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January 2002

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McHajj:

Part V

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!

 

In his stately pleasure dome the Pope busied himself with a hobby with the newborn at his breast. On a papier- mache spread, a robot dinosaur marauded about. It gobbled up a little Jesus effigy, crunching the savory savior in its more than ample jaws. It gobbled up a Mohammed effigy at a makeshift Mecca around the bend. It hunted down Elohim, Zoraster, Buddha, Vishnu and other avatar hors d'oeuvres which seemed to grow out of the landscape like target mannequins at a rifle range. The Pope then pushed a button on his remote, causing the Dinosaur spin to around like a dog and defecate. His ecumenical chemists concocted special digestive juices for the model Saurian. He was anxious for the results of his latest scheme. It could bring salvation to Cuba. If all else failed it would make good fertilizer for his Chrysanthemums back in the Vatican.

Out came a resplendent turd which remained airborne to the amazement of the guests who lined up on either side of the model landscape. The turd jetted about, powered by god knows what, perhaps another miracle from within the Pope's sleeve. The button was pushed again and out came the faithful, emerging from the tufts and folds of the land, locomoting like plastic football players on an vibrating field of metal. They threw themselves at the feet of the fecal avatar.

"Exquisite." said one of the PR men from Hill and Knowlton. "We can get it out before Christmas easy. We've already rammed one of these through Congress before."

He reached over with a butter knife and spread some of the turd onto a biscuit and sampled it. "Piquant...not much aftertaste. Slap Barney or a Tele-Tubby on the can and it'll sell."

"Disney's on the phone....I smell litigation." Another PR warned.

"I wouldn't worry,.. they haven't the leverage that our Pope does...besides there's a loophole since the blueprints aren't even of the earth. Copywriter's haven't learned the art of astral travel.....yet."

"The only loophole we need is the one in this Ankh...... remember?" Another PR said and waved the loophole over the Pope's radio control. The dinosaur stopped in his tracks and waited for the next command.

The Pope sped up the dinosaur with his remote and watched it climb up and over the mountain ranges of the world, gobbling up not only avatars but wannabe prophets, messiahs, visionaries of all creeds and persuasions. Our Godzilla.

"RAND will buy the rights to it...then we won't have to worry at all....at all! War Games are always in demand."

"China still has MFN status...it'll be cheap! Three cheers for Clinton and Gore."

"Dayton Hudson will retail the thing...let's stick to the prairie..keep it homey."

The Pope had to be helped away from the game, exhausted by the excitement, the prospects, and retired to his quarters. The others milled around the game board. A party seemed to be forming near a window in the dome. Some felt short changed by the display, others were merely perplexed, amused at the Pope's lack of tact.

"It needs some kind of continuity." A critic for People Magazine argued. "I mean what...I mean is that... it has to been serialized. Folks will grow bored with it. "

"So we need more Milk Bones for the T Rex....is that what you're saying?"

"Di...Bono..... Versace.... Kennedy... Floyd Kramer.... Denver... Kobain... Box Car Willie... hey...they're avatars in their own way...include them in the beast's regimen."

"It's all too confusing...all the channels we'll have to go through: The Royal Institute for International Affairs....."

"K-Tel."

Suddenly, in a spurt of autonomy, the Dinosaur started farting the song, "Candle in the Wind."

"Thanks for the Memento Mori." Madonna toasted the Dinosaur and guzzled her Spumanti and then wandered over to the window looking over the Martian landscape for another Oscar prospect.

"The Heritage Foundation"

"Ronco....just too many channels."

"What about public domain.....isn't that what death's all about?"

"I think you're on to something. We're getting a bead on this...get the Queen on the line and see if we can't get the Sinn Fein to take Prince Charles hostage, maybe drown his heirs in Guiness Stout....then blame it on the Loyalist Volunteer Force."

"Hey don't tire the dinosaur out...he needs love too!"

"O.K....wait everybody...we weren't invited up here to bamboozle the Pope into marketing this thing...what about sanctity?"

"You've got a point there....the sanctity issue. Hey...let's get out the thesaurus."

Having found one they scryed the following variations:

Devotion....reverence.....worship...divineness...venerableness

"Venerableness...hey that's good....like in Venerable Disease."

"What are you implying?"

"It's a venerable enterprise....now how can any earthling contest that?"

"We market the dinosaur and its meals and are impervious to litigation, infringement and all the other unpleasant inevitabilities of earth bound capitalism."

The thesaurus was snapped shut and a joie de vivre permeated the dome. One of the PRs dared to pluck the dinosaur off the field to examine it. He ran his pinky over its anus, cleaned the thing off on his Armani lapel. "You're an event horizon." He soliloquyed the hole and kissed it.

"Quit waxing maudlin will you....we're only here to scope this joint out...understand?"

"Are we?" The PR challenged. He placed the dinosaur back down and waved his hand over the model as if casting some lull over the populace. "We are insinuating ourselves into the diocese...nothing else."

"Have you ever tried to make jingles out of Latin...ones that'll stick? What language do you want to translate into the script? Urdhu?"

"Oh don't be so droll...this isn't the Upper West Side...we're on fucking Mars."

"Yeah...no one will hear us...right?"

"So what are you going to say during the breakfast report when we get back to New York...huh?"

"I've got something rehearsed...it'll sell."

"Look...Spielburg has lawyers the size of linebackers....even one scale off the back of one of his digital Brontosaurus is grounds for a Lawsuit."

"Remember the Veracity...I mean the..."

"Venerableness...what about it?"

"Well Venerableness has a nice ring to it...you still have that phone number of that down and out Broadway director?"

"Somewhere in my Holodex...what good is she, now that she's ruined?"

"She...has the key to many a costume."

"Last I heard about her she was doing Hugh Flint."

"See....works her way to the top...she could cat fight Fonda listening to the Spice Girls and Turner would give her Power of Attorney."

"Do we have the rights to a Paula Jones milk bone?"

"We have the rights to anything."

"Care to see the five sided pyramid?"

"No not tonight. Not with this reverie."

 

to be continued

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