..............Uncle Len's Journal
The Stars And Stripes Of Socialism
By Ron Leddy - Copyright 2008
Chapter 1.
Uncle Len's Journal
The United States of America, will soon go through a complete restructuring process and an economic metamorphosis that has been in the planning stage since the Great Depression (1928-39). As early as 1920, the United States, Department Of The Treasury, realized that our democratic, capitalist form of government was headed on a collision course with a “Financial Tsunami.” They knew that it was just a matter of time before the banking system became so globalized that it would be too overwhelming to manage or even regulate. They predicted that an economic meltdown would take place early in the new millennium that would bring the global economy to its knees and create a state of anarchy throughout the world, especially here in the United States. Ever since; Franklin D. Roosevelt, was in office (1933-45), a contingency plan, Operation Cocoon (OC.), has been evolving in the shadows of the Pentagon that will convert America, into a militant socialist empire at the same time this “Financial Tsunami” strikes. A complete military takeover of everything in the United States, and the realization of the New World Order, will then sweep across the nation at gun point.
Upon his death bed, Len Greenstan (my uncle), who had been an aide to President Franklin D. Roosevelt, during the second world war conveyed to me that a secret, covert branch of the Department Of Homeland Security (DHS), was in its final stage of ceasing control of the United States Government. My uncle also gave me a journal that explained in detail the take over, the history of Operation Cocoon (OC.), and the changes that will occur throughout the world in the not to distant future. Why he chose me to tell his fantastic story to I’ll never know, I wasn’t even close to my uncle and to tell you the truth, I thought the old boy was out of his head and delusional from all the medication he was taking but I listened carefully to what he had to say and stashed his journal in a safe place for future reading.
After uncle Len's funeral, I returned to Las Vegas, Nevada, and took a 2 week vacation from my job. I loaded my motor home with everything that I would possibly need and then took off to Lake Mead, and rented a camp site secluded down by the lake where I could be alone to study my uncle's journal. After setting up camp, I pulled out a pint of Jose Cuervo, Tequila, and took myself a stiff shot to relax and then reached down inside a secret compartment in the floor of my motor home and pulled out his journal. It was about an inch thick and looked like it could have been an old bible; except, the following words on the cover made the eminent distinction: United States Of Socialist America, USSA., Operation Cocoon (OC.), CLASSIFIED/TOP SECRET. Just holding an official piece of government property in my hands gave me goose bumps and I began to get paranoid like a little boy smoking a cigarette who doesn't want to get caught. I began to think that my late uncle Len wasn't out of his head when he told me his fantastic story about the covert take over of the United States Government. It soon dawned on me that just by having an unauthorized piece of government property in my possession, could get me thrown in prison for years or even killed; so I placed it back in the secret compartment, closed all the drapes in the motor home, grabbed my bottle of Tequila and my medicinal marijuana and went outside to get some peace of mind.
It was October 29th, 2008, and the weather at Lake Mead, Nevada, was overcast and windy. My camp site was at Stewart's Point on the northwest shore and there wasn't anybody else around. I sat down on a mossy stone near the shore line and filled my bowl full of weed and fired it up. I then took a couple of big hits and filled my lungs with the smoke from the burning herb. I chased that down with a swig or two of the Tequila and it wasn't long and I began to feel really good. The combination of the two intoxicants had a very tranquilizing and euphoric effect on my mind and made me feel "as one" with the universe. Regretfully, however, my half-[...] state of nirvana was short lived, that’s because a few seconds later a black attack helicopter with the serial number: OC.-8012166343, thundered over head going in the direction of Nellis Air Force Base. The “OC.” in the chopper's serial number had an intense psychoactive effect on me and made my mind flash back to my uncle Len’s journal and Operation Cocoon (OC.). Out of curiosity, I had to learn more about the diabolical plot, so I got up from where I was sitting and went back inside the motor home and locked the door. After that, I reached inside the refrigerator and grabbed a can of my favorite Cobra Malt Liquor, popped the top and took a long cool swig of the brew. I then set my pet snake down and reached into a drawer and pulled out my 45-caliber semi-automatic hand gun and shoved in a magazine. I chambered a round, set the safety on and placed the gun on the table next to my beer. I didn't want to take any chances, what I had in my possession could have been a death sentence for me and I wasn't about to let that happen. I reached back inside the hidden compartment in the floor where I had hid the journal and took it out again and tossed it on the bunk. It spun around a couple of times in the air and then landed on the blanket with the cover open; from where I was standing, I could see two open pages of the journal and each one of them had a hand drawn sketch on it. I took a large gulp of my beer and then moved in for a closer look. As the pages of the journal came into view, I couldn't believe what I was looking at. The page to my left showed a completely restructured map of North America. The continent was divided into 13, geographical areas (states) and each one of them was numbered. Number: 1, was located right in the center of the nation’s heartland and from what I could tell, it was going to be the nation's new Capital. Where Florida was, the map just had the words: Storm Zone, and an extension line running diagonally along the Gulf Coast states to where Texas was but its name had been changed to state number: 2.
I reached over and picked up my beer and downed the rest of it and then glanced over at the other drawing on the page to my right. It was a pencil sketch of North America too but it also showed Canada, Mexico, Central America and South America. However; they were not named on the map, instead, they just had the words: Military Annexations of the USSA., printed across their land mass.
It became clear to me then that the covert branch of the Department Of Homeland Security (DHS), who was behind the military take over of the United States Government, had intentions of creating a new socialist empire by conquering the lands and the people to our immediate north and south latitude.
“This journal is nothing more than science fiction written by some nut on the Internet, who thinks that our economic crisis is nothing more than fun & games; he’s probably in the crazy house.” I said as I grabbled my bottle of Tequila and chugged the rest of it down (like water). After that, I stumbled to my bunk and laid down and then threw the journal across the room.
(Below is a cloned copy of the restructured map of North America)
For an explanation of the numbers above: click here
The next thing I knew, the sun was up and somebody was knocking on the door. I staggered to my feet and as I did, I grabbed my 45 off of the table where I had left it the night before. I then went to the door and swung the gun around to my back with my hand and shoved it down inside my belt. As I unlocked the door, I peeked out through the window and saw a guy wearing a "Smokey The Bear" hat and a tin star on his chest, it then became apparant that he was the park ranger, so I opened the door and politely said, "Good morning sir."
The ranger smiled at me and said, "I hate to bother you but there's some really bad weather rolling in today and this area usually floods, so I suggest that you move your motor home to higher ground if you don't want to get stuck in the mud here."
"No sir, I sure don't want to get stuck in the mud, I'll pull out in about 15 minutes." I replied, hoping the ranger would then take a hike. He nodded his head to me, smiled, and then hopped in his Jeep and drove away. I closed the motor home door and relocked it and took my 45 out of my waist band and stuck it back in the drawer. I then grabbed a can of tomato juice from one of the cabinets and set it on the table. I reached back into the cabinet and grabbed a pint of Smirnoff Vodka, dumped some salt on the table and rubbed some of the vodka around the rim of the glass and spun it in the salt. When the salt was around the rim of the glass thick enough, I tossed in 3 ice cubes. I then poured in some tomato juice, three drops of Tabasco sauce, some Worcestershire sauce, a squeeze of lemon and a double shot of vodka. When I was done with that, I took my switch-blade knife out of my pocket and pushed the button on the handle. When I did, the blade flung out and locked forward, I then used it to stir my drink. While the ice was still swirling around in the glass, I picked up the concoction and downed it all in one gulp. It was delicious! I then hand rolled a cigarette from my pouch of Bugler tobacco and sat down and had a smoke. While I was sitting at the table smoking, I switched the television to channel 11, and then hit the power button. When the TV. came on, the reception was so terrible that all I got was a continuous snow storm, accompanied by a pathetic instrumental of sickening white noise, so I immediately shut it off. When I finished my cigarette I hopped in the diver’s seat and jammed the gearshift lever up into reverse and started backing out of the campsite. I didn’t realize it at the time but I was about to back up over an embankment. When I did, the motor home tilted on a 45-degree angle and threw all of the dishes and glasses out of the cabinets. They shattered into pieces and went everywhere; pots and pans were cast out of their secure places too and cracked the rear-side windows. The embankment led to a four foot drop-off and when the motor home went over, I was thrown out of the driver’s seat and into the galley; from there I could see that my rig was heading straight into the lake, so I made a dive for the emergency brake and pulled it just in time.
It's my lucky day, I thought to myself as I regained my composure. When everything was under control, I headed towards the main highway and followed it into Downtown, Las Vegas. I parked in the Plaza Casino parking lot and then walked over to where Mermaids Casino was and went inside. I walked up to the snack bar and ordered a half pound, Monster dog with all the trimmings from my good friend Buffy, the snack bar manager. As she was preparing my hotdog, she started talking about the government. “Ron, have you heard the latest conspiracy theory on the ‘net? FEMA., the Federal Emergency Management Agency, has built over 800 concentration camps throughout the country. The largest one's in Alaska, and it can house over 20,000 inmates. It sure seems like the government is expecting this economic crisis we're in to turn ugly, don't you think so?"
“Yea, the financial wizards that I’ve heard on Talk Radio claim that we might even experience an economic depression with soup lines and everything. If it gets really bad, there may even be street riots and looting going on. The government's probably just getting ready for it, that's all. Have you heard anything else unusual, Buffy?”
“Well, FEMA., has also stock piled 500,000 plastic coffins down south somewhere, I think in Kentucky. It’s all on Youtube.com, check it out. Here’s your Monster dog, dude, I gotta help the next customer in line, see ya later, babe.”
I thanked Buffy for the Monster dog and the information and then bid her goodbye. What she had told me about the concentration camps and the 500,000 coffins really freaked me out. It was exactly the same thing that my uncle Len had told me but to find out that it was on Youtube, was more than I could handle.
I moved over to a table in the snack bar area and wolfed down the Monster dog. I kept looking around the casino for Endah, a cocktail waitress who worked at Mermaids casino. She was an illegal alien from the Philippines who had a Master's Degree in Computer Science and knew everything there was to know about computers, programing and especially hacking into secure, business networks. I needed Endah's help to get into the United States Government's Classified/Top Secret files to see if I could find any proof that my uncle Len's story about the government take over was real or not. Endah was nowhere to be seen but I decided to hang around the casino anyway to see if she would eventually show up. I went over and sat down at a MEGA BUCKS slot machine. I took a $5.00 bill out of my pocket and slipped it into the money slot, the money went right in and then all the sounds and colored lights of the game came on. I hit the play "Max" button and wagered three bucks. Just as I raised my hand to grab the slot machine handle and give it a pull, Endah, who had quietly walked up behind me grabbed the handle before I did and said, "Come on baby," as she pulled the handle down. I was surprised, having not been expecting anyone to be behind me and when I saw her hand grab the handle, I turned around to see who it was and my lips accidentally brushed across one of her head-lights (she wasn't wearing a bra and she had her high-beams on). I then turned back around to see what was happening with the game and caught the last wheel as it came to a stop. I was delighted, the other two wheels had already stopped and had landed on the Mega Bucks Jackpot symbol. Endah began getting really excited and started yelling like a maniac as loud as she could; as the third wheel on the machine started coming to a stop, I started getting really excited too. Suddenly, the last wheel stopped right on the Mega Bucks Jackpot symbol and that made three in a row. We won 120 million dollars and all the bells and whistles sarted going off all over the casino and people started crowding in all around us. Endah and I put our arms around each other and started hugging and kissing for what seemed like forever. We had just hit the Jackpot in Las Vegas, and we were now, millionaires!
It wasn't long and I heard Buck's voice, the casino manager speaking to Endah. "You better go take care of your customers Endah, you know the rules." Endah gave me one more juicy French kiss, winked her eye at me and then strolled away. Buck turned to me and said, "Well Ron, you sure hit the big time. What are you going to do with all that money?"
"I'm going to buy me a casino and make all the waitresses walk around topless," I said laughing in between words.
Buck then had me follow him to the main office in another building behind the casino to take care of the formalities. He then assured me that after taxes, 80 million dollars of the Jackpot would be deposited in my bank account (once everything had processed). One thing he made clear to me was the fact that if I had any kind of outstanding warrants for my arrest, I would not be able to collect my winnings. I assured him that I did not have any problems with the authorities and then signed my signature on a document that verified my winnings. He shook my hand and asked me if I wanted my Mega Bucks Jackpot to be made public. I told him that I would rather remain anonymous and then left him and went back into the casino to party and to convince Endah that I needed her help finding out whether my uncle Len's story was a crock of poo-poo or not.
I walked into the casino and sat down at a twenty-five cent, Wheel Of Fortune machine. I could see Endah at the bar getting drinks for her customers. She looked beautiful the way she was leaning up against the counter with one leg behind the other. The 2-piece outfit that she was wearing was wrapped around her figure, skin-tight. The neckline was cut so low that I could see all of her cleavage; her hips were visible too and so was her belly button. It was pierced with a small gold ring that had a diamond in the center of it. Her thighs were covered with only 8 inches of silk and you could tell that she enjoyed showing her body off. She was only about five feet tall with long dark hair and a body that was perfectly proportioned for her size. Her skin was tanned like all island girls are and when she moved, she did so gracefully and feminine like she was floating through the air. She had the sexiest looking legs that I had ever seen on a woman before and I couldn't help but look at them when ever I had the chance to. I watched her move around the casino for a while passing out drinks and then she noticed me and made her way over to where I was sitting.
"Hey Ron, where's my half of the money we won?" She said in a soft but demanding tone of voice.
"Buck processed the Jackpot and said that 80 million dollars would be deposited into my account in a few days, I guess we'll just have to wait till then."
"Well, if you think I am going to hang around this casino waiting for you to show up with my share of the money, you're nuts; I know how you men are. I'm quitting this job right now and going next door to rent a room for us at Binions Hotel. I'm not letting you out of my sight for a minute until I get my share of the Jackpot, now gimme some money to rent a room." I gave her my ATM card and she turned around and strolled off towards the back of the casino saying, "I'll call you when I get the room." I couldn't take my eyes off of her sexy little booty as she walked away. I was happy that she didn't want me out of her sight and that I would get to spend some time with her but I still had to convince her to help me get into the government's classified/top secret files to see if I could verify my uncle Len's story, and I didn't know how I was going to do that without letting her in on the whole thing. I didn't even know Endah that well and though I was a regular customer at Mermaids, I always thought that she flirtted with me just to get my money. I didn't even know if I could trust her and I certainly didn't want to drag her into anything that would get her thrown in jail or perhaps killed.
I turned around towards the bar looking for another cocktail waitress to order a drink from and the television on the wall caught my attention. I couldn't hear a single word of what was being said but the pictures were quite clear. Channel 11 News, was showing video clips of Senator McCain and Senator Obama campaigning for the presidency. It was only a few more days till November 4th, 2008, (election day) and the candidates were battling it out in hopes of becoming the 44th president of the United States Of America. Obama had been ahead in the polls and if he won, he promised to change the way things were run in government. As I watched the television I couldn't help but wonder if Obama or McCain had any preconceived knowledge of the government take over that my uncle Len had told me about, after all, they were running for the highest office in the country and if uncle Len's story was true, surely, they would have known about it. My mind flashed back to when I was standing at his bed side listening to his fantastic story about the government being taken over and converted to socialism. He warned me that the economy would fall on hard times like it did during the Great Depression, and soon after his funeral, the stock market started flucuating up and down wildly like it was on a roller coaster ride. The major banks in the country had failed too and were on the verge of collapse. Houses were foreclosing all over the country and 240,000 people had already lost their jobs. What he had warned me about was coming true right before my eyes and it was almost as if the whole thing had been planned out in advance.
"Cocktails, cocktails, can I get you a drink, good-lookin' ?" The sound of a soft voice and the fragrance of Honey Suckle brought me back to my senses and I found a fine looking Asian babe standing beside me, ready to take my order for a drink.
"Let me have a shot of Tequila with a beer back, please."
"Do you want salt and lime with your shot, sugar?" She asked seductively.
"No thanks, I'll just take it straight."
"Okay sweetheart, you got it, I'll be right back, don't go away." The Asian fox said as she cruised over to the bar, got my drinks and then quickly returned.
“Here ya go, handsome.” She said as she set my drinks down on the slot machine that I was sitting at. I placed a $10.00 tip on her serving tray and as I pulled my hand away, she leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek and then whispered in my ear, "I’ll be back in a few minutes, honey, wait for me, won’t you?” I nodded my head to her and smiled as if I was really snagged in her web of charm and then watched her strut her stuff. Strangely enough, I started picking up psychic impressions that someone was watching me. Out of instinct, I glanced over towards the front of the casino and there was a guy with his head against the window, staring at me through the glass. He was wearing a World War 2, German officer’s uniform; I assumed for Halloween, it was only a couple of days away. He had a black patch over his left eye and squinted profusely with his other one to see. I could tell that he was very uncomfortable playing the roll of a nazi. Just then, he noticed that I was aware of him and he backed up from the window and ran away. I jumped up out of my seat and hurried towards the casino entrance but when I got to the door, he was gone as if he had vanished into thin air.
A few seconds later, my cell phone rang and it was Endah, she informed me that she had rented the room at Binions Hotel. She also gave me an over the phone shopping list and asked me to pick the items up and bring them to room: 357, on the third floor. I forgot about the guy in the Halloween costume for the time being and instead went looking for a place to buy Endah’s supplies. I went east on Fremont Street and headed towards Las Vegas Blvd. I passed the 3rd Street stage next to the Four Queens Casino, and then went into a Walgreens store. Most of Endah's shopping list was just stuff that a woman uses when she's getting all dolled-up, so it wasn't hard to find. While I was shopping, I also bought a half-gallon of gold Tequila, a couple of Las Vegas, Nevada, souvenir shot glasses and my favorite snuff tobacco: Copenhagen. I then left the store and headed west towards Binions; along the way, I opened the container of Copenhagen chewing tobacco and took a large pinch of it with my thumb and index finger and put it in the front of my mouth between my cheek and gum. It then ground itself in and sent ripples of pleasure and satisfaction up and down my spin from the nicotine. I resealed the container and slipped it into my shirt pocket; as I did, a dude’s voice that I recognized called out from a few feet behind me.
“Got a pinch of that snuff stuff for your old buddy, Ron?”
I recognized the guy’s voice to be that of my partner in crime, my old friend, Grant. I turned around and raised my fist and so did he and we bumped knuckles and then gave each other a thug hug, a sign of brotherhood.
“Let me have a pinch of that chew I saw you with dawg,” Grant said in his casual hip style.
I pulled the Copenhagen out of my pocket and handed it to him. He opened the container and started shoveling it into his mouth and talking at the same time (tobacco juice was dripping down his chin). “What do ya think about the economy, Ron? There’s so many small businesses going belly up now that the only ones that’ll be left are the illegals, who sell tamales and corn on the cob from shopping carts they stole.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” we both started busting-up like men do when they’re telling dirty jokes.
“Yea, but let a honky-cracker like one of us start selling food door-to-door from a funky [...], dirty shopping cart and let's see how long we’d get away with it. Hell, they’d deport us.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” we both started cracking up again in a humorous but serious manner.
“So what’s up buddy?” I broke through the laughter with, “I was looking for you a couple of weeks ago. I wanted you to go to Louisiana, with me; I went down there to be with my uncle Len before he died. We could have partied together with the Cajuns down in Dixieland, drank all their booze and ate all their crawfish. They’ve got some fine lookin’ women down there too man; you missed it, where were you?"
Grant lowered his head and stared at the ground for a moment and then looked back up at me with a very serious expression on his face and said, “I haven’t had a drink or even partied with anybody since you and I got blitzed at Mermaids, the night Bobby Joe blew his whole Social Security check on us. I’ve been laying low and going to A.A. meetings. I think, I'm an alcohalic."
“You ain’t no alcoholic, dude.” I assured him. “Anybody who goes to an A.A. meeting gets brainwashed into believing that they’re an alcoholic. It’s a business, they’re making money, that’s why they pass the hat at every meeting? The stuff they teach down there was written in the 30’s, psychiatry has advanced light-years since then, dawg. They’ve got people down there who haven’t had a drink in twenty years (so they say), and now they’re called: Dry-Drunks. You’ve heard 'em sharing, they’re miserable and manic depressive even without the alcohol. 12-Steps, my-[...], forget about all that, man, they need to add another step to their program anyway, step number: 13, and that's: When all else fails, go see a frickin’ shrink (psychiatrist). You don’t wanna turn out like one of them, do ya? Always at war with yourself, one side of you wants to party and the other side doesn’t. They’ll ruin your mind man and make you think that you're worse off than you really are. They're always misdiagnosing people down there. Let’s go, I've got something more important I need your help with, that place is just a pagan temple, anyway.”
I started walking again towards the hotel with Grant walking beside me. It wasn’t long and his curiosity got the better of him and he questioned me about what I needed his help with.
“Okay Ron, what’s so important that you need my help with? What have you gotten yourself mixed-up in this time?”
I took a few moments to think about what I was going to say; I didn’t want to psych him out and scare him away from getting involved in my caper, so I said, “ There’s some sort of covert conspiracy going on in the Federal Government. My uncle Len told me about it, he even gave me a classified/top secret journal that explains the whole deal, man. I need your help to find out if it’s true or not; you’re the only one I can trust but it’s risky business talking about it here, let’s go over to my motor home, it’s parked just down the street.”
“Right, lead the way, double-oh-seven,” he spouted-off without believing a single word I said.
My cell phone rang about that time and it was Endah again; she wanted to know what was taking me so long with her stuff. I told her that I would be there in about ten minutes and that I was bringing Grant along with me. She knew Grant too from the many times that he and I had partied at Mermaids while she was working there at the time.
We walked down to where my motor home was parked and I unlocked the door and went inside. Grant stuck his head inside the door and said, "What the hell happened in here?" As he noticed all the broken dishes and glasses scattered all over the place.
"I had a little accident out at the lake this morning and haven't had time to clean it up yet," I said. "Sit down Grant, I want to show you something." He came in and sat at the table and I closed the motor home door and locked it behind him. I then reached down inside the secret compartment and took the journal out and set it on the table. Grant picked it up and then rolled it back and forth in his hand like a book collector, he then became fixated on the title as if he was in a trance or something.
“So open it,” I demanded, having been annoyed that he was taking so long to do so.
“Hey, don’t panic, I am, I am.”
He then opened the cover and exposed the Table Of Contents, an outline of what the journal contained.
(Below is a cloned copy of the Table Of Contents in the journal)
For a complete explanation of the Articles above – click here:
“Is this for real?” Grant said with an air of skepticism in his voice. “If it is, you better not get caught with it or according to what it says here, they’ll feed you to the sharks, ha, ha, ha, ha. This book’s a fake, written by somebody on the frickin Internet, that’s all. Where and the heck did you say you got it?”
"I told you, I got it from my uncle Len. He was an aide to President Roosevelt during the second world war and he warned me that a covert branch of the Department Of Homeland Security (DHS), was going to take over the government if the stock market crashes."
“Well, I hate to tell you but the stock market has been on the verge of crashing all month, I don’t know that much about it but a lot of people have already lost their jobs.”
“I know, I’ve been following it in the news. It’s really getting bad out there; that's why I need your help Grant, we need to find out if this journal of my uncle Len’s is legit or not. We need to get into the government’s classified files on the Internet and see if we can find out anything about Operation Cocoon (OC.). Now how we gonna do it?”
“Well, I know this much, I’m quite sure that the Federal Government’s classified files are not on the Internet, not on the World Wide Web, anyway. They’re probably on some super-secure Intranet network or some ultra-high frequency range that we can't even connect to; and if the information is classified/top secret, it may not even be accessible to us at all. They may keep it on some encrypted disk or hard drive that’s locked up in Fort Knox or deep underground in some secret military facility. There’s just too many variables, it would be like looking for a needle in a field of hay, not just a hay stack, Ron.”
“Well, I've got Endah, she knows all that hacking and deciphering stuff. I’ve just got to convince her to do it that’s all, she’s waiting in room: 357, at Binions for us to deliver this bag of female paraphernalia right now. Let’s go up there, we’ll figure out someway to get her involved in this caper. If I have to, I’ll black-mail her, after all, I owe her half of my Mega Bucks Jackpot.”
“What Jackpot?” Grant said as if I was lying.
“Yea, I won the Mega Bucks Jackpot a couple of hours ago, I’m a millionaire, dude. It’s party time now.”
“Wow, we can buy our own casino, dawg, and run it the way we want to,” Grant said as he pulled a hand rolled marijuana cigarette from his pocket and fired it up.
“Take a hit of this, Ron. It’s some good stuff.” He said while holding the smoke from the joint in his lungs and talking at the same time. He then handed the joint to me and I took a deep hit of the smoke.
“Grant,” I said as I blew the smoke in his face.
“This is street weed, isn’t it?”
“No Ron, it’s from the frinckin’ moon. Where in the hell else would it come from?”
“Well, I’ve got a medicinal marijuana card now from California, and I want you to try some of the high-grade stash that they’re selling in supply-stores over there. I've got just enough left to get us both blasted.”
“Well, bring it on, dawg.”
I got in the secret compartment and pulled out my medicinal marijuana and put what I had left in a glass pipe. I then passed it over to Grant and he lit his lighter and touched it to the bowl end of the pipe and set the weed on fire. He then took a long draw of smoke from the burning herb into his lungs and held it there as he passed the pipe back over to me. I took my turn with it and finished off the bowl and then put the pipe away.
“Man, I've got a buzz-on, I'm waisted, dude.” Grant said as he wipped his hands across his eyes.
“Are you telling me that this stuff is legal in California?”
"Yap, as long as you have a physician’s authorized, medical marijuana card and the money to pay for it and we've got plenty of that now. I plan on making a trip to Cali’ any day now and I’m going to buy out the entire store of THC. products when I get there.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” we both started laughing hysterically.
“So how come you owe Endah half of your winnings, Ron?”
“She pulled the handle on the machine before I did.” I answered.
“What? Those broads at Mermaids are always getting your money. I've seen you give away your whole pay check in tips while you were drunk because those divas over there were flirting with you.”
“I know Grant, I’m a sucker for a pretty face. It’s just the way I am but this time, I’m going to get something in return for my generosity. I just hope we can trust Endah not to talk, or give us away that’s what I’m worried about. Let’s go up there and I’m taking the journal with us.”
“Yea, just convince her that if she doesn’t help us, she won’t get Jack squat of your winnings and if she talks, she’ll end up as fish bait too.”
We both busted-up laughing as we left the motor home and headed up to room: 357, at Binions. When we got there, I knocked on the door and Endah soon opened it and let us in. She was wearing a towel around her hair, another one around her sexy body and nothing else. Grant and I both greeted her "Hello" and all she said was, “What took you so long? You guys smell like weed.” She then grabbed her stuff out of the bag and went into the bathroom. Grant took a seat at the table and I turned on the television set and then joined him. When the T.V. powered up, Channel 11 News, came on and showed a video of Senator Obama giving a campaign speech, when Grant saw it, he said, "Obama's the man. Are you voting in this election, Ron?"
"I haven't decided yet," I answered.
The bathroom door opened a little and Endah joined in our conversation and said, "Obama's gonna win, everybody's sick of Bush."
"You got that right," Grant yelled out across the room to her.
I didn't say anything else but when I glanced over towards the bathroom I could see Endah's reflection in the mirror that was hanging on the door. She was totally nude and standing in front of another mirror putting on her makeup. I just sat there watching her for a while without her knowing it. She looked beautiful, her breasts were perfectly shaped. In fact, they were so perfect that I couldn't help but suspect that she had silicone implants. Her nipples were perfectly shaped too and I wondered why she wasn’t a stripper. She was certainly more attractive than any of the burlesque dancers that I’d seen around town. Her waistline flowed smoothly and evenly down to her hips and she looked like a love goddess getting ready to take part in some sort of fertility rites. I couldn't take my eyes off of her reflection in the mirror, she really turned me on. I raised my hand and got Grant's attention and pointed towards the bathroom door. I then called out to Endah, "Endah, are you voting for Obama, next week?"
"You know I'm here on a Visa, Ron, are you tryin' to be funny of something?" She shouted back at me in an agitated tone of voice as she slammed the bathroom door closed. Grant and I shook our heads at her childishness and started laughing. I then got the bottle of Tequila and the 2 shot glasses out of the shopping bag and poured Grant and myself a shot. I raised my glass up and gave a toast to Endah, “Here’s to Endah, the hottest flame in the fire.” Grant and I bumped our shot glasses together and then hammered ‘em down.
After we sat our glasses back on the table, Grant looked up at me and said, “You still got your laptop Ron?”
“Yea, it’s down in the motor home. Why, you wanna get online?”
“I wouldn’t mind trying to find out something about what you were talking about earlier. It’s a slim chance but you never know, at least we could do a search for your uncle’s name, we might get lucky and come across something.”
“You know Grant? I'll give you 100 grand of my Mega Bucks Jackpot if you can find out anything about my uncle Len, or Operation Cocoon, online.”
We both started laughing and while we were, Endah came out of the bathroom in her night gown and walked over to me with a very serious look on her face and said, “What’d you say about Operation Cocoon?”
"Oh nothing, we were just shootin' the breeze, that's all. Why?”
“Because when I breeched the security firewall of the Phillipine Government's Immigration and Naturalization, Intranet-network to create my passport; I came across a classified/top secret, encrypted file named: ‘da11v45id’, that had the code name: Operation Cocoon. I think they both had something in common with the New World Order."
“Doo, do-du-do, doo, do-du-do,” Grant sarcastically started imitating the Twilight Zone theme song.
"Well girl," I said just after she finished speeking; "I was given a frickin journal about Operation Cocoon from my uncle Len just before he died. I thought it was B.S. at first but from what you say, it sounds like the real McCoy." I then pulled the journal out from under my shirt and handed it to her as I passed by and went in to the bathroom to take a shower.
When I entered the bathroom, I found myself in a hazmat area; there were wet towels all over the floor and shredded pieces of toilet paper tossed all around. Clothes were hanging from every place possible and the sink was covered with dozens of little tubes and containers of makeup. It looked like a harem of a thousand pleasure maidens had spent hours in there getting all dolled-up.
When I finished taking my shower, I came out of the bathroom and saw Endah lying on the bed studying my uncle Len's journal, she was in a world of her own, lost in her thoughts.
Grant was playing a game of one-on-one with the Tequila bottle and I could tell that he was losing. He lifted his head up like it was too heavy for his neck and then slurred out the following words, "What about the laptop, Ron, are we going to look up your uncle Len or the OC., online?"
"Don't even think about it," Endah said as she interrupted us with a self proclaimed authority in her voice. "You guys start monkeying around on a public access, Wi Fi connection, searching for classified/top secret information like this and we'll all end up in federal prison by midnight. I'll handle all the computer stuff, you guys just do as I tell you to and I am telling you right now, there'll be no more drinking or smoking weed while we're working together on this. I'll be damned if I'm gonna become fish bait just because you guys talked too much in public or did something even more stupid when you were stoned. Do you understand me?"
She had us both by the balls, there wasn't anything else we could do but agree with her if we wanted her help, so Grant and I reluctantly entered into a sobriety pact with her and then the three of us became liaisons in counter-espionage, against our own government.
Continued Next Post
The Stars And Stripes Of Socialism
Chapter 2.
The Secret Agent Clan (SAC.)
The following days passed by relatively the same; Endah just laid around and read my uncle Len's journal and Grant and I did what ever we could to pass the time away. It was really boring for Grant and I though not being able to drink and get stoned like we usually did but it was a sacrifice that we were willing to make in order to have Endah involved in our caper. She became absorbed in her reading as if she were deciphering some ancient text or something, and if anyone was capable of masterminding a breech in classified/top secret cyberspace, Endah was the one. I could tell by the look on her face as she lay on the bed in her nightgown that she really believed in what she was reading; her facial expressions were intense and at times, she looked frightened.
On November 4th, 2008, we went to the Main Street Station (brewery) and had dinner and watched the presidential election. While there, Endah asked to borrow my cell phone and then she made a call to some guy in Torrance, California, named: Tech Guru. I gave her my phone and then acted like I wasn’t paying any attention to what she was doing but I heard every word that she said. She waited until everyone in the room was clapping and cheering hysterically (Obama was winning) and then she whispered into the phone.
“Guru, it's Witchy Woman; I need a portable remote access system, solar panel, battery, satellite modem, weather resistant case and also an early 90’s frequency scanner. Oh, and the solar panel has got to be anti-glare and undetectable to the birds. Be there within 2 rotations to pick you and your luggage up. Here’s your ticket number: 404654133209x7/10.”
After saying that, she took the battery out of the back of my cell phone and yanked the wires that were connected to it out of the circuit board. She then took the micro-memory-chip out and broke all the connecting prongs off with a spoon and then gave it back to me and said, “Get rid of this, we're gonna start using prepaid cell phones from 7/11 from now on, they’re untracable as long as you wipe your finger prints off 'em. Ron, I hope our Jackpot money gets deposited soon, I just gave out your ATM card information to my homie, Tech Guru. He's going to build us some equipment we need. We’re leaving for his place in Torrance, California, at checkout time tomorrow." She then looked up at the wide-screen T.V. and studied it for a moment and said, "Obama’s really kickin McCain’s tail-end, ain’t he?”
"Yea, that’s all we need,” I murmured as I slipped into a semiconscious state of shock because the memory-card that she had just destroyed had over six thousand irreplaceable Mp3’s on it, not to mention all of my personal phone numbers and rare photos of my two daughters when they were babies.
Grant, who had been watching the entire drama play itself out immediately left the table and headed towards the men’s room. I assumed that he had taken leave of our company in order to stash his cell phone memory-card before Endah realized that he had one and took a spoon to it too.
"Ron, do you know that good-lookin’ German officer sitting at the bar, over there? He’s been staring over here as if he knows you.”
After she said that, I knew exactly whom she was talking about. I turned around and saw the same dude who had been staring at me through the window at Mermaids Casino but I was surprised to see that he was still wearing his costume; Halloween was over.
“That dude was staring at me through the window at Mermaids, the same day we won the Mega Bucks,” I said. “Let’s go see who he is, he might be a movie star.”
“Alright, let’s go but don’t ask for his autograph until you know for sure.” Endah cautioned.
We got up from our seats at the table and walked over to the masquerader, as we approached, he held out his hand to me with a picture clasped between his fingers.
“Take it,” he said in a phony German accent. “It’s a picture of you and your late uncle Len.”
“You knew my uncle Len?” I asked.
“Yes, we were confidants for many years before he passed away,” the masquerader said with a crooked smile as if he were tempting a child with candy. “Is there some place we can talk privately?”
I then looked over at Endah to study her facial expressions in order to interpret what she was thinking, she in turn gave me a smile but had a very suspicious look in her eyes. I turned back to the nazi dude and said, “Sure, just as soon as my friend returns. He’ll be right back.” I then looked over towards the men's room anticipating Grant’s return but he never came out, so I excused myself and went into the restroom to see what was taking him so long. When I entered the restroom, Grant wasn't any where in sight, so I started looking for him in the toilet stalls. About the 3rd stall down, I found Grant’s clothes wadded up in a ball behind the toilet. I reached down and grabbed them and lifted them up so I could make sure that they were really his and when I did, a putrid looking, green colored goo, oozed out of them and slowly made its way back down to the floor. It was the weirdest stuff that I'd ever seen before; the goo looked like it was alive and it smelled like a rotting corpse. I dropped the clothes and ran out of the restroom. Once outside, I saw that Endah was sitting back at our dinner table and the nazi dude was gone.
“Endah,” I said with my adrenaline in overdrive. “Grant’s gone but I found his clothes and they were oozing some sort of smelly green goo. Where’s that nazi dude?”
“Oh my God, it’s true, Grant’s been liquidated.” She said nervously as she fiddled with her fingers.
“What do you mean, he's been liquidated?” I said, demanding an answer from her.
“I read in the journal under Article 90-A, Advanced Weaponry And Technology, that the OC., has a genetically altered microbe that can liquefy a human body within five minutes. They must have used it on Grant while we were talking to that nazi guy.”
“Well, where's the phony krout at? He can’t get a way with this.”
Endah grabbed my arm and said, “Ron, chill-out, he told me that he's a high-ranking operative with the OC., and that they know your uncle gave you the journal; they want us to return it by noon tomorrow, or they're gonna feed us to the sharks and we'll end up dead, just like Grant is.”
“Return it, return it where by noon tomorrow?” I said in an excited state of confusion.
“I’ll tell you all about it but first I need a stiff drink, let’s move to the bar; oh, and remember the number: 13.”
"13, what the hell has 13, got to do with this?" I said out of frustration.
We walked over to the bar and took a seat and soon afterwards a friendly young bartender showed up and said, “You two are just in time. Obama's won the election, he's about to give his victory speech. What can I get ya?” Endah and I both looked at each other waiting for the other to speak first and before we could, the young bartender decided for us, “ Hey love-birds, this ones on the house, I'll be right back.” He soon returned with two glasses of Champaign and two shots of Jose Cuervo, 1800. “Here ya go, it's called: The Bomb, down the shots and then chase 'em with the Champaign. We’ve got a new president now and he's the bomb too; America’s in for a big change, now boy!” He said with the arrogance of a patriot.
“You've got that right,” Endah and I both said in unison as we toast our shots of Tequila and then slammed 'em down. After that, we just sat there at the bar sipping our Champaign while watching Obama give his incredible election day, victory speech.
After president-elect Obama, finished his speech, everybody in the brewery began clapping and cheering, and going crazy; during all the excitement Endah tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention and said, “You’ve got the journal with you, right?”
I immediately responded, “You better believe it, I never leave home without it. It’s right here tucked in my belt with my tee-shirt.”
“We’ve got till noon tomorrow to make a complete clone copy of it. Isn’t there an all night Kinkos printing shop around here somewhere?”
“Yea, there’s one right over by the old court house, I’ve been there before. It’ll be easy to find, follow me.” I said like a tour guide. I then lead Endah over to where my motor home was parked, unlocked the door and went inside.
Endah stuck her head inside the door and saw all the broken dishes and glasses still scattered all over the place and said, “What the hell happened in here?”
All of a sudden, my mind flashed back to the time when Grant had said the same thing after he saw the mess and I began to get emotional because I knew that I would never see my old buddy again.
“Huh?” Endah said as she climbed the two steps of the stairwell and came inside.
“Yea, it’s a mess in here but that’s okay, cuz I’m gonna get a brand new coach when our money comes in.” Though I answered, I was still thinking about my old buddy and after I had finished speaking to her, I made a silent promise to myself to catch the cold blooded killer who had liquidated him.
We exited the Plaza Hotel & Casino parking lot and made a right turn on Main Street and rolled past the Daisy Motel. We then made our way over to 4th Street where we found the Kinkos printing shop. I parked the motor home and we both went inside. While there, we borrowed a hole puncher and purchased a heavy duty binder and enough card-stock to make an exact clone copy of my uncle Len’s journal; as we worked, we joked around and had fun with each other as not to draw any suspicion to the fact that we were forging a classified/top secret piece of property that belonged to the Department Of Homeland Security (DHS).
When we were finished, we went back to the motor home and I put my uncle Len’s journal and the clone copy of it down inside the secret compartment and then sat down at the table. Endah laid down on the bed and covered herself up with a blanket. I could see that she was beat from all that we had been through and needed rest but I had to know where we were suppose to return the original journal to the OC., by noon the following day, so I asked her.
“Endah, how are we suppose to return my uncle’s journal to the OC., by noon tomorrow?”
At first, she yawned, then she stretched her arms and curled up her legs and said, “We're not, we’ll be long gone by noon tomorrow.”
Her words had an intense psychoactive influence on my mind and I started thinking about the consequences of double-crossing the OC. I pictured myself being torn apart and dragged to the bottom of the sea by a Great White shark. The thought of becoming fish bait was more than I had bargained for when I first accepted my uncle Len's journal, so out of desperation I questioned her about what she had said, “Endah, didn’t you say that the OC., would feed us to the sharks if we didn’t return the damn thing by noon tomorrow?”
“Chill Ron,” she said. “The nazi guy rented a locker over at the Greyhound on Main Street.”
“Locker number: 13?” I said recalling that she had asked me earlier to remember the number: 13.
“Yea, all we have to do is put the journal in the locker and spin the dial on the combination lock. It’ll be unlocked when we get there. We don’t have to wait till noon tomorrow, we can do it right now and then split to Torrance, and pick up Guru, and the high-tech hacking equipment that I ordered."
“Okay, that’s all I wanted ta know. We’re goin' to the Greyhound bus station right now, you can stay in the motor home and sleep. I’ll take care of putting the journal in the locker. Are you sure it’s locker number: 13?” Endah didn’t answer my question, so I asked her again. “Are you sure it’s locker number: 13, that we’re suppose to put the journal in?”
“Numbeeeeer - thirteeeeen,” she whispered softly as she drifted off to sleep.
I ran to get in the driver’s seat and put on my seat belt. I then started up the engine and jammed the gear shift lever down; unknowningly, I mistakenly put the motor home in reverse and when I mashed on the gas, my rig went flying backwards and forced the rear wheels up and over a twelve inch high, concrete barrier. The impact was so violent that it sheared off the anchor bolts that held the stove down and it flung-loose and tumbled into the stairwell by the door. Then, to get out of the predicament that I was in, I had to drive back over the barrier but when I did, the refrigerator flung-loose too and toppled over and crashed to the floor right next to where Endah was sleeping. I looked back at her to see if she was alright and she started talking in her sleep without moving, or even opening her eyes, “Are we in Torrance, yet?”
“Almost,” I answered as I pulled out of Kinkos’s parking lot and preceded to carryout my mission.
I made my way safely over to Main Street and headed north; as I approached the Greyhound bus terminal, I noticed a lot of police activity going on down the street at the Main Street Station where we had been earlier. There was also a Bio-Hazmat truck in the parking lot and I could see technicians in white bio-space-suits going in and out of the casino entrance.
“Damn, they must have found Grant oozing out of his jeans. I hope he splatters on 'em." I said out of bitterness as I made a U-turn on First & Main and headed towards a 15, minute loading-zone right in front of the Greyhound bus terminal.
The late night travelers on the sidewalk in front of the bus station were packed in like Sardines and it was almost impossible parking the motor home without knocking people in the head with my extended side-view mirrors. It was like surfing through the pilings of a pier during a category 5, hurricane but I finally did it. After the engine was shut off and my seat belt unbuckled; I jumped to my feet to get the journal but was suddenly knocked to the floor by the quake of something massive crashing into the motor home. My first thought was that a semi-tractor-trailer had careened out of control and broad-sided my coach but when I got up, I looked out the rear-side window and saw what appeared to be a female sasquatch (XXXXXXL) with an [...] the size of a Volkswagen, leaning against the door.
“Woe, I hope she doesn’t have gas, for Endah’s sake,” I uttered as I ran to the front of the motor home and squeezed myself through the driver’s side window (to get away).
I fought my way through the mob waiting in line, entered the terminal lobby and spotted the lockers. I then wormed my way through a group of travelers standing in front of locker number: 13, and reached over and grabbed the handle on the locker and yanked the door open. When I did, thousands of free movie tickets to see: Valkyrie, staring Tom Cruise, fell out. The people in the lobby, when they saw the free tickets, started pushing and shoving each other to get them (some people really got ticked-off and even started fist-fighting).
The inside of locker number: 13, looked more like a rat’s nest than a storage bin but I placed my uncle Len’s journal inside, just the same. I then grabbed a free movie ticket for Endah & I and closed the locker door, spun the dial on the combination lock and then sidestepped my way back through the crowd towards the exit.
The mob on the sidewalk outside the terminal had thinned out considerably, but when I made it to the lobby door, I discovered that someone had spray painted a graffiti message down the entire passenger’s side of my motor home; it read: “Gangstaz suck.”
The female sasquatch, who had been leaning against the motor home door was sleeping peacefully on the side walk, in front of it (she smelled like rotten Anchovies). I would've had to step over her to get in the door; however, I chose not to and instead, climbed back through the driver’s side window, started up my rig and got the hell out of there (mission accomplished - 11/5/08).
Dodging a circus of yellow taxicabs and a merry-go-round of buses going in and out of the terminal, I headed south on Main Street. As I rolled passed the Daisy Motel, a cute little call girl that I knew began waving and blowing me kisses. I knew she was a call girl because when I lived at the Daisy, she'd call my motel room every night to see if I needed anything.
Standing on the corner of Charleston & Main Street, was a stringy haired, tweaker girl that I had seen around town for years but had never spoken to. When I stopped at the corner, she walked up to my window and said, “I need some money for a taxicab, my baby’s in an incubator at the hospital and I need a ride over there to see her.”
I knew that the only ride she wanted was on the end of a glass-pipe but I gave her a few bucks anyway and then made a right turn onto Charleston Blvd., and headed west towards the freeway; once there, I got in the left turn lane for the southbound on ramp and stopped at a red light. Shortly thereafter, a car that looked like it had been customized by Al Capone, pulled up along side of me and stopped at the red light too. All of a sudden, the thug behind the wheel started coming unglued because he noticed the graffiti writing on the side of my motor home (“Gangstaz suck”). He then began yelling and cussing at me, and flashing a one finger, rival gang sign. At that moment, the light turned green and I proceeded to make my turn onto the on ramp and enter the freeway. As I completed my turn, the angry thug floored his vehicle and changed lanes right in the middle of the intersection and began chasing after me. I stomped on the gas and got my rig up to seventy miles an hour and then held ‘er there and waited for the perusing thug to catch up. While barreling down the freeway, I reached back behind my seat and opened my toolbox and grabbed a handful of ten-inch spikes and tossed them out the window into the lane to my left. A second or two later, I turned my steering wheel and got in the left lane too. When the unsuspecting thug saw me change lanes, he did likewise and his tires began picking up the spikes (like a pin-cushion). Suddenly, his retreads disintegrated, sprawling chunks of rubber all over the interstate; that caused his car to bump and bounce down the freeway so violently that his hydraulic lifters wore out from metal fatigue. The body of his vehicle immediately slammed down onto the pavement, rendering his steering wheel useless (at seventy-plus miles an hour). As I watched in my extended rear-view mirrors, I could see the terror in his eyes as he hopelessly, fought to steer his car as it veered off the freeway, cart wheeled down an embankment and then exploded, in a fiery ball of flames.
With the threat of gang violence behind me, I trucked on down the highway in route to southern California. The towns and miles passed by one after another as my coach traveled along the lonely interstate. I cruised passed the desert town of Baker, Nevada, where a giant thermometer stands as a monument to their 123-degree, summer days. About twenty miles north of the state line, I popped open my container of Copenhagen, smokeless tobacco and filled my jaw with a generous heap; chills of satisfaction, rippled through my soul as the tobacco ground itself deep within my gums. Just as I was about to close the container, a semi whizzed by and the wind that it generated whipped in my window and blew all of my snuff tobacco into the back of the motor home some where. Damn, I hope it didn't get on Endah, I thought to myself as I threw the empty container out the window.
As I approached the state line, my rig started misfiring and rattling like an old wash machine. I was afraid that something major had malfunctioned in the mechanical assembly of my V8., but soon realized that I was so low on gas that I was running on fumes. It wasn't long and my engine completely petered out, so I coast into a filling station that just happened to be at a nearby exit. I hopped out of my seat and moved the stove out of the stairwell so I could get by and went outside. I took my ATM card out of my wallet and paid at the pump for a full tank of fuel and then stuck the gas nozzle in the tank and started pumping. I then ran back inside the motor home and sat in the driver’s seat and began comparing tank mileage on my fuel-log. While I was converting gallons to miles, a beautiful young woman wearing a see through blouse walked up to my window and asked me for directions to Glitter Gultch, a topless club on Fremont Street in Las Vegas. She was very friendly and extremely talkative, and I became totally distracted from what I was doing. I gladly gave her the directions to Glitter Gulch and then without thinking, I started up my rig and pulled out of the filling station and then headed back towards the freeway. When I turned onto the southbound on-ramp, I noticed that the gasoline fill nozzle was still stuck in my tank and the hose was flopping down the interstate, like a run away snake. Luckily for me, the rear tire ran over the hose and it yanked the nozzle out of the tank and hurled it to the ground (I didn’t have to pull over and do it myself).
NEW Somewhere near the Calico, ghost town turn off, the road started playing tricks on me. It became extremely difficult to stay in my lane because the white line kept swaying back and forth from side to side. Whenever I would look down the road in the distance, the highway would leave the horizon and drift off into space, in an attempt to make me think that I was about to leave the earth. My dashboard compass joined in the trickery too and many times it deliberately gave me false readings. At one point, it registered that I was going do-north, when I knew damn well that I was going southwest. Things got so spooky in fact, that I though that I had taken a wrong turn off and was passing through the Bermuda Triangle instead of being on my way to Los Angeles County. Even though the road was haunted and the fact that I had contracted an acute case of white-line-fever, I kept on truckin’. I entered the San Bernardino Mountain Range at about four thirty in the morning and a short time later, I went through the Banning Pass. All of a sudden, a giant elephant with ten-foot long tusks (that I though was extinct) appeared in the road and tried to ram my coach. I immediately swerved to avoid the beast but one of its tusks snagged my right front wheel well and completely tore the siding off of the motor home. All I could see in my extended rear-view mirrors was chunks of sheet metal and pieces of pink fiber glass insulation blowing all over the interstate. All that was left on the right side of my rig was a few, two by two inch wooden studs that held up the interior quarter inch paneling.
About that time, Endah starting talking again, I didn’t know if she was awake this time or not but she called out to me.
“Ron, turn the heater on, it’s getting’ cold in here.”
“Okay,” I said, as the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle in my rear-view mirror captured my attention. Before I could even think, a Highway Patrol car flew passed me at a super high rate of speed. As it did, I glanced over at the patrolman and got the shock of my life. It was Kinky The Clown at the wheel, he was driving the cruiser stark naked. He had one hand on the steering wheel and his other hand on his manhood, fondling himself. A second later, he disappeared around a turn in the road.
As I made the turn in the road too, a rest area sign came into view and I decided to follow the exit into the campground. Once there, I parked the motor home and then laid my head down on the steering wheel and passed out.
To Be Continued
ETA. June 15, 2009 .
Word Count: 100,000