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McHajj: Part XV

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  • robalini
    Please send as far and wide as possible. Thanks, Robert Sterling Editor, The Konformist http://www.konformist.com
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 11, 2002
      Please send as far and wide as possible.


      Robert Sterling
      Editor, The Konformist

      Part XV
      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!
      "Trouble's a comin'." The Marlboro Man yells across the span
      separating the crosses on a deserted, decimated Mount Arafat,
      intravenous tubes dangling from his arms in the wind. Ronald McDonald
      shakes himself out of his crucified stupor and peers down the slope
      at the oncoming portent. Emerging from a dust devil, the Pillsbury
      Doughboy runs with Olympic agility, carrying a torch in one hand, his
      baby in the other. He tops out at the summit before the rest of the
      crew which lags behind, deliberately shrouded in the whirling cloud
      halfway up the mountain.
      "I've got a surprise for you fellas." The Doughboy turns a few
      circles holding up his plastic progeny which hisses and squirms,
      exposed to the unrelenting Middle Eastern sun like a vampire without
      a place to hide. "Grandpa Aleister said that whichever one of you
      dies first...has to incarnate into my son here. It's the law."
      "Great." Ronald McDonald says, his heart caving in even more. "I give
      birth to a creepy corporate egg somewhere in Joisey. I get fucked
      over in Hollywood by some misfit shamarchists that can't think their
      way out of a parallel universe and now my soul has to inhabit a G.I.
      Joe doll." Ronald takes a deep breath, pulls some prana in through
      his medulla oblongata and down his spinal column like a Kriya
      yogi. "The hell if I'm going to die first. I've got samadhi in my
      cross hairs. I ain't never coming back again."
      A gunshot comes from the direction of the advancing dust devil. A 9
      mm hollowpoint bullet slams into the clown's Ajna chakra and shatters
      his skull. L. Ron Hubbard emerges from the cloud, jams his high
      capacity Glock back into an alligator skin holster under his jacket
      and scans the sky above for satellite surveillance.
      "That's what you think, jerk."
      Ronald dies before the seven words can be uttered.
      Aleister emerges from the dust devil and runs up to the base of
      Ronald McDonald's cross, pulls out his Ronco Necromonicon from under
      his gown, puts his dunce cap on and proceeds to lip synch some
      obscene incantations he finds buried in the appendix. The clown's
      soul spirals directly into the doll. G.I. Joe, sufficiently animated,
      howls like a Coyote and then squirms out of the Doughboy's hand. He
      rolls around in the sand, then runs over to the Marlboro Man and
      kneels at the base of his cross.
      "You're so lucky....it could have been you." G.I. McDonald says to
      the Marlboro Man and breaks down weeping. "Now look at me."
      "You're supposed to be tabula rasa...so shut up." The Marlboro Man
      retorts, unimpressed with the emotion.
      The rest of the group emerges out of the dust devil: Anton, Jack
      Parsons and the Charmin Teddy Bear. Jack climbs up on Ronald
      McDonald's cross, pulls the rubber nose off the cadaver with a pop
      and wipes the grease paint away with a checkered flag snatched from
      Dale Earnhardt's coffin. He reaches in through the gaping bullet
      wound in the forehead and pulls out some half dollar sized piece of
      gristle with barbed tentacles and throws it towards his colleagues.
      "So Mr. Casey.....the CIA's PR boys weren't lying now were they?"
      Jack says. He jumps down from the cross and wipes his hands in the
      sand. "Hate to tell you L. Ron, but you shot an honest man."
      The Charmin Bear takes advantage of the distraction, runs over to
      G.I. Joe and block tackles him. He locks him in a Half Nelson. "This
      kid is mine." He declares and starts wrestling with the doll. G.I.
      Joe manages to break free of the Charmin Teddy Bear's grip and climbs
      the crucifix, walks out on the crossbeam and then sits on the
      Marlboro Man's shoulder.
      "I'm the one that knocked up that Doughboy slut...he's mine." The
      Bear tries to climb up on the cross to claim his prize.
      "Enough out of you." L. Ron says and puts the gun to the Charmin
      Teddy Bear's head. "If you don't stay in line...I'll make you clear.
      The inexpensive way."
      "Leave him alone." Anton La Vey says. "Just a father's
      instinct...that's all. Listen everybody...I'm really getting weary of
      our dysfunctional little family. I think we all need some counseling
      or something. Maybe Forum would do us a world of good or Avatar."
      "I'm going to ignore your overtly reactive mind Anton." L. Ron says
      and lets the bear go. "Hey Aleister." L. Ron yells. " We got the
      wrong man. Anything in your book that can exorcise Ronald McDonald's
      soul from this G.I. Joe?" He asks, barely able to hide his regret. He
      betrays the one single engram left in his brain, for a tear emerges
      from his eye.
      Grandpa Aleister sits down and pages through his tattered Ronco
      Necronomicon. "Damn it Ronny...think before you shoot next
      time...will you? I can't ad lib these incantations. You don't know
      what kind of trouble they'll cause if I don't get them right."
      "Don't tell me what do to you...you Luxor reject...you're the one
      that ripped me off. Not the other way around like all the conspiracy
      books say."
      "Hey Ronny...is it true that you said, 'if you want to make a million
      dollars, start your own religion'?" G.I. Joe says from high above,
      mimicking the cowboy's voice. L. Ron turns around and drops the
      hammer of his Glock on the Marlboro Man. G.I. Joe loses his balance
      as the bullet pierces through the cowboy's heart and slams into the
      solid Mahogany crucifix. He somersaults all the way to the ground. L.
      Ron picks him up. He kisses the doll on the cheek.
      "Yeah...it's true. I did say that." Mr. Hubbard confesses to G.I. Joe.
      The Marlboro Man's excarnated soul filters through G.I. Joe's
      polysorbate 93 seasoned fontanel. Thus further enlivened, G.I. Joe
      climbs on top of L. Ron's Greek Sailor cap and raises his hands to
      the sky, palms upward.
      Aleister faces towards L. Ron and shuts his book. "Chill out will
      you? If any of this gets leaked to Brookhaven we'll never get another
      gig for as long as we're trapped on the astral plane. This is not
      occult protocol at all."
      "Hey you monkeys....I've got some bad news for you." Anton La Vey
      yells from the Marlboro Man's crucifix. He takes the cowboy's hat off
      and puts it on his bald head. He reaches into the vest pocket of the
      aborted Messiah and pulls out a tooled leather wallet. He pulls some
      plastic cards out, files through them and tosses a driver's license
      and credit cards at the feet of L. Ron and Aleister.
      "And you thought the axis of evil didn't exist." Anton says, pulling
      the rubber mask off the impostor. "Where have all the cowboys gone?"
      He starts to sing and then climbs down from the crucifix to join the
      Aleister picks up the driver's license. The mug shot is of someone he
      recognizes: Kim Jong II of North Korea. The alphabet used for the
      I.D. : Cyrillic. Plastic used for the laminate: otherworldly. He
      shows the I.D. to G.I. Joe who shakes his head in disgust. Anton puts
      on the rubber Marlboro Man mask and starts dancing. "Where have all
      the cowboys gone?" He sings, pretending to gallop like a horse around
      Kim Jong II hanging on the cross.
      "Damn it Ronny...you shot the wrong man again! George W. is gonna be
      pissed off when he finds out that one of his best stooges has been
      iced." Aleister forewarns.
      "On this day of the resurrection of our Lords, I declare myself
      General Joe." The Moonchild yells, warding off an incoming sirocco
      from Yemen with his voice.
      Upon cue, Aleister, L. Ron, Anton, Jack P., the Pillsbury Doughboy,
      the Charmin Teddy Bear all line up and stand at attention. General
      Joe starts to pace back and forth, hands clasped behind his back. His
      soldiers automatically salute him. The Pillsbury Doughboy steps
      forward and hands him the torch and falls back in line.
      "It is imperative that we short circuit god so that he won't kill Mr.
      Bush. Gurdjieff may be advising the Iraqi High Command so we do have
      to take the threat seriously. We need to mobilize our own special
      troops that are now hiding in underground vaults in the Pankisi Gorge
      if we're going to corral those camel jockeys. I know exactly what
      tricks Saddam has up his sleeve as well. He's got North Korean
      soldiers hiding up in British Columbia that will swoop down on the
      U.S.A. at the drop of his fez. Now that Kim Jong is out of the
      picture his soldiers are really up for grabs."
      General Joe looks over the land spreading out from Mount Arafat and
      then turns to face his troop.
      "L. Ron.... are we clear?"
      "We'll then..gentleman....start your engines!" General Joe says
      waving the Olympic torch in triumph.
      To be continued

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