An All-New Deep Knight Adventure

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Prologue – The Towering Inferno

As you remember, in a previous adventure I pulled victory from the jaws of not-quite-victory and saved the world so it could be exploited and destroyed by evil. The only small side effect was the destruction of half of suburban Washington DC and the Illuminati Headquarters parking garage. A small price to pay, unless of course you had to pay it, which I had over the preceding years by having to switch my mode of transportation to work (private paid parking in that neighborhood is outrageously expensive), providing a ready target and many prologue action scenes. But all that was changing with the dedication of the new Illuminati Headquarters parking structure! It had been delayed by Satan’s recent obsession with improving our “brand,” and after a few false starts, ended up becoming “Satan Tower,” at 138 stories the world’s tallest parking garage.

All of this space wasn’t for us, as massive and evil as we are we only take up a dozen or so floors (the big guy thought it would be more “executive” to have those the top floors, not realizing that it takes a couple of hours to drive up or down that many ramps). Satan had gotten complaints about the parking prices his employees were paying, and decided to cash in himself by having 10 times as much paying public space as private. Banks of express elevators were in the core of the building, but The Prince of Darkness had arranged for a “scenic elevator” to be installed on the outside, next to the giant illuminated letters vertically spelling “SATAN” on the side. A glass-walled cupula-topped monstrosity with gold filigree and copious gilded cherubs, it was a tribute to the megalomaniac demon-master’s atrocious taste. Unfortunately, bad luck comes in threes, starting with a crowded opening ceremony. Satan’s on-again-off-again friendship with the President was “on,” and we had an open bar, so everyone in the power elite was there. The second wrinkle in the ointment was an attack by the Unorganized Oregon Wildlife Area Militia (UOWAM, pronounced “ooooh-Wham!”) armed with flame throwers. The last was scheduling the party at the same time as the annual Tahitian Fire Dance, and incorporating it into the 81st floor’s stage show.

You’ve read enough of my stuff to imagine the inconceivable incompetence and almost-comic carnage that led up to the garage’s 81st floor starting on fire. Satan refused to evacuate the guests at first, living in Hell, the last thing fallen angels and demons are afraid of is a little fire. So by the time the Fire Marshall (who looked just like Steve McQueen) talked him into action, the main elevators were both out of business and serving as an express conduit for the blaze. I was, of course, with Satan’s entourage. When the 3-alarm alarms first rang out, he was bending my ear trying to talk me into taking over the NWO's Deep State operation, and I felt I had dodged a bullet when the fire interrupted his getting an answer. Not that a little towering inferno action was easy to fix.

As you might expect, helicopters crashed trying to land on the roof, the cable to the top of a nearby building collapsed talking Doctor Kildare to a well-deserved death, and many a-list celebrities were burnt to a crisp. One couple went to the strains of “We’ll Never Love Again (‘Cause we’re gettin’ incinerated)” after a tender nude love scene. In the end, we all came within an inch or two of being burnt alive before I and the building’s architect (who looked just like Paul Newman) put out the fire. It seems that a massive misreading of the blueprints had put a 300 million gallon aquarium on the roof instead of a rollercoaster. Planning to make lemonade out of lemons, Satan had it filled with sharks, and was incorporating it into a rooftop theme restaurant for Washington lawyers, set to open before Christmas. A few explosive charges caused the water to cascade down the auto ramps and elevator shafts, putting out the fire. Unfortunately, some of the guests hadn’t tied themselves to railings and posts securely enough and were swept away, while others had their limbs and even heads become snacks for the sharks. Strangely enough, many of the sharks survived to reach the bottom, where they attacked first responders and fire fighters before washing into the Potomac. Other highlights included Satan climbing to the roof and amidst the flames screaming, “Top o’ the world, Ma!” over and over (big Cagney fan), and the attempted escape by women and children using the scenic elevator. The fire caused an explosion as it passed the 81st floor and it was blown from its tracks, of course. A helicopter with the Fire Marshall on the end of a swinging cable (they get the fun jobs), got it hooked and almost to the ground before the cable broke. Even then, some of the women and children might have survived if it wasn’t for the glass walls shattering into razor-sharp shards. Horrifying, yet fascinating in slow motion (see my YouTube video).

Needless to say, we Illuminati were out one parking garage, and looking at a massive clean-up and demolition bill to boot. Putting aside the lives and property lost, how the hell was I going to get to work? I had been banned from almost every other mode of transportation (I hadn’t tried hot air balloons yet, but think I got all the others), and refused to be taken advantage of by downtown parking rates of $1000 a day and up. It was then a rather hung-out-wet-to-dry-looking Satan noted that management of the Deep State came with its own offsite headquarters with free onsite parking. Swallowing hard, I took the bait.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Prologue Epilogue – His Mother’s Son

In the preceded prologue I had neglected to mention the unexpected appearance of Satan’s mother at the dedication party. Actually, “neglected” is not the right word, it lacks the aversion and avoidance that truthfully motivated my omission. “Mom” had arrived that afternoon from “the old country,” (Southern Hades), for a visit to her favorite and only son here in the western hemisphere. Looking strikingly like the witch in Hansel and Gretel, she wore a black shroud and walked stopped-over using a crooked, gnarled stick. Her raspy voice was like that of a banshee who had been chain-smoking unfiltered cigarettes, drinking Old Crow, and singing AC/DC songs at the karaoke bar all night. Even Satan’s wife, Gladys, showed deference, and if my nose was working, was exuding the strong scent of feminine deodorant and fear. And to this point, Gladys was not only the scariest person I had ever met, but the top of Hell’s food chain. “Just in time for Hallowe’en,” mumbled one of Satan’s son-in-laws, his courage bolstered by the protection against “ultimate sanctioning” his family ties usually gave him.

Satan tries to put on airs about having an aristocratic east-coast pedigree, slipping into an amateurish-sounding ivy-league accent when he meets world leaders, but in truth he’s a working class boy from the wrong side of the tracks. Raised by a single mom (it’s rumored that “dad” was herded out of town), he worked his way up to light-bearer for the “Big G,” only to plummet to the depths of Hell when he was exiled to the depths of Hell for the sin of pride. But his mom always supported him, and he in turn has an almost psychotic need to impress her, which both explains his evil entrepreneurial drive and last night’s acting out the final scene from “White Heat.” Whatever this new adventure held for me, I knew that unless both I and my readers got very lucky it would include the old girl, giving me a future chance to further flesh-out her less desirable features and traits. So I’ll mercifully stop now.

As this tardy addition has ruined this chapter-or-whatever-it-is for either plot development or action, I might as well pad it with a quick explanation of the “Deep State.” While it’s true that this is named after me, this was a fluke caused by a temporary re-naming that lasted only the few hours it took for me to be informed and turn down the offer. Unfortunately, its later name, the “Dark State,” never caught on with conspiratorialists and “Deep” stuck. While I admit it’s a bold and manly-sounding name, I had sense enough to want nothing to do with it, especially now that circumstances would force its management to involve actual work.

As you know, anyone who has ever won any election anywhere did it by selling their soul to the devil. We got ‘em all, from dogcatcher to Queen. However, once they attain high office they stop coming by, you wouldn’t believe how fast a ritual human sacrifice ruins 2 out of 3 politicians. This “distancing” starts to give them illusions of independence, so most get a little too big for their britches and make noise about fixing problems and doing good. Enter the Deep State, keeping the tiller of the ship of state firm fixed to point its bow towards the jagged rocks off the coast of a new world order. Or, less romantically, endlessly herding a bunch of clueless cow-like bureaucrats who are either told to do the wrong thing, or when doing the right thing get it wrong, 90% of the time. And the analogy doesn’t end there, with the smell of the halls of power being remarkably similar to that of the loading chutes used for feed lots.

Unfortunately, the Deep State had recently been revealed. Supporters of the president, who voted for him because things weren’t getting done in Washington, started finding it strange that things still weren’t getting done in Washington just about the time they happened across Alex Jones on the radio. This made our job twice as hard, and the means of attaining our fiendish goals sound twice as stupid to those who only know part of the story. Which, my dear readers, if you trust what I write here, will be you.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter I – X Marks the Spot

The first step to heading the Deep State was to get a government job, preferably a do-nothing executive position that would give me the physical access I needed without requiring any actual work. I focused on the NGA (National Geospatial-Intelligence Agency), rated as one of the most evil of the 3-letter alphabet soup federal agencies by Consumering Guide. Originally NIMA (National Imagery and Mapping Agency), the name was changed in 2003 because it sounded too wimpy. In many ways this agency holds the ultimate power in Washington, cross them and you can literally be “taken off the map.” Conversely, if you’re one of the hundreds of thousands of secret organizations like the Masons or Oddfellows trying to remain “off the grid,” they can “put you on the map!” With this awesome power awing people, being in the right position at the right time would give the right person power over life and death. And that person wouldn’t be the right one, it would be me.

Taking the civil service exam was easy, instead of filling in the multiple-choice choices I simple drew reasonable facsimiles of Illuminati hand signs on the test form, scoring 100%. You gotta know the ins and outs to get ahead in Washington. Then came the face to face interview, which I knew I had in the bag once I saw it would be administered by a young woman. Unfortunately, she had gotten her position through an “in and out” with a certain senator who had an abnormal interest in teenage girls 4H rodeo. She had won the bulldogging competition in the 2007 nationals, skills she utilized the moment I started to “get fresh.” But adversity brings out the best in true fighters, and using an ability to lie straight-faced that I hadn’t needed in days, I worked my way back into her good graces and private parts. Sure, she kept her rope handy and spurs on, but it wasn’t anything I hadn’t dealt with many times before. Sharing cigarettes, coffee and broad-spectrum antibiotics afterwards, she acquiesced to my employment demands, and after “doing it just one more time,” the papers were signed. The swearing-in ceremony was a traditional black-robed affair using a gilded, human-skin-leather bound Book of Belial as the “bible.” After the chanting was over and the virgin sacrificial victim totally consumed by fire, the bar was opened and a fun time was had by all. Even Satan showed up, his mom in tow, to join us for a pumpkin-spice eggnog and get an RSVP for the annual Hallowe’en party. Of course Velna and I were planning on coming. Sure there were times when I was pointedly not invited to celebrate this most-important satanic holiday, but these were all based on misunderstandings, and anyway, the paternity tests all came out negative. But you know how persistent rumors are, and how the details can get blown way out of proportion. Which may have been why I had this sense that Satan’s mom was giving me the eye, even though I couldn’t see much under her shroud’s overhanging hood. I need to get better lighting in my offices.

Then, I had my staff print out a picture of every federal employee who was part of The Deep State, as well as their contacts, “controllers,” and favorite illicit lovers. Then, I pinned them up on my office walls in groups made up of people with similar hobbies and interests. The same method has been used for years to make college freshmen’s dorm room assignments. Then, after running bright red yarn from picture to picture to show links and associations, I strung up lines from each one of these groups to “higher ups” who were actually placed higher up, and then to Satan himself lower and in the center, centered on a coincidently-placed dartboard. The entire effect was one of a scarlet spider’s web, a trap that exuded evil and was bound to collect dust and be a real bitch to clean. But I couldn’t worry about that as I had no time to lose, even if time was something you could actually lose, a point lost on most people who use the phrase. And I had sworn not to be one of them, or would have if I could have gotten my hands on a Book of Belial. For obvious reasons they encourage us not to leave them laying around where non-initiates might possibly see or even read them.

My purpose was not only interior decoration (although my construction was really cool in-and-of itself), but a means of quickly ascertaining the best way to exert influence and pressure on our minions. Pressure I would need in phase two of the hidden agenda given to me by Satan, shaking up the system and getting some actual evil out of our minions. For too long they had been skating along, doing the minimum, “protected” by an inflated view of their importance and a thin membrane of latex. Now, both of those would be burst, if not by me, by the Slice Girls, who had been on the sidelines kneeling during the national anthem too long. It was time to kick butts, take names, and then use those names in satanic rituals that will convert their government pensions to annuities when they retire. I’m not here to make friends or be just another pretty boy, although I have to admit I do turn more than a few heads when I’m not having the girls cut them off.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter II – Better in a V-Neck Sweater

As a well-known man of action, I decided to actually do something actionable. One glaring problem in our organization was the diminishing returns we were getting from “false flag” operations. Take for example the mass shootings we had been using to gin up gun sales (where we cashed in by going long while selling short). You see, these “false flags” were really set up to look like “false flags” to America’s gun-loving public, thus causing them to buy, buy and buy before a feared clampdown which never came. A classic “false flag using a false flag” scenario. But with the new administration openly embracing gun lust, sales had fallen faster than a cheerleader’s panties on prom night.

The answer was simple, have the government do some actual gun grabbing. I “arranged” to have a flash mob of open carry enthusiasts meet in San Antonio Texas, in the square in front of the Alamo, to dance to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” while carrying realistic plastic assault rifles. Then, I had another flash mob dressed as blue-helmeted UN Peacekeepers show up, grab the rifles, and then pull down a Confederate-general-that-turned-out-to-be-Jim-Bowie’s statue while chanting “Black Lives Matter!” My new and improved false flag video went viral on Facebook, Twitter and Stormfront, and gun stores were swamped the following day.

Next came the release of documents associated with the assassination of President Kennedy. While every Illuminati schoolchild knows the story of how we stationed snipers on the grassy knoll, few know those snipers were all Marilyn Monroe clones, swearing revenge for their genetic progenitor’s heartbreak. They were chosen because it was easy for them to escape while wearing low-cut blouses because no policemen (or men of any sort) looked at their faces. The release of this revelation naturally increased interest in Miss Monroe’s old films, especially “Some Like it Hot,” and DVD sales funneled money into the NWO’s Hollywood branch. I was two for two.

More difficult was the “tax reform” issue. The only thing the Illuminati were interested in reforming was the silly notion that rich people could afford to pay more taxes than poor ones. Satan himself was in favor of a “flat tax,” that is, one that was the same for everyone. Not the same proportion of income, mind you, but the same exact amount, regardless of age or situation. For example, total US tax revenue is approximately $6.7 trillion, so every man, woman and child would have to cough up a cool $28,000 every year or it would mean a trip to the work camps. Tough but fair. Anyway, I realized this might be an unpopular position to take, so I counseled Congress to simply name the law “A Huge Middle Class Tax Cut,” putting any kind of populist garbage in large type at the beginning they wanted, but then to put our “flat tax” in the fine print. Sometimes the best answers are the simplest answers.

But it wasn’t all work, I played too. For example, siphoning off disaster relief supplies for our Illuminati Executive Halloween Party. Sure, it was only supplies with marginal party uses, like bottled water, paper towels and diapers, but there was one other resource not listed on the list, a little imagination. For example, we organized a “Paper Towel Toss” for prizes (first prize was a wall-sized flat screen TV “liberated” from the Pentagon’s War Room), and you would be surprised at what some of our people like to do with diapers. I try to keep an open mind and not be judgmental.

But even the most well-tuned ointment gets a fly in its bonnet sooner or later, and that annoying insect soon reared its ugly rear at the most inopportune time possible, the next chapter.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter III – The Big Blowout

Velna either had a bad case of the stomach flu, or had intentionally eaten some spoiled food to avoid “another stupid party with those people from work.” It wasn’t that Illuminati parties were boring, 6 of the 7 deadly sins were inevitably practiced (no sloth, not upbeat enough), and an atmosphere of “out of control orgy” was pervasive. What the wife hated was the undercurrent of office politics that hung over the proceedings like something that hangs really well. You could never tell if someone was ravishing virgins for the fun of it, or to get a step up the corporate ladder. In either case, it would have been foolish to insist, so I went stag, dressed as an FBI agent (you start with a “little black suit” and then accessorize with sunglasses and an earpiece).

The party was roaring when I got there. Administration big shots got a bit of a scare when they saw my costume, but laughed heartily when they got the joke. You gotta have a sense of humor if you’re gonna survive this town. Satan, dressed as Willie Wonka, was introducing his mom, who despite not having on a costume was the scariest person in the room, to the rich and powerful. Finally it was my turn, and at last I caught a glimpse of her face, proving it to be as hideous as rumor had painted it. It was then I realized her face had actually been painted as her “costume,” strangely enough to resemble Sarah Huckabee Sanders. The effect was even more disturbing when she winked at me.

I hobnobbed with some hobs and nobs, playing the social butterfly. Some Hungarian guy bent my ear for a while about “alpha males” and “pajama boys,” almost killing me through boredom before his bending mercifully stopped when I strangled him. Sure, he was a friend of the big guy’s, but with a quick cloning I could send his replacement back home before midnight and nobody would be the wiser. Still, I was a bit startled when Satan appeared only seconds after I had slipped his body down an out-of-the-way cloning chute, otherwise I would have never agreed to his “suggestion” I speak with his mom. As so often happens when you hang out with the devil, one innocent act such as wanton murder leads to something more serious, and before you know it, you’re waste deep in Washington’s famous swamp.

I blushed in embarrassment when the frail, old lady led me into one of the “executive boardroom bedrooms” used by NWO bigwigs, some hobs, and even a few nobs for worktime trysts, affairs and quick bangs. More than once a threesome from the Council of the Twelve had done all sixty-four positions detailed in the Kama Sutra in order and in that very bed. Then I realized that it wasn’t a mistake at all when the “frail” crone, straightened up, threw away her cane, and removed her black shroud, wiping her face with it as she did. Standing in front of me was an obviously mature lady (Satan was millennia old, you do the math), but with a well preserved body and face. Plastic surgery and Botox, no doubt. Wearing nothing but lacy, black lingerie, spike-heal boots, and multiple body piercings, she finally spoke. “I have heard ovf you, Agent Knight,” she purred, the accent still there but ear-numbing growl almost gone, “and now it’s time to see if ze rumors are true.”

Modesty prevents me from going into too many details, but let’s just say what the old broad lacked in youth she more than made up with experience. I had never realized that a woman in a harness hung from pulleys could be swung back and forth while she was being pulled up and down. Even thought I was apprehensive at first, her unique skills soon changed my mind. Before long I could even be described as enjoying myself, and if the appreciative moans and orgasmic screams were any indication, she seemed to be having a good time too.

Later, while sharing a cigarette rolled from a blend of Turkish tobacco and deadly nightshade (she has them made in Bucharest), we shared stories of the many idiotic things her son had done over the years. Call her what you will, a cougar, MILF, GILF, or !#$%&-!$+@@, she was still a girl who liked to party and retire a new set of sheets due to wear. And, I hoped, a girl with enough cheap motel rooms in her past to realize I was a married man and this could only be a one-time thing. Unfortunately, when you boogie with the Devil, sometimes hope gets disco danced into the darkness, and that “sometime” was now, or rather, the next chapter.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter IV – An Intravenous Drip, Drip, Drip

I knew I smelled like a border-town bordello on taco night after my “encounter” with Satan’s mom, so I took a shower. Knowing that a shower would leave me suspiciously smelling "like a shower," I went back to the party, drank a few cups of Pumpkin-Spice Witches’ Brew Punch, and threw-up all over myself. There’s nothing like fresh vomit for a cover up, a lesson those fools in the current administration would profit by learning. It was late, and although only lust had been addressed, gluttony, greed, wrath, envy and pride would have to wait until the next shindig. Call that “sloth” if you wish, I call it “pacing myself.”

That evening Satan had expounded on this stupid idea he had based on this “John Wick” movie. You gotta watch out when the big guy gets too inspired by some film, after he saw Avatar he wore blue makeup for a week. What he wanted to do was clear out the backlog of assassinations by using a paid killer phone app. Apparently, when this Wick guy got put on the list, 40 or 50 assassins came out of the woodwork in extremely short order and got killed in turn. This signaled to The Prince of Darkness that big cities must have a high percentage of paid killers living in them, and that these murderous minions check their smart phones frequently. Telling him this “was only a movie” would have been a foolish move, so I did what real men in the Illuminati had been doing for years, decided to wait until morning and hope he would forget it. This was not to be.

When he persisted the next day, I brought in a former head of the FBI who has been “cooperating” with us recently to explain how sooner or later law enforcement would get wise and upload the app to their phones too. Satan countered with the idea the app require some “test of evil,” much like those annoying windows where have you transcribe some fuzzy writing to prove you’re not a “bot.” It only took him a few minutes to realize, based on Hell’s demographics, that on such a test the police could score as high as any criminal. Not to mention that the test would be easy for these aforementioned “bots,” which while not actually alive are inherently evil.

Still, this got me some face time with He Who Must Not Be Named, who went on and on about how his mother told him I was “a nice boy.” Apparently he didn’t have a clue about what really happened, no doubt being one of those sons who couldn’t imagine his mother doing the things she had done with me the previous night. Not that there was anything wrong with what we had done, no matter what your teachers told you in hygiene class, but if polite society wouldn’t be understanding, imagine how Satan would feel. Yet another bit of fallout from working for the boss from Hell. I was almost done and free from further exposure, when his mom broke into his office. No doubt she had heard I was there, and either couldn’t bear being apart, or wanted to give me a heart attack.

Luckily, the Big Guy got distracted by a series of Presidential tweets that seemed to signal their friendship was “off” and that he was going to invade Washington DC to “drain the swamp.” He wasn’t looking as his mom snuck up behind and “goosed” me, when I slapped her hand in return, or when this only caused her to double her unwelcome efforts. I blurted out an excuse and ran for the door, followed by my remarkably-fast-and-nimble paramour. The good news was her son was so engrossed in his tweeting (hard to do on a touch screen when you have claws), the bad news was that she cornered me in a corner in the corridor.

“Take me! Right now, right here, but with everything else vrong! Can’t you see I lovf you, you vicked boy, you?” she offered offhandedly, using her hand to perform an examination that in the doctor’s office is followed by a request to “cough.” I took this for a rhetorical question that didn’t require an answer, and tried instead to weasel my way free of her twiddling fingers and this dangerous entanglement. And I didn’t just mean because of Satan, there was also a point at which I couldn’t use the “I had to do it for work” excuse with my sniper-trained and jealous wife. But she was all over me, like an octopus. I had never felt so violated, so cheap and used, so like those millions of supermodels I had loved and left. Except for them it was over quickly (you gotta keep the lines moving), but for me the danger seemed to never end. I was so concerned and afraid I didn’t notice the démodé ingénue leading me into a nearby elevator. I knew what was coming, but instead of her pushing the “emergency stop” button, she pushed the “express” one and then alternatively took us to the top floor and basement as quickly as possible. From her screams, I gathered she found the brief period of weightlessness as the floor rushed away from our feet “exciting.” Luckily, the executive area around Satan’s office is soundproofed (for obvious reasons), so he wasn’t disturbed in what was likely trading an extended series of insults at less than 140 characters each with the President.

I was disheveled and distraught as I crawled out of Illuminati Headquarters. If this continued, my life wouldn’t be worth an Iraqi Dinar, even without the imminent RV. If I broke it off with Satan’s oversexed mom my life would be worthless, and keeping it up would inevitably mean being found out, which would put me in the same position with Satan and Velna. Perhaps if I feigned “business” and took a hyper-light-speed ammonia freighter to the Reptilian home world, where the only thing I would have to worry about was being mistaken for a snack…

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter V – The Visitors for Vendetta

My instinct to run someplace Satan’s mom couldn’t find me was a good one, but it didn’t need to be to an off-world destination where humans were a delicacy. I would simply use the Illuminati Travel Office, perhaps my biggest pet peeve, to my advantage. Since even they never seemed to know exactly where tickets sourced through them were taking me (except it was rarely where I asked to go), using them would be the perfect way to get lost. Yet another example of how cost savings initiatives (lower prices trumping correct destinations) can go radically haywire.

The next day at work I made a big deal out of my plans to go to Virginia to “oversee” next Tuesday’s Governor’s election. Since both candidates were “one of ours,” I wasn’t sure which one’s election I was supposed to be interfering with, but one good thing about working for Satan is that he doesn’t go in for details. Since the drive to Richmond is only a bit longer than the drive to Dulles Airport, I knew the Travel Office would send me on a marathon flight to someplace remote. But I didn’t count on a non-stop to Honolulu. After all, this was a desirable destination, with warm beaches, tanned beach boys, and Polynesian cocktails. Just the sort of place Satan would send a suddenly-depressed mother for a late-fall vacation. Leaving my carry-on luggage (mostly explosives, assault rifles, and bottles of liquids greater than 3.4 ounces) at the terminal to establish a false trail, I kept the bag that had my change of underwear and socks and got back on a flight to Richmond VA. Since this is what I would have done had I been sticking to my stated plan, I figured it was the last place anyone who knew me would look for me.

Unfortunately, Satan’s mother only knew me in the biblical manner, and had no sense of nuance or subtlety when it came to anticipating others’ strategy. While I was busy playing four-dimensional chess, she went for a single-dimension checkmate by simply ignoring the rules and grabbing my king by the balls. Hearing about my trip from her blabbermouth son, she had staked out Richmond International Airport’s lobby and was on me like blight on rice, almost knocking me over when she jumped into my arms. I tried to get the attention of a TSA security guard, planning on making a hijacking threat so I could be thrown safely into jail, but as I opened my mouth, she silenced me by thrusting her tongue down my throat. Then, she brutally herded me into a ladies restroom, where as she put it, she “joined ze mile-high club vhile on ze ground.” The facility’s other patrons were no-doubt put out by this and complained, but I couldn’t hear them over her loud and almost continuous screams of ecstasy.

I felt used, abused, and heavily chaffed, but luckily I had a change of underwear and socks. At the first opportunity I bolted from the now bent and dented stall and made a clean escape by deftly darting around the many security guards who were slowly working their way towards the scene of our crime. I understand they made up for their tardiness by being especially tough on the handful of ladies who had just arrived there with bladders fuller than their respect for law enforcement. A dangerous situation that resulted in numerous arrests, but not of Satan’s mom. Her “frail old lady” looks seduced security into completely ignoring her, except for a former boy scout who helped her across the street.

I used this lull in the action to my advantage, and by foot, hang-glider, and hovercraft made it to Richmond’s famous rail yards. There, I jumped a slow freight going west, those going east tending to be either a bit short or a lot wet, depending on the engineer’s persistence. I needed time to think, and a lengthy journey by boxcar seemed to be the very ticket. Unfortunately, modern hobos tend to be more along the lines of dangerous psychotics than eccentric oddballs who quote Shakespeare while dressed in rags. Even though they could be easily killed, the smell of their blood added to the reek of both their bodies and the boxcar got to be too much, and I abandoned the train in Decatur IL, “Wastebasket of the Midwest.”

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter VI – Virtual Interface!

I needed to blend in, be someplace that “my kind” (people who could read and write) wouldn’t stick out like a sore thumb. So, I made my way north to Chicago, disguised as a KY Jelly sales representative, knowing the ins and outs of that business by heart. “Chi-Town” is so riddled by crime, corruption and haute couture that I was right at home, but took precautions none-the-less. Climbing into a thick wetsuit and scuba gear, I hid out in the landmark Old Chicago Water Tower. And my parents thought I had been wasting time when I watched “Sea Hunt” in my youth. I was safe for the moment, and with a couple dozen reserve tanks could hold out for days, but sooner or later would have to come up for air. What I needed was a permanent fix for my predicament, a way to get Satan’s mom off my case and out of my pants.

The simplest solution was to be out of her grasp long enough for her to find a new boyfriend. But passive action was never for me, it didn’t result in enough loss of life, dangerous crises, or comic relief. No, I needed to assume an active role, to seize control of my own fate then choke the life out of it. This was the way of the Illuminati back in its old Bavarian glory days, when being surrounded by beer halls influenced the secret society’s formative years. Furthermore, being the purveyor of evil that I was, I chose someone who’s downfall would further my wicked aims. Who else, but my good friend who had more than once saved my life, Vladimir Putin?

The more I thought of it, the more I liked it. It wouldn’t be easy, having to both set up the right kind of encounter and stay out of the lady in question’s grasp, but what worthwhile was? This is why we Illuminati guys award risk taking, those visionaries willing to lay it on the line against long odds, at least in theory. Satan’s “not tolerating failure” thing in reality dissuades taking actual “risks,” but when has the New World Order not shot itself in the foot? Except, or course, for this brilliant plan, which to start would require an alpaca, Elvis impersonator, and burner phone. Working my way up in stages to avoid “the bends,” I made my way out of the tower and after a lengthy bathroom break put the plan into action!

Don’t ask me how I did it (even if you could, this not being an interactive novel), but before the fortnight was out Putin was on his way to Illuminati headquarters for a series of highest-level meetings with He Who Must Not Be Named. And the best part of it was that Satan thought it was 100% his idea and sure to send a powerful rebuke to both President Trump and Saudi Prince Alwaleed. I also remotely “unblocked” the pay-channels on the TVs in Satan’s townhouse guestrooms, guessing that “mom” would soon find the “adult” networks and get even “lonelier,” if you know what I mean. All I had to do now was waylay the Russian President as he journeyed to the meeting, surreptitiously dump some human sex-attractant pheromones on him, and then once the meeting has started intermittently cut and restore the power to Satan’s sub-basement penthouse to drive mom up to complain to her son. Kind of like the movie, “Snakes on a Plane.” Modestly bars me from too much self-promotion, even though this was a brilliantly clever and fail-proof plan that less superior humans would have never imagined, much less put into action. If only it had worked.

To be continued…

[LaVidaRoja]

Putin's a prig. If he gets a whiff of what his momma wants, he'll scream bloody murder on anyone who tries to provide it!!

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter VII – Vehicle Infrastructure Integration

The banana in my brilliant plan’s tailpipe was Satan, of course. How do you suppose he got his vile reputation in the first place? Just because he smells like rotten eggs and sauerkraut? Putin arrived right on time, but got whisked off by The Prince of Darkness to play golf at his country club, Infernal Acres. As you know, Vladimir always plays golf (or participates in any other sport) shirtless, showing off his flawless tan and perky pectoral implants. I’m not including this detail in my narrative because it titillates me, but because it’s important to the rest of the story, honest. Anyway, when “mom” came up and found a dark office and her son gone, she decided to snoop around his desk in the dim light of his illuminated on-black-velvet paintings. Stepping on the head of his real tiger skin rug, she simultaneously got her foot stuck in its mouth, and tripped. Yelling, “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up,” into her cell phone after calling her son, he moved heaven and earth to get a ambulance there almost immediately, while he and still-shirtless Vladimir rushed from the 2nd hole to his mother’s bedside.

Beside some superficial tooth-marks on her right foot, Satan’s mother was actually unharmed. I would say that she might be a little shook up, but from what I knew of the lady, it would take more than an accident like this to give her even a slight jiggle. In truth she probably only wanted the attention she knew a dangerous spill would generate. She had already been dressed in a hospital gown and irradiated in Radiology by the time The Prince of Darkness and Russian strongman got there. They found her propped up in a hospital bed, repeatedly pushing the nurse’s button and loudly swearing.

Satan freaked and rushed out to get a nurse, not realizing that his mom only wanted to complain that they didn’t offer any adult beverages on their drink menu. This left tanned, buff and pheromoned Vladimir alone with a horny and unbelievably assertive lady whose rear-vented garment came off by pulling two ties in the back. Need I say more? I would feel sorry for the Russian dictator, but anyone who advertises his body by going around like that deserves everything he gets. And, from my experience with the kinky lady, he probably got that “everything,” and more. When I say more, I mean what happened when Satan returned with half the hospital staff in tow, catching them in flagrante delicto. Luckily, Satan’s mom still had a “voice of command” her son would obey, or Putin might have lost his delicto right there and then.

I don’t blame any man for being afraid of Satan, or for fleeing rather than confronting him about banging his beloved mom. It’s understandable and shouldn’t be used to degrade spineless sniveling cowards like Putin who do it. But Vladimir’s duck and dash behind the ol’ Iron Curtain put me back on the spot, especially since “Mother Russia” was Velna and my apartment. It seems his cloned double back home still had 3 days left on his pre-paid employment contract, and you know how cheap Putin is. Considering the many times he had pulled my biscuits out of the closet, I hardly had a choice in the matter. Besides, Velna kind of likes listening to his stories about the good ol’ days at the KGB while trading shots of vodka. It’s useful to learn the lessons of wet-work history, as Santayana said, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to get bitten in the butt when they least expect it.”

But of course, in Hell no good deed goes unpunished. Having Vladimir at my place put ME in the hot seat; and the gas jets under that seat got turned up to “11” when He Who Must Not Be Named asked me to drop by his office. It was pretty clear that he wanted someone to commensurate with about his mother’s recent “situation at the hospital.” Add to this the old bag’s recent unfulfillment, her history of getting the opposite from encounters with me, and penchant for showing up a Satan’s office unannounced, and even a fool could see the danger.

When you get called in for a meeting by Satan, it’s unhealthy to ignore the summons. Sure, you can delay it by10 minutes or so, blaming traffic, but he’s not an entity who’s known for his patience. Sooner or later the debt becomes due, the false flag is raised, and the postman always rings twice. Later was “now,” and Chapter VIII “showtime.”

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter VIII – An Eighter from Decatur

I braced myself for the shock of being sexually harassed by a shameless mother in front of her son, but to my surprise the meeting went smoothly. Sure, Satan ranted and raved, mostly about the results of last year’s election, but sometimes also about what he would do to both Vladimir and “whoever was hiding him.” That was to be expected, but I still didn’t expect to get away Scott free from entering the inner sanctum. That is, I didn’t not think that I wouldn’t be forced into who-knows-what with “mom,” and neither did Scott. I finished up with the Big Guy and hurried away. She wasn’t in the corridor I used to get to the elevator, or in any dark corners or behind potted plants either. It was only later that this was explained by the insight that “50 Shades of Grey” was showing on cable.

But delay was not salvation, and extremism in the pursuit of liberty no vice. I needed a permanent solution, and not just avoidance or an action scene that was both violent and unexpected. But this was in fact the result of the “mole-men” like assault on Illuminati Headquarters by unorganized militia tunneling machines. Fortunately, the machines only move about two and a half feet an hour, even under the best conditions, and the digging noise is quite loud. Having plenty of time to prepare, the Slice Girls had time to finely hone their blades, bring in a public address system for backing music, and even choreograph some dual decapitation dance steps. To Janet Jackson’s “What have you done for my lately?” the Girls once again showed that pride in craftsmanship WAS NOT dead, and that skinning and deboning COULD be done in a single step. Their blades were almost singing along to the music as they traced grateful arcs through the air, with the sound of gurgling blood and death rattles perfectly timed to the beat. Some people would say that murder is simply a chore like any other that should be done as quickly and as efficiently as possible, but I say that its grace and beauty should inspire anyone who sees it, including the victim.

One attacker did make it around the girls by being disguised as a limestone boulder, not counting on my knowledge of the local geology to notice he was out of place. Luckily I had anticipated this or a similar move, and was waiting with a jackhammer. I used this where, from the rock’s movements, I anticipated I would find two smaller “stones,” and gave them a workout they would never have forgotten if they had survived. Then, mounting the jackhammer and riding it like a pogo stick, I finished him off. There were cheers from the crowd of onlookers and grins all around from the Slice Girls, who are always amused by a gory killing. I felt pretty good too, there’s nothing like an aerobic workout for relieving stress, especially if you add a bit of silly whimsy to lift your spirits.

My new attitude gave me new hope. I decided to return home, do some serious planning with Vlad, and make sure one of those plans was his leaving our place. Then, I would square things between him and the Big Guy, find a new gigolo for the Cougar from Hell, and get my life back to normal. It was a nice dream while it lasted, which was up to the point I returned home to find Hillary back together with my fugitive houseguest.

Either the attraction or the anticipated intensity of the make-up sex was so great that it led Former Secretary Clinton to drop by to see if I knew what was up with Putin. Let’s just say that she saw Putin, and was able to use her martial arts skills to get him in a choke hold. But, the similarity to erotic asphyxiation caused a reaction in Vlad, finally letting her “see … what was up.” Romantic memories caused the hate to morph into things so down and dirty they even made me blush as I tripped over them in our entryway. Ignoring me and the two Girl Scouts selling cookies who had followed me in, they kept doing things the young ladies shouldn’t have been exposed to until they had a few more merit badges under their belts. One Girl Scout ran away screaming, the other took notes. I felt like screaming myself, at both of “the adults” for their foolishness! According to the alternative press, the Uranium One scandal had been moments from causing imminent arrests for the last couple of weeks! An FBI probe and two congressional committees were hot on their money-and-sex-scented trail! And these two lust-addled fools were back together again? Please.

It wasn’t until late that night that I was able to talk to my houseguest, and then only with Hillary present, wrapped around Vladimir’s chest and wearing my lacy bathrobe. What I heard was so unexpected, so shocking, that it needs to wait until the next chapter to do it justice.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter IX – Sticky Icky

“Can’t you just lure her into the bedroom, where we can ‘lock her up’ for long enough to escape?” I had whispered to Vladimir Putin as Hillary was using the bathroom. “She’ll be like a beacon, luring He Who Must Not Be Named and his mom here! Quick, while there’s still time!”

But it either must have been love or the results of that “cream” made from thousands of endangered rhino horns she uses, and the Russian Dictator swore he couldn’t lose her again now that he had found her again. That’s a lot of “agains” for a woman who might mean your doom, but who am I to criticize a man thinking with his penis? In fact, I do some of my best mental work with mine, even in realms such as “creative accounting” for our ammonia company. But that’s beside the point, I might have neither the company nor my brain below the belt if Satan found out what was going on.

My sweet wife came up with the solution. It was actually her second suggestion, after, “kill them both,” but this one was more practical. We packed Vladimir’s things up, then hid him and Hillary inside a large steamer trunk, and moved them to the Pindars’ swank penthouse downtown. It was the perfect place for them to hide, the Pindar’s shape-shifting role playing was known to voyeurs and perverts all over the DC area, which of course included Satan. More than once he had laughingly repeated some dirty story about them playing Hillary and Putin, Hillary and Trump, or even Hillary and Pennywise the Clown. Now, if anyone saw anything, the report would be discounted as simply “dress up.” The Pindars agreed, especially once they heard the sounds coming from the steamer trunk (the occupants had asked it not be opened until they were finished).

We ended up having to burn both the trunk and my bathrobe, but that wasn’t important. Coming up with a plan to pull my nuts out of the roaster was. As it turns out, the answer was staring me right in the face, only I didn’t know it. You see, while sex with Satan’s mom might be most men’s worst nightmare, to the anything-for-a-thrill Pindars it would simply be another exotic earth experience. All humans look “funny” to them, don’t cha know. Still I was shocked, when either “Spade” or “Archer” (hard to tell them apart, Reptilians all look funny to me) made the suggestion he become the new boyfriend! Almost immediately the other trumped it by suggesting that he do it, shape-shifted to look like Donald Trump, instead!

It was a brilliant strategy. You see, he was the one person who Satan couldn’t get any madder at, and also the one with 24/7/365 Secret Service protection. If “The Donald” was found porking his mom, the consequences would pretty much be a wash. It was I who suggested that for safety they go as a team, with the other shaped-shifter to impersonate Mike Pence. A well-known Hoosier love machine, his only drawback from a lover’s point of view is he never has lunch or dinner alone with them. Well, I rarely did either, if you don’t like that sue me. Considering my throughput, the only way I could have dined with ALL of them was to put a McDonald’s window at the exit from my bedroom, so it’s best forgotten.

The two Pindars started to salivate and drool at the thought of their forthcoming encounter, which of course only caused Hillary and Vladimir to start up again. They really should learn the value of privacy, if not to them, to others. We left them there in the kitchen, where we had been making martinis with one of those Keurig coffee machines, and went away to refine our plan. It was a good thing we were there or Spade and Archer would have really gone too far, their motto being “Success Through Excess.” I nixed the sheep and all terrain vehicles for the simplicity of leopard-print speedos under fashionable suits, a few silk ropes, and a single snorkel with an attached facemask.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter X – I Marked the Spot

The first challenge was distracting Satan and keeping him and his wife Gladys away from his plush subbasement penthouse, right below work. Since his mother had come to visit, he had been hanging around his office, so he could “drop in and see mom” during the day. And one never knew where Gladys would be, she popped in and out of their apartment at random times for unplanned reasons, mostly binge shopping. Our agenda was for a lengthy “workout” for the sex-crazed senior citizen, the better for binding her heart in true love, obviously incompatible with getting interrupted by “the kids.” So, I arranged for an inspection of “Sesame Street,” and its elite Muppet Squad (“Muppet” is short for “Murderous Puppet”), which was formed for “wet work” in the 60’s. This may sound strange on paper, but in practice it was brilliant. Who would suspect loveable Kermit of being a psychotic murderer? I mean, up to the point he puts on the hockey mask and starts swinging the axe? Anyway, they were being reactivated (Miss Piggy & Elmo being especially keen to return to field work), and I knew The Prince of Darkness was a big “Bert and Ernie” fan. Of course, “Gladdie” would go along for the day; Hollywood was a center or degradation and depravity, a stain on civilization. And the shops were unbelievably expensive. In other words, her kind of town.

Then, I had to get the Pindars into the most secure building in this quadrant and in intimate contact with “mom” at her son’s place in the belly of the beast. Their shape-shifting abilities benefited us there again, along with the fact that Security never delayed or searched any of The Slice Girls. The ladies have a reputation for fast steel and short fuses, and it only took a couple of guards losing their limbs to learn not to touch or search them. So, disguised as Slutty and Serial Killer Slice and dressed in armored bikinis and spike heels, the two Reptilian overlords sashayed right in. Am I good or what?

I didn’t see the resulting orgy of filth and perversion, but laughed along with the lecherous lizards as they told me the sordid details afterwards. As it turns out, they didn’t need their elaborate cover story. Like my first encounter, almost no words were exchanged in way of introduction, only grunts and groans. Events progressed rapidly, bodily fluids were exchanged repeatedly and often, and the carpet and curtains needed to be steam cleaned before Satan returned. Most importantly, Satan’s mom swore her enduring love, or at least that’s what they think she said between exuberant screams. The only wrinkle was the perverted use “mom” found for the steam cleaner just before they were about to leave, but one thing you’ve gotta say about Reptilians is that they know how to stay focused. And, after that many hours, they really did need a break. The “boys” got themselves out before Satan returned, both he and his wife smelling suspiciously of felt.

The next phase of the plan we stole from Romeo and Juliet. We had our “bot” operation send a flurry of Facebook Posts Satan’s way. It was all “fake news” quoting the President and Vice President decrying wickedness and sin, which of course is code speech for the Big Guy. If she didn’t see her son go into a furry first hand, we figured he would be spouting off about it when he unwound at home. Her family’s hate ensnared her heart with love, or at least that’s how I’m writing it here. In truth, it was probably an organ that’s part of the reproductive rather than circulatory system. Regardless, the change in her affections I had been waiting and praying for finally came about. And, as an added benefit, “mom” kept mum about her various adventures (besides the god-knows-what bogus story she told The Evil One about her ravishing Vlad), and Satan remained clueless. His most endearing quality.

Finally, we needed to bring Vladimir back into the old bat’s son’s good graces. The watchword was “patience,” time being the best healer. Besides, “doing nothing” was one of my specialties (I still contend this isn’t “sloth” but “strategy”). Then, when the time was ripe like a watermelon ready to fall, we would engineer some “crisis” that only the cooperation of the Russian dictator could solve, and all would be forgiven. But we didn’t count on what happened in the next chapter, and if you know what side your butt is breaded on, neither should you.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter XI – Love and Kisses XOXOXO

In the lull caused by the strategic wait, I decided to take care of some Deep State issues, one of which coincidently happened to be Uranium One. After assigning the others, all assassinations or tasks that involved cutting (i.e. Judge Roy Moore), to the Slice Girls, I took this one on myself. Perhaps I should start with a short summary of the scam.

The Russians knew that if they could seize approximately 20% of America’s Uranium and Hydrogen reserves, they could make 20% more U-Boats and H-Bombs than the USA, finally winning the arms race. Do the math, it will put them ahead at the finish line by a full length. Cleverly bribing the Clintons by having someone who no longer had a stake in the company contribute to charity years before the “sale,” they further covered it up by having Secretary Clinton not involved in any way, and 9 other also-charity-donation-bribed departments approve it also! Those Russians don’t miss a trick. It cost them more than WWII and the Volga-Don Canal combined, but with all that yellow-cake and even higher-grade red-velvet-cake coming in, the Russian bomb factories were humming.

Unfortunately for Hillary, “The Donald” is one of the smartest people in the universe, and figured it out from clues in what sounded like radio static broadcast from Antarctica. I told Satan we should have plugged that leak years ago, but he refused to let us carpet bomb the suspect area, something about “penguins being cute.” Like hounds pursuing a scent: bloggers, tea partiers, three percenters, info warriors, keyboard warriors, muggers, buggerers, bushwhackers, hornswogglers, white nationalists, train robbers, bank robbers, ass-kickers, shit-kickers and Sean Hannity all rooted out the digital road turnips of corruption. Now, committees in both the Senate and House were holding secret hearings that shattered all previous TV ratings, and the FBI Probe had hit pay dirt. It seemed to be only a matter of microseconds until indictments would come down on all the major players in the Obama Administration, and the entirety of Hillary’s State Department during her tenure, include the janitors. But those people seeming that didn’t count of the power of the Deep State.

First of all, distract, distract, distract. Second, use projection, accusing you accuser of doing exactly what you did. To top it off, Trump actually did most of what we were saying, even though we juiced it up a little, calling a campaign coffee boy who was also a pajama boy a foreign policy advisor and alpha male. We also made it out that a low-level volunteer was the campaign chairman for four months, and that during the campaign Donald Jr. had met with the Russians over 186 times. In reality 183 times “the Russians” were entrepreneurial ladies in dark corners of Moscow subway stations, but it was compromising information none-the-less.

Then we used delay and blockage, constipating the bowels of justice and keeping that sphincter closed tight enough to reject any allegorical enema nozzle. What never sees the light of day can’t hurt you, unless of course it’s your intestines. But a little bloating was nothing compared to what happened next, a complete subversion of the will of the people! Not only treason, but a virtual coup d’etat! Believe you me, I was tired when I came home that evening, but it was a good kind of tired. A tired that a man could look in the eye and say, “Well done! Now let me get out of these wet pants.”

But these fun and games would only last as long as the lull did, and the time for lullabies was over! It was foolish for me to take my eye off Vladimir’s ball (the other one, not the uranium one that was already being “eyed” by Hillary). To wit, his interrupted tryst with Satan’s mom. Even though he was an unwilling participant being sexually harassed, the power and influence of his abuser made her untouchable. Fair or not, all the “sturm und drang” came down on him, and was soon to spill over onto me. Thanks a lot.

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter XII – The Dirty Dozen

In hindsight I shouldn’t have taken the day off, or I could have dealt with issues as they arose. A little voice in the back of my head warned me, but I thought it was my conscience and ignored it. I was feeling good over the successful Uranium One cover up, and decided I had earned a day’s on the beach doing nothing but drinking mojitos and pampering my wife. Oops.

When I came in the next day, I was herded into an “all hands on deck” meeting, where Satan in a gaudy admiral’s uniform told us that his friendship with The President was back “on” and the previous night they had negotiated a deal to privatize the US Navy for $2.5 trillion over 10 years. Well, warships and oceans seem exotic to The Prince of Darkness (there are no large bodies of water in Hell, the lakes being small and made of fire), so he went for it. Lots of boats to play with and decks to strut on wearing braid-covered uniforms with epaulettes and funny hats. I was rolling my eyes with the others when he mentioned the important news, news that took my insides and turned them inside out. The President would be visiting to sign the deal in just a couple of hours!

It was imperative that the President not meet Satan’s mom, or our whole house of cards would come tumbling down! It was also a 100% certainty that Satan would want to show-off this high-level connection and “great deal he had made” to his mother by having her there! Sweating like a traffic cop in a cement mixer, I tried to call the Pindars, figuring they could help me keep the old battle axe out of circulation, but their phones were both turned off. It turned out that they had enjoyed their “meeting” with the “lady” a lot more than they had let on, and had been having her sneak out to meet them at various government buildings around town. Which is where she was at that very moment, in the Jefferson Memorial, with a case of chilled champagne, Archer shape-shifted to look like Vice President Pence, and Spade shape-shifted to look like a National Mall Police horse!

This all would have been fine if they had only kept at it longer, but the horsey smell apparently started to disagree with Satan’s mom due to some bad experience long ago with the mounts of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. So, blissfully unaware due to a misplaced respect which had them turn off their phones so that nothing would ruin the mood, they even let her ride Pindar Spade back home bareback. She arrived mere minutes after the President.

Satan’s asking around if “anyone had seen his mom?” had clued me in, so I had put agents in strategic spots to distract and secure her if she showed. However, there are no bathrooms at the Jefferson Memorial, and all that champagne she drank was “coming due.” I don’t care what kind of martial arts skills you have, just try and waylay a woman who needs to use a bathroom badly sometime. And, of course, one of Satan’s loyal minions saw her, and let the Big Guy know where she was. It was a recipe for disaster, one that would soon be mixed and put into the oven at 350 degrees!

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter XIII – A Dirty Baker’s Dozen

Proud of this first-of-its-kind visit to the nerve center of the New World Order, Satan had video broadcast live via satellite to all Illuminati, Bilderberger, CFR, Tavistock, Skull & Bones, Freemason, Odd Fellow, Shriner, and Toys R Us centers around the world. Bohemian Grove was included, of course. Satan was introducing his “honored guest” using his phony ivy-league accent, when his mother was led in to be seated with dignitaries in the front row.

It happened almost immediately and without warning. At first, the Secret Service thought it was some sort of low-yield explosion and tried to cover the President with their bodies, but found it already covered. The flurry had been caused by Satan’s mom’s jumping with incredible speed out of her seat and onto the podium, powering her way through a Thanksgiving-themed stage-edge decoration made of live turkeys. The squawking, cloud of feathers, and flying giblets only added to the impression that something had blown up. She may have just returned from a multi-hour threesome, but “Mike Pence” was only Vice President, what she thought was her POTUS lover was here and available. As Kissinger said, “power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.” She was on the President in a split second, wrapping her legs around him, and covering his orange face with kisses while she ran her fingers through his hair.

Besides the obvious issue with the Secret Service, her messing with his hair turned out to be her downfall. You see, the Pindars had no way of knowing what was really up there, so when they shape-shifted into his replicate they had real and healthy hair, despite the color. However, in reality it’s a comb-over/toupee/Astroturf/suction cup mishmash that doesn’t react well to being grabbed and pulled. It came off with a “pop,” and almost seemed to jump up. Satan’s mom must have thought it was some sort of giant, hairy, golden spider, and screamed at an ear-piercing volume. President Trump, realizing the un-adorned top of his head was on display for the country’s movers and shakers to see, screamed even louder.

But these weren’t the only screams that happened at that same instant. Satan, absentminded by concern about "where his mom had disappeared to," had left the door to Hell open as he came up right before the start of the President’s visit. This had allowed the smoke and smell from the burning flesh of the damned to permeate the upper areas, by coincidence reaching the auditorium right as this scene was unfolding. Nervous due to the recent “Towering Inferno” incident, Illuminati and fellow travelers joined in the screaming, and in a panic, stampeded towards the door.

It was then I happened to notice what looked like a homeless man near the door make motions indicating that I should come over. Strange, considering the riotous circumstances, but I have a sixth sense about such things. It turned out to be none other than Pindar Spade, who once he had shape-shifted from a stallion back to his human appearance, had checked his phone and seen my 20+ unanswered calls. Being only a block away, he had returned and used the commotion to slip in unnoticed to see what I wanted. He also clued me into what was really going on (a Reptilian’s forked tongue is actually a sophisticated chemical sensor which can identify all odors and types of smoke, including overcooked human souls). Putting our heads together, we came up with a plan that would either solve all our problems, or start an international, interracial, and intercollegiate incident, the likes of which had never been seen this side of the Potomac!

To be continued…

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Chapter XIV – No Longer Named Ivy

Slinking sideways, my shape-shifted Reptilian friend deftly made his way into the adjacent Illuminati Banquet room, where a fleet of chafing dishes were keeping the VIP lunch buffet warm. Rapidly harvesting their Sterno cans, he threw them and a few gallon jugs of VSOP cognac behind him as he returned through the swinging doors. The room seemed to gasp as one as they saw the flames, but then they all went back to screaming again.

Grabbing a fire extinguisher, the homeless beggar that was Pindar Spade made a great show of fighting the flames. The two Reptilian Overlords are actually frustrated ham actors, and this was a great opportunity for Spade to have an audience. Some might say it was a bit “over the top,” but I contend it HAD to be in order to grab attention away from the seesaw battle between Satan’s enraged mom and the Secret Service. Playing them like a cheap violin, the crowd watched breathlessly as one extinguisher after another got used up until … at the last minute when all hope seemed lost … the fire was put out with the final canister’s last sloppy spurt. The applause was deafening. I made it to Satan, who had been hiding behind a tuba in the orchestra pit, to play out the final scene and finish our illusion.

For some unknown reason, the rumor had gone around that our disheveled savior was a low-level employee from the mail room, a charity case who couldn’t see, hear, or speak. The boy’s mail-sorting skills may have left a lot to be desired, but he was cheap and totally secure. We paid him so little that he could only afford to dress in rags, likely the source of the confusion. Satan had overheard this rumor, jumped to conclusions, and gave me instructions on how to reward our rescuer before I could open my mouth. “That deaf, dumb and blind kid, sure had a lot of balls,” he quoted, “but he may have seen or heard something well beyond his security clearance that he could blab about. Liquidate him.”

“That wasn’t Tommy,” I revealed, triumphantly, “The real man you should thank, the he-man of the hour, the man of destiny who just saved us all was Vladimir Putin!”

Spade, who had shaped-shifted to become the Russian dictator under his dirty, disheveled clothes, did a wonderful job of imitating the Russian dictator’s voice and unique speaking style. He modestly explained in broken, heavily accented English, that he had been both hiding under the nose of, and serving as a disguised volunteer bodyguard to, The Prince of Darkness. Familiar with mind-control techniques from his days at the KGB, he saw at once that Satan’s mom had been hypnotized into doing what she did. Certain of foul play, he risked his own life to protect his hero … yadda, yadda, yadda. Not only did it get Putin out of his jam, it gave The Evil One a good explanation to give to the his bosses on the Board of Directors about his mother’s antics. They had all been watching all of this, of course, and were neither impressed nor amused by her behavior. In fact, most of them were in the front row with an unobstructed view and also in the path of flying turkey parts.

As for Satan’s mom, the old lady had survived long enough to know when to keep her mouth shut and let things play out by themselves. Her loving son sent her on a lengthy vacation to Honolulu (what did I tell you in Chapter V?) where her non-transferable return ticket was on a non-stop flight back home. Her original home in the old country, that is. And with the understanding she would stay there, or the now-increased monthly checks he sent to The Scarlet Whore of Babylon, his sister, would cease.

Finally, concerning President Trump, both the Navy deal and the friendship with Satan were “off” of course. The man might forgive you for slander, fraud, or attempting to kill him, but don’t mess with his hair. Especially in public and on video (where it set a YouTube record). Other than the President, Satan and his mom, everyone was happy. And although it’s true that these were three powerful people you don’t normally leave unsatisfied, in this case … screw ‘em! Hillary had Vladimir, Vladimir was off the hook and felt like celebrating with his sweetie, the Pindars had hidden video cameras in their guest room, and Velna and I had our place to ourselves without rude rutting guests or an axe hanging over our head about to fall. Some say evil is its own reward, but it’s nice to have it pay enough to fund the simple things in life from time to time. Like a loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and the love of a good woman. Oh yeah, and an S&W 44 magnum with a couple of boxes of hollow-point shells.

The End

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Epilog – The Final Numeral

Things calmed down after my close shave with losing all my body hair. The Deep State was built to be like a ship on the ocean, sailing steadily towards port and causing untold nausea to those below deck. Sure, sometimes it had to take a slight detour, for example to motor up Roy Moore’s narrow inlet, but mostly it sailed along steadily by itself without much need for a meddling captain. I had time for other pursuits, such as overdubbing some of my XXX-rated (the Roman Empire’s highest, equivalent to “30” today) films in Uzbek. It’s not as difficult as it sounds, the movies aren’t dialog heavy (unless you count moans and howls), and one can make a lot of use out of stock phrases such as, “Ooh, chaqaloq, ooh!” “Otangiz kim?” and “Nega vaqtingizni sarf qildingiz? Buni tarjima qilishni nazarda tutyapman.” My apologies to any Uzbeks who might be reading this at work and have someone looking over their shoulder. Must your faces be red.

Putin either came to his senses or had another tiff with Hillary, and returned home. I could have found out which, but to be honest I’d rather not know. Too much drama, if you catch my drift. Besides, such “on and off,” “love and hate,” “war and peace,” “kissing and stabbing” tales are much more entertaining when done in historic costume, for example, “Game of Thrones.” Speaking of “on and off” etc., you would think that being in charge of the Deep State I would keep a ready finger on the pulse of Satan and The Donald’s relationship, but I do the exact opposite. Let’s face it, whatever they have between them is so volatile that today’s rules will be changing next week, so why concern yourself with them? Just keep two lists of achievements and excuses, using whichever falls into the present circumstances as necessary. At least that’s what I do.

Tommy, the deaf, dumb and blind boy, sued this band who used his story for CSI’s TV theme music, won, and they wrote a “rock opera” about it. Some people have all the luck. Rich and famous, he lives the high life, but ironically, due to his disabilities doesn’t fully realize it.

The news blackout on Satan’s mom has been total and welcome. Not even a hint of a breath of a word, and that word would have been “Yipes!” I sat down and had a long talk with the Pindars right after she was sent away, er, went on vacation, about their not even thinking of starting it up with her again. Especially since I suspected some unfulfilled desires might still linger, stemming from her “going commando” and using a riding crop while bareback on stallion-shape-shifted Pindar Spade. They said she protested that she had learned to ride long before saddles with stirrups were invented, but really… I understood their impulses, but played my best “stern Dutch uncle” and made sure I nipped any rematch in the bud. Not that I was lying, fun is fun, but sooner or later that kind of woman is going to drop you like a hot stick of butter. A real man would beat her to the punch, cowboy up, say “Adios,” bend over, have them give you the penicillin where it will do the most good, and move on. Oh yeah, and don’t plan on riding a horse yourself for the next couple of days.

The End for Real This Time

[Deep Knight]

Deep State Diary
A Good Ol’ Deep Knight Adventure
Endnotes

1. The architect, Doug Roberts, the “Frank Lloyd Wright of Parking Structures,” made an appointment with the Fire Marshall to “ask him... how to build them … so they wouldn’t burn.” This would have been a revolutionary collaboration, but Satan had both of them eliminated because he doesn’t tolerate failure.
2. Satan’s family history is almost non-existent (all records were supposedly burnt during the First Hittite War, which in strange because they were in cuneiform on clay tablets). It is rumored his mother’s family had been in personal injury law and originally emigrated from Western Canada.
3. Only 18 were ever found, and years of dredging the lake haven’t revealed any additional ones, despite what verified official records said. Most eccrinologists admit it will probably forever remain a mystery.
4. “Hellfire” is still used as a trade name, but the alcoholic content had to be reduced to 100 proof to avoid expensive litigation.
5. To this day Satan doesn’t trust redheaded nuns.
6. Easier than it sounds, you simply need have a steady approach and always “keep your powder dry.” Whatever you do, don’t falter at the last minute; you’ll need all your velocity to make it past the dwarf.
7. “On the Singularity of Dualism;” Leicester, Sylvester; J. Soc. Cup. Holder 85-13 (1953) p 111.
8. Ibid
9. Only the right side, and when the left side was plucked, legend says it grew back again in the shape of a gooney bird (Phoebastria megacaca).
10. The Indians won the last game, 6-5, but still lost the World Series to the British. Fans have always blamed biased officials, who were known to have financial links to the Crown.
11. Reptilians, like most Earth reptiles, have two thingies. This isn’t the only reason they think they’re better than the rest of the universe, but it has the longest history and is the one most often featured in their horrible epic poetry.
12. Beef tallow, which is used in pemmican, solidifies at a lower temperature, an oversight that doomed the spacecraft.
13. In actuality it was former President George W. Bush, using voodoo and remote viewing. Like oil painting, it is one of his many skills that are little known to the public.
14. Passau, on the German-Austrian Border. There were several escapes in 2015, but beefed up security prevented any in 2016. A favorite stop of Danube River cruise ships until the recent troubles, it’s known for its bird-shaped carved wooden whistles.
15. This was done by professionals, don’t try it at home. Instead, register in a motel under a phony name, pay in cash, and be sure to get out the next day before the maid comes to clean.
16. There is a room just under the dome and besides the drinking fountain. JFK used to bring Marilyn Monroe there when he got tired to sneaking her into the White House through the underground tunnels. They still scatter sawdust on the floor to this day.
17. He never got used to it, but did it because it pleased her mother. Why she would tell her mother such intimate details has never been determined.
18. He was convicted of dual parking violations and put on the chain gang. If he didn’t know the law, he should never have driven in Mississippi.
19. This was NOT done by professionals and you can try it at home, but why?
20. He once asked his wife, Gladys, if she would marry again if he died before she did. She told him to shut up and go to sleep, it was a stupid question. He persisted and finally, fed up and angry, she gave in and said, “OK, if it makes you happy, then, yes, I’d get married again.” The Evil One mulled on this for a while, obviously a bit upset, and said, “Well, at least you would get a new house and new bed, and not sleep with him in ours, wouldn’t you?” “Nope,” she answered, “I’d stay in the same place and keep the same bed. In fact, I’d let him use everything of yours, your car, your boat, your riding mower.” He worked himself into more of a lather, and finally asked, “But you wouldn’t let him have my prized golf clubs, custom made in Scotland, would you?” “Oh no, you’re right, not those,” she replied, “He’s left handed.”

[Deep Knight]

The Battle of the Bitcoins
A Single Episode Deep Knight Adventure

It's hard to shop for presents for Velna, so when I saw that "Do It Yourself Weapons of Mass Destruction (using common household items)" was on sale online from a store in Russia (where else?), I jumped on it. She loves those large-format, glossy, full-color, "coffee table" books. I also bought a little something for myself, "The Endangered Species Cookbook" and a few odds and ends. The place wanted +5% for using a credit card, and using a credit card to buy things from Russia is casting your fate to the wind, but they had a "Bitcoin" promotion with a whopping 15% off if you used it for the first time. This sounded good to me, so I bit, even though I had never used this "currency" before.

I found this out while "checking out," but the promotion window said I could buy my stuff, then get my Bitcoins and send them to 'em within 6 hours, so I completed my order and went to set up Bitcoin. This involved downloading some "wallet" software, then watching some slow-paced "training" telling you how it works and how to do it.

I needed exactly 0.020021 Bitcoins for my €105.56 ($123.14) order, so I bought that many by credit card from the company that came up on my "wallet," for $137.41, a $14.27 premium. But, since I was saving %20 over the direct use of a credit card ... It was supposed to show up in my wallet in 20 to 30 minutes, but at the end of an hour (with only 4.5 hours left on my purchase) they hadn't shown yet. This started a flurry of e-mails with the seller, who turned out to be in Spain. They said I had my money (but I didn't). When I told them I was going to file a claim with my credit card company and post my experience online, the money finally showed. This was 4+ hours after my purchase. And at a different Bitcoin rate!

It turns out that value of Bitcoins had reached a peak last Wednesday, but then fell 30% until the middle of yesterday, when they started to recover. I believe the volatility was one reason things weren't working right. Bottom line, I finally had my bitcoins, but only 0.019805, not the 0.020021 I needed!

I was upset, but decided I just wanted to buy the book and take my losses. However, I would have had to transfer about $56 minimum into my wallet just to get the few bucks to overcome the difference (something they don't tell you), so instead I changed my order for shipping that didn't have tracking and no odds and ends, reducing the purchase to $0.018286 Bitcoins. Clever, eh? But it turns out that this STILL wasn't enough, because they wanted slightly less than 0.002 bitcoins ($11.70 equivalent) for a "confirmation fee" of some sort (there are various levels of priority, this was the lowest which they said might take up to 4 hours - this is basically a sweetener for the people who actually process the payment). Again, something they only tell you about obliquely, in "you can pay more to get it faster" implying it's free for the slower priority. So, finally at 11:00 last night I canceled the second book, brought the cost (still with a Bitcoin discount) down to 0.015205 bitcoins and placed my order. I have $10 and change in Bitcoin left, which I believe would cost me about $11.70 to use, and I'll be damned if I ever use Bitcoin again.

Final tally. To keep from spending $5 to buy a $110 book, and get an additional $15 in savings, I ended up spending $137 or $22 more. @#$%&!.

The names of the purchased items have been changed so you don't think I'm strange, but the otherwise this story is more-and/or-less 100% true (I embellished the XXX-rated scenes just a bit, but you probably took those with a grain of salt anyway). Bah Bitcoin!

Update. Bitcoin sites, now with Malware! My scanner found a bunch that I "caught" yesterday while setting up Shi..., er, Bitcoin etc. Like herpes, the gift that keeps on giving.

Update #2. The verdict from online? I WAS scammed (I purchased a fixed amount of Bitcoins and didn't get all of them), but I'll never see that again or have any recourse for the system being misrepresented in the tutorials. I did get a couple insights. #1, there is probably a reason an online store offers a 15% discount for an untraceable money transfer. And probably a reason I wouldn't like, money laundering is only the first thing that comes to mind. It was Eastern Europe (but not Russia, I just like insulting Putin & Co.), and not books (I only did that for the silly titles), but instead a fixture and bracket for our "Victorian Bathroom." And, for all you people with minds in the gutter, these aren't for some block & pulley system for you-know-what, in keeping with the theme, in this room only the missionary position is permitted. #2 Next time, I'll read the reviews BEFORE I jump in.