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The Down Low Brother That Knew Too Much
   A farce based on Dante's Inferno and Star Wars by KrayZ
   FROM: eijackson.osi@dhij.us.gov Deputy Director Jackson.  Office of
Special Investigations
TO: director@dhij.us.gov
   Director, Department of Homeland Information and Justice SUBJECT: FW:
Requested information on Edward X.  Williams DATE: 7.07.2007 16:49 Mr. 
Jackson:
Here is the transcript of the statement that Edward Xavier Williams gave
to the U.S.  Attorney in Chicago.  Let me know if there is anything we
should do.  Will see you in Washington next month.  Elliott
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------ TRANSCRIPTED 11 November,
2002 by Nedra D.  Klouge, Certified Legal Transcriptionist, DHIJ Office of
Special Investigations Tape Starts 11:10 a.m.  Uh, hold the tape...want me
to start from the beginning?  Tape restarts 11:12 a.m.  O.K.?  My name is
Edward Xavier Williams.  I was born August 7, 1971 here in Chicago and
except for the time I spent in a downstate juvenile facility and my
fourteen months in Joliet, I have never lived outside of the city.
   I never had nothing to do with ACORN, politics or anything like that
before I met Barry.  He got me the jobs at ACORN and with the City of
Chicago and I been employed by The City for four years without any problem.
My adult conviction related to a bad check ring I got set up with and they
got me executive clemency from Governor Blogojevich so I could take the
city job.
   When the reporter ask (sic) me how a South Side boy with no college
diploma and out on parole can go from a being a car detailer to a City
Department Head making $167K a year, I didn't didn't want to say anything
about that.  But I have something to say about it now.
   The truth be known is this: It's not who you know, but WHAT you know
that counts in this old world.  When I seen how those two punks spent
money, I had to look into what they had going on and get a piece of it for
myself.
   It all started about eight years ago.  I had been out on parole a few
months and working full time at the Squeekie Cleane Carwash on Halstead
Street, so I needed to catch a break.  I was detailing cars when a thin,
light skinned black man I hadn't seen before brought in his Chrysler 300 to
be washed and detailed.
   He was young and sharp looking in his Magic Negro suit.  He looked like
a State Street lawyer or an Alderman.  I was right about that and he turned
out to be friendly when I wrote up his work order.  Call me Barry, he said,
and shook my hand.  The man said he couldn't wait for his car and agreed to
pick it up around five.
   He returned regularly and usually asked for me.  Most times, an older
man pick him up and come back with him around five-thirty.
   He had kids.  I knew that cause they had video players in the seat backs
and little toys and some old French Fries in the rear seat area.  I usually
vac the front first, spray some treatment on the carpet and start on the
back.  One day I pulled up the seat to get all the little stuff the kids
dropped back there.  I found some coins and dropped them into my pocket
when something else caught my eye.
   There was a flat zippered plastic pouch hidden under the seat.  The bag
had a bank logo on it.  Money?  Dope?  You never know so I opened the bag
and looked at the stuff inside.  Skin magazines, all gay, The Advocate and
some political pamphlets for a party I never heard of.
   That Nigga go down low for sure, I thought to myself.  And my johnson
got hard from thinking about that fine, light skin black man sucking dicks.
Not that I'm gay or anything.  I had plenty of bitches, but not in the
joint.  State of Illinois don't have no conjugal visits.  But inside or
outside, sometimes a brother just dig a brother, that's all.
   Started out in Juvenile when I was about 11.  We beat each other off
after lights out an sometimes the smaller boys would have to...uh, know
what I mean?  Lot a brothers that way, on the down low, even when he's a
daddy many times.  It's the way the crackerman mean it to be -"prison for
the black man while he puts cream in the coffee.
   Never thought about that kind of thing until I met Barry and Jerry. 
Jerry was Barry's friend.  He have it all figured out about the crackerman
and the Jews but man that rap of his got old after a while.  Goddam this
and goddam that, goddam jews.  And he never gave it a rest.
   No matter what we were talking about, he always steer the conversation
back to  -�the goddam white devils and the goddam Jews. -� He said that the
Jews controlled everything and that most rich white people worked for them
one way or the other.  He had a lot of friends in the Nation of Islam, for
sure.
   You're thinking that I'm bi or a chi chi man, but I'm not.  My
girlfriend don't want me giving out her name because of all of this, but we
get together all the time at her mother's house and Vonnessa is a fine
woman.  But maybe once a month I go over to Pickle Park to get my skeet out
and if the dude has money, we get a six and go to a motel to fuck around.
That's all.  Sometimes a brother just dig a brother.  Or need the money,
either way.
   When Barry came back, the same older dude dropped him off.  I had his
ride done and walked him out to look it over.  Right there, I decide to see
what was up with the magazines.  As we walked around his car, I said there
was a scratch on the side,  -�down there. -� He bent down and my dick
hardened as I looked at his fine ass.
   Where' is it??  I don't see it," he said.  Down there, I pointed.  
-�Down low..." It got real quiet and I was worried about losing my job,
which could see my black ass in Joliet again.
   Barry straitened up and grinned at me.  He had a great smile, I suppose
that's why people take to him like they do..   -�I guess you found my skin
magazines," he said.  "Yes, but it alright." I tried to sound a little
ghetto.
   "Uh, look.  I'm important to the community, you know?" I already knew
Barry was a local celebrity, so I said, "I understand.  I'm not gay, but I
like to go down-low once in a while too...have you ever been to the Ruby
Slipper Lounge?"
   The Ruby was a well known elite Gay Bar off Clark Street, maybe a dozen
blocks from the car wash, and home to a lot of rich gay lawyers and
business men.  They had dancers there and the place was hot on Friday
nights with white men looking to pick up young, mostly light skinned black
men for sex.
   I couldn't get in there because I don't look hi-polloy.  It was the
place for the rich chi chis in Chicago and has been since Jane Byrne was
mayor.  Barry said that he hadn't been to the Ruby Slipper, but had wanted
to go for a while.  He been to a couple other mostly chi chi establishments
more toward The Loop.  Deluxe places where they won't let a brother in
unless they know you at the door.
   He also said he had gone to Fosco Park a few times.  Me too, but I
didn't remember that I ever seen Barry.  He told me that his wife and kids
were down in California and that he was free the following evening after
work.  We made plans to at 6:30 p.m.  on Thursday.
   Thursday was a slow day and at lunch I scored an eight ball of dama
blanca from the Mexicans down at the corner.  It was more than I could
afford and I hoped that Barry would want to buy some so I could pay my
rent. Turned out, he did.
   It was 7:00 p.m.  strait up when he drove up in his Chrysler.  Barry had
come from his office and asked if he could use the restroom to change
clothes.  I let him use the inside restroom because it was cleaner.  He
went in as Barry, suit and tie, and came out wearing tight jeans and a tank
top, even though it was April.  Dam he looked good!
   Barry the attorney looked just like a black Freddie Mercury.  I changed
and we split the eight ball.  Barry paid me more than he could have for the
blanca because it was shit.
   We each did a big ya-yo in the restroom and walked out to Barry's ride.
-�Do you have any better clothes? -� Barry held his nostrils together and
coughed on the bitter, numbing post nasal drip from the Blanca.   -�Some,
back at my crib."
   We drove to my sister's house by Jackson Park.  I lived there with
Jannelle and her teenage son and I didn't want him to see her janky
apartment.  Barry waited outside while I went up to change out a my work
clothes.  I changed quick and borrowed some cheap bling from my nephew.
   When I came out, Barry was in the passenger seat and he say to me that
the only way we can get in to the place together is if I be his driver and
bodyguard and when we got to the Ruby Slipper, I had to open the door for
him, turn the car over to the Valet and then walk ahead of him to the door.
Once inside, I was supposed to mean mug anyone who came up to him so folks
would think I was his crew.
   I said I could do that it and he said we have one more place to go.  He
ask if I know where Nambla was, and I never heard of it, so he told me
where to go and we pull up to an office building on Clark Street.
   Barry got out of the back, went in the place and a few minutes later he
come out and introduced me to an older white dude name Alan.  They seemed
to know each other well and they got in the back seat together.
   I asked Alan what Nambla was and he said, "NAMBLA is a 401-3c
organization that advocates the liberalization of laws against sexual
relations between adult and underage males and resolves to end the
oppression of men and boys who have freely chosen mutually consenting
relationships".  That's what it said on the back of his business card.
   He looked like a Jew and I guessed he was a lawyer too.  I didn't know
what all a that stuff he said meant at the time, but it sounded like some
kind of down low thing to me.  I drove on to the Ruby Slipper, which was
maybe ten minutes away from NAMBLA.
   The Door Man was a boi named Quentin.  Dude looked like he had a salami
in his draws and he saw Barry and waved us in without checking I.D.  or
scanning for weapons.  It took a minute for my eyes to adjust to the lights
and noise in the Ruby Slipper.
   Men, women and the two-spirited were sitting and standing everywhere and
every body seemed to know Barry and they all wanted to shake his hands so
we just walked through the crowd.  Barry was smiling, shaking hands and
yelling to folks because it was so damn loud in there.  It was hard to mug
all them people so I cross my arms and tried to look mean all the time.
   Barry sat down at a table with a white guy named Bill and with a middle
age brother name Jerry that I recognized from the car wash.  They seemed to
be expecting Barry and he introduced me as  -�EX -�, his new friend and
driver.  Barry say Bill was a professor at the college, but he didn't say
what Jerry did.
   I shook Jerry's hand and said hello.  Bill said something but they they
didn't make room for me to sit down in the booth.  Someone got me a chair
and I sat off to the side by Barry and practiced mean mugging anybody who
looked our way.
   A tranny waitress got us drink menus and I saw they had a lot of drinks
called BareBack, FreeBall and Commando that cost more than $10 each.  Barry
ordered a Buttered Nipple for me and paid for it with a $100 bill. 
Butterscotch and brandy.
   I tried to be sociable, but nobody seemed interested in talking to me so
I sat there bored.  Barry, Jerry and Bill had a good time laughing and
drinking.  After a while, Bill leaned over and said something to Jerry, who
said something to Barry who leaned over and said we were going to Bill's
house for a while and I needed to bring the car around front.
   It took a half hour to drive to Bill's crib in Hyde Park because of an
accident on State Street and we had to wait for Bill and Alan to catch up
an while we waited, Barry asked if I wanted some brain.  I didn't know what
he meant by that and but the way he look at me I just unzip my pants and he
sucked my dick in the car.
   I was afraid that the police might see us and I shot almost immediately.
I was just cleaning up when Jerry and the two crackers parked behind us.  I
didn't have time to blow Barry, so we just got out and walked up to the
doors.  An old cracker with a foreign accent let us in an Barry said his
name was George.
   Bill had a fly house in a nice neighborhood.  He was married, but he
said him an his wife have an open marriage for many years and that she was
probably off with her other radical womens.
   His house was real nice inside too, and the walls were covered with
paintings and he had a statue of some guy's head on the table.  I ask who
those guys were.  Alan said that the  -�bust -� was of  -�Fidel -� and the
paintings were of Karl Marx, Comrade Lenin and the paintings of the
soldiers were all scenes from the "1918 revolution."
   I rub my chin and looked at the stuff and pretend to be interested. 
Alan an George went on and on about how  -�The fat cats will get theirs
when the revolution comes!" I remember George, he say  -�the streets will
be red with blood." Dude got to talking crazy and I kept away from him the
rest of the night.
   I said to Barry, "Your whoadie talking some communist shit or
something." Barry was quiet for a minute and then told me,  -�We don't call
ourselves Communists or Socialists anymore.  It doesn't pay.  Instead, the
National Commintern has decided to refer to us a Progressives, and we are
all part of the Progressive Movement."
   He explained that nobody in their right mind would vote for a candidate
who admitted being a Communist or pedophile, but everyone wants
progress..."progress can mean anything or nothing, it all depends..."
Before I could ask anything else, Bill pull out a little tray with a mirror
and some glass straws and Barry dumped his little bag of blanca onto it.
   Alan and Bill each snorted lines, then Barry and Jerry took a turn. 
They didn't offer me none and I was kind of upset about it, but I had my
own and after we went downstairs to the basement "rumpus room" they gave me
a rum drink from the bar while Bill threaded up an old movie projector.
   It took a minute before Alan shut off the lights and sat down on the
couch.  The movie was called "Up Your Kilt Boys" and was from Scotland, so
all of the mostly white actors had an accent.  There were a couple of
brothers in it, an I couldn't understand the Jamaica they was saying.  I
sat down on the couch, by the bar, in back of the room.
   My eyes adjust to the dark and I took a look around.  Jerry an Bill have
their cocks out and were jerking off real slow while they watch the movie.
The movie flickered and made them look jerky.  It was mostly S an M, B an
D, shit like that an one of the white dudes got tied up an hit with a
paddle in the story.
   Before the movie got done, Bill said something to Barry and he say to me
real excited like, "We're going into the dungeon!" Alan open a door behind
the bar an there was two rooms behind it.  When someone turn the light on,
I could see all kinds of shit: a stage with a couple couches, a bench,
plywood ping pong table with some handcuffs on it, pegboard walls that had
whips, some more handcuffs, a mask, hoods and stuff I couldn't recognize. I
decided to keep my eye on the whips cause I didn't know their plans.  Ain't
no way a black man should ever let his self be tied up and whipped.
   Barry say they want to do the "glory hole" first.  I never heard of no
glory hole before but it turned out to just be the wall.  You stand and
stick your cock through a hole in the drywall, just like in the gay booths
at La Mauri's Adult Book Store on West Lawrence.  Bill and George wanted to
go first an they told Barry an Jerry to sit on the chairs and suck their
dicks.
   The old crackers stuck their cracker cocks through the holes in the
drywall and that was all I could see from where I was.  Alan brought me
another drink while I waited and watched the action from behind.  They
didn't take long and Alan said they all wanted to watch while I got a BJ
through the glory hole.  'Bout time is what I thought, an I walked over to
the wall and checked out the hole.
   It looked like somebody cut it out with a pocket knife and put duck tape
on the edges.  The bare drywall was wet where one of them shot his nature
onto it an I could see a lot of old cum stains dried on the wall below the
hole.  I was afraid at first, but I heard Barry say, "come on, EX, were
waiting on you man." So I stuck my johnson through the hole and in a second
somebody, I don't know who, grabbed my cock and started sucking it.
   I took a long time to come because I was nervous and had just got
"brain" from Barry not an hour before.  It felt like two, maybe three guys
sucked on my cock.
   One of the guys, I think Jerry, had his big hand around the base of my
cock an I could hear George an I think Bill telling him "do this an do
that." I look over my shoulder; George seemed to like what he was seeing
cause he was pulling his meat and drooling in his Director's Chair by the
stage, where he could see the action on both sides of the wall.
   The tension it build up in me an I finally come, the jism welling up
from deep inside my balls an I come into the dude's mouth and he choked a
little for a second until the come slow down and stopped.  Whoever was
there licked the tip of my cock twice after I stopped cumming and was going
soft.
   I sat on the futon and finished my drink while George an Bill talked
about what they plan for next and I started to see that I was just the
hired help at least to the white dudes, especially Bill and Alan.
   George had his own chair with his name on it near the stage.  He never
spoke a word to me, he just tell Barry or Jerry what he want.  And now he
wanted me to "birch Barry while (he) watch." I didn't know what that meant,
but all of them including Barry was real excited an he laid down on the
plywood bench an Jerry fastened the leather cuffs and put cuffs on his
ankles too.
   Alan brought out a bunch of sticks that were tied together with some
string an duck tape on the end to make a kind of handle.  He handed it to
me and the two of them drop the end of the board so Barry was bent over. 
"Go ahead, hit him" Alan said.  I shrugged and hit him easy across his bare
ass with the sticks.  That was when George yelled at me.   -�Lay into him
neeger or you vot be da nex vun dat get flogt!!"
   "Uh-oh, better hit him harder!" Bill whispered.  "It's OK, don't worry.
It's what George likes to see.  Just let him be the Director." I didn't
like that foreign cracker calling me a nigger, but it motivated me to hit
Barry harder and harder while Alan and Jerry cheered me on.  George kept
yelling at me and the sticks whistled through the air and left welts where
they landed.
   Alan and George were both jacking off and Barry gasped and moaned with
each stroke of the birch sticks.  Pretty soon, George and Alan were cumming
and Barry's ass and thighs were raw...
   George ordered, "Dat's enuf!  Yew ken let hem op now." Jerry helped me
get Barry on his feet while the others joked around and when we got him up,
I saw that there was a puddle of jism on the wood where he had been laying.
Barry was a little unsteady on his feet and Jerry helped him over to sit
down on the sofa but George insisted that Barry sit on the towel they had
just used to clean up their own jism, rather than stain the sofa.
   Barry eased himself down onto the couch and leaned to one side to take
the pressure off of the raw welts.  A minute later, George sat down next to
Barry and started kissing on him!  I hear him say, "Yew make me do dees
un-plesent tinks cause you not do vot I tell you like good servunt." George
was petting Barry like a dog and I turned away, embarrassed to see that
going on.
   Barry and Jerry didn't seem to think anything about it cause they did
that sort of weird shit all the time.  They were treating the whole thing
like some kind of a party.  Then it was Jerry's turn.  They had me help
handcuff him to the table, face down but they didn't want me to hit him
this time.  Bill had been silent most of the time and was just standing
there doing something to the video camera.  "Turn on the lights and get the
mouth ball gag on him," he ordered.
   I didn't know what that was, so Alan got one off the wall and showed me
how to put the red ball in Jerry's mouth and fasten the buckles in back so
that he couldn't spit out the gag.
   Bill nodded and Alan showed me a lever under the table.  He pull on it
and the table folded up forward so Jerry was bent over, his mocha ass
exposed, Jerry didn't look scared.  I saw his cock was rock hard against
the green plywood and saw that his ass had a triangle of thick hair
starting from around his ass hole and up on the small of his back, above
his tail bone.
   Alan told me to pay attention to what he was doing cause George didn't
want to train another guy.  Jerry say something, but I couldn't make it out
cause of the ball.  Alan went into the bar, open the fridge and come back
with a big clear plastic bag full of water, maybe a whole gallon.  He hung
it on a hook near Jerry.  The bag had a clear hose attached and a metal
clamp kept the water from coming out the hose.
   "Vot you get all clean," George said and Alan showed me how to stick the
hose up Jerry's ass, eight or nine inches and to turn on the water, which
traveled right down the tube into Jerry's ass.  When he felt the icy water
Jerry make a sound, moaning like, and George yelled at him,  -�You pussy!
Hold it in!  Dun't you giff up or I haf you flogt too!"
   Bill and Alan were working the lights and video cameras, while Barry,
still sitting over on the cum soaked towel called to Jerry, "C'mon man, you
can hold it!"
   George was sitting on the sofa and had pulled his own cock out of his
pants.  The size of his "manhood" really grabbed my eyes.  I had never seen
a smaller cock on a grown man, except on a midget kid I met once in
Juvenile Detention.  George fingered the head and shaft of his pencil dick
while the water went into Jerry's ass.
   Jerry was getting full of the cold water and he started shaking and
moaning around the ball gag.  A little brown water seeped from his asshole
around the hose, and when George saw that, he hit Jerry twice with a thin
bamboo cane and yelled,  -�I say vot you holt it or I beat your black ass!
-�
   Jerry clutched the tube as hard as he could with his puckered and hairy
asshole, but a minute later the tube and about a gallon of brown water shot
out of his ass onto the gray painted basement floor.  "Clean him up!"
George said to Alan, who nodded to me.
   I used a hose that handed on the basement wall to spray Jerry's ass and
legs.  I could see red welts on his thighs where George had hit him.  I
used the hose to make the water and shit run downhill to the floor drain
and Alan handed me a towel and I dried off Jerry's ass.   -�You, vot clean
him goot," George said to Alan.
   Alan looked at Bill.  "He wants someone to give Jerry a rim job," Bill
said.  Alan and Jerry looked at me, but I didn't move.  No way was I
licking that carmel brother's hairy asshole.
   "I'll do it, Mr.  George!" Barry jump up from the bench where he had
been sitting on the damp towel.  He knelt down on the wet floor and started
licking Jerry's fat ass, sticking the tip of his tongue in as far as it
would go, tickled his wet hairy asshole and licked him down to his balls
and back.  Jerry was excited by the rimming and his cock was hard as a
rock. Barry had a hardon too, and I thought that maybe Barry would fuck
him. Instead, George exclaimed, "Barry!  Dat's enuff!  Now you rem me,
too!"
   George laid back on the couch and raised his legs, exposing his puckered
old asshole and skinny dwarf cock.  Barry knelled down on the floor and
started licking the cracker's asshole, balls and finally, just for a
minute, his cock, before George pushed Barry away and went to the bench
that Alan or Bill had put behind Jerry.  He grabbed Jerry by the skin on
his ass and stuck in his skinny-ass dick.  George was so excited that it
only took like fifteen seconds for him to come.
   He pulled his stick out of Jerry and said to Bill, "Now yoo fel-ose can
haff your turn." Jerry's asshole was lubricated with Barry's saliva and
Georg's jism.  Bill went first with an enormous strap on cock that he took
off the pegboard.
   The plastic cock was much larger than George's needle dick, and Jerry
screamed around the ball gag and struggled against the handcuffs when Bill
pressed the plastic salami against his slimy man-cunt and pressed it in. 
Jerry was lucky the plastic was smooth and his asshole so slick.
   He grunted with the initial effort, but in a second, Bill was whaling
away in Jerry's asshole and calling out shit like, "Is this what you want?
You want more of this?  Huh, boy?!"
   I sure wished I could get out of there before they decided to tie me up
and whip my ass, too.  Being part of Barry's posse was sick.  No way was
Barry and Jerry going to help me out.  No, those niggers did what George,
Bill and Alan told them to do.  In a minute, Bill jerked himself over Jerry
and shot his nature all over, all over Jerry's ass and up the crack.  Then
it was Alan's turn.
   Once I found out about NAMBLA, I knew Alan was a chicken hawk, but I
never saw no man lick come off another dude's ass, not even in prison, but
that's what he did.  Then he stuck his cock into Jerry and fucked Jerry's
man-pussy too, but real rough while Bill video tape the action.
   It surprised me when George yelled, "Cut!" Bill turned off the camera
and lights and Alan asked me to take the ball gag off Jerry and turn him
loose.  Jerry had a hard on and George said something to Bill that I
couldn't hear.  He led Jerry away while we worked.  Alan was showing me
where to put things and I had started to clean up when I noticed Barry,
Jerry and George over on the couch.
   George was sitting with Barry again, only Barry was sucking George's
dick while Jerry fucked Barry from behind.  Bill could have taped that,
too, but he didn't because George didn't tell him to.
   I thought about all them important men being chi chi boys, and the way
that the white dudes act like they are friends with Barry and Jerry but
treat them so disrespectful that my old job at the car wash didn't seem so
bad, except for the pay and the hours.  But after I drove him home, Barry
gave me $600 and the rest of the eight ball for my trouble.
   I gave my mother $200 and my nephew a few dollars for loaning me his
bling and I told my sister some of what had happened.  My nephew, he was
too young to hear all that and my sister said I was going to get in trouble
again, real soon.
   We got together, mainly Barry and me, but pretty often his Progressive
friends, too.  We usually cruise the gay bars in Chicago and I drove him
around the state; over to St.  Louis and up to Madison, Wisconsin on
business, though we usually found time to cruise bars that Barry always
knew about.  The perks accumulated and before long I had an apartment, car
and my drivers license back.
   Jerry managed to get me off my parole obligations except for public
service hours, which I completed by working for Barry as a Community
Assistant.  They had been paying me under the table before, but once I was
on their payroll, I got $1500 a week no matter what I did or didn't do, and
I enjoyed the moolah.  I saw Jerry and Bill off and on, but didn't see Alan
again until we went to a conference in Nicaragua a year later.
   The next time that I saw George was at a get together at President
Clinton's Home in Chappaqua, New York.  Barry, Jerry and some guy named
Lincoln Chaffee drove out there together in Jerry's limo because none of
them wanted any airline record that they had traveled there.  Jerry gave me
$2800 to hold for expenses, coke and gas.
   It took two days to drive to New York with a stop in Youngstown, Ohio,
where we stayed overnight in a hotel with the most fucked up looking little
faggot I ever saw: Dennis Kucinich.  Mr.  Chaffee had been to the hotel
before and that was a good thing because they only had two rooms left
because of the holiday.
   I thought it would be another night where the Progressives whipped and
force fucked Barry and Jerry again, but this time it was different.  They
don't have no dungeons in The Ambassador Hotel.
   Linc and Barry stayed in suite 543, while Jerry and Denny stayed in 545.
There was a door they could open between the suites and they let me sleep
on a couch in a sitting room when they weren't sending me out for liquor,
cigarettes or pizza.
   I was tired from driving fourteen hours strait, so I laid on the couch
and tried to get some rest while they all took turns fucking Denny.  I had
heard of poppers before, but never saw one.
   Linc had a little brown bottle of some butyl nitrate that he got out
because Denny was crying that Linc was hurting him.  I heard Jerry say to
inhale it so Linc could get his cock in and he must have done the butyl
because Linc pounded the hell out of Denny.  I was just dozing off when
somebody called me over to help.
   Denny had been drinking heavy and was in a stupor when he threw up on
the bed.  He seemed to have trouble breathing and coughed up some brown
stuff, like he vomited.  I wanted to call 911, but Barry said no, that it
would look bad, besides, Linc hadn't come yet.
   By the time that Linc pulled his cock out of Denny's ass, Denny had
caught his breath and started coming around.  I clean the puke up with a
towel the best that I could and pulled the sheet off the bed while Jerry
and Barry tried to walk Denny around the room.
   Linc said "gimme that towel, I want to wipe off my dick." So I hand him
the towel, he used it even though it had puke on it.  Then he twirled it up
and hit Denny right on the ass as he walk by with Jerry and Barry.  It made
a loud smack and they all laughed at Denny, who cried like a little bitch.
Then it was Barry's turn for "sloppy seconds."
   He had no trouble getting his cock in, of course, because of the
pounding that Linc gave him.  Denny's asshole made a sound when Barry slid
his cock in and nearly everybody laughed.
   Nothing there involved me at that point and I was dog tired, so I went
back to the couch and tried to watch T.V.  Jerry had climbed onto the bed
and tried to get Denny to suck his dick while Barry pounded away from the
rear.  They were all high and having some trouble getting it done, so when
Barry finally came, Denny wiped his ass and sat on the floor at Jerry's
feet and gave Jerry a long, slow BJ.
   That little queer reminded me of one of those little wooden birds you
used to see in bars bobbing up and down on the edge of a glass as he sucked
off the naked big man with the hairy patches on his back and around his man
cunt.
   I woke up a while later, all alone in 545.  The door was open a crack
and I could smell ganja, but they didn't offer me any or come back into the
room.  Later I found out that Linc brought the ma-jong and they had been
watching the Adult Pay-Per-View channels, fucking, sucking and drinking
until after three.
   The four of them were hung over the next morning and I had a hard time
getting them all started.  I cleaned up the clothes laying around and saw
Linc was in bed with Jerry and Linc had on a woman's nightgown.  They were
hard to wake up and none of them wanted to get anything to eat.  I had to
grab some food from the Continental Breakfast set up off the lobby when I
brought down the luggage.
   When I came back up to the rooms, none of them had gotten fully dressed
and I had to help them get their shirts and pants on, then pack away the
dirty clothes in a trash bag.  Barry, he was sitting naked on the toilet, a
cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he was pulling his meat.
   Barry slammed the door kind of angry when I looked his way, so I got the
rest of their stuff together and carried it out to the parking lot.  The
limo was real quiet and they all just dozed while I drove, which was fine
by me.
   About one, Jerry said he was getting hungry and I pulled off the
Interstate at an exit marked with the restaurant sign.  We drove maybe five
miles to another intersection where there was a convenience store and
restaurant, so I pulled in for some gas while Dennis and Linc argued about
the restaurant.  The attendant was a hairy, overweight bald guy.  He told
us that the restaurant was good and he ate there all the time.
   We, that is Linc, Jerry, Dennis and me took our time at lunch but Barry
finished early and excused him self back to the car to lay down.  When we
finished and got back to the store, the door was locked and Barry was not
in the car.
   We were all talking concerned that the place was robbed and Dennis
started crying again.  There was no cellular service out there, so Jerry
went one way around the old gas station and I went the other to look for
Barry while Lincoln consoled Dennis.
   As I rounded the corner, the men's room door opened and Barry came out,
followed by Chuck, the store clerk, who was tucking in his uniform pants.
Barry smiled and Chuck looked away.
   Without a word of apology, Barry got into the limo and we continued on
our way to New York.  Linc tried to joke about the incident and I pressed
the button to raise the window between me and the passenger section so I
wouldn't hear them unless they wanted to say something to me on the
intercom.
   It was almost dinnertime when we got to the Clinton mansion on Olde
House Lane in Chappaqua, New York.  Man, we were a long way from the South
Side of Chicago!  The Clinton home was bigger than Barry or Jerry's houses,
bigger than even Bill's house had been, or even the old Playboy Mansion.
   The Secret Service saw Linc and waved us right through.  I let the
passengers out in front of the mansion, parked by the other limos and
carried in the bags with help from Nigel, an older English guy who was the
Clintons' butler.
   We walked across the back yard to the gardener's cottage house where the
limo drivers had a place to sleep.  We walked past several people from a
catering company setting up in the back yard with help from the Clinton's
maid from Mexico.  Nigel said her name was Consuelo and she hardly spoke
English at all.
   I was real excited to meet President Clinton, because the man had opened
an office in Harlem and somebody had called him our First Black President.
I shook his hand but he hardly said a word to me and I was disappointed by
that.
   Mrs.  Clinton was greeting people at the door and just glanced in my
direction as we passed by.  I did shake the hand of a short old woman
standing next to Mrs.  Clinton.  Nigel shrugged when he told me it was
Justice Ginsberg, but that her friends call her "Saul."
   There were a bunch of other hoy-polloy there, including a foreskin faced
old cracker name Arlen, but I only recognized Harry Belafonte and Jesse
Jackson.  I didn't get to talk to them because Mrs.  Clinton told Barry I
had to wait in the kitchen with Nigel and Consuelo unless I was helping
out.
   I helped Nigel pull some bottles of wine from the downstairs storage
area and we talked while we loaded the wine cart.  Nigel asked where I was
from and I told him Chicago and Nigel said he had been to Chicago, but only
O'Hare airport to get a connecting flight, but nowhere else.
   He told me that he was born in Scotland and moved to England to serve
Sir William Mosely before being brought over here by the Clintons.  He said
that the Progressives got together somewhere for a party three or four
times a year and this was only the second one at the Clinton home because
they had moved there recently so she could run for the Senate.  He said
some of them had an orgy out by the pool at the house warming a few months
before.
   An orgy...those people?  Nigel opened a bottle of some hundred year-old
wine and poured from the dusty bottle into styrofoam cups.  The grape got
Nigel talking and he told me that I should steer clear of the Clintons and
anybody close to them because they had the power to have someone killed, 
-�like poor old Mr.  Foster." I didn't know who Foster was, but Nigel
sounded serious and I dug his accent.
    -�Be careful.  doont goo ter th' noows!  Keep yer trap shut or the
Clintons wull 'av yaouw ded of suicide an' yaouw wull be crack in Marcie
Park loike the other felloo." I had a hard time understanding him at first,
but what I understood scared me.  He went on and on as we drank the
Clintons' old wine and I tried to change the subject to something safe; the
President's dog.
    -�Yaouw knoo she killed Bill's doog, Buddy!  She did it ert of anger.
Stomped an' clubbed him ter deeth with a gof dreyfer giv'n too Bill by a
Sheik.  When the club 'ed bost off, she stabbed him with the shaft.  Thr
shaft coot through 'un side an' ert the other.  Blood was everywur.  All
the servants er afraid of 'er.  Youw never knoo when someone wull
disappear."
   He explained that the President and Mrs.  Clinton were in a terrible
fight one night over a cocktail waitress.  The bitch threw some things."
Nigel and Consuelo hid out in their quarters when they heard Mr.  Clinton
leave and slam the door on his way out.  They heard Mrs.  Clinton screaming
and when they came out, she was holding the bloody shaft of the golf club
and the dog was in the middle of the formal room floor, still twitching and
bleeding.
   Nigel said that she made a couple of phone calls and some Secret Service
men came by and took the dog out to the highway and dumped him.  The
Clinton's' secretary told the news media the dog got hit by a car and that
the  -�Clinton family is devastated by his accidental and untimely death.
-� I didn't know whether to believe Nigel's story or not, so I asked him
about some of the other guests I had seen.
   He knew most of them by sight and he mentioned some guy named Harry
Reed, a Senator who always disrespected the servants.  "The geezer is
dickless.  Ee 'as naaa penis atawl.  Saw it muself when ee was stayen
overnoight with the Clintons.  I heard that it rotted oof frum aa sooshial
disease.  All ee 'as is a lickle hole in front with a wee tube sticken ert
of him." That was all my ears could take.  I pushed the wine cart over to
the elevator and pressed the up button.
   When the door opened at the first floor, I pushed the cart out into the
hall by the kitchen and into the dining room.  Consuelo was there putting
out silverware and glasses.  She said something in Spanglish and pointed to
the bar area, so I left the cart behind the bar and helped her set the
table.  Real silver silverware, monogrammed with a gold C, and we had to
put the knives and forks down on the cloth napkins in the right order or,
"Senora Clintone get real mean..."
   Nigel came back up and said there were more guests arriving and I should
take a cart out to get their luggage.  When I followed him out front we
passed some men talking in the hall that I had seen on TV: Senator McCain
and Vice President Gore.  I nodded to the Vice President and he said hi in
his Washington cracker accent.  It sounded like, "hiii-eee thayer-rr."
   I recognized some more black guests, Reverend Sharpton and an actor,
Shawn something that played a retard so natural in a movie I had seen.  We
stacked their shit on the luggage cart and wheeled it inside.
   I passed Barry on the way in.  He asked me to "get some blow" from the
limo, which I did as soon as we got the luggage up to the rooms.  "Here you
go...uh, isn't Senator McCain a Republican?  What's up with that?" I asked
Barry as I handed him the blanca behind his back.
   "Oh, he's not the only one here.  There's Senator Spector, and that
woman there is Senator Snow, and see that guy?  Governor Petacki of New
York.  We have them on board because having them on our side weakens the
Republicans.  Hell, we've even got Colin Powell in our pocket!" I didn't
see how that could be, because George Bush had just been elected President
the year before and I knew he was a Republican, but that's what Barry say
to me so I minded my own business.
   It didn't take long for dinner to be ready and I put on a white jacket
that Nigel brought me.  It was too tight and I couldn't button it but Nigel
thought I looked pretty good as he taught me how to help him serve the
guests.  I pushed a food cart out into the dining hall.  There was a guest
of honor who sat in the middle of the table between George and the
Clintons. George said something to Mr.  Clinton, who banged a spoon on a
wineglass to get things started.
   The guest speaker was Alfred Chancre from the Teachers Union.  He
started his speech like this, "How fortunate for governments that the
people they administer don't think." Then he went on and on with communist
shit while Nigel, Consuelo and me served food and alcohol.  He told
everyone that the plan to dumb down public school was a big success, that
the rate of teen pregnancy was "through the roof, even for white kids."
   I will say that those hi-polloy types do eat good while they save the
world or whatever they do.  I never ate hearts of palm in my life, and
those little lamb chops sure smelled good.  I hadn't eaten since we left
the hotel that morning and I was starving.
   Chancre went on and on about how education is revolution and culture
change and he said that the Teachers Union had control of the minds of
children and planned use that to  -�collectivize the U.S.  economy and form
of government, The goddam Redneck's Constitution be Damned." That got him a
lot of applause and I used the distraction to grab a bite.
   Consuelo saw me take a roll from a basket and scolded me when we were
alone.  "No senor!  No!  Sólo comer cuando el comunista y la gente está
terminado quitar los platos!  No ira la Sra.  Clinton, te lo ruego!  "
Nigel walked past and whispered, "Noo we have ta wait laddie."
   So we played waiter/waitress for a while longer as the guests finished
dinner and headed out to the patio to smoke or stand in the drink line.  We
cleared the tables as guests finished eating, had a quick bite and were
almost finished with the dishes when we heard a woman shouting in the
private ante-room, behind the dining room and kitchen.
   "Goddammit Bill!  There are way too many of your male friends here
tonight and the hookers are still waiting to be picked up!  Do you know
where they are waiting?!!  At your goddamn office in Manhattan, that's
where!!  You've fucked up again!  Haven't you!?  Haven't you!!?  Look at me
when I'm talking, mister!"
   We heard President Clinton say,  -�If you say so, honey-b-u-u-u-nch."
Nigel put his finger to his lips and Consuelo looked at me, bug-eyed with
fear.  After a couple of seconds, Mrs.  Clinton said, "You're just going to
have to go into The City and bring them back here!  And don't think you're
going to take the Secret Service guys, either!  They have to serve drinks
out on the patio.  Well!  What are you waiting for?!  Get your drunk ass in
gear!" The former president looked perplexed.
   She continued on his case: "Bill you pussy!  You're afraid to go into
Harlem, aren't you? -� More silence, then, "Look, just take Jerome,
whatever the fuck his name is, that black guy that Barry brought.  He'll
protect you!" "Aye, thet's yew, Lad," said Nigel.
   Moments later, I was at the wheel of a limo, driving into NYC with
President Clinton.  And I was all excited about meeting him, too.  It was a
good thing that Mr.  Clinton knew the area, and that traffic wasn't heavy
cause I did not know the way.  We pulled up to his office building, which
the former president explained "isn't really in Harlem." I thought I heard
on T.V.  his office WAS in Harlem.
   He answered what I was thinking.  "But close enough to claim it's in
Harlem.  It doesn't matter what the truth is.  Saying it is can only help
Hillary's political career."
   The ladies were waiting in the lobby, five of them and the bellman
herded them out to the limo.  Two were black, two white and a Puerto Rican
girl.  Not high class, not crack hos either, and I could tell several were
high when I opened the door to the limo.  The Peurto Rican girl had an
enormous set of fake breasts, too big for her body.  President Clinton gave
her tit a a squeeze as I helped her get in the big passenger door.
   President Clinton used the intercom to get us headed back to Chappequa
on Highway 684, then raised the dark dividing window for privacy.  We were
driving past an airport when he buzzed me to pull over, "right away." He
was having some problem and wanted one of the girls to sit up front.  I
pulled off the highway and stopped the limo by a convenience store.
   It was the Puerto Rican girl.  She got out the back and into the front
passenger seat and started fumbling with her seatbelt.  I could see that
her makeup was smeared and she was crying.  I was about to help her with
the seatbelt when President Clinton suddenly yanked open her door.
   He snatched the girl right out onto the pavement by her hair and started
slapping her.  I jump out, run around to that side and yelled at him to
stop.  "Hey...hey man!  You can't beat someone up like that!  Stop!  Stop!
What the fuck's the matter with you, anyway?  What's the matter with
you?!!" "The bitch disrespected me," was all he said.
   "You better get in the car before someone call the cops, man!" Mr. 
Clinton glared at me but got in the front and slammed the door.  I gave the
PR girl $150 for a cab and she went into the convenience store as we drove
off.
   I thought for sure the Indian guy at the store called 911 by then, so I
floored it back to the on ramp and drove away as fast as I could without
attracting attention.  Mr.  Clinton was silent for the ride back, except to
give me directions.
   We got back at 9:30 and I let the girls out.  Mr.  Clinton held back,
cleared his throat and handed me some money.  He said we should, "just keep
this between us, O.K.  my brother??" My brother??!
   "Sure, man.  No problem," When he turned to go into the house, I looked
at the cash.  Eleven dollars.  I parked the Limo and went in the side door.
They had a DJ that was playing some old-school music and the hos were
blended into the crowd.  A bunch of the congress people had stripped and
were naked in the pool.  I found Nigel and Consuelo in the kitchen.
   It was around ten o'clock and I hadn't eaten since lunch.  They were
stacking containers of washed dishes into a big commercial sterilizer. 
Nigel said they had to do that because Mrs.  Clinton was afraid of germs.
Consuelo had saved me a plate of the lamb chops with stuffing and hearts of
palm.  Nigel poured me another glass of the 100 year old wine and I sat
down at the table and tried not to eat too fast.
   When I finished, all that was left was the three little rib bones from
the chops.  I scraped them into the trash and helped Consuelo hand wash the
rest of the silverware before it went into the sterilizer boxes.  Since I
was there to help Barry, I thought I'd better find him, so I headed out
past the bar and stage.
   They had a comedian doing his act, what there was of it.  His name was
Al Franken and he started out by saying, Hi there Progressives!  I'm Al
Franken!  It was quiet for a few seconds until the Secret Service guys held
up ping-pong paddles with APPLAUSE written on them, and the crowd
applauded.
   He went on for a half an hour with a bunch of America-is-a-bad-place
jokes and the crowd applauded whenever the Secret Service held up their
signs.  The only time they showed any interest in his routine was when he
said,  -�How BOUT that Bush!  George Bush can...suck...my...COCK! -� The
Secret Service guys stood slacked jawed as the partisan crowd went wild. 
The people at the party all seemed to hate President Bush and most of them
talk like they hate America, too.
   I found Barry in the smaller crowd out by the patio.  He was at a a
table talking with some guy that looked like the big dude on The Adams
Family, a show I seen on cable at my sister's house.  Barry introduced him
as Senator Kerry from Massachusetts.  I shook the dude's hand.
   It was sweaty and he had a real weak handshake.  Barry told me he'd call
my cell phone if he need anything and said I should make myself comfortable
at the party.  I got a drink at the bar, and came back to the table, but
Sen.  Kerry said I shouldn't sit down right there, but go over to the stage
area instead where I could dance whenever I wanted to.
   Nobody was dancing then, but some people were getting up on stage; it
was like the "Somebody's Got Talent" show on TV.  The first to go up there
was an obvious drag queen that called his self Arlene Spectator.  Arlene
pranced around with a pink parasol, played the piano some and told a few
real old jokes.
   It was sad cause the crowd groaned as much as they applauded.  I think
the ones that applauded only did it because they liked it when the
scrotum-faced old man made a fool of himself, or because he was finally
finished.  Arlene Spectator was lame, then Mrs.  Clinton and Rosie
O'Donnell got up on stage with some actress.
   They were all wearing black leather.  With their cankles and ghost white
skin, the whole group looked like a bunch of penguins marching up to the
stage.  They butchered two songs, "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" and
"R-E-S-P-E-C-T", but the people watching gave them a standing ovation after
each song, even though they were horrible.  I cringed at the sounds they
made.  Good thing Aretha Franklin wasn't there!
   Boy George and the C.E.O.  of Old Scratch Records got up on the stage
and said a few words about how he was pleased to do his part to advance the
Progressive Cause and how he was happy that his company had, through their
association with California street gangs, -� the biggest stable of the most
violent and most depraved gangsta-rappers in the business today, -�.  He
turned the microphone over to Boy George who just grinned and said,
"Heroin, man..." People stared at him, expecting more, but Boy said nothing
after that and someone led him away from the mike.
   The man from Old Scratch Records didn't seem bothered by Boy George's
short speech and they stood around to have their pictures taken with Harry
Belafonte and the Clintons.  They handed out some CDs of his newest acts to
people down front.  The man talked and dressed like he was ghetto even
though he was an ex ACLU lawyer.
   I was glad when the band was done with their break.  The band came out,
plugged in their instruments and then waited for Mr.  Clinton.  He was
pushing his way through the crowd of guests and I could see that he was
leading some skinny old guy up toward the stage.
   I recognized him as...uh...Mick Jagger, the singer from the Rolling
Stones.  He is another self important used-to-be, like Harry Belafonte. 
Neither one has had a hit in thirty or forty years.  I always heard that
Jagger was two-spirited, but just look at that mouth; the cracker was born
a chi-chi baby and come up to be a chi-chi man.  Jagger and Clinton climbed
up to the stage and waved to the guests.
   President Clinton had his saxophone and he said something to the band.
They started out with Harry Belafonte's old song, "Jump Down, Spin Around."
Belafonte kept forgot the words to his own song and President Clinton had
to keep him facing the audience.  It was sad seeing Harry Belafonte so
senile in public like that.  Then Mr.  Clinton started playing
"Louie-Louie." That's an old tune, but at least it was an improvement over
Harry Belafonte.  Mick was yelling from the stage that people should sing
along and after a couple of false starts, Mick and Boy George had organized
a Louie-Louie sing-a-long at the Clinton Mansion.  I walked around the
outside of the crowd and found little knots of people standing together
getting high on weed and snorting lines of coke in plain sight of the
Secret Service.  The band and President Clinton sounded pretty good
together and the crowd knew the words.  I didn't see where it started or
who started it but in a minute, Harry Belafonte, some Teachers Union and
ACLU people, a few Congressmen, some of their staffers and pages were up
dancing and formed up a conga line.  Maybe the naked people got out of the
pool, but pretty soon most all of the people up dancing were naked or
mostly naked.  Old Senators, Congresswomen, young staffers, hookers and all
were marching around the dance floor.  Louie Louie, oh no!  Me gotta go
Aye-yi-yi-yi, I said Louie Louie, oh baby!  Me gotta go
   I was getting into it myself.  "Louie Louie, Oh no!" I saw Senator Kerry
up there too, dancing naked behind a nude woman that I recognized.  I had
seen her earlier when she was confusing Consuelo with some old high school
Spanish.  Her name was Diane Feinstein, and you couldn't forget that old
raisin because of the way her voice got on your last nerve.  She has a New
York City accent that sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.  Kerry had
his big hands on Diane's naked hips and I saw that he had a tan colostomy
bag swinging against his stomach as they louie-louie'd their way around the
dance floor.  His cock was hard and at one point, he bump into her backside
and they both laughed.  I tried not to look as Jagger and the crowd sang:
Fine little girl waits for me Catch a ship across the sea Sail that ship
about, all alone Never know if I make it home Shit!  It was hard not to see
the dude with the colostomy and the wrinkled old congresspeople because the
dance line snaked around the room!  One of the staffers tried to pull me
into the line just ahead of Sen.  Kennedy.  He was naked except for a
lampshade over his head.  The sight of those Progressive Democrats and
Rhino Republicans, men and women , old and young, cracker, brother, sister
dancing together without embarrassed me and I didn't want to be part of it.
I have some self respect and couldn't believe that those clowns had
actually been elected to something.  That fact made me doubt everything I
thought I knew about how things worked.  I slipped away from the crowd and
headed back to the service area in case the staff needed help.  The crowd
made it hard to walk back toward the kitchen because the men and women kept
grabbing at me, either to pull my clothes or to get me to dance with them
or both.  I had a hard time hearing anything and had to stand facing the
wall with a finger in my other ear to hear my cell phone.  It was Barry and
he was all excited to tell me he had been invited to the UMSAAP (La Unión
de Marxistas, Socialistas, Anarquistas, Activistas Ambientales y
Pederastas) "Reunion Anual." It was a meeting they had every one or two
years and Barry was pumped about being invited, because he was going by
invitation from George, the foreign guy I met at Bill's house, and from
Dieter Kurprinz, a mysterious associate of George that neither of us had
met at that point.  George and Dieter were both from Eastern Europe
somewhere and the way Barry said, they were in charge of the whole
Progressive Movement because they controlled all of the money.  The UMSAAP
meeting was to be held in Managua, Nicaragua in about eight weeks.  I
enjoyed traveling with Barry but didn't expect to go because I didn't own a
passport or anything.  It was hard to hear Barry over the music so I walked
over to where he was hanging against the side of the pool talking to some
old white dude on the deck.  It was quieter there but I still had to stoop
so I could hear what he was saying.  Barry introduced me to Chuck Schumer,
a Senator and former ACLU lawyer that had a tattoo of a bunny on his back.
And a little devil tattoo above his groin.  Chuck slid into the pool next
to Barry and wrapped his legs around him.  "The water is sooo cold," Chuck
cooed.  "Jump in, the Secret Service has heated towels for everyone," a
woman croaked.  It was Justice Ginsburg of the Supremes, yet another former
ACLU lawyer.  She was sitting at a table near the pool smoking a Pall Mall
unfiltered and drinking some kind of hard liquor.  There was an ashtray
full of butts and the judges robe she was wearing had burn holes on the
front.  She had spoken to me so I introduced myself to her.  She was short
and polite.  I noticed her skin had a pale, plastic look, except for her
fingers which were brown from smoking.  Her Adams-apple was kind of big and
her arms a little muscular for a woman.  She exhaled thick tobacco smoke
from her nose and asked me if I was a friend of Bill Clinton.  After all
that had gone on, I said no and it would be the truth.  I ask why her
friends call her Saul, which is a man's name.  She chuckled and explained
it to me.  Her original name was Saul Alinsky.  She said that she had been
a writer and published several books in the 1950s and 60s that sold well.
Saul had become filthy rich but never gave up his radical ideas to turn
America into a communist country.  But Saul "wasn't comfortable living life
as a man and...felt like a woman trapped in a man's body." I couldn't
understand what he, I mean she meant by that.  Even on the down low you
know who you are and "Saul" said she  -�tuned in, turned on and dropped
out. -� After a life changing LSD experience, Saul abandoned his old
identity, had breast implants and took hormone pills to become "Ruth"and
went to law school at Harvard as Ruth Bader.  I asked her if she had her
johnson cut off and a hole made.  She said no and opened her judges robe to
show me that she had fake breasts, a cock and balls, but no hair.  I
supposed that "she' shaves off the hair, which would have covered the
little red devil tattoo above her groin.  She went on to describe how she
felt years younger than her age because of a macrobiotic diet and told me
how she had plastic surgery maybe fifteen times, starting around 1960 and
felt like she could live forever.  I found out that "Ruth" was always
thinking and talking about her health and in maybe ten minutes I knew more
than I wanted to about her daily bowel movements and that sort of thing, so
I tried to excuse myself.  "Ha ha ha!  Look at Carville!  What a card!" I
looked to where Justice Ginsberg pointed; at a bald guy in the conga line
behind Boy George and Alec Baldwin.  "Look at his head!" The Carville guy
had used some makeup or something to make his bald head look like the head
of a white man's dick.  I laughed about that and then slipped away while
"Saul" was recovering from a coughing fit.  Like I said before, being part
of Barry's Crew is perverted and I thought ot might be smart to quit as
soon as I could.  By that time, I had a nice apartment and didn't want to
go back to the Squeekie Cleane Carwash, so I decided to see what happened
with the trip to Nicaragua before I made a decision.  I was walking back
through the kitchen exit toward the servants' quarters when Consuelo pushed
the door open.  "Oh!  Hola Senorita.  Usted me sorprendio." I had a year of
high school Spanish and never learned all that much.  In Joliet about a
fourth of the inmates are Mexicans and it pays to learn Spanish and that
was a talent that Barry and his crew could use.  Consuelo smiled and said,
"Usted habla espanol!  Maravilloso!  Ahora podemos hablar." (You speak
Spanish!  Marvelous.  Now we can talk) We went back into the kitchen and
found Nigel.  He had opened the big stainless steel fridge with one hand
and balanced a tray of leftover snacks and a green bottle of vintage Merlot
with the other.  "Yaouw knoo thel be uh whale.  Lissun too thum...buggery!"
The door swung back and forth.  Mick Jagger and the crowd blared, 
-�Y-M-C-Ayy-yay!!!" Nigel was tight and started encouraging Consuelo, who
couldn't understand the words, but tried to sing along anyway.  I was
laughing at them and tried to show Consuelo how to make the letters.  I
said the letters in Spanish: "Eme...Ce...A....A" Nigel and Consuelo did the
best they could to make the letters with their arms.  Nigel opened the
Merlot and poured us each a generous glass.  We sat around the prep table
and mocked our "sophisticated" employers as the band throbbed outside.  We
toasted the Clintons, the Progressives, The Village People, the man who
wrote Louie-Louie, all of them.  And we ate their food.  And laughed some
more.  And we opened another thirty year old bottle of wine.  Consuelo
could do a dead on Spanglish impression of "Mee-suss Cleen-tone." Standing
with her hands on her hips, she scowled, waved her finger and harangued the
imaginary servants.  Probably it was the grape, but all at once, Consuelo
went silent and her eyes welled up.  I looked at Nigel.  He shrugged. 
�"She wunts to goo hoom ta Mexicoo, lad." I put my hand on her arm and
asked, "�Por que no acaba de salir de aquí entonces?" That roughly
means, "Why don't you just leave?" She used a paper napkin to dry her eyes
and said, "La Senora.  Clinton tomo mi pasaporte.  Ella dice que no puedo
salir hasta que mi trabajo fuera de la deuda." Confused, I asked, "Dinero?"
She shook her head.  Mrs.  Clinton had taken Consuelo's passport and was
keeping her as a servant to pay some kind of debt.  She had no family
outside of Mexico and her bed was a pile of old linens under the basement
steps.  They told her she would be put in jail or be hurt if she left, and
Consuelo believed them.  After what Consuelo said, I was shocked and felt
lucky to have a room and bed in the guest cottage, even if I had to share
it with other limo drivers.  And we could leave in the morning or when ever
Barry and the others got up.  The caterers would clean the patio and pool
in the morning and Barry was on his own.  I didn't think I would ever see
Consuelo or Nigel again.  So I hugged Consuelo and shook Nigel's hand good
night and goodbye.  It was past time for some rest and I trudged over to
the guest cottage.  Only one of the limo drivers was sleeping in there and
he was snoring softly.  I took the twin bed furthest from him, turned over
and covered my head with the pillow.  I must have been asleep for a half an
hour when Ryan, one of the Secret Service men, shook me awake.
   "Come on, man.  Wake up!  Uncle Teddy fell out on the front lawn and the
Clinton's don't want him there when the sun comes up!" I sat on the side of
the bed and rubbed my eyes.  Ryan wasn't a dream.  "Get your shoes on. 
It's going to take all of us to get him off the lawn!" We hiked around the
big house to the front of the property.  There was a little group of people
standing around a man who was laying on the ground beside a tree.  I heard
one of the women say,  -�Give it to him sister!  Bear down girl!" Another,
her voice slurred from booze added, "yeah Quisha, Shhhhaappaquidick on hiss
ashh!" I realized they were taking turns pissing on the older man, who
wasn't moving.  One of the hookers was straddling him, trying to get out a
few last drops or...Ryan started to run toward them and yelled, "Secret
Service!  Secret Service!  Step away from the person on the ground!!" The
hooker standing over the man jumped off and the little crowd moved back. 
Ryan lifted the man's head and said, "Are you OK, Senator?" Senator Kennedy
mumbled something and when I bent down to hear what he said, I could smell
alcohol real strong, and urine.  He reeked.  His face was bruised and it
looked like someone had written something on his head with lipstick but we
couldn't make out the words.  "Better call 911," I said to Ryan.  "No
fuckin way!  He's drunk again and if it hits the media HRH will be all over
me!  Let's just get him inside.  We can carry him up to his room through
the side stairwell." And that's what we did.  Nigel brought around a lawn
tractor with a utility trailer.  We grunted and lifted Uncle Teddy onto the
trailer and hauled him around to the side entrance.  Then we, that is, Me,
Ryan, Nigel and some other Secret Service agents strained to carriy him up
the stairs.  Mrs.  Clinton was already in the room when Arnold
Schwarzenegger came from the elevator.  Mrs.  Clinton was furious and told
us to get Uncle Teddy undressed and cleaned up before we put him in bed. 
She sent away the Secret Service men, spoke to Arnold for a minute, then
she left too.  I waited with Nigel while Arnold made a telephone call out
in the hall.  He was keeping his voice down low, but I heard him exclaim,
"Alright!  Alright!  I do what the foats say!" To his credit, Arnold
wouldn't let the sixty-something Nigel help lift Uncle Ted.  He hitched up
his pants, stood over the Senator and picked him up by his collar and belt;
then carried him over to the bath tub.  I held Teddy's shoulders while
Arnold pulled the pants off; then we stripped him of his stained underwear,
urine soaked shirt and tie.  The undershorts had us both gagging as we
struggled to get him undressed.  Sen.  Kennedy started coming around when
we boosted him into the tub.  Arnold tugged off his shorts and threw them
into the trash as we swung his legs over the edge into the cool water.  I
saw that the Senator had a devil tattoo above his groin, like the others,
only faded and blurry, like it had been there a long time.  Nigel brought a
Presidential Robe, one of the souvenir types they give out to guests at the
Whitehouse.  It was a royal blue and had the Presidential Seal sewn onto
the left side.  We pulled Uncle Teddy out of the tub and dried him while he
sat on the toilet and stared at us, disoriented.  His eyes were bloodshot
and his breath stunk like shit mixed with gin.  We put the robe over the
Senator and Arnold sighed that it was "All wrong that he never got to be
president." We left the Senator kneeling in front of the bidet, because it
had no seat or lid to fall on him as he kneel (sic) there, coughing and
puking.  My shoulders and back were aching from carrying luggag bne and
wrestling Uncle Ted.  It was a long walk to the Limo Drivers' room and I
lay down for the second time, dog tired and went to sleep right away,
without undressing.  It was getting light out when I woke up.  The limo
driver was sitting on the side of his bed smoking a cigarette.  "Your folks
leaving?" I asked.  He stared at the floor as he spoke.   -�I guess...at 9.
I have to drive Rosie O'Donnell and Barbara Streisand back to their hotel
across from Central Park, then take Ms.  McKinney and Ms.  Brawley all the
way back to Atlanta." He scratched his hair and continued.  "I've been with
this Limo outfit for three years and since the Clintons moved in, I've
taken people from out here to Gracie Mansion, Times Square, all over.  You
ever noticed how these politicians and their friends are all fuckin'
weirdos??" I remembered Nigel's warning and told him I didn't know "nothing
about nobody's bidness but my own, no sir!" He looked up at me for a
second, thinking.  His cigarette bobbed and he broke into a grin as he
spoke.  "You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me!" We both laughed and the subject
changed to the weather.  After Mark from Lotus Limo left, I dozed until my
cell phone rang.  It was Barry.  He was in the main house upstairs, and
thought we could take Barney Frank and some of his male escorts  -�...back
to Boston with us, on the way to Chicago. -� We had plenty of room he said,
because Jerry, Dennis and Link had hooked up with Boy George and Al
Sharpton.  We would pick them up again in Binghamton, New York.  I told
Barry it would be OK, that I had to check the maps and would come for his
things in a half an hour.  "No hurry," he said.  I was hungry and there was
a crumpled bag of day old donuts on the cabinet.  I ate one.  It was dry,
but the sugar on the outside tasted good, so I had another and drank some
water from the sink before I headed over to the big house for Barry and the
boys.  Barry was staying in room on the second floor.  While I was waiting
for the elevator, Mrs.  Clinton came by.  She was showing a woman around
the house and I heard her introduce the woman to one of her aides as "Nancy
Pelosi, Congressperson from San Fransisco." They were standing behind me
when the Congresswoman said,  -�You know Hillary, I just love your
servants, Consuelo and Nigel.  Of course, Consuelo's Mexican, or something
and Mexicans will work for peanuts.  At least you don't have any blacks
working for you!  You know they want too much pay and they all steal. 
Every one of them. -� My neck got hot feeling and wanted to turn around to
confront them, but I kept still.  Mrs.  Clinton continued, "So Nancy, you
and Paul have white servants?" "Oh no!  They'll only work five or six days
a week and want even more than the blacks.  The Chinese people we have in
San Fransisco work for peanuts too, but do a much better job than Mexicans.
Believe me, I've had it both ways!" The women both laughed at her little
play on words.  Congresswoman Pelosi went on to say that her "Chinese
servants ran off once in a while," but she had found a way to get more and
it turned out to be a great business opportunity.  She took her yacht out
to ship off the coast by San Fransisco.  The boat was from Southeast Asia
and they could pick from the healthiest undocumented immigrants on the
boat. They had nowhere to go in the U.S., so the Congresswoman could
threaten the immigrants with deportation or worse if they left her house.
And besides their "pick of the crop," the Congresswoman was getting a cut
from the human traffickers on the other Asian illegal immigrants.  Slick.
   My phone rang while I was waiting for the elevator.  They were ready.  I
took the stairs up to the room and knocked.  A lisping old fag opened the
door.  "Oh!  Hi!  You must be Barry's guy!  Come in!  Come in!  Don't mind
the dog.  He's just naturally friendly like that." I pushed the dog off my
leg and looked around.  The room was filled with empty liquor bottles, and
dirty dishes.  Barry was sitting on the couch.  He was wearing a dog collar
and so were the three young gay escorts.  "Call me Barney!" the man said
and I shook his hand.  His palm was real sweaty and I dried my hand on my
pants when he looked away.  I nodded to the boi on the bed and saw the
luggage scattered around the room.  The dog came back and tried to hump my
leg again.  "Get down, Lyndon!  Bad dog!!  Sorry.  He needs more training."
One boi dragged the dog away.  Barney lisped on about his dog.  "The
Portugese Water Dog is the perfect pet for a gay man!  First of all,
they're black and their coat looks like a Jerri Curl...and they are always
eager to please!  I named this one after President Johnson.  You know that
LBJ and me were friends, and for two glorious years, lovers.  That was when
I was first elected to Congress." "Uh, I'd better get Barry's things..." I
said.  "Oh!  Puleeze let the guys help you.  They're all so buff.  Just
look at those abs!" The Senator snapped his fingers twice and the first boi
picked up a suitcase, then the others did the same.  They were wearing
speedos and people smiled as I led the three of them down the steps and out
the parking lot side entrance.  I noticed Mark standing against one of the
Lotus Luxury Limos with his arms crossed.  I told the escorts to put the
bags in the trunk of the Mercedes and walked over to see why Mark hadn't
left.  "Hey man!  Whassup??!  He motioned me over and put his finger to his
lips.  When I was close enough Mark whispered,  -�Streisand and O'Donnell
are having a little thing with Cynthia McKinney.  Here, I left the window
down.  You can see them on the monitor!" I bent down so I could see the
dash mounted security monitor.  It displayed pictures in turn from inside
and around the car.  The dark glass separating the driver from the
passengers was up and the first four pictures on the monitor were from the
outside of the car.  Mark continued, "One minute they were kissing each
other goodbye, and next thing yuh know, I have to wait 'til they're done
before I can freakin' roll." Then the backseat view came on monitor.  I
couldn't see the person's face, but it was a large woman with a lot of body
hair and masculine tats.  She was moving around a lot and when she move I
saw the Senator's fat bootay from the rear and when she turned, I saw she
had on a big strap on dick.  When the monitor shifted to the other back
seat camera, I could see a old white woman laying on her back with her legs
spread and the big white woman was eating her out.  And the older woman had
the devil tattoo, just above her thin, gray pussy hair.  The fluid
glistening on her pussy lips shined into a black hot spot on the monitor,
and as I watched the next picture rotated and could see the upper half of
the big woman and saw her face all distorted.  The monitor view went to six
small pictures, then the parking lot and so on, and I turned away.  Mark
was standing there when the camera view turned away from the women in the
limo.  He looked at me and made the finger in the mouth  -�gag-me -� sign,
I laughed so hard I almost pee my pants.  Before I could sneak another
look, Barry and Barney bounced down the front steps to the limo.   -�Sorry
I'm running late.  Do you have any gum?  I had to blow Harry Reid and Joe
Biden before they'd let me leave." I held open my hands, "Can't help you."
Sen.  Frank had his dog on a leash and the escorts brought the two
remaining bags and they put them into the trunk.  "We have to wait for
Olympia,"Barney said, and he motioned toward the house.  There was a woman
talking to Mrs.  Clinton on the front porch like they were old friends. 
They kissed and kissed again before Olympia started down the stairs. 
Olympia asked me if she could ride up front, "Since I'm getting out at La
Guardia airport." I open the door for her and she got in.  We were on the
main highway heading into New York City when Miss Snow started making small
talk about the weather and shit before she got to what was on her mind. 
"�You know those men in back are all gay, don't you?  I thought that was
a pretty strange thing to say, considering where we had been.  "Uh, yes." I
answered, not sure where she was going with it.   -�That's why I wanted to
ride up here with you.  Those swingers and deviates give me the creeps!"
"Well why you come to the Clintons' party then?" I asked.  She bit her
lower lip and looked thoughtful for a minute before she told me about
Rhinos.  She said that she was one of several members of Congress who were
nominal Republicans but, "We don't really believe in low taxes, smaller
government or the Free Enterprise System." She came to the Clinton party
from Maine because she thought that the Progressives were going to take
over and she wanted to be on the winning side, without giving up her home
voter base.  "I can't stand the Clintons, but I'll suck up to the Democrats
because it helps me politically.  If I wasn't in Congress, I'm not sure
what I'd do for a living.  I've never had a real job or anything.  After
Susan Collins and I voted to acquit President Clinton on the perjury
charges in the Lewinsky affair, I didn't have a friend in Washington except
for the Democrats and a few other Rinos" She explained that Rino meant
Republican In Name Only.  The name fit, but I still couldn't understand why
she sold out her own party.  Or why I saw so many Rinos at these
Progressive events.  The more I learned, the more uncomfortable and
determined I was to get away from Barry, Jerry, the other perverts and the
communist shit they spewed.  It would be easy to feel sorry for Miss Snowe,
but to me, it was like she sold out the people in her state by going along
with something that she knew was not what her own party stood for.  And why
do the other Republicans put up with shit like that?
   It took more than an hour to get to the airport and drop Senator Snowe
at the V.I.P.  Gate with her bags.  Then we doubled back north to get Sen.
Frank, his dog and the escorts back to the Senator's crib in Boston.  We
made one "potty stop" on I-93 because the Senator had to "tinkle." I waited
in the Limo while the whole bunch went inside the rest stop.  It took them
45 minutes to finish their business, then another half hour to his crib,
where we met the Senator's  -�husband -� and partner in their escort
business.  Senator Frank was late for a business meeting with two other
men, Russ Finegold and Franklin Raines and they were all waiting for him in
the parlor.  It took an hour and a half to meet, greet, unload and say
goodbye to his crew.  By then it was almost 3 p.m.  and we were due back in
Chicago on Friday.  Barry sat up front on the way back.  He was excited
because he had been "so well accepted by the Progressive leadership," and
because Sen.  Frank invited him to a  -�boy's week out -� with Barney, his
husband and his friends at his vacation condo at Gay Head on Martha's
Vineyard.  Barry planned to fly to Boston and take a ferry out to "The
Vineyard" and he needed to think of some way to get his wife and kids to go
somewhere else that week.  I had overheard Barry and Barney talking about
Barry's aunt, who lived in Boston, not far from Sen.  Franks office, and an
Uncle, Jomo Kenyatta, who lived there, too.  "This is perfect.  You can
visit your Aunt Hututsi while you are there," I suggested.  Barry said,
"oh, no.  She lives in the projects down in South Boston.  It's not safe to
go there.  Not if you don't want to be mugged." "Well, what about your
uncle?  Maybe he could go pick her up and you could buy them a good
dinner." "Naw, no need.  They haven't seen me since my father brought them
to see me in the newborn nursery at Nairobi Women's Hospital.  I wouldn't
even know what they look like.  Barney helped arrange for them to get into
public housing here ahead of a lot of other black people live.  It may be a
dump, but it's still better than the hut they were living in back in Kenya.
And besides, we don't know what happened to Uncle Jomo since he got evicted
from his apartment in The Projects.  He's real old and I don't even think
he can drive." I couldn't think of a thing to say about that let Barry doze
until it was his turn to drive.  We had to go back through Cleveland to
pick up Jerry because he had gone on ahead with Denny Kucinich, Al Sharpton
and Alsee Hastings.  We got in there after midnight and met Jerry and Al at
a mostly white downtown bar.  I was worn out from driving.  Since Barry had
slept most of the way to Cleveland and promised to drive the rest of the
way back to Chicago, I sat in a booth, put my head down on my arms and
tried to get some sleep while they partied.  The waitress came around and
asked if I wanted anything "to go." She said I couldn't stay there unless I
bought a drink, so I handed her $15 from the expense money and went back to
sleep.  I don't know how much time went by when Jerry woke me up and said
it was time to go.  I brought the limo around to the front door.  Jerry,
Barry and Alsee piled in the back, but not Rev.  Sharpton.  "Go see what's
taking that nigga!" ordered Jerry, so I got out and hustled inside.  Al was
arguing with the bar maid and the bartender and some bar patrons were
standing around talking loud too.  I ran up to where they were by the juke
box and like I was a cop or something, yelled, "What's the problem here??!"
I looked as mean as I could at the moment and the bartender said, "Your
home boy here stole our tips off the bar, that's what!" Then he added, "I'm
calling the cops!" "Whoaaaa, Wait!  Wait man!  How do you know he stole
your money?" "Because I saw him, that's how!  And I should have thrown the
whole bunch of you out when I had the chance!  Look, it's on the security
cam, everybody knows he did it!" I looked at Al, but he wouldn't look at me
in the eye, so I offered the bartender and the barmaid $100 each to forget
the whole thing.  They gladly accepted the money and the crowd-if you want
to call four drunks a crowd, went back to their shots and beers.  Al walked
ahead of me toward the door and I gave his drunk ass a shove as we exited
because I was already on my last nerve and had enough of his stupid ass-ed
shit.  I told Jerry what happened and I could hear them arguing for a while
even with the divider up between me and them.  Al denied the whole thing
ever happened.  Barry reneged on driving and because of the late hour so we
stopped at a motel outside of Toledo.  I insisted on a room by myself and
they didn't bother me until 7:30 the next morning.  We went through the
drive through at a Micky D for breakfast and I drove strait through to
Chicago.
   I took two days off before I went back to my job at ACORN.  For the next
couple months I chauffeured Barry, Jerry and Bill to the usual gay scene
bars between Chicago and Springfield for part of the year, but mostly kept
to myself and collected my paycheck each week.  I made over a thousand a
week, plus O.T., so I was doing pretty good.  It was a month later when
Barry call to say he promised Jerry he would help set up the UMSAAP (La
Unión de Marxistas, Socialistas, Anarquistas, Activistas, Ambientales y
Pederastas) meeting in Managua, Nicaragua.  He wanted me to fly down there
two days ahead of him and help set up for the  -�The Scion of African
Elders -� mini seminar.  He said that each group was responsible for their
own set up, but that it wasn't hard work because the employees of the Hotel
de la Revolution took care of the heavy work.  It would be exciting, he
said, "Because Jerry is giving the main presentation at the Scion Breakout
Session," whatever that was.  I was excited about traveling to another
country and had a lot of questions about the arrangements.  I asked him
about a passport and he say not to worry, because they can get documents
for anyone.  He call later in the day with directions to an office off West
Laurence.  It was filled with Mexican people and when I went to the window
and said who I was, they took me right to an office in back.  A man took my
picture and in a few minutes, I had a was holding a small black passport
book and an envelope full of papers for me, Jerry, Barry and his wife.  The
book had my picture in the front and a bunch of foreign stamps on the
pages. "All you need senor; Gracias," the man said as he hand me my
passport.  He wouldn't let me give him any money at all.  There was snow
blowing across the runway at O'Hare Airport when I boarded the CNVA (El
Consejo Nicaragua de Volando Atad�the Nicaraguan national airline) flight
to Managua via one stop, Mexico City.  It was a long flight and I was still
excited about coming to another country.  I caught an old, janky cab to the
Hotel Nationale and checked in.  A banner across the front of the desk
read,  -�Hotel Nacional da la Bienvenida a Nuestro Progresivo Camaradas! -�
A man took the big box of folders that I brought, plus my bags, and I
followed him up to my room.  The hotel was old and my room had worn gray
linoleum floors, but mostly it was clean.  After the bellman put my things
away, I said "gracias" and handed the man a five dollar tip.  He looked at
the bill, then back at me and he said something in Spanish that I partly
understood: "Muchas gracias senor!  Su gratuidad es tan generosa!  Perda
name.  Pensa que estaba en primera Progresivo.  Progresistas son tan
baratos!" I got five star service during my whole stay in that place.
I changed into the clothes I brought for the warm climate and went down
to the Centro de Convenciones to check out the situation.  The Centro was
one big convention hall just opposite the entrance doors, with smaller
meeting rooms in a rectangle going all the way around the Gran Salon de la
Revolution.  People were inside unpacking supplies and setting up rows of
tables and chairs.  I walked past the small meeting rooms and read the
signs on the wall next to each door.  It took a few minutes to find Room 7;
El Scion Africanos de Ancianos.  My boxes were already inside.  The lobby
was getting crowded with arriving Progressives from all over the world.  I
saw a few people wearing Arab clothes and some with berets.  I saw some
Chinese people wearing little green uniforms with matching hats which had a
red star on front.  And there were more cops there, too.  All swarthy types
in plain clothes with dark glasses.  And machine guns.  While I was pushing
through the crowd, a group of soldiers and police came in with a thin,
bearded older guy and some other people.  Everyone recognized the Castro
brothers and some yelled, "Fidel!  Fidel!" I heard the man at the desk tell
the bellman to take them up to "El Conquistador" suite.  The police
escorted the Arabs, Chinese and the Castros to their rooms.  The next
morning start early on my job.  I put handouts at each seat and double
checked that there was enough notepads and pens for all the attendees at
the Scion of African Elders meeting room, then headed to the Grand Salon to
help set up there until Jerry & Barry's plane come in.  The hotel had lunch
set up on a table in back of the Grand Salon for the outside help like me.
It was just rice and beans , with some shredded pork, sweet plantains and
strong black coffee.  I was waiting at the airport when the CNVA 707 came
in from Mexico City.  It was the most of the American Delegation and there
were about thirty American attendees to be picked up, including Barry,
Jerry, Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi and several others that I had seen and
met through my association with Barry.  There was three or four chartered
Lear jets on the runway and someone said they were for Hollywood people.  I
helped the driver load their bags into the Mercedes limos and sat up front
with him as we sped off through the narrow streets and Managua traffic to
the Hotel Nacional.  The whole delegation checked into the hotel, then
walked the short distance to the Conference Reception Desk where they got
name tags and a folder full of information.  I noticed that Nancy Pelosi,
Michael Moore and Sen.  Kerry all had gold name tags that said Committee
Candidate.  The others just said their name and national origin.  I had
gotten mine earlier at the Worker Desk.  It had my name, picture, a number
and  -�Bilingual SP/EN -� on the ribbon.  There was a reception and keynote
address with open bar at seven, so I took Barry and Jerry up to their room.
They had to get changed into tuxedos, so I went back to my room until 6:30,
when Barry called to say they were ready.  We walked downstairs together
and found seats at a table near the podium.  The keynote speakers were the
two white lesbian actresses that adopt kids from Africa and bring them here
to raise.  You know the ones.  The delegates ate a nice dinner and were
dancing when Fidel Castro came in with his brother, Raul and some securidad
people.  The crowd gathered around him so tight that he could hardly pass
and the Policia Nationale had to push them back.  They directed Fidel and
his brother to sit in the last remaining seats -"at our table.  Barry and
Jerry were enthralled and tried to talk to Fidel.  I was surprised to learn
that he spoke a little English.  When he found out we were from Chicago, he
teased us about the Cubs and said that he played some baseball in the US
back in the 1940s, but that he never had any minor or major league tryouts
when I asked him about that.  I translated for Raul mostly, because he does
not speak much English.  There was a group of delegates from the Peoples
Republic of China at a nearby table and a couple of them came over with
their translator, a cute Chinese girl, to say hello to Fidel and Raul, to
shake their hands and have pictures taken together.  Hillary Clinton was
nearby too.  She kept staring at us and I thought she was steamed because
Fidel Castro was seated at the Scion of Africa table.  The wait staff
brought out a bottle of rum and our table had several rounds when the talk
turned to the tradition of El Unión de Marxistas, Socialistas,
Anarquistas, Activistas, Ambientales y Pederastas having parties the night
before the big event.  Fidel said that some of the Chinese guys wanted to
get together in their suite after the reception and he told me I should get
the details from Raul.  Jerry and Barry were pumped about partying with the
old revolutionaries and said to tell them that it would be a  -�great honor
-� to visit their room.  Jerry said to work it out with Raul, so I did,
going back and forth between Raul and Jerry.  We would get together in
Raul's suite after ten.  Chaca Chaca  -�¿Puede usted traer prostitutas a
las habitaciones? -� Raul asked.   -�¿Prostitutas? -� I had to be sure I
understood.  I did.  If I couldn't get the goods -"some hookers, I knew
that Jerry and Barry would lose face with their Progressive comrades.  
-�Si, Queremos hacerlo con un par de grandes senos prostitutas, -� Raul
Castro replied.  I told him that I would check with the hotel and get back
with them.  I excused myself and headed for the front desk, where I found
Miguel, the guy that took my bags up earlier.   -�Hola Miguel.  ¿Pueden
ayudarme a encontrar las prostitutas que llegan a el hotel? -� Miguel
agreed to help us out and we were soon in another run-down taxi headed to a
bad section of Managua.  It took maybe five minutes to drive the mile or so
through the trash filled unpaved streets to La luz roja distrito (the
red-light district).
   In half an hour I had negotiated a price and paid a woman I guessed was
the Madam out of the $7000 expense money Jerry gave me to hold.  Her
brothel was a crude house with lumpy blue painted mud interior walls and a
bare metal roof.  There was a crucifix on the wall in every room, right
above the grimy beds where the whores plied their trade.
   We all crowded into the taxi, a 74 Chevrolet, and drove back with the
four hookers from the establishment, plus the Madam, Miguel and me.  I got
to sit in back with the four hookers, two of them on my lap and the heat
and humidity almost suffocated me.  I tipped Miguel $100 for his trouble
and the taxi driver got $40.  I took the hookers in through the back
service entrance and strait up to the Conquistador Suite.
   I didn't think to go to La Pharmacia for Profilacticos, because I had
never even been to South America and hadn't thought to get some.  Barry and
his friends always went bareback back in Chicago but Raul looked over the
hookers and sent me right back out for rubbers.  It was late and Miguel
took me to three pharmacies before we found one open for business.  I
bought two boxes of ten Seguros De Latex, paid for them with American money
and drove back to the hotel.
   When I got up to the suite, room service had delivered some bottles of
champaign.  Barry and one of the Chinese guys were in bed with what looked
to be the oldest prostitute.  She was on top of the Chinese guy and Barry
was behind, balls deep into her poop chute while the other hookers, Jerry,
Fidel and Raul watched and cheered them on.  They had paired up with the
hookers based on (I guess) seniority.  Fidel sat on a leather chair with
the youngest & cutest one sitting on his lap.  Raul had a young
perky-tittied one with her blouse off on the couch, while Jerry, Barry and
the Chinese guy took pot luck with the stankiest ones.
   Barry pulled his cock out of the hooker's steaming hole just as he shot
his wad.  Streams of jism shot all over her ass; around her still gaping
bung hole and down her hairy crack.  The Chinese guy came a minute later
and the ho who called herself  -�Lolita -� turned over and I saw her real 
-�charms -�.  She was so skinny and sick looking that I could count her
ribs.  She had bad teeth and breasts that hung like socks full of sand.  I
put the rubbers on the table nearest Raul.  He glanced at Lolita, opened
the box, pulled out a four or five and told me to hand out the remainder to
the other guys.
   I was getting ready to leave when Raul leaned over to me and said, 
-�Dígale al joven negro que Fidel le quiere. -� I answered,  -�Perdón? -�
Fidel was looking intently at Barry.  Raul thought for a second and said, 
-��0/0l quiere que Barry le fuera a chupar. -� He said Fidel liked Barry's
looks and want a BJ from him.  I told Jerry who told Barry who looked over
at Fidel and smiled.  Fidel, who already had his cock out, stood up and
dropped his pants.  He wasn't wearing any underwear and he too had a small
devil tattoo above his groin.
   Barry walked over to Fidel and kneel down in front of him.  He reached
out for Fidel's cock and stroked it a couple of times to get him fully
hard, then eased the foreskin back with his other hand.  Fidel smiled and
leaned back, enjoying the experience as Barry first kissed, then licked the
head of his hard tool and pressed his mouth over the dictator's cock.
   His thin lips were stretched tightly around Fidel's thick cock and as he
worked, Barry gently rubbed the old revolutionaries balls while he slid his
mouth up and down the turgid salchichón.  Fidel was breathing faster and
it looked like he was about to bust his nut.  He murmured something to
Barry,  -�Estás listo para mi negro de semillas?  Voy a disparar en breve.
-� (I'm getting ready to come) Barry suddenly pulled his mouth off Fidel's
thick cock and coughed forcefully as jism shot over his face.  His caramel
face turned red from coughing and jism dripped from his nostrils to the
carpeted floor.
   The Castros laughed and Fidel slapped Barry hard on the back several
times to help him catch his breath.  Barry was on his hands and knees
coughing, and when he straitened up, his eyes were red and tearing from the
Marxist's facial.  Jerry offered him a drink and I tossed him the cloth
that was wrapped around the champaign bottle.  Barry wiped his face, blew
his nose several times and sucked in a few breaths of fresh air.   -�Whew!
-� he exclaimed.   -�That was the biggest load I ever took!  El Presidente
must not have gotten off in a while! -�
   Raul & Fidel laughed again and the whores giggled, too.   -�Goddam that
was hot! -� exclaimed Jerry.  And the Chinese guy said something nobody but
he could understand.  A few minutes later the youngest Nicaraguan whore was
straddling El Presidente de Cuba, her feet between Fidel and the sides of
his chair, demonstrating her considerable talents on his latex wrapped
tool. She was pretty and had brown puffy breasts.
   I thought that she looked like one of those native Inca people from the
wall mural at the Mangua airport, with her sloping forehead and large,
strait nose.  Her eyes and hair were jet black and she could have been
anywhere from fifteen on up, it was hard to tell.  Her tits were firm and
perky and puffy like I said and she had a nice flat stomach and round
booty, but not any kind of bubble-butt.  When you are El Presidente for
life, you get your choice of women, or men, if that be what you're into. 
Fidel Castro swings both ways.
   Jerry was stuck with the Madam, a middle aged Nicaraguan mujer, maybe
forty; it was hard to say how old because life in the slums of Managua is
so hard that people there seem old at maybe thirty- five.  Prostitution is
the only thing not owned by the government and is an economic resource
always open to women in slums.  Since the whores usually made less than two
dollars a trick, working the UMSAAP for a night was a lucrative change of
pace for the Nicaragua's poontang-for-hire.
   Raul didn't get involved right away with things goings on, but while we
were watching Fidel and the young hooker get it on, Raul said,  -�Quiero
que el mocoso. -� He meant Barry, so I motioned him over.   -�Puestos en la
gorro, -� he ordered, and pointed to the condoms and his own cock.  So
Barry unwrapped a prelubricated Escolta brand condom, jacked Raul's cock to
make it fully hard and rolled on the profilatico.  Raul made a circle in
the air with his index finger and Barry turned around obediently.  I could
see that he had a hardon too, and he grimaced in pain as Raul forced his
cock into Barry's tight ass.
   Fidel and the young hooker were really getting into the spirit of things
and the girl was grunting,  -�aye, aya, aye -� with each thrust when
someone knocked on the door.  Jerry stood up to get it, but one of Fidel's
security detail beat him to it.  The man looked through the peep hole and
opened the door for a tall, dark haired man and a swarthy fat guy.   -�Hola
Fidel!  Cómo estás? -� the first man exclaimed.  They were obviously on
good terms.  Observing Fidel and the young hooker, the guy asked, 
-�Cuántas es esta noche?  Tres, o cuatro? -� (How many times have you
fucked tonight?  Three or four times?)
   Fidel and Raul laughed again and Fidel replied,  -�Sí, tres hasta
ahora! Yo soy la ametralladora! -� (Three or four; I am The Machine Gun!)
They all had a good laugh and the guy introduced himself to me as General
Daniel Ortega, former President of Nicaragua.  Then he introduced the other
guy as Col.  Hugo Chavez, the President of Venezuela.   -�Ella tiene un
magnífico culo! -� (She has a magnificent ass) he said, nodding at the
young hooker.
    -�Veo que trajo el pajero. -� (I see you brought the guy who pulls his
meat), commented Raul dryly.  It got real quiet for a minute as Mr.  Chavez
and Raul glared at each other.  I could hear people breathing as the
security people stepped closer to the Cuban President and his brother.  I
looked over at Barry and Jerry.  Barry was still impaled on Rauls cock, but
Raul had stopped thrusting during the confrontation.
   Fidel broke the tension:  -�Basta de esto! -� (Enough!) It was obvious
that there was bad blood between Raul and the Venezuelan president, and
Jerry told me to find out about it, so they could either use the
information, or at least avoid getting involved.  I asked Julio, one of the
Cuban security detail when I got the chance.
   He was proud to tell me that there has been a story going around for
years where Col.  Chavez used to jerk off after lights out in the barracks
when he was a cadet at the Venezuelan Military Academy.  Then one night he
was caught jerking off onto other Cadets beds when they were asleep.  After
that, the other cadets beat him up, often.  The story came out in the
newspapers during his presidential campaign.  Some guy confessed that he
had been working for Raul Castro just before he  -�committed suicide. -�
   And if that wasn't bad enough, Fidel made one of Chavez' wifes pregnant
during a meeting in the Dominican Republic in 1975.  They divorced and she
moved to Spain.
   Julio told me that things got worse after Mr.  Ortega was driven from
power by the Americanos, and Chavez was elected President of Venezuela. 
Apparently, Ortega then switched sides out of jealousy.  When Ortega took
up with Mr.  Chavez, Raul was furious.  Fidel used a machine gun to stop
violence between them at a Pan American conference in Mexico, but ever
since they had bad intentions between them.
   Raul pulled his soft dick out of Barry's ass and said to me in Spanish,
-�Tell him to suck on it to make me hard again. -� I told Barry and he end
up giving Raul a blow job while the others watched.  Things were quiet as
Barry slid his tongue up and down Raul Castro's cock.  Mr.  Ortega used the
silence to change the subject, saying in Spanish,  -�We came here to see if
the new guys want to go into Managua to the Pollo Escuela (chicken school)
with Hugo and me.  Kim Il-sung is waiting for us in the limo, so you must
hurry. -�
   I stayed behind while Barry, Jerry, David and Hugo went to the Chicken
School in Ortega's limo.  I talked to the limo driver the next day and he
told me the  -�school -� was really a brothel in the shadow of government
buildings near downtown Managua.  The place caters to important 
-�Progressive -� pedophiles from around the world, Nicaraguan politicians
and official visitors from other countries, assorted American actors and
ACLU lawyers that come down for gay sex vacations.  That explained why
Managua, Nicaragua had replaced Quito, Ecuador as the site for the UMSAAP
meeting.
   The UMSAAP meeting officially opened with a Welcome Ceremony the next
day and I had some time to kill once I had the materials set out.  I back
to my room on the seventh floor of the hotel and took a hot shower, my
first since I got there the day before.  Room service brought up some food
and I went to bed early.  My phone ring the next morning just as the sun
came up above the mountains.  It was Jerry.   -�Goddammit EZ, get your
black ass up here to Barry's room! -� So I pulled on my pants and carried
my shoes as I hurried to the elevator and punched the button for service.
While I waited for the elevator I sat down on a bench and pulled on my
socks and shoes.
   The elevator car made a thud when it stopped at the seventh floor and
when the doors opened, Michael Moore was in there alone, sitting on one of
those motorized scooters that old fat people use in the mall.  The dude was
disheveled, with at least three days growth of beard and he was wearing the
grimy baseball cap you see him wearing all the time.  I stepped in and the
doors closed behind me before I could back out.  Michael Moore is a real
slob and has terrible body odor.  I tried to hold my breath.
   When the doors opened there were several people waiting to get on.  It
wasn't Barry's floor, but I got off the elevator anyway and took a breath
of fresh air as the others got on, grabbed their noses and got back off. 
Moore started yelling something to the people who got off and everyone
ignored him and headed for the stairs.  They had six floors down to the
ground level for the UMSAAP meeting.  I had three flights up to Barry's
floor.
   When I got to Barry's room the door was open a crack and I went right
in. Jerry and Barry were both in the bathroom and I heard Barry say,  -�It
feels like I'm pissing razorblades, Jerry!  I...I've never had anything
like this before.  Well, maybe just once or twice!  You gotta get me to a
doctor before the conference starts! -�
    -�He have the goddam clap. -� Jerry said.   -�And there's no way we can
call the House Doctor because too many people will know.  We have to take
him to a doctor in town. -� I thought for a minute and said,  -�I don't
think that he could be well by tonight.  My cousin told me it always take a
couple of days to feel better, even after they give you the shots for it.
-� Barry looked up at us like he was pleading and said,  -�I've got to be
at the Conference!  If I'm not there, I'll never become a member of the
Inner Sanctum! -� I looked at Jerry and he looked at me.   -�I better call
Alan and Bill, -� Jerry said.   -�They're backing us for membership. 
They'll know what to do! -� He used his cell phone to call Bill down in his
room.  They talked for a minute and Jerry handed the phone to me.   -�EX,
it's Bill...Ayers.  Look, you've got to fill in for Barry at the Commintern
General Meeting this morning, and maybe the rest of the day! -� I was
stunned.
    -�But I don't look anything like Barry! -� Bill said,  -�Don't worry,
they won't notice the difference.  Alan and I agree, you all look alike to
them and as long as you keep your hood up and keep away from people you
have already met, no one will ever know.  Now put Jerry back on! -� Jerry
took the phone back and talked to Bill, then Alan for a minute or two. 
Jerry got some long white hoodie style robes out of the closet.  He handed
me a name badge that had Barry's name on it, and also, underneath his name
it said New Prospect.  Jerry had the same thing, but his badge said
Presenter and his name.  Two guys in white coats came to the door with a
wheelchair.  I told them in Spanish that he was sick and they took Barry to
Managua Hospital De Revolution in an ambulance while Jerry and I put on the
robes.  The elevator was crowded and still smelled like Michael Moore had
been on it just before.  When we got down to the lobby, there were hundreds
of people milling around some coffee pots and tables laid out with food. 
All free, just get a plate.  Jerry found Bill Ayers and Alan Ginsberg and
the five of us just form a little circle so nobody could see me.   -�Look,
here's the situation: NOBODY can know about this, except us.  You won't
like what happens if it gets out.  When they call Barry's name, just stand
up, hold the hood around your head and nod to the right and the left and
sit down.  I think they'll give Barry some antibiotics and something for
the pain and send him back.  You will be done by the time they wheel out
lunch. -� We went into the main exhibition hall and sat down together at a
table, with me between Jerry and the two white guys.  The place was over
half full and Al Gore was up on the stage adjusting his microphone.  
-�Taaayyy-ust.  Taaayyy-ust.  Taaayyy-ust. -� I looked at the folder of
information they had layed out at each chair and as I thumbed through it,
recognized some of the materials I brought down for The Scion of African
Elders and the pamphlet for ACORN.  There was an Agenda and a list of the
Breakout Sessions and the times and rooms for each of those.  Even though
they said Barry would be back by lunch, I looked them over, wondering what
they were all about.  I folded one up and put it in my pocket.  There was a
set of headphones at each seat, and Alan told me it was for translations,
because there were people at the meeting from all over the world, even
though the meeting that year was,  -�all about defeating America and the
free enterprise system. -� You put the headphones on and turned a knob to
choose your language.  There were a few ads in the folder.  One ad really
caught my eye because it sounded like a great idea: A company from Yemen
was marketing a credit card called The Freedom Card.  The front of the
brochure showed a Thanksgiving scene and in big letters  -�The Freedom
Card. You Can't Leave Home Without It. -� I read the way it works is that
everyone uses the card for everything.   -�The Card automatically deposits
wage and deducts taxes. -� It works like a Cash Card for poor people and
the unemployed, a Debit Card for those who are working, and a Health Card
for everyone.  They swipe the card and money goes in when you are
unemployed or if you are working part time and it collects taxes from the
rich.  It will  -�free people up from the burden carrying cash and ensure
they get their fair share of income and health care. -� Everybody will have
their own Freedom Card, even kids.  The card matches a chip that is 
-�inserted painlessly under the skin at birth. -� It will be mandatory to
carry 24/7 and uses a satellite and computers to track where the owner is,
anywhere on the planet.  The Freedom Card tracks everything you own, how
much you make, what you buy, your Medical Records, Internet and cell phone
usage.   -�Using The Fcard  -�will protect your right to privacy -� and
will be mandatory to buy or sell anything.   -�There will be no need for
cash or cash equivalents, -� such as gold or silver, which will be
confiscated to  -�help those who may prefer hard currency. -� And The Fcard
can  -�track and limit unwise, unsafe or unusual purchases, and can cut you
off if you buy excess unhealthy food or cigarettes. -� They had something
written by Justice Ginsberg in the folders, too.   -�Rules for Radicals -�
by Saul Alinski.  I thought,  -�hey, I know him, uh her... -� There was
some pamphlets from Earth First and Al Gore about Global Warning and how
the people have to stamp out the Automotive Industry in order to  -�Give
America Her Comeuppance. -� A bunch of people wearing black robes and red
robes walked up on stage and sat down in seats on both sides of the stage.
I recognized Al Gore and Justice Ginsberg.  There was a tall bearded Arab
looking guy, The North Korean guy was up there plus some others that I
didn't recognize.  Fidel Castro came up on the stage with George and they
were both wearing red robes like the tall Arab.  We put our headphones on
when Al Gore said to and I could hear instructions and announcements in
English.  The jumbotron scrolled  -�Welcome Prospects and Initiates -� in
various languages.  Al Gore read a list of people who were Prospects-first
time attendees who hoped to become members, and Initiates-those who
attended one or more meetings and were to be initiated into the Commintern
of the UMSAAP.  I guessed that after they had been in the Commintern, they
could be in the Inner Sanctum, like George and Fidel.  When Al read Barry's
name, Alan poke me and I got up, nodded right, then left and sat down. 
People applauded for several minutes when Mr.  Gore was finally done
introducing everyone and then it was time for a  -�prerecorded announcement
from our founder, Dieter Kurprinz. -� It got real quiet as Dieter came into
focus on the big screen.  The picture was gray and green, like a night
vision camera.  The hooded white man started to talk in a foreign language.
A banner ran underneath the leader,  -�Live from Eloween City. -� The
translation came through on the headphones.  Dieter thanked everyone for
their help in advancing his Progressive Agenda and said that they had
several exciting new developments to share with the members and that he was
proud to announce the initiation of several new members to the group, Nancy
Pelosi, Barbara Boxer, Alec Baldwin and some guy from Iran, Aach Medidajob.
Then he turned the meeting back over to Al Gore, who introduced the next
speaker, Professor Achmed Haraam of Columbia University and founder of the
-�Fahesha Club for Arab American Peace. -� The professor was from Saudi
Arabia and he talked about the The Leporidae Plan for Europe, which had
been a  -�great success. -� He said that the Moslem population was up in
unlikely places, like in Ireland, up 70% in 20 years through immigration
and high birthrates.  He said that it was only a matter of a few years
before they could legislate Sharia Law through most of the European Union.
Some of the Moslems in the crowd yelled,  -�Death To America!  And  -�Death
to Israel! -� Professor Haraam's talk gave Jerry another hardon for the
Jews.  Then it was the turn of Henry Waxman, another US Senator and former
ACLU lawyer.  Jerry always noticed that people had Jewish names and always
got worked up by the Nation of Islam videos he watched.  He leaned over to
me and said,  -�They have too many goddam Jews in this organization. -� He
said it way too loud and I saw Alan give Bill a look like he swallowed a
live bug.  Waxman talked for about twenty minutes on the  -�Sexualization
of Children. -� He said that  -�sexualization of juveniles is embedded in
everything from children's clothing to kids' cereal commercials. -� He was
proud that publications for children and the Internet  -�have made
pornography mainstream for youths. -� He had graphs put up on the big
screen that showed how United States kids are having sex at earlier ages
and that  -�The trend toward early intercourse parallels low school
achievement and willingness to vote for Progressive candidates in
elections. -� That got him an long standing ovation from the crowd.  I
thought about what Alan had told me about NAMBLA and wondered how things
got to the way they are.  Next up was that guy that used to be on the TV
news.  I can't remember his name, but the jumbotron said,  -�Newspeak:
1984+20 The Society of Professional Journalists -� The dude went on and on
about how they had almost  -�ironcald control of the news and...can mold
and shape opinions -� to suit the Progressive agenda.  I was surprised when
he apologized for the  -�Bush accident. -� Her said  -�We all agreed that
it was sound strategy to promote weak and liberal Republican candidates
while marginalizing and demonizing strong Republican candidates.  After
all, that strategy worked so well when we got Bob Dole nominated. -� The
Democrats thought that George Bush could never beat Gore-Lieberman.  I
guess they were wrong about that because he is President.  And the man said
that  -�promoting an elderly veteran RINO against a heroic sounding
Democrat would be (their) best choice for the 2004 election cycle. -� He
felt sure that if a heroic Democrat could not be found, one could be
created from the even most cowardly and ambitious former soldier.  He
nodded to Al Gore and went on.   -�Even a deserter or a traitor can be
sanitized because of our control of the print and broadcast media.  We can
turn them into heroes. -� Senator Gore's face looked real angry and when
the man finished, he announced that it was break time and walked off stage
without a word as Rosie O'Donnel and Roseanne Barr came up to the stage to
entertain during the break.   -�I can FART the National Anthem better'n you
can sing it! -� is what Rosie O'Donnel said.  Miss Barr screeched,  -�Well
that's pretty damn bad!  Who wants to hear us fuck up the American National
Anthem??! -� The remaining participants applauded, cheered and whistled.  A
couple yelled,  -�Death to America -� and Death to Israel! -� thought they
were joking around but Rosie took the mike out of it's stand and tucked it
into her pants behind her back.   -�I wish you'd start!  I can't hold this
forever yuh know! -� So Roseanne Barr began screeching.   -�Oh sayyyy
caaaaan yoooooo sing-g-g-g -� as Rosie let loose with the cheese.  
-�Frummmm the star-r-r-s-o br-i-i-i-i-te! -� It didn't sound like music but
Rosie did carry the tune until she ran out of wind a minute later.  The
crowd was going crazy and I decided to take a break myself.  Alan and Bill
insisted on going with me.  People in the convention hall were still
applauding as I waited to use the urinal.  Jerry had left to get ready for
his presentation.  Bill's cell phone rang.   -�Hello?  This is Bill.  I
see. What do you expect ME to DO?! -� He talked for a minute and took me
aside.   -�Well 'Barry -� it looks like you are the star for the rest of
the day. -� I was so nervous that I almost throw up in the urinal.  
-�Don't worry, -� Bill said.   -�It's been working and after lunch it's
just Initiation Ceremony and that doesn't involve you.  Besides, they turn
the lights down low.  Remember.  Just keep the hood on.  It makes Barry
look pious. -� He meant that maybe nobody would see I wasn't Barry and they
wouldn't pop a cap on each of us!  I was sweating and shaking as I walked
back in,  -�surrounded -� by Alan and Bill.  I felt like they were walking
me into the electric chair.  The lights flashed a couple of times at ten
thirty and the jumbotron banner said: "Cloward-Piven Strategy." Al Gore
read some things about Jerry from a card; how he worked with the Nation of
Islam to organize poor people to vote for Progressive candidates, helped
start ACORN and that sort of thing.  It was like an advertisement for a
Prospective Member.  Jerry gave a dull presentation for the Scion of
African Elders about how Progressives could use the Cloward-Piven Strategy
to push society into crisis and economic collapse.  He told how the idea
came out of the 1965 Watts riots and that Progressives could become the
ruling class by using welfare to motivate the poor to vote for Progressive
candidates.  Jerry was followed by  -�The Constitutional Impediment Panel
Discussion -� with Hillary Clinton, Barbara Boxer and Nancy Pelosi.  They
went on for forty minutes about how the U.S.  Constitution  -�has to be
nullified, -� in order to collapse the American economy and the free
enterprise system  -�in all of it's worldwide forms. -� They got applause
when Hillary announced that,  -�The overthrow of the U.S.A.  is the
Principal Goal for the UMSAAP and the Progressive Movement. -� We went to
the Scion of American Elders meeting room for lunch.  They had tomato jello
and some stuff called fois grah, which was like liverwurst only yellow
because it is from a duck.  Typical hoy-pulloy stuff, with wine and creme
broullette for desert, all served by Nicaraguan women.  The dudes that came
to our meeting room for lunch were black, mostly from Africa.  The ones
that spoke English talked quietly and the ones that didn't ate in silence.
A couple of white people came by, looked in and left.  We finished eating
and went around to some of the Thirty Minute Breakout Sessions: Session 1:
Sexualization of Juveniles, Immigration and the Deathcult Update -� from
Abortion Industry Org, La Raza and AssistedSuicideASAP.org.  That one was
all about how for forty years they have been promoting a death cult for
people in the developed countries, plus open borders to bring about
demographic changes which support the Progressive Movement.  They told how
the  -�U.S.  teen suicide rate is up 77 percent in ten years because of
(their) work with the entertainment industry. -� The woman from LaRaza, who
is another former ACLU lawyer and a judge somewhere, said LaRaza thought
they could  -�carve off -� at least five states in the west as a Campesinos
Homeland.  She planned to govern it as a Marxist  -�Workers Paradise -�
through a Supreme People's Assembly with her as it's President.  Session 2:
 -�Strangling The Bald Eagle -� by some ACLU lawyers.  Those guys had a
plan to revise history books in order to make George Washington and the
other Founding Fathers look like hypocrites and killers.  They thought it
would make Americans feel real bad about themselves so they will be
apathetic to adverse changes brought on by the Progressives.  Session 3 
-�The Enemy of Your Enemy -� By two guys from Saudi Arabia and Iran who
said that Progressives had to work with them in order to defeat their
common enemies, the USA and Israel.  They apologized that their holy attack
came after, rather than before the 2000 election cycle and promised to do
better the next election by manipulating fuel supplies to collapse the US
economy right before the elections.  I remember the Arab guy was Abdul and
the Iranian guy?  He had a name that was hard to pronounce.  It was
something like Akmed Need A Job.  Achmed.  Needajab.  Something like that.
Session 4  -�Concealing Our Racist Roots -� with Robert Byrd and David
Duke. This was the only presentation that interested me at all, because of
the two men sitting together at a table.  Robert Byrd is a Senator and
former KKK official that the news media has sanitized for the Democrats. 
David Duke was the Grand Wizard of the KKK back in the 1980s!  Sen.  Byrd
talked about how wonderful things were during segregation, and how
progressive Democrats wised up and switched from  -�overt control through
coercion to controlling minorities through the welfare system. -� David
Duke said that there is  -�much more left to do, -� but that it would
require a rewriting of Democrat party history to conceal their racist
origins.  He told the audience that the  -�KKK was the paramilitary arm of
the Democrat Party from 1869 to the 1970s -� and that the Democrats were
the party of slavery from their roots, and the Republicans were the
abolitionist party.   -�Somehow, we have to change history to make the
Republicans, from Lincoln to Reagan, the party of racism for most
Americans. -� Sen Byrd added that it had been  -�fabulous how we rewrote
history during the Kennedy-Johnson Years -� to make the Republicans seem
racist by comparison.  He said that they would fine tune the message in
children's' textbooks and Public T.V.  Shows.  I thought about it from the
perspective of my grade school education in Chicago where Lincoln was a
hero.  We were taught that Lincoln was elected President on an anti slavery
platform and the Civil War started right after he was elected.  He freed
slaves in Union controlled areas.  And the southern governors who used
force to oppose integration in the early 1960s?  George Wallace & Orval
Faubus, all Democrats as I remembered it.  Session 5  -�Third Column
Republican Forum -� Corruption from within as presented by Lindsey Graham
and Joe Biden.  They thought it would be a good idea to set up Progressives
as Republicans and for people to vote in Republican primary elections in
order to weaken that party from within and ensure that Republicans selected
weak candidates.  Joe Biden said, we are sure that we will be able to 
-�count on our friends in the media to pick up on the agenda. -� He told
the group that they had Colin Powell  -�in our pocket. -� Session 6: The
Neutering of America by Madeline Albright and one of the gay actresses that
adopts the babies from Africa.  That one was how they want to eliminate a
lot of  -�men's things -� to  -�castrate the Testosterone Revolution of
1776 once and for all. -� They had a whole lot of things listed in their
Powerpoint show, such as The Boy Scouts, Football, Boxing, Wrestling,
motorcycles and  -�the car culture, especially NASCAR! -� They wanted to
gradually get rid of all of those things and claimed to have already
started on many of the  -�men -� things, like the Boy Scouts.  Session 7:
People Control Through Gun Control by Andrew McElvey and a guy from China,
Hu Jin Tow.  Those two said that to take over the United States from the
capitalists, it would be necessary to  -�void the Second Amendment and
eliminate private gun ownership. -� They planned to start with registration
of all guns and gun owners.  They caught me by surprise when they said that
they could  -�promote gun control by promoting random acts of extreme
violence by insane and obsessed persons under our control, -� which the
news media will whip into a  -�gun control frenzy. -� The Asian guy said
they had brought together a secret group of people under control from
Beijing -� in order to do just that.  Session 8 was just Al Gore, going on
and on about Global Warming and  -�using the Green Movement to suppress the
American economy as a way to move toward our Marxist goals. -� I didn't
actually go in there.  I could hear him fine through the partition between
him and the Gun Control people.  Session 9: Extracting Resources From
Proletarians.  That was by Sen.  Tom Daschle.  He had a bunch of strategies
for raising taxes on working people by naming taxes something else.  He
also thought that Senators and Congressmen shouldn't have to pay taxes,
since they are so important.  Session 10: Homo Sapiens The Destroyer by
some woman from PETA and a skinny white guy from Earth First.  They said
that the earth is being ruined by people and recommended that humans be
managed by some world organization and wherever there are too many, some
would be  -�culled -� to reduce the environmental impact.  Session 11: The
Scion of African Elders Breakout Session.  Jerry and Jesse Jackson.  I
skipped that one because I had heard Jerry as much as I could take.  I
slipped out and headed back to my room for a nap.  I was on the elevator
when I glanced at my phone and saw I had a message from Alan.  Session 12:
The Establishment Clause and Freedom FROM Religion.  I didn't go to that
one, but I did walk by and look in on my way back to the elevators.  It was
being led by one of those T.V.  Preachers.  You know him; Vicker Johnson,
the guy that sends people a free splinter from the cross for just $19.95
Shipping and Handling on his infomercials.  Hillary Clinton was sitting at
the table too, but I didn't stay long enough for her to see me.  The Main
Event The breakout sessions ended at five, and Alan wanted to meet in
Barry's room for a strategy session at six.  When we got up there, Barry
was sleeping off the morphine tablets the doctor had given him for the
pain. Bill shook him awake and asked how he was feeling.  He was doped up
and Bill slapped him three time to get his attention.  
-�How...do...you...feel?! -� Barry slipped back down onto the pillow and
Alan said,  -�Check his cock, that's the way to tell. -� They looked at
each other and Bill, he put his hand through the gap in the stained front
of Barry's PJ's and pulled out his dick.  They both bent down to look, but
I could see from where I was that the head of his dick was still red and
swollen, especially around the end, and he had light brown pus oozing out
of the inflamed tip.   -�I thought that goddam doctor could cure the goddam
clap, -� muttered Jerry.  I had told them it would take days to get well
and there was no way Barry would be at the closing ceremony.  Bill said, 
-�Well, EZ.  Looks like you are filling in for Barry this evening.  We
gotta make this good to preserve Barry's political viability. -� We sat
down and Bill told me to expect some more speeches and that there would be
a short solemn ceremony late in the evening when new members were initiated
into the Commintern by people from the Inner Sanctum like George Soros, 
-�Abdul -� and even Dieter  -�Kapitan -� Kurprinz himself.   -�The main
thing we have to watch out for is if George sees you wearing Barry's robe
and ID badge.  He knows you both and won't be fooled.  Keep away from him.
And just keep your head down.  It will be dark and I don't think he will
come down to our table. -� We put on our robes again.  I got Barry's white
robe.  Alan and Bill wore blue ones and Jerry got a white one also.  Even
though it was his second year with the organization, Jerry hadn't been made
a member then and was still a prospect, like Barry.  We rode down on the
elevator together, me in the back in case someone saw my face.  The Hanoi
Thing
   When we got down to the Grand Salon, Alan realized that we didn't need
to be there until 7:30.  I decided to get some rest and walked back to my
room with Alan, Bill and Jerry surrounding me so nobody would look at my
face.  I laid down on the hotelroom bed and closed my eyes, but was too
uptight to sleep.  The guys went back to Barry's room and I was about to
put on the television when someone knocked at my door.  I thought it was
Jerry or Alan following coming back up there.  I yanked open the door
thinking I might tell them all to get the fuck out, but it wasn't any of
the guys.  It was Jane Fonda, American actress and traitor.   -�You're
Barry Obama, aren't you?  I heard about you from Olympia.  I saw your name
badge when you passed me in the Grand Ballroom, so I followed because you
are such an up-and-comer among the Socialists.  I just had to meet you. -�
-�Uh, pleased to meet you too.  I was uh, I have to get back down to the
ballroom. -� She gently pushed her way in with a hand against my chest..  
-�You are such a strong black man.  I'll bet you've had your share of
women. -� She gently touched my right nipple through the gown and breathed
on my neck.  She whispered,  -�White women too, right? -�  -�Uh, one...or
two I guess.  But I have to get back downstairs. -� I wished that I could
get away from the old woman as her voice took on a slight threatening tone.
She stuck her hand down my pants and grabbed my cock in her hand.  She
stroked it and said,  -�You don't understand, my strong...  black...  man.
This is all about doing whatever it takes to get ahead in the Prrogressive
movement. -� She pulled on my belt like she was trying to unfasten my pants
.   -�It's all about servicing the one above you...going down on the
landlady, so to speak. -� She went on:  -�That's the way that things work
in the Commintern and you need to get used to that fact if you want to
advance in the Democrat Party.  Your political career won't go anywhere if
you don't play along.  It can take years to fuck your way to the top." She
said,  -�Think of me as your landlady.  Think of me as a spermaholic and
I'm horny as hell! -� Then she pulled me down on top of her onto the couch
that was by the door.  That woman was strong for her age!  She looked fine
in that movie where she played a ho (sic) but that was like forty years
ago. She pulled open her robe and I saw that she was naked underneath; no
underwear, no nothing, except shoes.  And she was skinny, too.  I could
count her ribs.  She used both hands to lift her breast to me an I suck on
her nipples, first one, then the other.  Her nipples were hard and her
breasts were big and full for such a skinny woman.  It didn't feel natural
to me and she caught me looking at them.   -�Like what you see? -� she
asked the question like I was in a store or something.   -�Yeah, I guess
so...they look real nice, -� I said, embarrassed.  She grinned and said, 
-�They should.  They cost $70,000 each from Dr.  Abdel Rachman at the
Golden Calf Plastic Surgery Center on Rodeo Drive! -� I sucked hard on the
other nipple and put my hand on her pussy, feeling her wetness.  She
groaned softly as I parted the lips and put a finger inside of her hairy
beaver.  I kissed on the breast bone between her breasts and down across
her stomach until I could feel her pussy hair against my face and smell her
fishy odor.  Her pussy hair was real thin and the reddish purple inner lips
hung down like they been stretched a lot.  I had never been with an old
white woman -"or any old woman before.  Maybe they all get like that, I
don't know.  And then I saw that she had a little red devil tattoo over her
groin, like the others.  The red ink of the tattoo was faded among all the
wrinkles on her lower stomach.   -�I like my lovers to call me Bree, -� she
said.  Ms.  Fonda stretched her pussy lips apart and I held my breath and
slid my tongue into her pussy and then back back up and across her clit,
then back down to her hole and I focus my tongue on her g-spot.  She had me
by the hair and pushed my face hard into her pussy, so that it was hard to
breathe.  She held on until she had enough and finally let me get loose.  
-�C'mon big boy!  Bring that big cock to mama! -� I took a deep breath and
slid up on the couch so I could get between Bree's legs and stick my
johnson between her stretch out labia .  She held the lips apart with her
fingers so I could find the hole.  My dick slid in easy and I started
thrusting inside of her, slow at first, then faster as I got more
comfortable with her rhythm.  At one point, she suddenly wrap her legs
tight around my lower back and locked her ankles.  Then she almost mash the
air right out of me with her legs.  That bitch was strong and it really
hurt my ribs and back when she did that.  When I fuck her, she was saying,
-�Ooof, oof, oof, and at one point she yell,  -�Fuck me you big stud! 
Rent's due and I'm the landlady! -� The nut built up inside of my balls and
I came like I never did before, wave after wave of my jism fill her pussy,
leak out and run down her crack and over her ass hole.  For seventy five,
she was in very strong shape and almost bust my spine.  I rest on top of
her for a minute and started to climb off, when she said,  -�Get it back
up, boy!  You still owe me a month's rent! -� I didn't want her hurting my
back anymore, so I ast (sic) her to turn over to get my skeet out from
behind.  Her head went bam, bam, bam into the wall as I rammed into her and
a vase fell off of a little table by the door.  She kept saying,  -�fuck me
harder!  Harder I said!  She was real juicy inside the second time and it
took me a long time to come, but she didn't mind about that!  We finished
and she sat there on the couch smoking a cigarette when I was pulling on my
shorts.   -�What are you in a hurry for?  We still have half an hour before
things get going downstairs. -� I told her I didn't want to be late and
make someone mad.   -�You are one smart Negro...believe me, you don't want
them mad at you.  People who piss them off usually wind up dead somewhere.
They usually make it LOOK like an accident or suicide. -� I felt the chill
bumps come up on my arms and back when she say that.  I sat there quiet for
a minute and ask her about the little red devil tattoo.   -�Oh, that.  You
get your tat after you kiss Deiter's ring and take his seed.  It's Deiter's
Contract.  You go through with the ritual and get whatever you want. 
Fame...power...success...control...sex, that sort of thing.  Whatever you
desire.  Everyone has something that motivates them and when you take the
seed, you get whatever you want and there's nothing the Other Side can do
to stop it.  No matter how you screw up, nothing ever comes of it. -� 
-�Remember how easily Bill Clinton got out from under his perjury charges?
What would happen if YOU gave false testimony in a court?  Prison, right?
-� She was right, that for sure.  She went on.   -�You newbies always have
a bunch of questions.  I wish they would just write some of this down, but
that would create a paper trail right back to the Commintern and the Inner
Sanctum.  They don't want any publicity. -� Then she add:  -�And it doesn't
pay to ask questions, either.  Curiosity kills. -� But I had to know so I
asked her anyway,  -�Who is this Dieter and how did he get in charge of
everything? -� She thought about that for a minute and said that she didn't
know how he got in charge, but that he always had been.  She was sure he
was around when her father was acting in the 1930s and that a lot of people
in Hollywood had  -�taken the seed -� so they could be famous.  She said
she first went through the ritual at a meeting in Hanoi, Viet Nam back in
the early 1960s.   -�You know, he doesn't look any different today than he
did in 1972. -� I wanted to change the subject, but I needed to know one
more thing.   -�Where is Eloween City and who lives there?  Is it in
California? -� Ms.  Fonda laughed.   -�It's where Deiter lives, and the
place where the Progressive money comes from.  Nobody really knows where it
is, except maybe George Soros or Abdul Farouk.  Abdul is from Yemen and a
lot of people think he is Osama Bin Laden. -� Then she joked,  -�You know
George already and you'll see Abdul tonight.  Why don't you ask them
yourself? -� Curiosity kills.  My mind couldn't handle any more, so I asked
her about her breasts.  She showed me how there was a thin,  -�barely
visible -� scar around each nipple, and one under each breast from her
implants.  And she showed me how she had scars behind her ears, up into her
hair line and she said how shehad her pussy lips lengthened by  -�Dr. 
Abdel. -� She said that almost all of her friends in Hollywood had plastic
surgery and she said I could even have my johnson lengthened if I wanted
to.  -�When you see Alec Baldwin at the Ritual tonight, look closely and
you'll see scars in front of his ears from a cheap face lift.  At least
they fixed his beak so he doesn't look like Jimmy Durante anymore. -� She
went on and on about how Barbara Boxer and Nancy Pelosi had plastic surgery
and that  -�Barbara is at least ten years older than what it says on her
website. -� And she said that her Congressman, Mr.  Waxman, was the victim
of a botched facelift...   -�Look what time it is! -� I showed her the
time. We pulled on our clothes and hustled back to the elevator.  Former
President Carter and his wife were on board when the door opened.  Jane
introduced me to them and after a perfunctory handshake, they just talked
with Jane as we went down.  The door opened once and a skanky woman I
didn't recognize got on.  I overheard Pres.  Carter call her Natalie and
tell her how much he loved the Dixie Chicks and that he hoped she would be
promoted to the Commintern by the next meeting.  Mrs.  Carter chatted with
Natalie about ways to control her weight and Jane told her she needed to
get some exercise.  And she did, for sure.  We got off and I was almost
tackled by Jerry, Alan and Bill.  They hustled me inside and we sat down
together at a table to the right of the stage.  Most everyone wore either
white or blue robes.  There were seats set up down front for the new
initiates, and they were already there, looking real nervous in their green
robes.  Alec Baldwin was covering his mouth and talking real low to Nancy
Pelosi and Al Franken.  An empty seat separated Hugo Chavez from the others
and he seemed relieved when Achmed Needajab, the Iranian sat down in the
remaining seat.  I looked around and recognized Sen.  Kerry at a table with
the Clintons,  -�Bree -� Fonda, some Asian people from Viet Nam and an old
guy I didn't recognize.  Alan said he was a Congressman from P.A.  that
wanted to be in the Commintern and that everybody but him knew he was just
too old and senile.  The Progressives really don't like old people in their
organizations, just powerful, influential and good looking ones.  When all
of the seats in the Grand Ballroom were filled, the security people chained
the doors shut.  About the same time, those who were waiting started
chanting something, real low, which I couldn't understand.  They got louder
and louder.  Alan leaned over and said that it was in Latin, and that the
people in there were pledging themselves to the accomplishment of Marxist
aims through whatever means necessary.  He told me to keep my head down and
move my lips in case someone looked our way and thought Barry wasn't
chanting.  The chants kept up for ten or fifteen minutes and got louder and
louder.  Alan pushed a paper over to me and it had the chant translated to
four other languages.  He said that it was officially adopted at a 1994
meeting in Ecuador, and I kept a copy:  -�As long as there are humans
exploiting humans, as long as capitalism destroys human existence over the
earth there will be struggle!  The history of all hitherto existing society
is the history of class struggles!  As long as the imperialists and the
bourgeoisie oppress weak nations and defenseless people there will be
struggle!  The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of
class struggles!  As long as the workers and peoples of the world aspire to
transform the present society, to transform it to their benefit and as long
as, in order to achieve it, they are ready to win or die, there will be
struggle!  The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of
class struggles!  Contrary to the conciliatory claims of the capitalists
that the workers and bosses have the same interests, we believe that the
class struggle is the driving force of history!  The history of all
hitherto existing society is the history of class struggles!  The class
struggle will not be accomplished as long as the highest general objectives
that conscious humanity sets itself have not been attained: socialism and
communism!  The history of all hitherto existing society is the history of
class struggles!  Kapitan Kurprinz, we are with you in your eternal
struggle! -�
   When they finished, the lights flashed a couple of times and it got real
quiet in the Grand Ballroom.  In the dim light, I could see George lead the
green robed initiates single file up to the stage where they kneeled,
facing away from us.  People in the seats were talking real low and it felt
cold at our table.  I was pulling my robe around me when Alan said, 
-�Look! Dieter is here! -� A spotlight shined on the stage and I could make
out the outline of a man standing in a doorway at the back of the stage. 
He came forward, toward the little group of green gowned initiates kneeling
in front of him.  Someone turned on a light that covered the stage and I
saw that a tall, thin Arab guy was standing to one side of the podium and
George, he was on the other.  George was wearing a red gown too and I guess
that the Arab guy was Abdul.  As Dieter walked slowly to the podium, George
raised his hand and people in the seats started singing a song in English:
Arise, ye workers from your slumber, Arise, ye prisoners of want.  For
reason in revolt now thunders, and at last ends the age of cap-i-tal.  Away
with your re-ligion, Servile masses, arise, arise!  We'll change henceforth
the old tra-dition, And burn our enemies to win the prize!  One world
Marx-ist and death to the U-ni-ted States!  One world Marx-ist and death to
the U-ni-ted States!
   It got all quiet again when Dieter reached the podium and raised his
hands in the air.  I got a good look at him from where we were sitting. 
All I could tell for sure was that he was a white guy of average build. 
His skin was real pale, kind of grayish and his hair was long and white in
a kind of a mullet.  I looked at his face but couldn't tell where he was
from or anything about his ethnicity.  He could have been from anywhere. 
He had a longish strait nose, thin eyebrows and weird looking eyes spaced
far apart.
   The robe he was wearing was black, and he left his hood back.  He was
wearing a kind of sailor hat with something written on the band.  People
started applauding when he reached the podium, then were quiet when Abdul
waved his hands.  Dieter started out saying something in Latin, I guess,
which I couldn't understand, but I find (sic) this paper.  Here it is. 
Someone said this was his speech written down for the Romanian translators.
Here's part of it that I tore off.  Maybe you can have it translated:
   Meu tovarăş comunişti şi pedofili, acesta este ultimul război!  Noi
vrem nici crestin saviors Să se pronunţe cu noi de la sala de judecata,
Vă �(R)ntreb nu pentru muncitorii lor favorizează Să ne consulta pentru
toate.  Pentru a face hoţ vomita lui prada Pentru a elibera spiritul său
de celulă, Noi trebuie să ne decide de datoria noastră, Noi trebuie să
decidă, şi o fac bine.  Acesta este ultimul război.  Să fiecare stand
�(R)n locul lui.
   Like I said, I couldn't understand a word of it, but when he finished
speaking, the crowd started yelling,  -�Goddam America!  Goddam America! 
Goddam America!  Until George made them get quiet again.
   After that, George made a speech in what sounded like the same language
and introduced the new initiates, Alec Baldwin, Hugo Chavez, Al Franken,
Achma Needajab and Nancy Pelosi.  I thought it was strange how three of
them were Americans.  Each of them bowed when their name was called and the
audience applauded when the last name was read.
   Then a couple of spotlights fell on Dieter as he moved forward to just
in front of Needajab, who was at the end of the line of initiates, closest
to our table.  The crowd was silent as Dieter offered his hand to Needajab,
who kissed his ring.  The ring was large and I could see that it was
silver, with a some kind of face on it.  Alan told me later it is a silver
skull, which  -�symbolizes the end game. -�
   Then Needajab straitened up, lifted his head and knelt there with his
mouth open.  I was feeling kind of scared again, and I almost wet my pants
when I saw what happened next.  Dieter stepped close to Needajab and his
cock came right out of his pants.  It wasn't normal like a man's cock.
   No, it was jet black and about a foot long and real skinny.  It was
jumpy when it came out, and the weird cock poked Needajab in the face two
or three times before he took it in his mouth.  Then Dieter stood even
closer so that his cock went all of the way into Needajab's mouth and down
his throat.  The man look scared for a second when Dieter grabbed his head
and pressed a long, yellowish thumbnail into the skin on Needajab's
forehead.
   His head bled a little where the pointed nail went in and a drop of
blood dripped off a his nose just as Dieter said,  -�You have taken my seed
and my mark.  You shall have the power you crave. -� When he let go of
Needajab, the man fell over onto his back and have a little seizure.  He
was just getting up when Dieter walked over to Nancy Pelosi and stood in
front of her.  She was kind of anxious to kiss his ring, you could tell by
how she grabbed his hand.
   Dieter smiled a little and his cock came out.  Miss Pelosi opened her
mouth wider and she went right for his tool, and swallowed it real eager.
Dieter put his hands on each side of her head like before and dug his
thumbnail into her forehead, which bled a little like the Iranian.  Then he
said the same thing,  -�You have taken my seed and my mark.  You shall have
the power you crave. -� His cock came out and went back into his body and
Pelosi fell back on the floor, like she fainted or something.
   The next initiate in line was Alec Baldwin, and the whole thing happened
again, only before Dieter pulled out his cock, he said,  -�You have taken
my seed and my mark.  You shall have the fame you crave. -� Dieter's cock
hung down for a second and I could see it drip a little blood on the stage
before it went back inside his body.
   Then it was Hugo Chavez's turn.  Before he got the cock in his mouth and
the fingernail to his forehead, he pissed himself and wobbled like he might
pass out.  Dieter must be real strong for an old guy.  He grabbed Chavez by
the sides of his head and held him up while the skinny cock jabbed at the
Venezuelans broad face before it found his lips.  Dieter said the little
speech again and let Chavez fall onto the stage.  His head bounced onto the
wooden floor with a double clunk that could be heard in the back of the
ballroom.  He was down for a minute when some security people came up on
stage and drag him off.
   Dieter held both hands over his head and people in the seats started
cheering.  The new initiates, minus Chavez, were all smiling and shaking
hands and comparing their forehead marks as George and Abdul handed them
new, blue robes.  They were the newest members of the Commintern once they
had them on, and before everyone calmed down, George brought Hugo Chavez
back up to the stage.  He already had on his new robe and he folded his
hands together and shook them over his head like he was Heavyweight
Champion of The World.
   Kapitan Kurprinz wasn't done speaking.  He said,  -�To one and all!  Now
you will submit yourself eternally to me and you shall have whatever you
lust for. -� Then the crowd started singing their theme song again:
   Arise, ye workers from your slumber, Arise, ye prisoners of want...We'll
burn our enemies to win the prize!  A Marx-ist world and death to the
United States!
   I know this all sounds weird and all, but that's how it happened.  The
only thing I can add to that is they had a little ceremony after the
ceremony where they took turns getting the groin tattoo, but not with an
electric needle.  A man used a little hammer to tap-tap-tap the ink into
their skin while each new Comintern member laid naked up on a table in
front of the stage while people watched the tattoo man do his work.  But I
only heard that, because Alan and Bill took me back upstairs fast before I
got recognized at the party and orgies that go on all night at those UMSAAP
things.
   We flew back to Chicago via Mexico City with a layover in Dallas and I
kept to myself for a few days before I had to go back to work at ACORN. 
The situation was bothering me in my mind and I couldn't sleep, even though
I felt tired all the time.
   Epilogue
   My father is seventy-five and he lives in Milwaukee, Wisconsin.  I
needed to talk to someone about what was happening and I called him for the
first time in months because I couldn't talk about all of that with anyone
else.  He was surprised to hear from me and I drove up there the next
morning to see what I should do.  He listened to most of what I told you
guys and he say to  -�get as far away from that Obama guy and all those
others. -�
   And he said to get away from them as fast as I could, and to do whatever
I had to do to protect myself.  As I drove back to my crib in Chicago I
decided that I would quit ACORN and move away if I had to.  I didn't have
to wait long because Jerry and Bill came to see me a couple of days later
to fire me from ACORN.  I buzzed them up when they came to the door of my
building.  I wasn't mad about being fired, just the reason behind it.
    -�Well, how are you, buddy? -� was what Bill said when he walk in. 
They made some small talk for a while and offered me some blanca that I
refused.  They looked kind of grim and Jerry finally got to the point.  
-�Uh, look E; Barry is going to run for State Assemblyman and, uh, we, uh
he, feels like you are really too, uh, dark to be working for him.  That,
plus your criminal record... -� He trailed off and Bill finished the
sentence,  -�That makes you a liability for Barry.  He can't have anyone on
board that might put off white voters. -�
    -�You know Barry really appreciates all of your help, that's why we are
making this offer to you.  He is forever in your debt for when you covered
for him at the UMSAAP conference. -� That was it, except that they offered
me twenty thousand dollars to be picked up at Barry's campaign HQ the next
week.  That was chump change to those punks and I didn't feel like I had to
take it.  I had done a good job at ACORN and I figure they can find some
City job for me.  I was due more; after all, this IS Chicago.
   The next morning I call Barry on his cell phone and confront him
directly about how they treated me, and I insist that he find me a good
City job where I can just go to work and collect my pay and have a City
pension and all.  I told him that I wasn't going to go back to the Squeekie
Cleane like some punk.  He listened to what I say (sic) and said he would
look into it.  That's how I ended up in charge of Sidewalks maintenance for
the City of Chicago.  But before I could get the job, I had to get my
criminal record expunged.
   Barry took care of that by calling Governor Blagojevich again.  I had to
go downtown to meet with a guy from the Illinois Department of Law
Enforcement.  He asked me a lot of questions about my conviction for check
fraud and I told him.  He ask a lot of questions about how I knew Barry,
where I was at politically, If I knew anything that could hurt Barry in the
news, that sort of thing.  I told him I didn't know nothing, signed a form
and two weeks later, I had my job.  $167,000 per year with benefits.
   Everything went fine for almost two years.  One day I was in the barber
shop waiting for a cut when I pick up the newspaper and was reading through
the first section.  A short article caught my eye:  -�Former Clinton
Handyman Found Dead.  Suicide Suspected. -� I wondered if it was anyone
that I knew.  The article said that the man was found hanging naked in a
closet at a motel in Waukegan.
   The report identified him as Nigel Lewellyn, British national, age
sixty-two.  It quoted Bill Clinton as saying Nigel worked occasionally for
the Clintons doing chores.  He implied that Nigel jwas homeless and lived
at the hotel and they only let him work there out of charity.
   I was scared right away when I read the story and I called the Clinton
home in Chappaqua and ask for Consuelo.  The woman that answered said that
Consuelo didn't work there anymore.  So I told her I had worked a party at
the house and asked her about Nigel.  It was about fifteen seconds before
the woman spoke.   -�He resigned a few days before I came here.  Terrible
thing.  And Consuelo might have been deported.  Some men came here for her
the day I started and we haven't heard from her since. -� Right before she
hung up she said,  -�I've said too much already! -�
   Two days later Elliott Rogers from Barry's new security team asked if I
would come to the main campaign office for a chat.  I drove to the The
Loop, parked in the Clark Street Garage and walked two blocks to Barry's
Campaign Office building.  I couldn't believe all the people I recognized
from my old ACORN days.  I shook hands with at least a dozen people that
remembered me and several asked if I was coming to work for Barry.
   Wilma Johnson took me back to Mr.  Rogers' office.  He was head of
Security for Barry and had worked for ACORN as a rep for the Progressives.
I sat in his outer office waiting and worried about what had happened with
Nigel and Consuelo.  A woman come out and brought me back to see Elliott
Rogers.
   Elliott is a weasel.  You can tell that from the first day you meet the
man.  He offered me a drink but I turned him down flat and sit down in the
leather chair in front of his desk.  He had a little black and gold sign on
his desk that said,  -�Curiosity Kills. -� I hadn't followed through on
buying a 9mm and told myself I would get one right away if I had the
opportunity.
   Most of his questions involved what I knew about Barry, the
Progressives, and what I had seen in Managua.  But he asked if I knew Nigel
Lewellyn, too.  It was a sure thing that the man know everything and wanted
to know if I was  -�working with the hostile press, or anyone in talk
radio. -� I told him that Barry had been my friend for several years and
that I was a Socialist myself and had worked at ACORN.  That seemed to
satisfy the man and he let me go.  I walked back to my car but was sure
people were following me.
   That's when I decided to go to the Chicago Tribune.  And they sent me
here to the Department of Homeland Information and Justice.  Do you think
you can help me?
   Tape ends at 1:53 p.m.  Nedra D.  Klouge, C.L.T. 
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------ FROM: director@dhij.us.gov
L.  Kedzie, Director Department of Homeland Information and Justice
TO: eijackson.osi@dhij.us.gov Deputy Director Jackson.  D.H.I.J.  Office
of Special Investigations
SUBJECT: Re: Requested information on Edward X.  Williams
DATE: 7.09.2007 11:22
Elliott:
I know by now that Mr.  Edward X.  Williams is taking the acid bath that
we spoke of last month in Washington.  Believe me, Mr.  Soros is much
pleased with your performance at this important task for the Inner Sanctum.
There is one thing left to do: Call our friends at the Tribune and the
Times.  Have them run a story about how his father has Alzheimer's Disease
in case his story makes it onto Fox news.  Then make sure that he falls and
breaks a hip.  That should shut the family up for good!  Great job
intimidating his sister, by the way.  Regards; Lewis
   "The major function of secrecy in Washington is to keep the U.S.  people
from knowing what the nation's leaders are doing." -- John Stockwell,
former CIA official and author
   
  
Downlow With final tEXT