THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Midnight Mutt Serenade

“I love a man in uniform”

—–

It is a few days before Thanksgiving. He’s considering a vacation up north. See a little bit of a foreign country without having to leave the continent. Maybe they’ll even drive and take the dogs. Maybe time it to catch a scifi coffee klatch.

It is late. He is walking the dogs. He turns the corner and sees a stranger walking a young dog. A spaniel of some kind.

It is directly in front of the investigative reporter’s home.

The man is stone-faced. Nothing below his eyes seems to move at all. However, he looks startled from the eyes up. He wasn’t expecting anyone else here, now, this late.

“How old?”

It takes the man a few too many seconds staring at the dog he’s walking to respond. He is perhaps guessing at the answer. He seems to almost be just realizing he’s been walking a dog at all.

He seems like a military man. The haircut. The clothing choices. The overall look.

He finally gives a terse reply.

They part and the Potential Vacationer stops at the deli to talk to the owners. As Stoneface passes by, he stares in surprise again, apparently taken aback at the presence of Syrians.

It will be nearly a month before PV thinks about it again or that it had any relevance to anything else that occurred. The investigative reporter won’t say much when he hears the tale at that time, but his face says it all.

TRUTHOUT Vandalized

Last night. They must have struck a nerve.

THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Shorts I

“You take the biscuit”

—–

He is walking toward the Apple Store with boss and co-worker in December. A man, late 50s, overweight, dressed in traditional Texas or Oklahoma tourist garb is panhandling.

“You wanna feel good? Put it right here!”

Texas is holding a pudgy gloved hand out. He tries not to think too deeply about the double-meaning. The man epitomizes tea bagger, but not in either original meaning.

As the trio walk away having given Texas neither thing he was asking for they hear him shout, “F***ing liberals!”

For once, he doesn’t think the event was aimed mainly at him. It appears the stealth wing of the GOP is running PsyOps as well, on Manhattan itself and just in time for the holidays and—one imagines—a few mere blocks down the street from propaganda HQ: FOX News.

——

It is February, probably late in the month. He is chatting with a couple of inebriated dudes from Connectitcut outside a bar. He isn’t sure why he’s there. He’s been wandering mostly.

A fascist-hippie approaches and says he’s from Alaska. He brings up hunting and mentions he or someone he knew had a hat with tails on it.

“It was a fox and a… a… what’s it called?”

“Wasn’t a coyote, by any f***ing chance?”

“Yea…”

Whatever else he was going to say trails off as eye contact is made. He moves almost immediately inside the bar.

“That’s really f***ing funny, pal…”

Fascist-Hippie is inside by the time the sentence ends.

—–

It is March at a truck stop in New Jersey on the road back after the trial. The diner sits where the waitress suggests, which turns out to be directly next to one of only two other diners in the whole place at this hour.

The six-foot-five truck driver is not sitting there at the time, so Diner’s only clue that the seat next to his is taken is when the waitress sets down a side salad that he did not order.

Diner starts to move (there are twenty or so seats available at this long counter) but is feeling mischievous for some reason so he stays.

Trucker arrives and he manages to suppress a guffaw when he sees just how big and intimidating the guy is.

Apparently Truck Driver is unwilling to show any fear (though Diner can see it in his every move). Truck Driver engages Jock (the third customer) way down the counter but purposely ignores Diner.

He launches into discussions about serial killers, hitmen, and, eventually Vlad Tsepes. He tells Jock about the stakes.

Everyone knows about the goddam stakes.

Diner jumps in describing both the nailing of turbans to heads and the clean removal of all corrupt nobles in a great fire disguised as a party.

Trucker is getting agitated. He’s now going off the rails. He stammers and speaks louder. He is sweating. His hands are shaking.

Do I really look like Ted Bundy?

Trucker finishes and leaves saying goodbye to Jock. He ignores Diner when he says goodnight.

As Diner makes his way to his car, he bumps into Jock in the gift shop.

“What was that about?”

“Man. No idea.”

It was a welcome diversion and a keen reminder that size doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of fear. In fact, maybe the more some a**hole has to lose, the more frightened he is.

Or they are…

Just a Shout Out

…to the ladies in Defense and Top Sectet America for helping to defend Halliburton and other institutions that support rape. You’re a credit to your gender. Best get used to it, that’s the world you’re helping to build.

Filed Under…

…things that make you go “hmm.”

Wired: DARPA’s Synthetic Telepathy Research

The military has been funding a handful of mind-tapping technology recently, and already have monkeys capable of telepathic limb control. Telepathy may also have advantages beyond covert battlefield chatter. Last year, the National Research Council and the Defense Intelligence Agency released a report suggesting that neuroscience might also be useful to “make the enemy obey our commands.”

Wouldn’t be easier to step next door and borrow theirs?

THE BLACK BOOT DIARIES – Invisible Advertising

“Oh, Death, where is thy order of medium fries?”

—–

It is February. Valentine’s Day is approaching. He still thinks he can solve the who, what, why (never mind the how) and somehow save his LTR from the trashbin.

It’s been a longer than usual jog or three. He’s able to go a bit further than before. He has to stop this time due to a downpour of freezing rain, sleet and snow. He waits under an otherwise empty pavilion.

He’s not feeling the cold at all. It’s more about just not getting completely soaked.

A mere half hour or so later, nature and old iPhone making it seem shorter, he’s on his way.

He suddenly gets a craving for cheeseburgers. Not entirely out of the ordinary. He’s been on a healthfood kick for about a month, so it only seems natural his body is craving a little junkfood.

Given the extra effort displayed today, the grey matter grants the meat it’s wish and he heads to hamburger clown HQ up at the far NE corner of the park. He hasn’t been up there before.

He walks in and sitting closest to the door is a middle-aged, a bit overweight Hispanic man. He is drinking from a brown paper sack. He shows the bottle to the jogger and offers a drink.

“Maybe after I eat.”

Drinker laughs, but it isn’t the laugh Jogger expects. It’s subtext is all wrong. It’s more like a mouse has just avoided a cat’s claw, extending some game that the mouse didn’t even realize he was playing.

That Drinker (and his younger unconscious companion) seemed to be waiting for Jogger to appear is something (one of many in recent history) that Jogger dismisses as impossible as best he can with just a small lingering doubt somewhere in the back.

Jogger gets his two cheeseburgers and sits down closest to the registers.

Drinker gets up and joins Jogger after a moment. He mentions the history of the neighborhood, apparently referring to the Maryland militia who fought and died against the Brits in the late 18th.

“You know, we don’t use guns. We use snake venom and other means.”

Jogger swallows a bite.

“Who’s we?”

Drinker laughs again. He provides an address on Church Street, somewhere in the 4,000 block. That Jogger will forget the exact house number later, despite an unusually improved memory of late, will be something Jogger will later regard as no accident.

Drinker’s son appears to be drugged out. Jogger has flashbacks to a beer garden over two decades previous.

These are the real faces of hired killers: drunks, drug addicts, the mentally ill that seem so debilitated it’s hard for the sane to believe these people can kill effectively and get away with it.

It’s not like the movies.

However, Jogger is now picturing a room on Church Street covered in plastic. Is this an offer? Join or die? Or is it die or die?

He finishes his food and bids farewell. He is half a block away before he realizes that even though it is warmer than when he entered the restaurant, he is beginning to shiver. On the subway ride home (something deep down says not to risk walking or jogging home—doesn’t feel right) he will go into shock.

When he manages to come out of it, it will take the better part of a year to understand the brainwashing part.

But it wasn’t all brainwashing. In order to be effective, like hypnosis, there had to be some truth to it. He’d have noticed under “normal” circumstances, no question. He just might have had better control over it.

When the disappointing Valentine’s Dinner rolled around, he wasn’t quite so devastated as he might have been, all things considered.

It would be almost a year before he considered that the cheeseburger desire might not have originated from his own brain after all. The Frey effect had many uses. And there it was in black and white. Odd that he didn’t remember reading it.

Can’t Miss the Comparison

There’s so much 1984ish crap being spouted by the GOP you’d have to be on drugs not to notice it.

TRUTHOUT – GOP Blames Political Correctness for Terrorism

For example, while it was the conventional wisdom that fear of being sued for profiling/harassment was the reason FBI backed off of pilots learning to take off but not land, it isn’t actually the case. It was one stooge in the counterintel side. Some have speculated he was planted there by some other department…

In other words, the spy side told the criminal justice side not to worry about it, that they had it.

Additionally think about what the real story is when you factor in the possibility of MKULTRA having a hand in this excerpt below. Seems clear that this makes money for Xe, SAIC, etc. and they clearly don’t care about the troops, so why not? They gotta feed the beast it’s tax dollars and Americans are just too reasonable on occasion without getting numerous reminders about all those bad guys out there who might live next door.

In essence: the GOP isn’t even hiding the fact it’s pure butt-puppet anymore. Doesn’t care that it’s driving the economy in the ground because they don’t care if the Federal government is broke, that just means they can murder, rape and steal without interference from pesky government agents.

It’s sick watching this happen in slow motion and no one in authority with the balls and wisdom to take it on.

It was hardly the first time in the Obama era that political correctness has been identified as a major cause of terrorism, or at least as a major roadblock to confronting terrorism.  One need only think back to the November 2009 killing spree in which Major Nidal Hasan, a Muslim Army psychiatrist, fatally gunned down 13 people at Fort Hood, Texas. In an op-ed penned several days after the attack, Republican Congressman John Carter, who represents the district where Fort Hood is located, pointedly connected political correctness to the dangers posed to the country by terrorism, warning, “Political correctness is killing Americans and undermining the national security of the United States.”

Pure Goebels.

That means Nazi propaganda for the younger crowd. I thought you guys were supposed to be smarter that the previous generation or two. Doesn’t look like it, kids.