Park opened. Some more rural places in the western United States, still manage to get the free pony rides in at the county fair, but they really have to be careful not to upset Disney for obvious reasons.

• 
  The C.I.A. actually DID introduce L.S.D. into the youth culture of the United States, and still use it themselves. It was a political ploy to get Wink Martendale his job... they figured that if he didn't get the job through the discord produced within society - and thusly smearing the credibility of his opponents... then it was a sure thing that he would get the job with everyone involved being high on acid...especially when exposed to his game show during the peak effect of the chemical enhancement.
• 
  J. Edgar Hoover's "Sexual Blackmail"; Yeah, it happened and still does... but contrary to popular belief, it is actually a sort of "club" that people seek to get into, as it has become a prerequisite to participate in order to view all of the other "home style porn" that populates the public political offices.. and word has it, that there is some really freaky stuff…which is one of the areas I contest with my ol’ pal, Wink… Further, it is a "kicker" or a "perk" these days in regard to the "Free All Day Pass" to Disney Theme Parks.
• 
  The Government placing U.F.O. sighters and "believers" on a watch list as risks of subversion; This is very much true as well...but what the government doesn't know is that the conspiracy they fear in subversive measures as inspiration for such a list, is quite true all the same, they just can't seem to admit that it is really little green alien guys that are doing it for fun, instead of the widely believed government propaganda pertaining to some foreign government ploy.

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Since it is that I have already risked much in divulging this information, I really can't see any reason not to expose another conspiracy which is currently being investigated as per the potential social productivity in ramifications and outcome - especially considering the fact that I am doing so completely against my will and under the influence of truth serum… not to mention that garden hose….;

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In order to understand the “Professional Show Dog Groomers Theory” as it has been categorized, you need to realize that everything is controlled by the Duck Fat Users Of America (that is the D.F.U.A ), made up of fry cooks everywhere with help from another organization known as the Desperate Whore Check Mongers (the D.W.C.M).

The conspiracy was developed and was first started during the advent of the welfare system in The United States Of America. It has simply taken this long to reach a point in size to be of influence. They have been responsible for many events throughout history, including but not limited to affirmative action as it is most widely abused in use and placement.

Today, members of the conspiracy are everywhere. They can be identified by being Canadian and thinking they are a funny comedian - even having obtained work in the field. Having grown through recruiting even non-Canadian participants who also seem to think that they are comedians.

They want to drop the toilet seat on The Technorati and imprison resisters in a secret location in or around the Seattle Washington area, using an affiliated group claiming to travel in flight by flapping their arms really fast for a long time.

Obviously, this movement has picked up attributes peripherally of the L.S.D. experiments.
Further it is rumored that prisoners are subject to deafening levels of various television reruns as well as a constant exposure to that "yellow brick road" movie played on the walls of all of the cells. This while being subject to mind blowing doses of said L.S.D. and other hallucinogens.
In order to prepare for this to really take effect on society, it is suggested in the secret agent realms, that we all must begin to slowly lower the toilet seat.

Since the media is controlled by a person known only as Roy G. Biv, we should get our information from a popular coffee outlet instead.

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With that said, and unless you are going to break out the thumbscrews, I believe I will retire from this secret meeting... as long as you are sure that the minutes and notes have been well recorded....

Now, if you would kindly remove the garden hose and direct me back to my cell...

...And, I would appreciate a wake up call at zero 9:30 please... in time for brunch if you don't mind.....

.......Over easy, bacon, wheat toast.
…why do they always burn the toast?

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