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Monday, February 15, 2010

Mr. President, I'll Do It...!: A Fictional Blog

QUOTE:



Mr. President, I’ll Do It…!: A Fictional Blog


Scene Fourteen of the Serialization of “The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America”


By F. Scott Sinclair


Copyright (C) 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.


Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to contrary
points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive language,
political correctness, sex, or anything else that may offend
your sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness, or if you're
a minor (but by no means limited to the aforementioned),
please do not read this novel. It's not for you...

Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described here
are imaginary: the settings, events and characters are
fictitious, and/or are the product of the author's imagination
or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual events
or locales or persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.




Commander Fredericks of the Renegades



I’d just returned from a walk in the yard, as we call
it here at the federal penitentiary that’s situated at
an undisclosed location somewhere in the Northeast.
Due to the unusual sensitivity of the activities
undertaken at this high security complex—like
the president’s domestic torture program, we’ve
been told—security was higher than the highest
level at any federal prison. Particularly in the area of
confidentiality, nobody’s relatives knew where any
of us were being incarcerated.

I fell back on my steel bed with its so-called
mattress barely separating my rump from its raw
and bitter frame. Fellow renegade cellmate,
Mike Donaldson, says, “I just heard a rumor.”

With my backbone lodged against the reinforced
concrete wall, I asked, “What’s this going to cost me?”

“Nothing boss...,” he said with a hint of deception
in them there words.

“What makes you think I believe you for even a
moment?”

Mike seemed to be fidgeting as he fell down on one
elbow, then collapsed headlong on a smelly and stained
pillow, and says, “I take it, I’ve got your juices flowin’, huh?”

Proud of himself, I slowly pulled out a toothpick that had
been lodged between my two front teeth, and said,
“This toothpick doesn’t appear to be a dangerous
weapon, now does it?”

He straightened up, all ears...

“This little toothpick could be the last thing you ever
see in this life. Do you get my drift?”

Having his eyes poked out didn’t seem to appeal to
my cellmate’s survival instincts, as he says, “C’mon, boss
man... Can’t you take a joke anymore?”

“Do you want me to answer that?”

His bulbous nose started running with anxiety. I
said, “Come clean, my friend.”

Instantly, he rose from the prone position, his greasy
brown hair draped over his hazel eyes, and like a
thief in the night...crossed over to my bunk, and said,
“The skinny is that you’re about to get a pardon
from the man himself."

I shuddered at the thought.

And before I could clobber him with a proper haymaker, Mike says
defensively with three fingers in the air like a Boy Scout,
“I swear, boss! Cross my heart, and hope to die—it’s the truth...”

Having exhausted my appeal rights long ago, I’d about
given up any thought of getting out of this hellhole. Seeing the light
of day beyond these prison walls was the furthest thing from my
mind. Tenatively, I said, “And you don’t want anything for
this little tidbit of information? C'mon, get a life...”

As I ran my fingers nervously through my snow
white locks of hair, he says, “Okay, here’s the bottom
line, boss. There’s a little catch, you might say. Shit, a
big catch...”

“Out with it...!”

“You’ve got a couple of contracts to fulfill.”

Stunned, I said, “Like in: murder contracts?”

His head bumped up against the wall, as his feet
curled up snuggly on top of my steel fortress bunk.
He seemed to be staring at the rough concrete floor.
A second later, he turned his head like a turret on a
tank looking for a target, and says, “Something like that...”

I said, “Exactly like that, huh?”

He nodded his head.

“And you want me to take this dirty job, don’t you?”

His eyes wouldn’t meet mine, as he says, “Yeah...”

“Jesus H. Christ...,” I said, knowing that I wasn’t such
a nice guy, but to kill political opponents wasn’t exactly
my forte. After nearly twenty years as a law enforcement
officer, and staunch defender of the Constitution in a
perverted sort of way, I flushed beet red and yelled, “Guard...!”

*********************************************************
QUOTE:

A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS OF
SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS

*********************************************************

Wednesday, February 03, 2010

Health Care Mandates Must Be Altruistic Not Punitive in Nature.

Quote:


Copyright (C) 2010 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.


Op-Ed by Novelist F. Scott Sinclair.


Mandates must be altruistic not punitive in nature
in order to maintain the appearance of a traditional
American value. By applying punitive measures--
fines, etc. for failing to buy mandated health care--America
will be showing the world its baser side. Yes, America's
darker side, i.e. like water boarding, extraordinary
renditions, or for being the champion (number #1)
for having the largest prison population in the so-called
free world, etc. But to make a long story short: individual
American citizens will be the target, and the impact
of mandates will fall directly upon the shoulders of
all Americans, living or yet to be born. Let's not
create another crime against humanity because this
time we're the victims (targets), not the criminals or
terrorists. They (criminals, etc.) get free health care:
we don't and won't.

Hence, that's why I've proposed a humane way to
address the mandated provisions of the health
care bill legislation being considered by Congress.
What do I mean by having mandates that are altruistic,
and not punitive? Well, if a mandate is punitive, the
violator is fined in monetary damages, and/or by
incarcerating the violator for a specific period of time.
Altruistic mandates would assess monetary fines only,
but the violator would receive a very basic health care
package in return. Yes, perhaps a catastrophic policy
that pays for all medical expenses after, say..., a $3,000
(+ or -) deductible; that way everyone gets something:
the violator gets insured, and the insurance companies
receive every one's premiums in order to make the
system work. Such levied fines must also be fair, and
monetarily as low as possible, but sufficient enough
to contrubute to the overall health care plan, besides
being sufficient in order to pay for the very basic
catastrophic plan provided the violators of such mandated
health care.


This is just one (& I hope it's a helpful) idea for smoothing
over one contentious portion of the proposed health care
legislation now pending before Congress. Nuff said. Thank
you for your time.

Best regards,

Novelist

F. Scott Sinclair

Tuesday, February 02, 2010

WE NEED THE RENEGADES...! A FICTIONAL BLOG

QUOTE:

We Need the Renegades...!: A Fictional Blog

Scene Thirteen of the Serialization of “The Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America”

By F. Scott Sinclair


Copyright (C) 2006 by F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.

Warning: If you are easily shocked with regard to
contrary points of view, conspiracy theories, offensive
language, political correctness, sex, or anything else
that may offend your sensibilities or lack of open-mindedness,
or if you're a minor (but by no means limited to the
aforementioned), please do not read this novel. It's not
for you...

Note: This is a work of fiction. The events described
here are imaginary: the settings, events and characters
are fictitious, and/or are the product of the author's
imagination or used fictitiously, and any resemblance
to actual events or locales or persons (living or dead)
is entirely coincidental.

*************************************************

President Adolph S. Steinhart had his holey socks dangling
over the edge of his oak desk at the other Oval Office at Camp
David. He always felt more at home in rural areas. As he
admired the lack of a suntan on his bald white ankles, he heard
a knock at the door. “Yeah, who is it?”

You could hear a bobby pin fall at the deafness that followed.

Adolph watched with intrigue as the brass doorknob twisted
counterclockwise, and said, “Don’t be shy, the doors open.”

Just then, his National Security Advisor Jennifer Berg, pushed
the door open, and says, “I don’t mean to bother you, but
something important has come up.”

After nearly two hours of solitary confinement, President
Steinhart replies, “What makes you think you were interrupting
anything? Do I look like President Harding?”

Astonished by the insult, Jennifer says, “I'll overlook that remark...”

With a smirk of a smile on his mug, he quips, “What does
that mean? That I’m incapable of being a man, and unable to
do manly things?”

Seeing his furrowed brow, she tiptoed to the black leather
couch. After taking a deep breath, her red lips quivered, and
she said, “Let’s let bygones be bygones, how does that sound?”

Leaning upon the surface of the blotter on the desk, Adolph
says, “Okay, enough sexual posturing for the day. It’s not
good for my well cultivated image, is it?”

“You said it, I didn’t.”

As he wiped the sweat from his brow, Adolph said, “When you leave,
tell the help to kick the air conditioning down a couple of notches.”

“Will do... But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Did I ever tell you that you had a real cute pug nose?”
Adolph said, trying to avoid the unavoidable.

Taking another deep breath, Jennifer says pointedly, “Don’t
make this task I’ve been sent to do, any harder than it’s
got to be. Okay...?”

“Okay. What’s on your pretty mind?”

Ignoring the comment, she plodded forward and says,
“It appears the task you assigned me is going to be more
difficult to deal with than I first thought.”

“And what task is that, my dear?”

With an exacerbated expression with feminist overtones,
his NSA advisor says, “I can't do what you’ve asked. I don’t
have enough power or resources to deal with our common
enemy, former Senator Lester Hampton. The Secret Service
has been assigned the task of protecting him around the clock.”

Bolting from his high-backed office chair, the president stood
upright like a flagpole, and said, “Christ Almighty! Isn’t there
some way to recall the detail?”

Shifting uneasily on the left corner of the couch, she responded
as coolly as she could manage under the circumstances, and said,
“There’s only one way to handle this, and its perfectly legal.”

Puzzled, Adolph waited with baited breath, nodding for
Jennifer to continue.

“After you signed the Military Commissions Act of 2006,
you have all the authority you need to apprehend and detain
any person who is giving material aid and comfort to the enemy.
Of course, since our friend is a former senator and a current
candidate for the presidency, it would be a little difficult
to confront him directly.”

“That’s true... What do you have in mind?”

“Remember those law enforcement renegades who were
rounded up and incarcerated?”

“Vividly,” he said, tapping his 2B pencil rhythmically on
the edge of the desk.

Almost shyly, “I’d suggest pardoning them. Especially
Commander Fredericks, but you’d better do it as clandestinely
as possible, I might add.”

“Are you suggesting, a little extraordinary rendition might
be appropriate under the circumstances?”

Looking down, and then raising her head to eye-level,
she almost whispered, “Precisely...”

Adolph rubbed his chin in an act of contemplation. As
the sun draped over his silhouette, and the shadows of
his rugged contour were being accentuated as he stood
in front of the window, he finally turned and said intuitively,
“Gotcha... Brilliant, that it is. Will the U.S. Marshal’s office
go along with this scheme?”

With a hint of a smile, she says, “It was their idea.”

“What...?”

“That’s right. I’ve got a couple of friends stragetically
located in the Witness Protection Program. It’s a
perfect cover, they said.”

Astonished, Adolph queried, “How so...?”

After admiring the head of a deer mounted above
the mantel of the fireplace, Jennifer says, “Well, in the
Witness Protection Program, they’ll be immune from
prosecution and beyond the laws reach. Wherever they
go, they’ll be given false I.D. Or if they’re captured
for some reason, they’ll use their right to make one
phone call to contact the U.S. Marshal’s office. Then
they’re free...!”

“There’s one little detail you've forgotten, or overlooked.”

“And what’s that...?” she asked.

“After I signed the Military Commissions Act,
nobody—including you—have any friggin’ rights to make
a phone call, receive the Miranda warning, and the former
right of habeas corpus has been abolished. And for that
manner, any other rights spelled out in that Goddamn piece
of paper--the Constitution--unless I say so. So, you’d
better find another way to keep track of my private army.
Why? Because that’s exactly what they are: my private army.
And I'm goin’ to take every opportunity to use them
and the secret detainee camps I'm having built in order to
silence my critics, is that understood?” Adolph said,
breaking the 2B pencil in two, tossing both halves
into the trash can.

“That means you concur with the plan?” Jennifer said,
with a whimsical expression—almost magically innocent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jennifer. Do
you understand what I’m telling you? I won’t authorize
any such thing: you will...! That's what you're getting the
big bucks for. Is that understood?”

Startled, yet remembering her first conversation with
the president about the best way to dispose of their
foe—former Senator Lester Hampton—she could only
concur by nodding affirmatively.

With an upbeat aspect and sly grin, he says, “Now that
that’s settled, care for lunch?”

“Lunch?”

'“Yes, lunch... Have you forgotten about lunch, or are
you so busy, it skipped your mind?”

“Oh no, Mr. President. Not at all... That sounds delightful,
and I’ll take care of things right after lunch.”

“Take care of what?”

“It’s nothing...”

With mischief in his eyes, he says, “That’s what I thought
you said. Remember, I’m sixty years old now. I’m entitled
to forget a thing or two, now and then.”

She wanted to respond by saying, "Yeah, like Ronald Reagon,
huh?" But she thought twice about it and decided to stand up
and change the subject while she was at it, and said, “Where
did you have in mind?”

“For lunch?” he asked dumbfounded.

“Yes, lunch...”

“See... I can’t remember what I’ve said only a few
seconds ago. Getting old, I guess.”

“Right,” Jennifer answered somewhat skeptical.

"Anyway, to answer your question: we'll just have a
quiet business lunch here in the my frontier Oval
Office--as I like to call it--if that's all right with you?"

"Yes, that would be nice."

Moments later, the president’s secretary allowed the
servants to bring them two aromatic dishes of lobster,
shrimp and other exotic seafood. They delved into
the pleasant array of cuisine, letting the future of
the president’s hit list remain on the backburner for
a couple of hours.

One needs to restore their energy, especially when
you’re fighting terrorists both at home and abroad.
And the president decides who’s a terrorist. Now isn’t
that peachy, Jennifer thought.

****************************************************
QUOTE:

Comment: Installments seventeen, eighteen, and nineteen are now
posted of the serialization of F. Scott Sinclair's novel: Pancho Villa Avenged

A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS OF
F. SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS

*****************************************************