The Konformist

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February 2002

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McHajj:

Part X

by

Jaye C. Beldo

Netnous@Aol.Com

 

*Please note: The McHajj series you are about to read came to me directly via a series of disturbing dreams, dreams which continue to haunt me at present. These dreams, more like interminable nightmares, have resulted from life long exposure to advertising in the relentlessly predatory, capitalistic society that I'm haphazardly posited in. In order to deal with the severe psychological trauma such exposure has caused me, I have translated what my unconscious mind has directly conveyed to me into the story below. It is the only way I know how to cope with the constant trespassing into my psyche by the corporate powers which loom about in a most menacing and merciless fashion. Thank you for understanding my dilemma. BTW: I am currently starting a twelve step support group for those who may believe that they are victims of a similar kind of corporate psychological terrorism. I will provide more information in the near future...if there is one. Thank you!

 

A spotlight trains upon a small circular stage three feet in diameter. An audience of a few select men surrounds this rotating platform on which the CIA logo is inscribed. From the left comes the Charmin Teddy Bear and from the right the Pillsbury Doughboy. They both mount the stage like little Sumo wrestlers and take a bow, losing their balance slightly as they spin around. The Charmin Teddy Bear acclimatizes to the centrifugal force, advances a few steps and grabs the Pillsbury Doughboy's arm, twists it and throws the inflated icon down to the mat. Soon the two are kissing and the Doughboy instantly submits, turning over on to his stomach, arching his back suggestively, spreading his boneless legs and stroking his featureless crotch. Adequately aroused by the invitation, the Charmin Bear carves a pentagram into the left buttock of the Doughboy with his claws. He then deeply augurs augurs the unbaked anus so dutifully offered up to him without a trace of expectation or regret.

In spite of the commercial transgression at hand, the lights brighten enough to reveal the audience more sufficiently. A miasma of lust hangs in the air. But not a single gentleman in this implicate Adult Entertainment Club plays pocket pool.

Ronald McDonald stops the stage via remote control, walks over and injects a mixture of methamphetamine, heroin, mescaline and crack cocaine into the Bear's testicles. The Pillsbury Doughboy receives a dose of pure DMT directly in his eyeball. The clown kneels down at the edge of the stage activating it back into rotation, caressing his icons, reassuring them of their place in the overall scheme of things before they careen into a Virtual Stratosphere far beyond the dimensional confines of Spook Central.

A Marlboro Man pulls the two apart and arranges them into the Tibetan Yab Yum position, helping the Charmin Bear into a Full Lotus Position, making sure his spine is straight to facilitate the unadulterated rise of capitalist kundalini. He places the tripping Doughboy on top, then kneels down next to Ronald. A single spot light trains on the Tantric couple as they reunite, vis-a-vis.

During this Unio Mystica, Anton La Vey emerges from the darkness of the agency's periphery, along with L. Ron Hubbard, Jack Parsons and Aleister Cowardly. They all surround the stage, kneel and then hold hands as a shaft of malignant green light extends upwards. The Charmin Bear and Doughboy simultaneously orgasm, the Bear's drug saturated semen fertilizing the Doughboy's anomalous, rectal ovum. A portal to an astral realm is opened, both within and without. The Doughboy vomits, an indication of successful impregnation. He will gestate the fetus colonically.

The Doughboy and the Charmin Bear fall away from each other in exhaustion.

"Boy...this Babalon Working sure takes a lot out of a guy!" The Pillsbury Doughboy exclaims. "Are we done yet?"

Mr. Whipple emerges from some additional darkness, carrying a bundle of folders which he surrounds the stage with. Colonel Sanders now emerges carrying a rack of blood samples which he places between the sexually spent icons laying on the stage, covered with costume sweat.

"Take a look Doughboy." Says the Bear with a resurgence of energy, enabling him to pick his lover up off the vomit covered stage to look. "These are the top secret classified files from the Dachau medical experiments. Bet you're dying to know what's in those vials."

Doughboy cannot bring himself to a giggle. He only quivers in anticipation as some lights within the stage turn on, filtering through not only the CIa logo, but the blood samples as well. The light cast from the vials illuminates the icons with a dirty red hue which swirls about like psychedelic oil lamps of a bygone era, as the stage continues to spin.

Mr. Whipple pulls out a roll of Toilet Paper and starts mummifying Jack Parsons, then circles the stage over and over again, mumbling some toxic incantation.

"Oh Boy!" The Doughboy exclaims. He wrestles free of the Charmin Teddy Bear and leaps into the arms of Anton La Vey who takes his pentagram necklace off and gives it to him. Doughboy puts the pentagram on and beams with pride.

"Will you be the godfather of my Moon Child...Mr. Anton?" The Pillsbury Doughboy asks hopefully, wiggling his butt in hopes that the Has Been Satanist would unconsciously reciprocate the code.

"Are you kidding? I'm trying to escape this astral franchise chain. Not get more deeply imbedded in it. I mean..each time a book of mine is sold, I turn over in my grave for Christ's sake! I don't believe in any of this crap."

"How about you Master Therion? What wilt thou do in the name of the law? Nothing is Permitted...Everything is Real. So how about it? Will you be my son's God-Daddy?"

"What good would your Moon Child do for me at this stage in my career? Help advise me during a magic war with Osama? I'm just a talent scout these days. Sorry."

Lafayette Ron picks up the Pillsbury Doughboy, cradling it in his arms. He starts spinning. The energy generated from the spin activates a Golden Dawn sefiroth which sprouts from his Fontanel. The sefiroth is wrapped in more toilet paper.

"How about you Mr. Hubbard? When my Moon Child is born OT maybe you can share some of those juicy top secrets you never wrote about. If you say yes...I'll name my full moon baby.... Mest."

"You better ask Tom Cruise or John Travolta. Sorry...but I'm out of the loop too."

 

A technician reaches up and turns off the video monitor in the Brookhaven Laboratory. He shuts down the ultra high powered, hyper-space electron microscope which enables his colleagues to witness the mascot nano-sodomy.

"I want this molecular sex show replicated en masse and put into the Bio-Terrorism serum when the next Anthrax outbreak is staged. Only Yogis who can reduce their consciousness to the subatomic level can ever know that the Babalon rite will be playing out simultaneously in the Red, White and Blue blood cells of every United States Citizen who gets the mandatory inoculation."

"We need to change the ending though. All those dinosaur occultists waltzing with the Pillsbury Doughboy Moon Child Mother? I don't think so." George W. Bush said. "We're a proactive administration. We need some Aquarian sensibility for a change."

"By any means necessary...in my opinion." The Brookhaven technician replied impatiently. "If we run them through another rehearsal again...they'll lose their spontaneity. I mean it is hard to get a Doughboy to vomit and come at the same time." He turned the video monitor back on. "Worse...they may figure out how to grow back to normal size and demand access rights to this dimension."

"Look! Anton is nursing the Moon Child!" George W. exclaimed pointing at the video monitor. "Maybe there is hope!"

"Rewind it to the birth and use that segment of the show as the basis for the central molecule of the serum. Make it a binding protein or something. Maybe replicate it as a DNA molecule that promises to heal the nation if everyone gets the microchip shot."

"Don't worry...we can rewind the tape at anytime and upload it to a transponder satellite. Any time a citizen gets out of line they'll be reminded of their allegiance to the New World Order by an astral gatekeeper specifically designed to home in on their genetic vibration."

"I want to be an Astral Gatekeeper." The Charmin Teddy Bear proclaimed from a molecule, obviously eavesdropping the conversation.

"I'm just as good an Enochian Yogi as John Dee was." The Doughboy said and did the Cobra asana effortlessly.

The electron microscope magnified them so all could see their cold blooded baby writhing in ecstacy like the Brazen Serpent of Moses, all swaddled up in Mr. Whipple's toilet paper, waiting to be let loose upon the world so it could climb the sefiroth still pulsating out of L. Ron Hubbard's head. It would take someone of the spiritual stature of the Tidy Bowl Man to get the serpent threaded properly on the Tree of Life however, before that could ever happen.

 

to be continued

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