Konformist: McHajj Part IV
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Editor, The Konformist
The Chosen Pupil
The centerpiece for the Newlywed's space station living room was a crystal
pyramid, It rested, three feet high with its eye in the sky, in the center of
a shallow ceramic bowl. Upon the hour, the Pope would come out, pour a
champagne bucket filled with Serpent Piss fermented with goat smegma over the
sculpture while humming, 'Fiddler on the Roof.' Once the bowl brimmed with
the jaundiced Holy water, he would open some spigots screwed into the sides
and fill up enough wine glasses for the guests who were convened at the
David Rockefeller drained his glass in one gulp and ignored the New Year
toast all the guests imbibed. Some umbrated members of the P2 lodge in Italy
sampled the brew but noticed nothing of its piquant character, so jaded with
spirit initiations they were. Ronald McDonald politely sipped the reptilian
vintage. Barbara declined, good mother that she was becoming. She pulled
her chiffon maternity blouse emblazoned with the ABC logo away and her
greasepainted groom played with her protruded navel as if it were some kind
of cold war red alert button.
It, when it arrived, in the dying sextet of seconds of 1999, would be the
first zero gravity savior birthed in an orbital Bethlehem. Rockefeller,
designated Wise Man Number One, switched on the ultra sound monitor so all
the guests could scrutinize the young and upcoming embryo. Its pulse seemed
to quicken every time they passed over the Dead Sea, even though they were
far beyond the jurisdiction of the earth's electromagnetic field. Soon all
the conspirants were doing the devil's tap on the table top in synch with the
heart beat. The Pope kept on humming and kept on pouring his vile brew in
hopes of upping the ante of the celebration.
As the crew got tipsy on the rounds of ecumenical cocktail, an argument
Where would the placenta be air dropped? On theSphinx? On top of the Ka'ba?
Borobudur? Stonehenge? How about skewering it on the obelisk in
Washington, D.C.? It became a kind of board game challenge. It was getting
time for some Robert's Rules of Order as no consensus was arrived at by this
rogue congress. The only thing unaminous amongst them was that the yolk
would not, under any circumstance, be freeze dried.
McPope ignored the fracas and scryed a tissue scrap through an ultra high
powered microscope. He managed to filch the bit of fetal host through the
Anchor woman's carnal portal, posing as resident gynecologist, without
damaging the integrity of the savior. Zooming in on a maze of double helix
protein chains, he marveled how they began to spin themselves into a kind of
genetic grail. The Holy Roman Umpire scanned the inebriated guests and
unnoticed, took a hypodermic needle out of his vestibule pocket and flooded
the DNA with more of the consecrated wine his unquaffable cadre were gulping
down so lasciviously. He switched the screen over to the microscope's point
of view and the guests hushed, sobered up a bit and marveled at the display.
The Pope stepped up onto a little stage in front of the big screen T.V.which
showed the DNA as it mutated at warp speed into a trinitarian helix pattern-a
veritable blue print of the tri-lateral commission. The members of the P-2
lodge were the first to take notice. Then the Pope clicked on his remote
control, the numinous eye in the apex of the pyramid in the fountain opened
up. The Masonic Cyclops looked around as if peering out of some forgotten
b-movie. A viperous mannikin emerged from the punch and slithered up the
pyramid and began pissing once again. Underneath the sculpture was the
phrase: The Chosen Pupil, emblazoned in dark green neon.; Maybe the Pope's
new grandson would be the true herald of the Novus Ordo Seclorum, the new
telescope so to speak.
"The Apex is not a good place for a placenta...we don't want to obscure its
view now do we?" The Pope asked. Rockefeller burst out laughing, fell off
his chair and doubled
up on the floor. "What about my Tri-Lateral Commission! I'll dissolve the
order if this gets through. Where's Jeremy Rifkin when we need him? You
didn't send him to a FEMA camp did you along with Bill Cooper? Did you?"
The clown was too mesmerized by his wife's navel to take notice of the
commotion. Barbara, feeling the first tremors of labor, stood up and
excused herself. A door slid open allowing her to pass through to the
maternity ward. It squeaked like the ones on Star Trek. No one even
noticed the cue. One of the P2 henchmen stepped out of his own shadow and
approached the Pope as if preparing to be consecrated by the mobster.
"And when it's time to crucify again...this time on an Ankh....not a
cross...right?" He challenged the Papal authority.
"We can work that in the script...as long as its self replicating." The
Pope's eyes turned reptilian even though he hadn't even a sip of the
ambrosia. He jabbed his Crozier into the floor for emphasis and his
Canonicals began to take on the appearance of medieval armor. Soon the other
icons emerged out of their space station quarters. The Pillsbury Doughboy
hopped up on to the Pope's shoulder, puffed up and giggled. Some of the
Marlboro Men who snuck on board flanked the Pope. One lassoed a P2 and
dragged him up to the proscenium. One of the Camel brothers grabbed
Rockefeller by the collar and forced him to kneel before the Pope. Soon some
nurses wheeled out Barbara and under the camera lights she prepared for the
birth. Ronald did some cartwheels and plucked a switch on, thus activating a
global satellite which jammed all communications on earth. The Tidy Bowl
man would emcee and announce the action. Cameras on.
The delivery was painless, nearly effortless. And the shining new born was
put into the Pope's arms and not Ronald's...the clown didn't seem to
mind..didn't really care about continuity, he was just along for the ride
anyways. The Pope's eyes flared. And in the Ka'ba far below in Mecca the
Imam put the final filigrees onto the ball of plutonium and invited the Party
of Ali inside for one last look. One took a gavel and drove the warhead home
as he pronounced the guilty verdict. And in China Mao did a jig with Stalin
and Pol Pot. In Berlin, the Turks were cha-cha ing with the Neo-Nazi's. In
Bosnia all looked up into the sky as the Marian radiation showered down upon
them. And the gates of the prisons and asylums of the world were swung open.
In Israel only love bombs exploded after the perennial peace treaties were
The earth looked so pretty from the space station, all lit up like a
Christmas Tree in Rockefeller Plaza. Rockefeller was still kneeling. He
started kissing the Pope's feet. And the savior...the savior didn't even
protest its expulsion from Barbara's paradisal uterus. There was no
announcement from this barkless, hairless dog. Ronald comforted his wife who
took no interest in her apocryphal spawn. She merely groped for a
microphone, looked for a camera, thankful to be purged of all that weight.
The Pope took the child over to the Baptismal fount and immersed the creature
what seemed like a minute and at the Stroke of the milleniual Midnight pulled
him out of the Serpent piss. He sat the infant on top of the Pyramid. The
eye turned upward to catch a glimpse of this new Commander in Chief of the
Federal Reserve. Cigars for all and everyone sang Auld Lang Zion.
But how would the savior be returned to the Earth? Would there be any reason
to since the planet was becoming so conflagrated at the moment? The Pope
laughed sardonically as he watched the Vatican evaporate in the wave of
thermo-nuclear detonation billowing out of Mecca. But who could trust a t.v.
screen? Maybe it wasn't real. In his dream, he hardly noticed that the
space station broke free of the gravitational field and was quickly deviating
from the planet. The magazine subscription was about to be canceled. The
newborn nursed at the Pope's breast for he was its Mother Church....He was
the portable Rome and now they were headed for Mars. The Face on Mars to
When they arrived, the cadre disbanded and set out to stake a claim. Where
would the Mount Calvary be on this ochre stained planet? Where would the Via
The Pope surveyed the land in a Martian buggy and climbed up to the summit of
the face . With Sleight of Hand he was able to filch the placenta and with
newborn in one hand and placenta in the other he said a prayer in
Martianese-it sounded Latin enough he supposed. He dropped the Placenta into
the nostril of the face and a volcano began to erupt. He dune buggied away
and watched as the volcano spewed and out came a lava of glowing green slime.
It seemed to follow some ancient waterways hidden beneath the martian dust
and filled these canals.
Soon a metropolis was born: the new and improved Vaticanopolis. The Pope
held the newborn up to the sky and tore its space suit away-to toughen it
up-he made a make shift cradle-manger for the creature and scanned the skies
for a star...but aghast...he looked up....and on swift wings descended the
icons, all of them released from the Pandora's box of a now flaming Madison
Avenue back on earth. The very creatures who gave him a new lease on life,
the very creatures he betrayed...the creatures who ensured his
preservation-all of them-a legion of fallen angels , who once they hit the
surface of the Planet, would vie for power. The Pope merely held up his
Anhk, the always trusty apotropaic and they had to return to the remains of
To Be Continued...
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