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Monday, May 17, 2010

SCENE 21 OF "THE WALLS HAVE EARS: A NOVEL OF AMERICA" SERIALIZED BY NOVELIST F. SCOTT SINCLAIR

QUOTE:

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.


Copyright (C) 2007 By F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.



Scene 21 of the Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America




President Adolf S. Steinhart



As the propane gas eked its way out to my eternal flame
of power, hidden in the make-believe ashes in the fireplace,
it almost smothered the glowing white flame that appeared
contemptuous of my presence. The fake log began to feel
like a personal mood icon that had its heart set on choking
me to death to redeem all the ghosts and souls I’ve
vanquished in the last six years. With everyone trying
their best to place me on their proverbial couch, my failed
conscience was interrupted by my secretary’s knock at thy
emperor’s gate, and says, “Mr. President, you have a couple
of uninvited guests in my office.”

My secretary has a habit of not buzzing me on the
intercom. She fears my responses will be overheard, or
her own comments might be unappreciated. Good point,
I thought. Her tone of irritation rubbed off on me. “May I ask—“

Before I could utter a word, she answered, “Ms. Jennifer
Berg, and Mr. Ramsey are here to see you.”

I was in the mood to share the good news with my
underlings, and said, “Welcome them in, my dear. Yes,
I need a breather and the scent of fresh air. By all means,
bring them in.”

Anyway, having just been advised that the likelihood
of impeachment proceedings being forwarded from the
Judiciary Committee was almost nil, I felt vindicated. If
there’s one thing I know for certain, eavesdropping is the
one thing that’s paid off political debts, and provided similar
dividends. Some call it political blackmail. I call it: political
clout. The eye of the beholder is my take on the matter.
And my take is what matters. They call me the decider,
and so it goes…

Moments later, my national security advisor came through
the door with the head of the Secret Service White House
detail in tow. Jennifer Berg says curtly, “I’m sure you know,
Mr. Ramsey, here.”

“By all means…! How’s everything these days?”

His eyes were like piercing arrows, stabbing his
penetrating gaze into the Persian rug’s Seal of the
President of the United States: me. He hesitated,
parted his lips, then fell silent.

I asked, thrusting my hand forward jovially, “It can’t
be all that bad, Mr. Ramsey. Now can it?”

Jennifer blurts out, “That’s what I told him, Mr.
President. Exactly that, didn’t I?”

“That’s correct, Mr. President. But with all the lies—“

Ms. Berg jumped in with all fours to save the day,
and says, “Excuse me, Mr. President. What he
meant to say was—“

“That’s alright now. When the Secret Service has
something to say, they’ve got the right and authority to
spell it out. No matter how it hurts… Is that understood,
Mr. Ramsey?”

“Yes, Mr. President. Anything you say, sir.”

Jennifer backed off and pointed for Mr. Ramsey to have
a seat on the couch. I in turn, pressed the intercom and
requested some coffee and refreshments. As I returned to
the black leather couch opposite my desk, I said, “Be forthright
and yah won’t have a dang thing to worry about. Do you
hear me?”

It seemed like an eternity, those few mute moments
before he replied, and says, “Something is fishy, sir. Real
fishy if you ask me.”

I puckered my thin lips in anticipation, and said,
“How’s that, Randy? Do you mind if I call you by your first
name?”

With a hint of a grin, he replies, “Sure enough, Mr. President.
How about if I call you, Adolf? That would certainly reduce
my anxiety a lot, Mr. President.”

“Does my first name ring any bells? That’s in history, I mean.”

“Hitler. Sure, I get it. You were named after him, huh?”

With a sly quip, I said, “You’re a real crowd pleaser, I bet.
Call me whatever you like. Now, out with it…!”

Startled by my last remark, he stutters, and says
apprehensively, “I just got off the phone with one of my
agents. Apparently, you’ve approved another detail to guard
former Supreme Court justice, Theodore Marsh. Is that
correct, sir?”

With a whimsical glance, I said, “I’m glad you addressed
me as: sir. Otherwise, I’d think you was trying to put one over
on me. You know what I’m sayin’?”

I’d never seen a Secret Service agent cower to anyone
but me. And I like it that way. He says with gritted teeth,
“Did you countermand my orders, Mr. President?”

My left foot began twitching somewhat, twisting and
turning in place, as I said, “If you mean by that: Did I sign
documents to that effect? Yes, I did. What of it?”

I could see the head of the White House detail trembling,
but not out of fright. His shaking was due to outrage, and
rightly so. But I wasn’t going to give him the pleasure of
knowing that little morsel of information. I took a deep breath,
and said in an even tone, “Ms. Berg here, provided me with
those countermanding orders. And I signed them. Any
further questions?”

He turned to Jennifer, and shouts, “Why? Why in the
hell did you do that? Our business is to protect you—people.”

He appeared to want to say something less kind. But,
thankfully, he restrained himself. At times, I should follow
his example, but ask anybody—I’m not noted for my
diplomatic ways.

“Now…now…now, let’s not get our nuts in a wringer,
shall we, partner?” I said.

He stood up defensively, and says, “That’s all I wanted
to know. I thought there’d been a mistake, Mr. President.
But I was wrong. I told the agent the orders were legit.
And now I know that I was right, sir. Thank you for your
time, Adolf. I mean, Mr. President. Good day.”

I looked at Jennifer, and winced. My thin lips tightened,
as I said, “Very well, my friend. Thanks for checking with
me. Wouldn’t want anythin’ foolish to interfere with yah
all’s security plans. Needless to say, I’m the last person
who’d deliberately sabotage his own White House detail,
or any other. Yah got that?”

With his feet firm and heels locked together, he shook
my hand, and says, “Thank you, Mr. President.”

He turned to his left and walked around the couch,
letting himself out of the Oval Office.

I immediately turned to Ms. Berg, and hissed, “Now,
what in the hell’s that shit all about?”

With a hint of deceit on her face, she says, “Care to
know about things, or would you rather not know? Remember,
what you don’t know, you can’t honestly attest to. You’ve
asked me to take certain unmentionable activities and take
care of things, my way. Care to change things, at this late
date? You’re certainly welcome to join in, Mr. President.

The intimidation was working. All I could say was,
“Carry-on, partner. The bull’s shit is in the wind. Cut the
smell—anyway you can. Is that understood?”

“Thanks for backing me up, sir. Talk to you tomorrow,
Mr. President.”

“Till tomorrow,” I said, shaking hands, hoping that
my right sweaty palm wasn’t noticeable.

Life’s a bitch and then you die, I thought, as I closed
the Oval Office door behind her. The good news I'd wanted
to share with them was short-lived. Other pressing issues
always seem to come to the forefront and take charge:
usurping an otherwise delightful afternoon in the Oval
Office. Such is life...

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

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

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

Saturday, May 15, 2010

Finance 202: How We Became Debt Slaves (And Learned to Love It)

Quote:



Finance 101: Blame the Poor (While Taking Their Money)



By Gordon Arnaut



Did you know that the poor (and mostly black) people

in the US caused the global financial crisis that threw

the world economy into its worst slump since the Great

Depression of the 1930’s Continue



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Quote:



Finance 202: How We Became Debt Slaves



(And Learned to Love It)



By Gordon Arnaut



Right now, the US Congress is holding hearings about

bank wrongdoing. It is very entertaining kabuki theatre,

but nothing will change. The Goldman chief (thief?) and

his cohorts may take a bit of a grilling, but behind the

scenes his bagmen are funnelling millions of dollars into

the campaign trunks of every representative, senator

(or likely hopeful) in the land. Continue



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Quote:

Right Wing Talking Points Jesus for the Supreme Court?



By Brian J. Foley



Socialist Puppet? Christ fed multitudes with bread and

fish, for free (Mark 6:30-44). This giveaway reveals likely

support for welfare programs. And where did this low

wage earner obtain all this food? From powerful friends

to whom he may be beholden if confirmed as a Justice?

Continue



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Quote:



"Thumbs Down" on the EU Bailout



By Mike Whitney



Greece should walk away from this farce and

start fresh. Continue



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Capitalism Without Capital



By Mike Whitney



This is a point that bears repeating: "...nearly $14 trillion

worth of complex-securitized products were created" on

top of just "$1.4 trillion" of subprime loans." No doubt, the

investment bankers and hedge fund managers who inflated

these monster balloons, knew that they were doomed from

the get-go, but then, they must have also known that

"I.B.G.-Y.B.G.", which in Wall Street parlance means, "I'll

Be Gone and You'll Be Gone." Continue



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Quote:

Confiscating Your Property

By John Stossel

This reverses a centuries-old safeguard in

Anglo-American law against arbitrary

government power. Continue


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Quote:

Will the PIGS Blow Up Europe?

By Pat Buchanan

The EU just took a great leap forward to force

Europe's most indebted nations to surrender

their economic independence or be expelled

from the European Monetary Union. The

PIGS — Portugal, Ireland, Italy, Greece and

Spain — may rebel. Continue

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Quote:

Great Depression 2.0. Bet on it.

By Mike Whitney

If the government cuts spending at the same

time as consumers, then overall spending

declines and the economy slips into recession.

This is what the deficit hawks want--a return

to recession. This is politics, not economics. Continue

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Quote:

A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS OF

F. SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS

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

Quote:

View: Novelist F. Scott Sinclair on Twitter at:

http://twitter.com/novelistfscott

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

Quote:

Late Night Political Jokes - Late Night Jokes Updated Daily

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


Saturday, May 08, 2010

SCENE 20 OF "THE WALLS HAVE EARS: A NOVEL OF AMERICA" SERIALIZED BY NOVELIST F. SCOTT SINCLAIR

QUOTE:

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.



Copyright (C) 2007 By F. Scott Sinclair. All Rights Reserved.



Scene 20 of the Walls Have Ears: A Novel of America




FBI Special agent Ralph Longfellow



I stomped the snow off my wing tipped shoes at the entrance
to the federal building in the city of X. As I traipsed dripping
wet over to the X-ray machine, I began to empty my pockets
into the plastic basket as the GSA guards did their thing. After
being swept down by the handheld metal detector, I dropped
my arms to my sides, relieved not to be considered one of
the bad guys. In this day and age, nobody was exempt from
prison style inspections. Sometimes I wondered if I lived in
a free country or not.

I said, “Thanks, Elmer...”

Elmer Hanson had been a GSA guard for nearly twenty
years, and the etched creases on his forehead, and elsewhere,
surely had left their mark. His stooped posture was another
dead giveaway. Time does take its toll on the human condition,
I thought.

Elmer handed back my black leather FBI briefcase, and
says, “How you guys doing catching the bad guys?”

Our eyes met briefly, as I said, “It’s an uphill battle at
best, I’m afraid.”

“I know the feeling. How much stuff gets by us, I’ll never
know. But I’m sure it happens regardless of our best efforts.”

I nodded affirmatively, smiled and went about my
business. As I got off the elevator and strolled into the
forensic lab, Greg Bullock tapped me on the shoulder, and says,
“Any headway on that hard drive of our sneak and peek?”

Greg’s checkered tie nearly blinded me, as I replied,
“Yeah, I may have something.”

Rolling up his sleeves, he says, “Like what...?”

“I think I’ve identified the owner of the computer.”

“Really? Does it match with the rental agreement?”

I scratched the nap of my neck, a puzzled look on my
face, and said, “Not exactly.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he said, conveying
an air of urgency and uncertainty simultaneously.

“Have you ever thought of buying less conspicuous ties?”

His glare curled my thinning brown hair, as he flared
his nostrils, and says, “Just answer the damn question.”

“Right,” I said, as I too rolled up my shirt sleeves and
handed him my report.

Snatching it from my right paw, he ran his finger down
each line of the report, and says incredulously, “Are you sure
about this...? Christ, if your report is on the up and up—we’ve
got to get our asses in gear. You sure this dude isn’t, Paul Krugar?”

Having spent half the night going over each detail, I spoke
in a whisper, “The fingerprints match that of Jake Jacobs,
the novelist.”

He asked, “That’s the guy who wants to make America a
true participatory democracy?”

“You got it... He wants to establish a fourth branch of
government: the so-called Peoples branch,” I said. The
ultimate watchdog of the public trough, or simply another
trough for siphoning off the assets in the Treasury, I thought.
Par for the course…

Greg removed his glasses, placing the right fitting mount
of the frame in his mouth as though he was still teething.
“Yeah, just what we need... We can’t even get the Founding
Fathers’ three original branches functioning properly after
two-hundred years, and he wants a fourth branch? That's
ludicrous!"”

I sat on the lab stool in front of the microscope, shrugging
my shoulders in dismay, and said, “Tis a weird twist of
events, if you ask me. But why would he be using an alias?”

Greg just guffawed, slapping me on the back, and says
matter of factly, “Apparently, you have a short memory,
partner.”

“Try me.”

“Does Thailand ring a bell?” he said, gazing in my
direction. His stare was unsettling to say the least.

“I just told you that?”

“Hey, ole buddy, after we ran him through the mill
in the Land of Smiles; if you were him, you’d keep a
low profile.”

Dumfounded, I inquired, “Is this shit prior to 9/11
and the supposed Patriot Act?”

“Supposed Patriot Act? Infamous, is more like it...!
Nevertheless, you've dissected the situation within a
cunt's hair. That’s a home run, my friend. Right on the
money! And furthermore, he’s got friends in high places.
But with habeas corpus now suspended, and the good old
Patriot Act alive and well—we’re going to have a field day
with that son-of-a-bitch!” he said, crowing on and on.

As though it was just yesterday, I mentioned our swearing
in ceremony, and the oath we both took at the FBI Academy
at Quantico, Virginia. “Doesn’t that have any meaning
anymore? We’re supposed to defend the Constitution
against all enemies both foreign and domestic, not persecute
folks for exercising those rights?”

“Grow up, Jose.”

“Perhaps you'd better clean your glasses, chief. I’m
as Caucasian as you are...! Do I look like a immigrant?"

He turned the bar stool around, resting his forearms on
the back of the stool, and says, “Needn't get so touchy...
Just a figure of speech. But if you persist and push
the issue, you just might be viewing this operation
from the outside looking in? Care to make a wager
on that?”

Being threatened wasn’t my idea of the FBI, so I
countered, “Don’t give me that cock and bull story.
We still live in America!”

“Maybe...,” he said, “but the honchos have changed. And
if you choose to take the law into your hands, there’s a
price to pay. These zealots have an agenda, and your oath
of office isn’t part of it. In fact, it’s diametrically opposed
to their agenda. Your career could come, let’s say, to a sort
of snail’s pace. Got the picture?”

Our mugs glimpsed at one another like a couple of beers
with white froths: sagging and deflated like our egos.
My eyes rolled instinctively. I took the hint, but not of my
own free will. I still believed in America, but I knew one thing
for sure: we’re headed in the wrong direction morally and
ethically. With bills to pay and a family to support, I had to
cave in to reality. Mr. Jacobs would simply be collateral
damage in a process that’s out of control.

“Well, let’s get the ball rolling. Time is a wastin’ if you’re
sure there’s no way to stop the tidal wave of deceit.”

He smirked at those parting words, and so did
I—reluctantly. Deceitfully, was more like it. I closed
the lab door, and we proceeded to our manager’s
cubicle to give him the good news, if that’s what
you want to call it. The next move would be in the
field, as the surveillance crew was on scene
assessing the situation.

Once they’ve heard the news, Jake Jacobs’ ass would be grass…!

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

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

****************************************************************
Quote:

View: Novelist F. Scott Sinclair on Twitter at:

http://twitter.com/novelistfscott

*********************************************
Quote:

Late Night Political Jokes - Late Night Jokes Updated Daily

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

Monday, May 03, 2010

The great novelist "David Foster Wallace" died some time ago, unbeknownst to many of us. A real human tragedy....

Quote:


Life and Letters

The Unfinished

David Foster Wallace’s struggle to surpass “Infinite Jest.”

By D. T. Max


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Quote:


Truck Driver Forced to Show Birth Certificate



Racial profiling may be alive and well according to a

truck driver who was forced to show his birth certificate

when he was having his commercial truck weighed

in Arizona. His commercial license and social security

number were not enough documentation. His wife

had to leave work and return home to get his birth

certificate in order to satisfy them.



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Quote:




Why Americans Are So Lonely



By Bill McKibben



Access to cheap energy made us rich, wrecked

our climate, and made us the first people on

earth who had no practical need of our neighbors --

that has to change. Continue



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What Really Triggered the Financial Crisis?



The Shadow Banking System Blew Up



By Mike Whitney



Do you understand the root-cause of the financial

crisis? Not many people do, which is why congress'

attempt to regulate the system will probably fail

and there will be another crisis in couple of years.

Continue



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America: The Grim Truth



By Lance Freeman



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Quote:





Hope is For little Kids and Tooth Fairies


By Joe Bageant



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America Is Losing Its Imperial Status



IMF As Grim Reaper of Austerity?


By Washington's Blog



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There Ain't No Escape From Collapse



By Joe Bageant



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Quote:



Richard I. Fine's Judicial Lynching. If this can

happen to a renowned lawyer, we're all doomed...!:

http://bit.ly/d0TzOu via @addthis



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Death of 'Caveman' ends an era in Idaho Local News

Idaho: http://digg.com/d31PKSM?t



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Quote:



Joe, Why Did You Crap Out On Us?:

http://digg.com/d31Omay?



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"Imagine if the Tea Party Was Black" - Tim Wise

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Spies are everywhere. Unbelievable...?

Think again, my friend. You're not paranoid if it's true:

http://www.brasschecktv.com/page/815.html

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Lost on the Fearless Plain

By Joe Bageant

Inside most Americans is a globally brattish child.

Thanks to our endowed natural resources

(since squandered) and to armed national theft

abroad, the American has not suffered enough

to become a responsible adult on the planet. Continue

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Prognosis 2012: Towards a New World Social Order

By Richard K. Moore

The capitalist system is past its sell-by date, the

banking elite are well aware of that fact – and

they are adapting. Continue

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

Quote:

View: Novelist F. Scott Sinclair on Twitter at:

http://twitter.com/novelistfscott

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

Quote:

Late Night Political Jokes - Late Night Jokes Updated Daily

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

Quote:

A CONVENIENT (I HOPE) TABLE OF CONTENTS OF

F. SCOTT SINCLAIR'S NOVELS

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