Z-anon-sensei Speaks #77

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“He who has blockaded himself is like a pheasant, while he who waits outside is like a hawk.” Musashi

Meanwhile, back in the WhoreHouse, Pretendident Thump is admiring his view of the new protective walls that surround “the people’s house.” Which people? Only the people who matter, he thinks, unconsciously quoting his father. Thump has been studying the sayings of Lincoln. Blake Steele sent him a link to look at, to pick a few to put into his acceptance speech. He hasn’t gotten very far, but he likes what he’s read so far. Thump thinks, “What part of ‘government of the people’ don’t those people I govern understand?” Thump has a tendency not to read to the end of things, even short quotations.

Pretendident Thump loves that other Lincoln quote about the people, too. He even keeps a special version of it on his desk. Thump’s version, on a small plaque, says “You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, and that’s good enough for government work!”

Thump decides to tell his staff he won’t accept any election result other than his own stunning victory. No fooling around. It’s got to be a landslide. Anything else would be fraud, a hoax, a liberal communist coup. Elections are just a coup anyway, aren’t they? The people he governs voting him out? That wouldn’t mean governing them, would it? That’s just wrong. Why not ditch the whole thing and let him be king? His son, Prince Thump, already has the right name, right? But Burr says, not yet. Not yet! Reminds him of Pootie saying “Nyet!” Thump hates that. Thump has been watching some Twitter videos about Belarus. There was something about it in the verbal intel briefing he got the other day, too, he thinks, but he can never quite focus on those briefings. But this video, now it said Lukashenko got 80% of the vote. That’s really something! If he could beat that number, Thump thinks, that would be beautiful. Maybe 85, 90! Greatest ever. And after that, why not hang on for a third term? It’s only right, right? He can just say it’s a do-over because he was spied on. Ary can write it up for him in one of those PEADs he was talking about. And if he needs any backup, a little extra muscle, you know, maybe Pootie will help him like he has offered to help Lukashenko.

Thump gets bored for a second. A squirrel runs through the newly renovated GrossGarden outside his window and is snatched by a looming carnivorous plant. He watches, amused, then picks up his phone. Using the opposite-of-everything cypher (the only one he can remember), Thump types out a tweet accusing Michelle Obama’s speech to the virtual DNC calling for unity of being “divisive”. Because of course unity is divisive. Blake Steele corrects some misspellings, okays the tweet and sends it out. He’s a filter, now for Thump’s tweets, as much as possible, anyway.

And the ad revenues just keep rolling in. Today Thump is hawking another snake oil remedy for the Covid. O-lee-olee… something oily, anyway. He can’t say it right, but he can see the dollar signs. And this is way less embarrassing than selling beans, which Steele told him was bad PR. But Steele says this is fine, because he can spin it as if it’s not about the money but about caring for the American people. How cool is that? Sell stuff and look noble at the same time. Yes, Thump thinks, this Covid deal is pretty good for selling stuff. Maybe he can keep it going for a while.

Z-anon-sensei says MK-ULTRA was a spin-off of the Morale Operations division. The Division itself had divided amoeba-like into two independent sub-sections. One was concerned with operations involving large groups of people, from church congregations and hippie cults to enemy armies and the populations of entire countries. “Morale Operations: Group”, it was called, or MOG for short. PR, propaganda, and media infiltration all fell under MOG’s jurisdiction. The other division of the MO division was involved with morale operations as they concerned individuals. MO:Individual. Soldiers, for example, functioned best in certain psychological states of mind, and MOI studied all possible methods for creating those conditions. Drugs for preventing sleep could be valuable in battle scenarios, other drugs can relieve anxiety or heighten aggression. Training began to be shaped by the science of psychology, following the ^darkside path, conditioning soldiers to better hold up to the mental rigors of combat in much the same way athletic training prepared their bodies.

In the period following the Korean War all these methods of improving individual morale were combined in the service of a pure ^darkside goal: the complete mental control of the individual. Brainwashing was the label picked up by the media. The utility of such mind control was obvious to the brass, and funds flowed to MOI to develop the necessary technologies. MK-ULTRA was the research project formed to achieve this goal, well-funded by that fresh stream of tax dollars. Buried under many layers of classification, MKU had few restrictions and even less oversight. And the workings of MKU tended toward the wild side.

Xenon lay in the dark for a long time, trying not to think. When the lights came on, a plate of food and a bottle of water was waiting by the door. Xenon sat up on the edge of the cot and thought about getting the food. It looked far away, and she wasn’t sure it was worth the effort. She was wearing thin white pants and a thin white short-sleeved button-down shirt. White panties and white no-sleeve T underneath. The pants were too long and dragged under her feet. Which were bare.

Before the interrogation started, she had still been in her own clothes. She didn’t want to think about them changing her while she was under. She truly didn’t want to think about any of that at all. She wondered what they had done with her pack, with her streaming gear and protest stuff. Her phone. Damn. She wondered if the legal aid folks from BLM had figured out she had been grabbed. Legal aid made bail for arrested protesters, but she’d been far from the protests when they snatched her. That memory brought the thought of fuckin’ Mick into her mind for a moment but she tried to push it down. She would literally kill that turd next time she saw him, no matter what Sashi had told her about karma! It would be karma. If she ever saw him again.

Something about that “if” caught in her throat. A great vacancy seemed to loom up in her chest, a swelling darkness that was labeled “the future”. If. If what? If anything at all. It struck her hard that she literally had no idea what was going to happen to her. No future? What did that even mean? For the first time in a long, long time, Xenon cried.

Nuff said.


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