The Konformist

January 2002

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Part IX


Jaye C. Beldo



*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!


Ronald McDonald entered the lobby of the Bayer Corporation. He gave a Heil Hitler salute to the security cameras, did a 23 Skidoo and filtered himself through an array of three piece suits and into an elevator. The lobbyists barely contained their annoyance with his heavily hairsprayed, Frankincense scented wig which he shook to free it of the pistachio shells which it gathered back in Afghanistan. Ronald got off on the Board of Trustees floor. The lobbyists followed dutifully in his tracks and queued up behind him.

"Welcome Mr. McDonald." Fritz Ter Meer greeted the clown in the hallway, extending his trembling, liver spotted hand for Ronald to shake. "We realize you have had your share of engagements these days and want to thank you for respecting the urgency of the matter at hand. I trust your trip was a safe one."

"Everything is 1st Class on Air Force one your honor." The clown chuckled and did a hand free cartwheel into the boardroom. The lobbyists entered and crowded together like Lemmings on an L shaped sofa in a corner, putting their briefcases on the floor.

"Sorry to hear that you didn't win big on Osama's little makeshift Let's Make a Deal." George W. Bush lamented. "Just so you know, it was just a formality. You should know that those shows are always rigged." He sat next to wax replicas of I. G. Farben CEOs, nearly indistinguishable from his inanimate colleagues.

"Well,...Mr. Commander in Chief, I don't want to sound like I'm unpatriotic, but there are no winners in this war, rigged or not. "

"Oh...I wouldn't go that far. Apparently you lack martial seniority Mr. McDonald." George said. He got up and took a plastic Bic lighter out of his jacket pocket and lit the wicks on the tops of the wax statues heads's.

"There is more than one way to keep the flame burning."

Suddenly a holographic pedigree of the Bush family appeared behind him. Blazing in amber laser light, the pedigree betrayed, for all to see, the dubious, Aryanized blood lineage of the President. Fritz Ter Meer charged at the airborne indictment and swiped at it with a broom as if it were a cobweb. The pedigree merely moved aside, dodging the codger's attempts to eradicate it. Then the hologram changed,morphing into the financial pro forma of Bush/Bin-Laden family business deals, modulating cryptically into Sanskrit, Hebrew, Phoenician and then into English. One of the I.G. Farben Golems stood up and touched his fontanel flame upon the hologram and the whole thing flared itself into the CIA logo. The loge shone forth with an ever renewed brilliance. The eagle on the logo began preening its feathers and them resumed its assigned pose.

"Well, enough ceremony my friends. We need to get this mandatory immunization program rammed through Congress and into the carotid artery of every United States citizen." Fritz proclaimed and then kissed the animated golem on the lips who reciprocated the caress by extending his waxen arm and touching the thigh of the dubious board member with his fused together fingers. Holographs of WWII slave laborers appeared above them in response to the passion.

"We need to make it appealing to the American public. There are way too many NIMBYS out there that will make a squawk." A faceless lobbyist proclaimed.

"How about a free hamburger for a shot program?" Ronald suggested and did a pirouette, losing his balance and nearly crashing through a plate glass window overlooking Washington, D.C.

" has to have an even broader appeal than that. People need to be convinced that they need the shots. Not to save their lives but rather....."

"To make themselves upwardly mobile in an age of terminal downsizing." One of the suits proclaimed, intoxicated by the prospect of his ad lib innovation. He broke away from the Lemming pack and started circling the table. "We aren't just immunizing people to prevent Small Pox or Ebola or whatever other trifling terroristic virus there is flitting about in the atmosphere. We are unconditionally offering our special serum, encoded with some very special DNA, free of charge, to the downtrodden."

"Whose?" Herr Meer shouted, obviously excited by the prospect. "We don't have the funds to make an expedition to Antarctica you know. Look what happened to Admiral Byrd. We need something closer to home."

"Well, you cannot get any closer than this." The Lobbyist said and produced a syringe from his breast pocket and stuck it into the animated Golem. He drew out a strange, syrupy substance from the veins of the mannequin. Without warning, he then plunged the syringe into Ronald McDonald's triceps and injected the clown with the ambrosia.

"God, how redundant." Another Lobbyist said., falling out of character. He was chastised into submission by his colleagues immediately.

"I suggest that you stretch your corporate attention spans a bit more my fellow Americans." The Lobbyist continued.

Ronald McDonald stood at attention and saluted. Suddenly, he grabbed two Mont Blanc pens and began ambidextrously writing on two separate notepads on the boardroom table to the amazement of all present. On the left hand pad he deftly inscribed the United States Constitution, using the identical calligraphic style that the original was drafted with. On the other notepad he inscribed an obscure law passed in 1886 ruling that a corporation is a person and entitled to the very same rights that a person has. He dropped the pens, ripped the pages off the notepads and crumbled them together into one wad. He tossed the wad, hitting George W. Bush on the forehead. The wad landed on the table in front of the President who mindlessly grabbed it and turned it over in his fingers.

"Is there enough plasma in the I.G. Farben Golem to make the rounds? We've got 280 million arms we've got to plunge this stuff into." George W. asked, unfolding the crumpled wad and smoothing the pages out on the table. The hologram persisted above his head, now morphing into a version of what Ronald McDonald had just written, the text fusing into a fluorescent mobius strip that extended upward through the building and up into the Ionosphere. The Ionosphere reciprocated the geometry of the documents and further charged its particles in its atmospheric provence, in global fashion.


to be continued

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Kirby The Konspiracy Boy Says, "I NEED 2 KONFORM!!!"