The Konformist

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January 2002

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McHajj:

Part VIII

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!

 

With the cooperative efforts of all three fashion models, door number two was finally raised. A Mossad agent,wearing a T-shirt with the slogan 'Israel is Innocent' emblazoned in crimson across the front, stood atop a papier-mâché facsimile of the Dome of the Rock. He posed like the Statue of Liberty, crowned with thorns. Instead of a torch, he held a blood covered knife. The blood dripped off of his upraised knife and trickled down his arm. He clutched the Koran to his chest and stared out of the cave which opened upon the Afghani panorama extending far away, into the beyond. A red haired Heifer, its neck cut wide open, expired its last breath and laid at the base of the dome. The malnourished Cindy Crawford replicant models rushed in and began butchering the calf, lusting for some fresh bovine sushi. The Marlboro Man rolled out a meat grinder and began making burger. Joe Camel, covered with calf's blood that dripped through some iron grating in the dome, crawled out from a little hole in the side of the makeshift rock and fired up a Weber gas grill.

"Mr. Casey....you have chosen wisely." Osama spoke into his microphone. "But before you claim your prize, I have one more question for you. Don't worry though....it has nothing to do with the truth or anything like that. Would you be willing to move the CIA, lox, stock and barrel, into the Temple of Solomon? American contractors have already made bids long before the calf was even born to build the temple. Such are the advantages of insider information." Osama said.

William grabbed the bottle of RU-486 pills off of the table and swallowed a couple. "And I'll bet that you thought it was going to be me that would give birth to the next Messiah."

"I'm so pleased that you still have a sense of humor Mr. Casey. But come now.... we must negotiate. I mean the United States of America spends over forty-billion dollars a year on surveillance and intelligence..but you still have not found me. Moving your little operation closer to home just might help your cause in finding the real enemy."

The Mossad agent stepped down from the dome, handed the knife to one of the models struggling to hack a triangle roast out of the calf with her razor sharp fingernails. He walked over and pulled up a chair with Osama and Casey. He tossed the Koran on the table, took a swig of Jack Daniels and lit a Marlboro. He paged through the Sports Illustrated calendar but wasn't all too impressed by the fare.

"Five Star Temple of Solomon Hotel...at least on the surface." The Mossad agent enticed the directorial clown, tossing the calendar aside and picking up the 9mm Beretta, examining the barrel. Holograms of the Somoza dictatorship hovered above his virtually burden free shoulders. He put the Beretta on top of the Koran and spun it around like a bottle. It pointed at Osama. The Mossad agent smiled and puckered up his lips. Osama reached over and kissed the Mossad agent fervently. The two became deeply aroused and pursued their amour further.

"Well..well..if it isn't the Zionic Man. We meet again." Casey said, sabotaging the ad lib love tryst in front of him. Blushing, he shook hands with the Mossad agent to squelch the mounting passion. "I see that you are having no trouble sleeping at night are you? You're lucky we didn't spill the beans on your funding of the fascist regimes in Taiwan, Argentina and.... "

"Enough out of you Casey. Do you realize that we stuck our necks out to cop some of Ariel's jism..." The Mossad agent interrupted. "... in order to conjure up the calf, not to mention greasing the palms of your Monsanto boys for an egg worthy enough to fertilize such an apocalypse. You owe me one Casey." The Mossad agent said, wiping his bloody hands on the front of his T-shirt. He picked up the Koran, opened it up and showed it to William. The Balfour Declaration, written in Arabic was on the inside cover.

"Abracadabra." The Mossad agent said. He closed the book with great force. He opened it again and the letters were in Hebrew. He closed it and then opened it again. The letters were in Sanskrit.

"I'm not William Casey...I'm Ronald McDonald." The ex-CIA director said, unimpressed with the morphs. "Besides that...we owe you nothing. All of America thinks Osama did it. How much more breathing room do you need?"

"Gentlemen....please. There's a war going on .... don't you know?" Osama bin Laden reminded the two, speaking into the microphone for all the world to hear. "William please sign on the dotted line. It isn't as complicated as you think. Think of all the perques of having your headquarters in Jerusalem and not Virginia."

"Please Osama I'm supposed to be dead. I'm not up for a second coming if that's what you are hinting at."

"Well then....it's double or nothing. Girls....please!" Osama clapped his hands and his Harem of fashion models responded. Using the Mossad agent's knife, one of the models slit open the stomach of the red calf. Joe Camel dropped his spatula, pulled the Lamb of God out of the gash and held it up to the television camera lights. The Lamb bleated obscenely, humming an Andrew Lloyd Weber show tune in attempts to harmonize its incarnation with the surrounding covert cavern. Osama got up, ran over and put the microphone to the Lamb's mouth.

"The Lamb will be the showpiece of all time. Imagine what a tourist attraction it will be. A magnet for pilgrims. Just the boost we need." Osama sang along with the Lamb of God in perfect synchronization.

One of the models took the brazen serpent off the Shah of Iran's shoulders and stuffed it into the wound of the red calf. The serpent slithered a bit and disappeared into the carcass. The contra soldiers climbed up on the Dome of the Rock and posed, in Iwo Jima fashion as they planted a blue and white colored flag at its peak.

 

to be continued

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