Pitchmen. And the female grifters that love them.

                           

A lot of people have expressed surprise that Billy Mays, the Infomercial King of cable TV fame was doing cocaine. Especially to such a long term degree that the coroner ruled that it had contributed to the heart disease that he expired from.

Most people attributed his drug use to his quasi celebrity status as the pre-eminent pitchman for various and sundry products of debatable usefullness and worth. And the attendant stresses of fronting his own reality TV show; "The Pitchmen." 

But I suspect that the origins of his drug usage had less to do with his place in the world as a man in his fifties and more to do with his formative years in the pitchman trenches of higher education. Where glib double speak spieling and hypnotic pitch patter are fine tuned.  

Master your dark arts product pitch skillsets and you can make a sweet living by selling large amounts of whatever you have at the moment to most of the people that are walking by.   Where you might ask does all of this dubious double speak take place?  Why at our nation's state and county fairs.   Graduates of these hustler schools of conning rubes have "I love Robin Marks" tattooed on their souls for all eternity.

Except for the few that make it to the next level of societal sheep shearing, paid programming infomercials, most pitchmen remain minions and gophers of their carny barker bosses. They are the seamy underbelly of any midway's mercantile endeavors.

Most of these people will never be ready for prime time, as their penchants and preferences run several degrees south of being merely pedestrian. Likely due to their  being paid off for services rendered with drugs, fire crackers, switchblades, and sexual favors provided by midget hookers and the bearded lady. 



Errr....Or so I've heard. 

Is my above description of pitchmen in general some what exaggerated?  Of course it is.  Do they not love like we do?

Well...Do they?

If they are cut, do they not bleed? Or just leak some oil based lubricant of a heartless selling machine? If their outrageously marked up commodity price is undercut by another pitchman that dares to be even more unscrupulous than the original purveyor of something or other, won't he nut up, and beat a prostitute senseless, like the ShamWow! pitchman did for not filing her canines down before uhhh,  going down? Apparently.

Their lineage is ancient and just as manic. The loud shrieking, arms flaying rug merchants of the Casbah. That never met a rug they didn't like.
     

 The "cigars, cigarettes, tiparillo" pitch gals in pasties at the Copacabana. That were given a twenty dollar bill for a five cent cigar and told to "keep the change" because "It just seemed right." after Trixie, or Wanda leaned over to light your stogie, and your face was enveloped between her mammalian magnificence long enough to anesthetize your ability to calculate the difference between five cents, and twenty dollars.  

 The Traveling Medicine Show snake oil salesmen of the old west. That rolled into small towns, and bucolic burgs preaching the gospel of Sister Henrietta's health infusing, ailment arresting, healing holy hooch. That was guaranteed to keep you so shit-faced that you thought you were healed long enough for these Prince of Darkness pitchmen to abscond with a good portion of the town folk's money, and one or two of their daughters.

They have gone by many names. Silver tongued devil. Barker. Huckster. Scammer. Liar. Thief. And "That's him sheriff!" Just to name a few.  There is always something of value to sell, that a man can turn a decent profit on. These retail scamps and scallywags avoid products like that as if their life depended on it.  And in the most basic of ways, there life does depend on steering clear of affordable, useful items. That is; Their life as mesmerizing, merchandisers of the blatantly over priced cornucopia of corny, and crappy kitch. That they obviously have imported directly from the junk dimension. Via mainland China.

There is only one legendary pitch man that springs to mind when talk turns round to the question; "Is there a decent paying life, and an honorable reputation after pitching crap for decades to unsuspecting rubes by the use of deceptive claims?  His name was Ed McMahon.  Johnny Carson's signature sidekick for the long run. And like most people I liked and admired Ed during those golden years of his pitchman existence. When there was nothing to sell to the audience or viewers other than that he found everything that Johnny said to be immensely funny.

But sadly, like a dog returning to his own vomit, or a pitchman returning to the seventh hub of pitchman hell, (where damned pitchmen spend an eternity trying to carve tomatoes, and cantaloupes into artistic creations, but instead, they all resemble tortured souls) Ed dove back into the pitch black, metaphorically murky waters of slick, and slimy double speak spieldom.

His di was cast, his fate was sealed, and the wheels on his roller coaster ride to hell were greased when he formed an unholy Trinity alliance with the Dorian Gray cursed poster boy of ageless pitch, Dick Clark,

and the soulless Dark Lord that is computer generated, person specific mailing lists.

Faster than you can say; "Release the hounds of Hell!" Every man, woman, and child in the U.S.A. had several pounds of Publisher's Clearing House mailings proclaiming that; "You may already be a winner!" But you NEVER were!

No one that I ever knew ever won even the cheesy chaise lounge crap that they passed out as consolation prizes. Crap so pathetically cheap in quality that they bought a warehouse full of the stuff at rock bottom prices, after several babies, and elderly people were mangled, and strangled to death when the framework suffered catastrophic collapse at the precise moment that a person's neck was exposed, and ready to be mangled.

Every week. Every month. Every year. For many years, Ed, and Dick's face smiled up at you, from your kitchen, or coffee table. My mother, like millions of other elderly people bought over two thousand dollars worth of magazines a year for over ten years. She never read any of them. No one could convince her that her odds of winning were the same if she never bought a single magazine.

Without really saying so, (like all good pitch men) Ed, and Dick projected exactly the opposite. And mom trusted Ed, and Dick to give her the straight dope.

Ahhh Ed. You knew that there was great damage being done to millions of people that loved you. Trusted you. But you were a pitchman through, and through.  And you broke something in my Mother's heart that never healed. And she wasn't alone Ed. There were millions like her.


Which leads me to believe that you might find it impossible to "pitch one" across the plate when the great umpire in the sky says; "Play ball.  You are gonna have to do a lot better than; "It chops! It blends! It juliennes! It purees! It is a magical little gadget that saves you time, money, and aggravation! Sorry, due to an extremely limited supply, we can only let you order twelve at a time!" 

Much better.

         

• 

Up close and personal!  Wally is the master of snappy repartee.  I found him  to be an interesting, informative, albeit toothy interview.

Wally has made his peace with the rapid growth of SW Florida.  So much so, that you are as likely now to find Wally hanging out pool side, on a Cape Coral lanai with his two legged buddies, as you are to find him prowling the 'Glades with his kith and kin.

   But Wally is much more than just a talking head!  He is the personification of the 
   sometimes uneasy truce between reptile and man.  A truce that has to be maintained when 
   both man and gator are intent upon surviving in the same small corner of paradise.
      

Gotcha!  Wally is quite the practical joker.  He loves to sneak up on his friends and catch them by surprise!  In this photo, Wally is regaling me with his "take" on the ear biting incident that occurred in the Holyfield, Tyson face off.  Then,  just as suddenly,  going into Marc Anthony's soliloquy in Shakespeare's; Julius Caesar. "Friend's!  Romans!  Countrymen!   Lend me your ears!"

     "I love the smell of sun-screen in the morning!" Wally jokes.  Always looking for ways to make
     his friends laugh.  Even if the laughter is of the nervous variety.

On a more serious note;  Wally categorically denies that Jeb Bush, the former Governor of Florida is of the Gator family.

"We only go after what we need to survive." Wally pointed out.

"The only thing that I can think of that Jeb Bush and Gators have in common is that we are both bottom feeders." Wally stated.

"He might be a snapping turtle." Wally opined.     "But if so, he is one that is not indigenous to the area.  He might be one of them transplanted Texas snappers, that grew so big, and mean that his owner's released him into the local environment.  But what's a gator to do?" Lamented Wally.

Wally and Mikey bonding, as only two Florida swamp critters can that have decided not to place each other on the menu.

Turkey that was supposedly pardoned by president Bush ends up at Guantanamo Bay!

 

Tom the turkey being pardoned by president Bush in White House, Rose Garden photo-op.

I have learned from sources too vague and obscure to be viewed as credible by the main stream media that the turkey that was originally picked to be pardoned by president Bush at the annual White House Thanksgiving day ceremony has instead been the victim of a Homeland Security/CIA secret rendition transfer to Guantanamo Bay!

The turkey, who will be here-after referred to as Tom, to hide his true identity, was incorrectly listed as a "person of interest" after his country of origin status was confused with his type of critter status, by members of Bush's crazier than a sh!t house rat, inner circle of apologists, spin doctors, and psych-ops dis-information team members.

Thinking erroneously that Tom was from Turkey, instead of just being one, he was lured to an out of the way location on president Bush's ranch. That is located on the outskirts of Crawford, Texas. Under the illusion of being a part of a photo-op with Bush.

Even though Tom wasn't all that enamored with Bush, or his policies, he agreed to be seen in the president's presence after he was told that this year, for the first time in American history, a sitting U.S. president was going to pardon EVERY turkey that had been born in the U.S. of A.
As soon as Tom was out of the sight of every credible main-stream media source (Fox News had a full crew on hand to aid in the Bush ordered deception) he was tackled, hooded, injected with psychotropic drugs, and Butterball Brand meat moisturizing tenderizers and flavor enhancers.

President Bush chokes Tom into submission!
Then he was plucked, and trucked to a nearby military base and placed on a military transport plane destined for Guantanamo. He was listed on the cargo's manifest as processed meat by-product. A description that was prophetic of the fate that was awaiting poor Tom shortly after his arrival at Guantanamo.

I will spare you the full rundown as relates to the many different interrogation techniques that Tom was subjected to. But Tom's hellish end was finally achieved somewhere between the start and finish of 8 hours of high voltage, non-stop electro-shock.

The monsters that subjected Tom to such despicable indignities wouldn't desist until every last shred of his succulent, tender, and extremely flavorful meat had dropped off the bones of his cruelly treated carcass.

The last known picture of Tom.

I believe this to be the most foul end that any fowl has ever suffered.

I doubt if the full story of Tom's last few hours on this planet will ever come to light. Mainly because when Tom's tormentors learned that word of his barbaric end had traveled beyond the walls of Guantanamo they immediately ate the evidence.

Oh! The humanity!

NOTE: The moral of my story about Tom the turkey is this;
Never trust one turkey to do right by another.

Story index

 

 

President Bush member of the "Illuminutty." (part ... 1

 

President Bush declares: "I'm on a mission from Go...

 

President Bush is a member of the illuminutty (par...

 

What's in a username? 

 

Mikey interviews local SW Florida wag, Wally Gator...

 

Breaking news! President Bush is a member of the I...

 

Fuzzy Bunny Slippers!

 

Repairs to my groove. - AND - I was a groovenile d...

 

My short lived conversation with Lusty Duck!

 

I never pick up beer!

 

President Bush is a member of the Illuminutty! (Pa...

 

Trixie the inflatable doll moves uptown!

 

Wink your way to the top!

 

The origin of the Egg McMuffin. (Both of them.)

 

Another one of Mikey's bland and boring roadtrips....

 

Get thee behind me Cupid! Mikey's anti-Valentine'...

 

Mikey pulls a geographic. (From southern Calif. to...

 

Wordwaymike interviews local south Florida wag; Wa...

 

Dueling maestros! An east coast, west coast dust u...

 

Pitchmen, and the female grifters that love them.

 

To dream the impossible dream of becoming the Tidy...

 

Analogy that uses gold as a metaphor for anythi...

 

Loose lips sink ships!

 

The most amazing faux foot!

 

Nigerian riches soon to be mine!

Turkey that was supposedly pardoned by president Bush ends up at Guantanamo Bay!

 

Turkey that was supposedly pardoned by president Bush ends up at Guantanamo Bay!

Tom the turkey being pardoned by president Bush in White House, Rose Garden photo-op.

I have learned from sources too vague and obscure to be viewed as credible by the main stream media that the turkey that was originally picked to be pardoned by president Bush at the annual White House Thanksgiving day ceremony has instead been the victim of a Homeland Security/CIA secret rendition transfer to Guantanamo Bay!

The turkey, who will be here-after referred to as Tom, to hide his true identity, was incorrectly listed as a "person of interest" after his country of origin status was confused with his type of critter status, by members of Bush's crazier than a sh!t house rat, inner circle of apologists, spin doctors, and psych-ops dis-information team members.

Thinking erroneously that Tom was from Turkey, instead of just being one, he was lured to an out of the way location on president Bush's ranch. That is located on the outskirts of Crawford, Texas. Under the illusion of being a part of a photo-op with Bush.

Even though Tom wasn't all that enamored with Bush, or his policies, he agreed to be seen in the president's presence after he was told that this year, for the first time in American history, a sitting U.S. president was going to pardon EVERY turkey that had been born in the U.S. of A.
As soon as Tom was out of the sight of every credible main-stream media source (Fox News had a full crew on hand to aid in the Bush ordered deception) he was tackled, hooded, injected with psychotropic drugs, and Butterball Brand meat moisturizing tenderizers and flavor enhancers.

President Bush chokes Tom into submission!
Then he was plucked, and trucked to a nearby military base and placed on a military transport plane destined for Guantanamo. He was listed on the cargo's manifest as processed meat by-product. A description that was prophetic of the fate that was awaiting poor Tom shortly after his arrival at Guantanamo.

 

I will spare you the full rundown as relates to the many different interrogation techniques that Tom was subjected to. But Tom's hellish end was finally achieved somewhere between the start and finish of 8 hours of high voltage, non-stop electro-shock.

The monsters that subjected Tom to such despicable indignities wouldn't desist until every last shred of his succulent, tender, and extremely flavorful meat had dropped off the bones of his cruelly treated carcass.

 

The last known picture of Tom.

 

I believe this to be the most foul end that any fowl has ever suffered.

I doubt if the full story of Tom's last few hours on this planet will ever come to light. Mainly because when Tom's tormentors learned that word of his barbaric end had traveled beyond the walls of Guantanamo they immediately ate the evidence.

Oh! The humanity!

NOTE: The moral of my story about Tom the turkey is this;
Never trust one turkey to do right by another.

President Bush member of the "Illuminutty." (part 2)

This is wordwaymike

Reprorter/Janitor U.S. News and World Retorts

Breaking news!

This is part two of my searing, and quite possibly true interpretation of a bunch of random numbered encrypted White House e-mails. E-mails that this reporter/janitor obtained in the bizzare fashion that I outlined in my first post; "President Bush is a member of a secret cabal. The Illuminutty."

Over the last two weeks this reporter/janitor has been working feverishly to ascertain just exactly where my son Cronk (short for Cronkite) has stashed the latest batch of these deciphered e-mails.

Which were the back and forth, almost daily correspondence of senior White House personnel. Who along with a much younger Bush, had also recieved their graduate and post graduate training in the field of; New World Order-Maniacal Mayhem, at Torquemada University.

Where" Men are men. And sheep are dirty rotten lying little tramps. And therefore have no rights to counsel, or access to the courts under Habeus Corpus protections.

Initially, I was hoping that my son had deciphered more of the encrypted e-mails, that would have shed light on the fascinating doings of one particular Illuminutty member, Condoleeza Rice.

But now I fear greatly that this is exactly what has wrought this strange transformation in my son's behavior.

Condoleeza Rice. The U.S. Secratary of State, for the Bush Administration. Known by fellow Illuminutty members as the; Illumi-Hottie!; Illumi-Naughty! Butter-Milked-Biscuit. Spungetta. And; Countess-Chocula. Just to name a few.

But, if my son has run accross these specific e-mails as of this date, and has already managed to glean from them more information about the one member of this "crazier than a shit house rat" cabal that seems to be the; "Power behind the Bone," I mean; "Throne" of the Illuminutty.

He has grown as diabollicly crafty at keeping things hidden that he doesn't want to share with his dear old Dad, I mean, share with the world, as the black-hearted individuals who have sold their souls, or at the very least, have leased their souls to Demons from the seventh Hub of Hell, for 99 eons. (With an option to re-lease for 99 more.)

I am almost positive that he has uncovered more information on Ms. Rice as it has become almost impossible to get that little horn-dog out of the bathroom!

I fear that he has fully decoded Countess Chocula's, I mean, Condoleeza Rice's dissertation on; "World Domination Achieved." Which, if you remember was titled;

"With just my one set of firm, female hips,I could have 10,000 ships,launched, and raunched. All the way to World Domination!Queen Bee style!"

What has brought me to the belief that this is so is that every moment that Cronk isn't; "Busy as a Bee" in the bathroom, he is locked in his room, with both his PlayStation 3 running, and his computer downloading information from the internet.

During his last "sabbatical" to the bathroom, I was able to "jimmy" the lock on my sons bedroom door, and I noticed that all of his internet informational print-outs dealt with the "Hive structure" intricacies of the Africanized/Americanized "Natural Born Killer Bees."

I fear that the allure of getting some "strange" that is so far beyond the pale of what that school-boy, soldier, sailor, candal-stick maker, euphemism use to imply, coupled with the raging hormonal imbalances that all boys that age are subject to, has created, fantasies, and appetites that no National Geographic photo spread of young nubile indigenous ladies will ever be able to compete with!

But I digress!

While in my son's room, I did run accross several deciphered White House e-mails that would suggest that President Bush, mentally speaking, is one of the dimmer bulbs in his father's; "Thousand points of light."

It appears that several e-mails, from Nigerian Internet scammers have made their way pass the presidential security measures that one would assume, and hoped, would have been in place.

Stranger still, it would seem that President Bush BELIEVES that these blatantly unambiguous fantasy offers of "abandoned account" riches are not the work of illiterate, larcenous, Nigerian hooligans.

It is evident from reading the excited e-mail that Bush sent to Vice-President, Dick "let's go hunting" Cheney, soon after recieving these scam e-mails, that President Bush is convinced that these "offers" are rock solid, true.

Below, is the Bush/Cheney e-mail that can leave no one, after reading it, with any other conclusion other than President Bush is indeed; "crazier than a shit-house rat."
wordwaymike
********************************
FROM: The Decider in Chief
TO: The Vice-Decider

Hey there you old Dick!

I couldn't wait till I see you this weekend at the "Chili Willie Texas Cook-off/Shoot-out" that Laura and myself are throwing at the ranch in Crawford. The soirree will be MC'd by that old reprobate friend of mine Shabby Hayes.

As you know, he is the illegitimate son of Gabby Hayes. Don't you believe those spurious rumors that he is really the illicit offspring of Box-Car Willie, and a catamount. That there catamount was Gabby's private little slice of "wild tail." As anyone who follows the geneology of such things would be able to ascertain just by noting the similarities in Gabby's, Shabby's, and Mama Cat's chin whiskers.

I know that I can count on you to be there. I bet that both your your chili, and your six guns will be blazing hot! You old son of a who...

But I almost forgot why I am doing the old "hunt and peck" at ya in the first place!

In the last two weeks I have recieved five internet offers. Each one was from an individual that desired to make me the recipient of a bodaciously huge sum of cash. Three of these offers were from various Nigerian bank employees. Men with larceny in their hearts. Who were looking for the same among folks in the good old USA.

Them fellas sure enough found the right tree to go barking up.

Starting with; Dr. Ramadan Abdu. Who is, or was until recently, (I'll get to that part in a minute) the; "bill and exchange manager" of the; "African Development Bank."

Dr. Ramadan Abdu is; "Trusting to hear from you. (me) immediately." As he has "found" a 30 million dollar account that was abandoned! All of which is in good old American, greenback, legal tender denominations!

Dick, it gets better! This truck-load of cash was just laying around somewhere in, or near the bank's; "bill and exchange" department. A pile of dead presidents that was just begging to be given to some stranger. For a mere 40 percent of the "out of coutry" take. (He sounded pretty damn desperate, so I'm thinking that I can wear him down until he agrees to 25 percent.)

I was still chewing the fat off of this here tasty offer when I get another e-mail offer from the Nigerian B of A!

No, it wasn't the "Bank of America," which was what I thought it was at first, but the; "Bank of Africa!" Which to my way of thinking, (and I'll do my best someday to try and explain to you exactly how that process works) is a lot better than just "The Bank of Nigeria."

I mean, for Chrise sakes Dick, this is the Bank for the whole damn African continent!

Mr. George Williams, the; "bill and exchange manager" of; "B of A" had located another COMPLETELY DIFFERENT ACCOUNT! containing the; "abandoned sum of 30 million U.S. dollars" that he wants to hook me up with!

Now my mind is chewing on two huge meaty, fatty, tasty, greasy, gobs of some kind of; "African roadkill surprise." And two of such is a feast for any man's mind to masticate his way through.

When; KA-BOOM! The Hat Trick; "Mother of all internet offers of outrageous finacial fortunes, that are yours for the taking," arrives in my inbox. A Mr. Ellis Lee, who also works at the African Development Bank. And is also the; "bill and exchange manager" there, had an; "offer" for me.

Which made me wonder if Dr. Ramadan Abdu was caught doing the "Nigerian two step" with the 30 million dollar account that he was going to send my way. Leaving an opening in the; "bill and exchange department," that Mr. Lee had the good fortune to be assigned to.

I use the term; "good fortune" because Mr.Lee no sooner has the job, title, and access to the banks; "letters of account" and WHAMO! He roots out another 11 million dollar abandoned account!

Like one of those truffle sniffing porkers from France that ferrets out those tasty fungi!

Obviously, Mr. Lee was plugged into the same mysterious; "mumbo jumbo, chili gumbo, whodoo, voodoo, hey you, who gnu?" energies that seem to be highly concentrated in, or around the; "bill and exchange" departments of Nigerian banking institutions.

The cosmic synergies that are a mystery, wrapped in an enigma, and covered with a spicy chipolte sauce, once again conjured up my name as the person that all these millions sitting in abandoned Nigerian bank accounts should be sent to.

Can it any longer be denied, (with a straight face) that; "God has my back?"

I must be sucking all the luck out of the known universe for two complete strangers, that are both from Nigeria, who have both; "located; run accross; discovered; and or; became aware of" two entirely different abandoned accounts that had 30 million in US buckaroos in them.

And then have another Nigerian in the know, toss towards my mind's already full hands and mouth, another 11 million dollar gob of meaty, chewy, greasy, fatty, rib of roadkill. Right off the grill.

That's 71 million Dick!  The Trifecta of internet offers of robber baron type wealth! I can finally get that 21 foot long, fiberglass bass boat! (And an extra set of oars!)

What are the odds! Never mind. I don't want to cheapen the magic of this moment with sound mathmatics, or basic applications of logic and reason!

Even more amazing, all three of these fine upstanding, hardworking bank employees with larceny coursing through their veins, have picked me to be the recipient of their grossly mispelled offer!

Choosing me, I am sure in some cosmic coniption fit connection, a la; "bury the chicken bone, kismet, whodoo, juju, coo coo ca choo Mrs. Robinson" mannner that us; "Westerners" will never understand.

It's one of those beautiful, inscrutable, immuteable, lootable, not suitable for children, or anyone else who isn't suffering from the last stages of alzheimers type offers.

One of those cosmic mysteries that occassionaly work there way up under the skin of a person's reality.

Usually to lay their innumerable in number eggs. That in a few short weeks will hatch into a hellish legion of voraciously hungry something or others. That will then perform upon your body the insectile equivalant of Shermans; "scorch and burn" march on Atlanta. Which if you remember, was during the; "Civil," but none the less, quite deadly; "War."

But not this time! No way Jose!

I figure that at least one, and possibly two of these offers have the potential of an exponential to the tenth power payout. But as you can see, with both of my mental hands, as well as my mind's mouth, full to the choking point with; "Fresh from the grill, Nigerian Roadkill Riches" I'm in need of a little help.

I could use your finely honed, and razor sharp analytical bonafides as concerns this matter. To help me navigate the byzantine intricacies of counter-scamming a Nigerian internet scammer.

Not that I think that this is a real possibility, in these three particular instances. But I didn't fall off of a turnip truck. Let alone last night.

It was a rutabaga truck. And that was years ago.

Get back to me on this one Dick. I think we've finally latched onto a real live opiated pipe dream!

I will tell you later about the two; "notifications" that I recieved from the; "Irish Sweepstakes" - Claims Department.

You won't believe how much I have won!

George "double dog dare u" Bush.

Oval Orfice.

1600 Pennsylvania Ave.

***************************************
Next week:

Part three of my expose of White House/Illuminutty shennannigans.

President Bush's late night, highly erotic e-mail to a mystery person with the user name of; "Fuzzy Bunny Slippers!"

Which I have code-named; "Excitable Boy."

As always, this report was filed from the synaptic "No fly zone" of wordwaymike.

This is wordwaymike. Signing off!

President Bush declares: "I'm on a mission from God!"

     
President Bush is laying the groundwork for an American Theocracy.

(The groundwork pieces are from a giant Lego set his Daddy bought him for Christmas)

Good Morning Mr and Mrs. America and your parents too old, and your children too young to be sent to Iraq; "It´s showtime!"

This is wordwaymike. Reporter/janitor for U.S. News and World Retorts.

Where the News is scarier than fiction! Guaranteed!

I have taken a break from my deciphering of the secret White House e-mails that have revealed President Bush´s membership in, "The Illuminutty."

To bring you the latest, up to the nano-second news on this crazier than a shit-house rat" Commander in Chief of the good ole U.S.A.

A president who continues to torch all of the; Excuse me, trash all of the ru...: Sorry; Re-write all the rules that former presidents, and other world leaders that haven´t been charged with "crimes against humanity" have long adhered to.

I am reporting to you from the White House Rose Garden this morning. And I can tell you right now that you haven´t seen a Fatwa issued, till you´ve seen one decreed by the President of the United States from the Rose Garden!

Wearing his; "Jihadi Jodphurs" President Bush announced yesterday that he was tired of all of these, half-ass Middle-eastern Holy Wars, and had decided that the U.S.´s efforts in Iraq, and Afghanistan would be officially classified as; "U.S. sanctioned Holy Wars" from now on.

With "Look-a-like" Blues Brother´s Jake and Elwood impersonators standing behind him, softly singing; "I´m a soul man" Bush elaborated, by stealing a line from the cult classic movie; "The Blues Brothers" and proclaiming: "I´m on a mission from God!"
As of the filing of this story, God could not be reached to confirm, or deny these allegations.
*******************
But having been on several Missions from God before, and currently being on another, this reporter/janitor suspects that President Bush is on an "errand" for one of the pseudo God´s/Greater Demons.

 (See: Illuminutty; Torquemada, Molech)
If not in fact, just making the whole thing up.

By the use of pseudo, I mean to convey my belief (and belief is a powerful thing!) that this message didn´t really originate from the cosmic temporal frontal lobe of God at all. Nor from his mystical Medulla Oblangata either.

What first tipped me off to this most probably being a forged God/Mission blank check type thing that Bush was attempting to pass off as a legitimate, "Universal Bank of God", line of credit at the; "WE THE PEOPLE" Quickee Mart, was the fact that "Repent" and "Woe be unto you" were not evident in any of the "allegedly" God generated communiques that President Bush kept alluding to, but never actually produced.

It has been this reporter/janitor´s experience, and the experience of the few other peoples that I have met that were on a legitimate bonafide; "Get your happy ass out there and deliver my;
Pronouncement/message/warning/admonition/promise/threat/covenant etc."

That all; "On a Mission from God" individuals that I have heard about, or had occasion to meet, have acknowledged were always the two "meat and potato" aspects of any "Mission from God" decree that originated from his celestial "So Unbelievably Much More Whiter House than yours."
Since the beginning of time.

Without at least one, and by most accounts, both of these God/message quantifiers being present, the chances of this President Bush actually being a Representative of the Almighty are almighty damn (Sorry Lord!) slim.

Also, when ever I have been sent to; "spread the Word/Lay down the Law/Cut to the chase/" so to speak, I am always instructed to do so in a face to face, straightforward manner.

Delivering an American, Holy War Fatwa to the Iraqi and Afghani jihadists from the safety of the White House Rose Garden is just not the kind of "Balls Up" move by an actual Godly emissary that we Christians/Infidels (depending upon your upbringing) have come to expect.

Besides which, The lone emissary of God walking down Main St. of a hostile city; In a hostile Nation; Backed up only by the unseen Hand and Celestial arsenal of God. Just flat out adds a lot more power and impact to the; "Hey suckah! God is talking to YOU!" message.

President Bush was surrounded by a triple phalanx of secret service agents, Delta Force Commandos, and a whole Battallion of White House junior, and mid-level minions, and gophers. Who only half-jokingly referred to themselves as; "cannon fodder" as Bush was, to kick off his: "I´m on a Mission From God!" photo-op.

But despite the festive atmosphere evident, the reporter/janitor fears that such "level nine freaky shit" security measures can only be viewed by the actual "hope to die" jihaddi´s as a; "Limp wristed, Wolf-ticket Selling" attempt to portray American foreign policy as being in line with that whole "Manifest Destiny" con we pulled on the Indians way back when.

It is entirely lacking in the whole; "Daniel in the Lions Den" factor that just adds so much Oomph! to the whole "God´s messenger" pronouncement thing. And no one knows more about; "staying on message" than God!

And while at times, (OK almost without exception) the message from God might not be what the person receiving it may want to hear. This reporter/janitor was always admonished to relay the message, in person, and then split.

In each and every instance, I was also reminded to; stay out of the actual matter at hand. By which I mean, not to throw my two cents into the matter.

It was made abundantly clear to me that I was to refrain from; "Piling on."  As in; "Yeah! What God said!"

Just like Michael, "The" Arch-Angel was admonished several times to remember when he went to collect Moses´ bones, one step ahead of the Devil;

"Do not allow yourself to be drawn into the matter. No matter what the Devil might say to provoke you into doing so."
Ordering Michael to respond to every cheesey weasal, little Satanic remark with; "May the Lord Rebuke You

This was probably because Michael, while being right on up there, with God/Jesus/ and those other really cool folks, was still no match for that Trickster A.K.A "The Devil."

So God´s admonition was along the lines of;

"Don´t let your Alligator mouth overload your Hummingbird ass!"

And if God is sending you as his agent, to deliver a;
"Mano y Godo/Godo y Mano" type mystical memo to someone;
I would caution against your "commiserating with the receiver of said Holy ass-chewing (Sorry Lord)

I mean, why go looking for trouble?

Anyway...

That´s the news, or what passes for it these days, from here. I must be getting back to my Holy, and totally ordained by the; "Mighty (and not to be messed with) Mystical hand of God" work that he has set as my most recent task. Which is to do battle with an entire southern Calif. County´s worth of Demons and Imps, from the Seventh Hub of Hell.
That have taken over the entire;

Ventura County Superior Court
Ventura County Sheriffs Dept.
Ventura County District Attorneys Office
The Oxnard Police Dept.
Ventura County Animal Control
Ventura County Board of Supervisors
and;  The local press. Just to name a few. (No really! This is just a sampling)
I am in the process of delivering my second; "On a Mission of God" pronouncement.

  And therefore, God, through me, has moved beyond the; "Repent! Repent!" Stage of the deal.

We have entered into the "Woe be unto you!/Great weeping and gnashing of teeth/The Lord will surely smite you!" level of Godly displeasure.

Several thousand sin-soaked Demons and Imps have taken over the blasphemous souls and bodies of the men and women here in Ventura County Calif., that hold positions of power and authority over those that live here.

All of these oath forsaken, Truth hating, former servants of the Law, Truth and Love, have drank from Lie´s fetid cup, and sworn allegiance to the Father of Lies, who sits upon Lies Throne!
And each and every one of them has leveled their hate and murderous intent upon this lone, humble, servant of the Lord.

God! I love my job!

This is wordwaymike, Signing off!

President Bush is a member of the illuminutty (part one)

Breaking News:


wordwaymike"Battle-field commissioned promotion" Reporter/janitor


U.S. News & World Retort.


"Where the news isn't "always" wrong! It just seems like it is!


Reporting from: Shhhh!


Damning evidence!


In the form of deciphered, White House e-mails.


That had been "double-dipped, and pussy-whipped encrypted."


Secret White House e-mails that were so completely, and utterly encrypted, that no one, ever, in a million friggin years would be able to break the code, were decoded this week.


Revealing that President Bush, and his closest aides, are members of an ancient, "crazier than a shit-house rat" secret society called; "The Illuminutty."


Laugh if you want! This reporter/janitor did.


Until I remembered that this was the name of an ancient, dark force cabal of maniacal power crazed cheesy weasels. And nutty or not, these boys are rolling world-wide, like west-side Crips, in their 18 carat, gold plated, drop-top Cadillac.


Out for a night of; "Drive bying, and Bitch slapping."But they're driving by the Constitution. And shooting it full of holes!


And that ain't no bitch these boys are slapping. That's Lady Liberty!
*******************
WHO ARE THE ILLUMINUTTY?
*******************
Until this week, very little was known about the Illuminutty. The origins of which were shrouded in the mists of time. And the murkiness of long ago. And the depths of the deepest oceans.


Where those with knowledge of this secret society, with big mouths, were given a concrete shoe party.


As time went by, less and less was known. Until nothing at all was known.Until now that is!
*****************
HOW THE STORY "CAME TO LIGHT.
"****************
The White House's private inter-departmental e-mails have been protected since shortly after President Bush stole the electio... I mean, won the election.


Protected by a six-hundred and sixty-six number, "level nine freaky shit" encrypted algorithm. It was originally called; "The Best." But was nicknamed "The Beast" due to a "typo" that added an "a" after the "e" in Best.


And also because it sounded way cooler, and had that whole; "-666-The Beast-Armegeddon-and-Devil went down to Georgia." shit going for it.


It had long been considered to be un-decodable. Even if you could harness the combined computing power of every super computer existant upon the planet.


This undisputable truth, that was in fact false, had been confirmed by every self proclaimed authority on vague, and obtuse subjects, that didn't know jack.


That is until Elmer Shizzit, a computer geek idiot/savant, intuitively incorporated the "core values" of the algorithm into his cheater codes extrapolations for PlayStation 3.


The actual encrypted "Illuminutty e-mails" were supplied by disgruntled White House, "Jr. executive, minions and gophers." Who were unhappy at the ever decreasing opportunities to ramp up the hate, discontent and misery here in the US and around the world.


Due to the fact that everyone, everywhere was already ramped up to 100 percent.
********************************
HOW DID THE ENCRYPTED; WHITE HOUSE GENERATED; ILLUMINUTTY E-MAILS, AND MR. SHIZZITS P.S.-3 CHEATER CODES COME TOGETHER?
*******************************
After a drunken, pity party last month, two Jr. executive White House minions, and one mid-level gopher took a detour that sent a Dipsy-Dumpster filled with Illuminutty encrypted e-mails through the ground floor, plate glass window of; "U.S News and World Retorts."


A Dippsy Dumptster that was bound for a jet-fuel soaked, wienie roast type ending, at some undisclosed location.


But instead, this Dippsy Dumpster, and the logging chain that was attached to it, and the Ford F-150 pick-up truck bumper that was attached to the other end of the chain, but had detached itself from the truck, when the kinetic energy build-up upon the sparsely bolted bumper, (caused by taking a right turn too fast) resulted in;


A FREAKIN' DIPPSY DUMPSTER OF DEATH BULLDOZING ITS WAY THROUGH THE PLATE GLASS WINDOW OF MY WORK PLACE!


And squishing the life out of the only two reporters with seniority over me.(There is a God. And apparently he didn't care much for these two News Nazis either!)


Then a week ago, one of the reporter/janitors at U.S.N.&W.R.'s took some of the encrypted e-mails home by accident. (I was tired!) His/(my) 12 year old son, Cronk, (short for Cronkite) a week earlier, had payed $20.00's for Elmer Shizzit's PlayStation 3 cheater codes.


Then after burning onto a CD several of the strange numbered texts, he popped this CD into his Play Station 3. Then he ran Mr. Shizzit's cheater codes. Looking on in wonder as the numbers were transmuted into undeniable proof of that old maxim;


Shit does run down hill.


But my son learned another terrible truth that day. And that was;


The shit was picking up speed!
*************************
WHAT THIS REPORTER HAS LEARNED SO FAR;
(Plus; A whole bunch of crap that I'm just guessin' at.)
*************************
That George W. Bush the second, is believed by the Head-Honchos of the Illuminutty, to be the reincarnated spirit of King George the 3rd. Seeing as how this would be the "second coming" of the 3rd King George. This would make President Bush, by this reporter's mathematical Kentucky wind-age guesstimate; And I'll have you know that I studied "numbers" at the Jethro Bodine correspondence school of ciphers and aughts; to be; "Mad King George squared!"


It gets worse. I have learned that George W. (squared) and all of the executive level minions that serve him, (including that hot looking ebony skinned Dragon Lady, who to this day is referred to by her fellow Illuminuttys as;


"Rice cake", "The Illumi-hottie!" and "Conda-easy") are all graduates of the Illuminutty's secret society educational system.


Receiving their graduate and post-graduate training in the fields of;"New World Order-Maniacal Mayhem."At the; "It would have been Infamous, if we would have known anything at all about it." secret society's school for the diabolicaly gifted;"Torquemada University."


Every damn one of them majored inhumanities. (Not a typo!)


As their minor, they all took "Plausible deniability."
*********************************
Named after the first "Grand Inquisitor" of the Spanish Inquisition."Tomás de Torquemada" (1420 - September 16, 1498)
*********************************
Torque U. As the alumni affectionately call it.


Where; "Men are men."And sheep are; "Dirty rotten lying little tramps.


"Illuminutty e-mails that originated from White House computers, revealed comments e-mailed between two high ranking White House officials that for the first time shed light on the daily activities of their shared studies at Torque U.


So far, the small portion of this huge dumpster trove of encrypted White Housee-mails that have been deciphered, reveals these two former alumni reminiscing with each other about their college days.


Mostly recalling fondly the times that each had spent with fellow alumni Condoleeza Rice.


Who in a series of back and forth e-mails, that have a palpable air of bawdy frat-brat braggidocio insinuation attached to each, is referred to by the use of many affectionately suggestive nick names by each.


Such as;
Illumi-Hottie!-
Illumi-Naughty!-
Rice cake-
Rice puddin'-
Condo-Easy!-
Condo-Sleazy!-
Condo-Squeeze-Me!
Condo-Please-Me!-
Butter-Milked-Biscuit!-
Spun-Getta!-
and-Countess-Chocula!


There were many other descriptive terms of affection, desire,sexual prowess/appetites, and (I'll just stop right here) that were used between these two former school mates of Ms. Rice.


Revealing to this reporter just how unbelievably powerful, to this day, was the grip that this woman had on these men!


And if these high ranking White House appointees are to be believed, this same almost super natural grip of Ms. Rice's also had a lock on every other high ranking Illuminutty's "Heart, Soul, Pole, and Hidey-Hole" as well!


But I digress. And will do so again. As soon as my son deciphers more explicit details of Ms. Rice's "extra-curricular activities" at Torque U. (And I can either convince him to hand them over. Or figure out where that little horn dog has rat-holed them!)


Until then: Back to the "strange doings" at Torque U. when President Bush was enrolled there.
***************
I gathered from these men's e-mails that they both very strongly felt that the straining melody of the schools fighting anthem; "Recant! Recant! Or we will destroy you!" Was in their own words; "A Black Arts; "tonal incantation."


That each time that it was sung loudly, and in unison with every other person's voice who was in attendence, a portal was opened between this world, and...


Let's just say that there is no basement deep enough;


Or, elevator with a cable long enough;


Or, "Old Faithful gag a maggot sulphur stench spewing pit anywhere that you can "google" a look at;


That could raise to the surface of Torque U.'s main auditorium floor the stench infused things that these here "lost souls" and former eyewitness alumni did there best to describe, but never quite could.


But both men aknowledged that each time that they rose to their feet, to add their voices to those in the school's choir, their blood became as cold as the ice water it would be impossible for either one of them to obtain in the "here-after."


Going on to reveal that the A Capella choir was made up of children that didn't so much; "fall through the cracks" of President Bush's; "No child left behind" program, as much as they were "pushed" through them.


The ones with fine natural singing voices were then neutered, and have no trouble hitting the high notes found in Recant! Recant! Which was originally written to be sung in "castrato."


Even the Pope has said that the church hasn't had a choir like that since the 1920's.


The slither and hiss of this many headed beast is enough to give this reporter "Hydra-phoby."(sorry)
**********************
This reporter/janitor needs a break from the 'darkness, dimmness, murkiness, bleakness, freakness, and what not, of such things for a few moments.I just "hammered back" two double shots of Holy Water. Freshly blessed by a priest.


Because I don't want to find out that the Holy Water I'm drinking has passed the shelf life of the Holy Blessings while reporting on such things.


They should kick in here anytime now. But just to be sure;"Hey Padre! Set me up with the same again!


No. Wait. Just give me the damn bottle!


Gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp, gulbp. Ahhhhh... UuuurrrpppPP!"


OK. That's better.
******************
Before I dive head first back into the deep end of this olympic sized swimming pool of the damned. Which this story, for me, most certainly is becoming. Let me relate some of the "entertainment tonight" type aspects of this here cosmic cluster fuck, that I have some how managed to promote myself right into the middle of.


File this under, that's within the city limits of interesting in a mind candy, this won't help me at all sort of way...


This reporter learned that this cabalistic crew was the inspiration for the rock band that became known as; "The Beastie Boys" Until now, this was a little known fact. That can't be disproved. No matter how hard you try!
*************************************
WHAT IS THE GOAL OF THE MEMBERS OF THE ILLUMINUTTY?
**************************************
Now we are getting into even "littler known facts" as concerns these walking, talking, hissing, viper venom hawking, leaders of the Free World. Who, I discovered, had an over arching, under handed "final solution" for all of those that are unwilling to; "Get Jiggy with it."


"It" being the world wide bondage of all free men. According to the debatable worth of the data I have so far deciphered, they are 119 people, world-wide, away from their completion of that goal.


Once that phase of the Illuminutty's diabolically demented plan has been realized, they are apparently intent on leading us all in chains, right on out of the Free World. Determined to take us back to the old time religion/world, a la Spanish Inquisition.


By way of an outlandishly long and tortuous Bataan style "march or die!" death walk.


This will also double as "orientation month" for us newbies. Which is defined in their e-mails as being anyone who is still a babe in the; "you my slave" woods, that we are all soon to be lost in.


I have also learned that once they get us back to their secret hell-hole/hide out/home away from home, chill out crib, we will be taught the basics of our new tasks.In a highly intensive crash course orientation referred to as; "You are now, and forever more, our slave!"


Usually referred to by the inner sanctum types of this "crazier than a shit house rat" cabal as; "Slave-101"


This crash course in subjugation and despair is where all of those things, that all who wear chains are going to be taught. And only those that master these lessons quickly will not be hamstrung, or re-classified as; "Gator-bait."


First and for most of all the "Slave protocols" that all will be expected to master quickly is; "Keep the pain racked moaning down to a dull roar after ten o'clock weekdays. And after eleven on the week ends."


Unless of course, your chains are the 18 carat gold, Mr. T sized, down payment on a Maserati style chains.


For this would mean you are one of the "slavers" and not one of the "slavees."


Unless of course, you happen to fall within that sub-set category of slave, that is defined as; "You my Love slave." Where the power heir achy gets extremely murky. And at times, downright opaque.


But pay attention people! If you find yourself in this all too real situation, uhhh, or so I have heard, it could very well necessitate that your actual owner, be chained down to something.


Usually the more demeaning the position that the "chainee/slaver" is forced to adopt by the "chainer/slave" (that's you) prior to the whole chaining thing, the larger your portion of imitation gruel will be, that is added to your dog bowl/slop bucket.


But this information is only to be used as the the operative cues for how to make good your escape from spending the rest of your life as a slave.


Or if escape appears to be too risky, how to make the whole "slave thing" somewhat tolerable.


Remember! Don't try this unless the he, or she, who has bought you at auction (now that would be a Kodak moment!) becomes "enslaved" by their desire for that sexy wretched thing that you have become. After being enslaved.


Once you have them "chained" and submitting to your demands. No matter how bizarre, or ridiculous they might be, you gotta work it like a job!


The freedom of millions could be riding on how convincingly you can shout out;"Who's your Daddy!"


That's all I can say about that, (At this particular moment.) The legion of the damned, or a reasonable facsimile there of, have located my approximate position.


They are attempting to get a vector on me Victor! I have to go.


We stand in the breach of the wall of Liberty! Defending her with the broken bourbon bottles of our restless nature.


So to speak.


This is wordwaymike. Reporting for U.S. News and World Retort.


Next Week; Part two of my Expose' of young college girls, doing "God knows what for a few dolla...


Sorry.I meant; Part two of my searing and "possibly" true interpretation of a bunch of random numbers.


Which none the less, I am declaring to be the "Mother of all smoking guns.


"Read my report next week; "Condoleeza Rice; "The Illumi-naughty! Of the Illuminutty!"


I decode the feverish, frenzied, and fantasticly intuitive tour de force that was/is Condaleeza Rice's dissertation for her PHD in world domination achieved;


That was titled:


"With just my one set of slender, firm, female hips,
I could have 10,000 ships,
launched,
and raunched.
All the way to "World Domination.
Queen Bee style!"


The first and last word on a woman's willingness to break all the sexual barriers, boundaries, and taboos. (Not to mention the; Center for Disease Control; "Level four bio-hazard population zone protections and protocols."


Which in Condoleeza's dissertation, went out the window on page three.


And they are doing other crazier than a shit house rat kind of things too.


That I will have my son decode.And then take from him. And report to you. Mr. and Mrs. America. And all the ships at sea!


As soon as I find out where that little shit is stashing this stuff.


This is wordwaymike,


signing off!