---

Jack's Fables

hosted by www.howtotellagreatstory.com

 

This piece may NOT be freely reprinted. Please contact the author [see below] for re-print rights.

 

 

The Moon’s cheese stocks are getting low…

 

“I can see him quite clearly. He’s eating some kind of meat. What a slob.

 

There was nothing doing on the weapons front. Why the hell did they ask me to check it out again? ‘Upstairs’ covering their backs. But they will never publicly admit to remote viewing, so what’s the point?

 

Soddom works for us as well. One day we’ll end up working for neither ‘side’ and then the fun will start.”

 

Joe Scuttleburger IV was becoming increasingly disillusioned. As head of BAS [Burgers and Sausage], the code name for the Remote Viewing Agency, he could be the messiah one week, a pariah the next.

 

Scuttleburger’s staff had been providing quality intelligence for three decades. His team had given ‘upstairs’ all they required. The trouble was, unlike parts of the machine which employed professional liars, ‘Scut’ told it exactly as it was.

 

It was far easier to massage and manipulate lies, turning them into bigger lies, than to massage the truth. So much so that the incidence of mental illness and breakdown in the Sexing-Up Agency [SUA] was verging on an epidemic.

 

My enemy’s enemy is my friend’ no longer cut it. Staff were very jittery. The strapline was ‘my enema’s enema is my friend.’

 

The Head of SUA was Callista Brambell. She and Scut ‘had their differences.’ She called him a fake, and had no confidence in remote viewing, despite BAS’s incredible track record. He never had a bad word to say about her, which made her even angrier.

 

BAS always seemed one step ahead of the latest tissue of lies to emerge from SUA. President Toad was kept continuously in the dark and fed **** by the machine. His nickname was ‘The Mushroom.’

 

Toad and Scut were members of the Knives and Horns Club from their university days. Scut was almost unshockable. He only got caught out when he or his staff hadn’t had time to ‘view’ what was going on in advance of the latest machine inspired outrage.

 

Toad was a drug-snorting drunk at university. When he was ‘elected’ thirty years after being groomed for office, Scut remained implacable.

 

“If it wasn’t the Mushroom, it would have been the Lizard [another Knives and Horns member]. The Lizard was a psychopath, and he looked like a lizard. The conspiracy theorists would have had a field day. No, the Mushroom is a saint in comparison,” said Scut to his senior staff one day, after Toad had tried to convince everyone the Moon was made of green cheese.

 

“My fellow toadstools,” announced Toad at his weekly press conference, “We are getting in reports of food shortages from all over the country. And I know you’ll know it’s true when you start getting hunger pangs. My people are highly trained. They know when you can’t feed yourselves or your families, food is getting harder to come by.

 

But don’t you worry your stupid little heads about it; I don’t. I’ve been talking to some of my other people. Joe Scut and I went to university together. He’s head of BAS, which as you know, is our specialist agency looking at burgers and sausage, our staple diet.

 

Joe has been trying to persuade me that the Moon isn’t made of green cheese. But, my fellow funguses, we know different, don’t we?

 

So, by sending up a few JCB’s to the Moon, and Joe’s people can tell us exactly where to land, we can mine the cheese, and bring it back home to solve our food problems. Praise the Lord for giving me this idea.”

 

Scut had no problem with the green cheese nonsense. Let Brambell sort it out. After all, Toad was convinced burgers grew in burger patches, Santa was the CEO of Croak, the soft-drinks maker, and fluoride boosted brain power. But one line in the Mushroom’s speech made Scut sit up and take notice:

 

“We have to watch the Mushroom more closely. Some press hacks might now be thinking what has an agency that deals with food have to do with Moon navigation?”

 

“Fine boss, “said Hank Bromide, Scut’s most senior viewer, “But every time I tune into President Toad, it takes me days to normalise. I act like an imbecile, and I’m scared you’ll think it’s me.”

 

“No chance Hank. We’ve all been there. If after viewing Toad you talk sense, I’ll know then you’ve lost the plot. It seems the President has been drinking too much fluoride lately.”

 

Laughter all round at BAS, but no such joy at SUA. Brambell was tasked to write a report proving the Moon was made of green cheese, so that attention would be diverted away from Scut and his secret operations. And the report would show the government was taking food shortages seriously.

 

Brambell suspected Scut had deliberately put Toad up to his [now famous] green cheese speech. She knew about their university days together, the Knives and Horns Club, and, despite her public rubbishing of Scut and all his works, she knew from BAS reports that alien life existed both on the Moon and Mars.

 

Yes, even though the President wouldn’t know an alien if it joined him for breakfast, Scut could justify his existence and his budget increases when the ‘JCB’s’ got to the Moon, and mission staff made contact with the aliens under the cover of the cheese mining scam.

 

Scut had to be stopped. Burger patches, Santa and fluoride [and sugar, MSG, ‘diet’ drinks, mercury-laced injections, microwaving small towns] she could [and did] handle, but the Moon is made of green cheese? No way Jose.

And yet Callista Brambell was, for the first time in life, doubting herself. Scut and his crew might just be able to read minds, and ‘view’ psychically what the SUA was about to get up to.

 

From her own in-house briefing, she knew our bodies were biochemical and electrical transmitters and receivers. She also knew about morphogenetic fields. She used them in her work. If enough idiots bought into the idea of burger patches, it would soon become common knowledge and accepted wisdom. And burger patches could be ‘sold’ though the medium of television, cartoon, celebrity and product placement in films. All they needed was Britney Queers being molested [or finding treasure] in a burger patch in a low-budget [or obscenely expensive, who’s paying?] video, and hey presto, who doesn’t know burgers come from burger patches?

 

So, yes Scut could tap into minds. But weren’t those minds addled by chemicals, microwaves, fear, lies and dross in the media and from government?

 

And despite the fact she was one of the biggest players in the world of lie manufacture, her mind was like a steel trap. The SUA offices had lead-lined walls, and it was even rumoured a dedicated member of BAS’s team intercepted enemy psychic transmissions or readings.

 

As she pondered and reflected, she began to realise Scuttleburger IV and his team were not only doing a good job, indeed an essential job, but in reality, a job far more important than that of the machine’s premier agency, SUA.

 

Yes, the public could be conned into believing just about anything. But Scut’s people could find out what was actually going on, and likely to go on, something she could never do. If Soddom was about shave off his body hair, BAS staff would know about it. BAS staff head read Castro’s mind, spied on China, the Soviet Union and the own citizens.

 

Ordinary people could become trained as remote viewers by attending commercial courses. The key to this and just about every challenge to the facade that was a ‘democracy’ was to keep ‘the truth’ low key, and rubbish or take out anyone who said more than they should.

 

Psychics, so what? A few silly sods who could connect us to the ‘other side.’ What other side? God wasn’t happy, so on your own head be it.

 

Brambell and her commercial allies could persuade the public black was white, white black and life was a celebrity whirl. And even the lowest scumbag off a trailer park could become a celebrity. A short lived one. Fags, booze, drugs and food would kill them, but hey, live fast, die young!

 

The mean streets are dangerous, carry that knife. Are you a really big man? Buy a gun.

 

Hadn’t Brambell and her people convinced everyone Soddom was behind the blowing up of the Statue of Liberty, even though he was dead? And that Asians/Arabs [they area all the same] had genetic defects, making hem 9.5 times more likely to think about becoming vegetarian.

 

Wasn’t it true that pacifists were the most dangerous people on the planet? By not wanting to kill other people, or hate other countries and their cultures, where would all that hate and anger go? It could only go in one direction. Inwards, towards themselves.

 

Pacifists hated themselves! We were born flawed, God said so. God was full of anger and hated sinners. We were created in God’s image so we are full of anger and hate. The media does a belt and braces operation to ensure we are fed hatred and anger daily.

 

So, the pacifists are disasters waiting to happen. They hate themselves, so suicide bombing is a natural career choice. They have to be stopped. Round up the closet suicide bombers!

 

“Callista, Callista, are you alright?” asked a concerned senior SUA clone, having seen her boss’s face contort with every emotion once known to man.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I was just reflecting on all the good work we have done over the years, and how pacifists were plotting to destroy it. Mad, wild-eyed militant pacifists! They have no morals. They want to stop our young men in the armed forces from doing God’s work. They are agents of Satan. We must control their movements. We must weed them out before birth. All pacifists have a unique genetic coding. Castrate and sterilise those with pacifist tendencies. We know who you are!”

 

Brambell had completely forgotten about Scut and his budget. Pacifism was the greatest threat to national security. She would take this straight to the Lizard. The Lizard [who never became interested in electoral politics, preferring to exercise power far beyond Toad could ever dream of through his family’s banking empire] knew the score, and could only be impressed.

 

The SUA had nearly completed the report about the Moon and green cheese. They had decided to add a sting in the tail, captured in its title:

 

Preserving the Moon’s Cheese Stocks At A Time Of Rising Demand. The Project For A New Antediluvian Century.

 

Brambell couldn’t have cared less. She had gone [officially] underground to infiltrate any movement which rejected murder, lies and state t*r*or as its raison d’être. She had become a pacifist, and was never heard of again. The Lizard replaced her with a robot.

 

Joseph Scuttleburger IV retired. He knew it was only a matter of time before a new world order emerged, making wars obsolete. It was no longer an option to keep playing off heads of state against each other. The next wars would be fought in the mind, and he was having none of it. Let Brambell or her successor do it in the time leading up to mass mind control.

Scut was sometimes used as a back-up at airports when the microchip scanners went down.

 

At the butt-end of government, President Toad aka ‘The Mushroom’ made his final speech:

 

“My fellow slaves, I stand before you toady [good eh?] on the brink of retirement. You all know me as a washed-up, drugged-up simpleton who has a sensible thought-free zone under his skull. And you are right.

 

I haven’t clue what I’m saying most of the time, because my old friend the Lizard pulls my strings. My pal Scut and his team can read minds. He has nothing to do with cholesterol and steroid riddled crap. The Remote Viewing team know what’s going on in the world before it happens. Never let the Lizard and his kind ever tell you different.

 

But because I’m a buffoon, you will buy into the cock-up theory of history.

 

They con you into feeling powerless. They tell you about ‘free markets’, and the inevitability of economic collapse. Oh yes, blame the ‘greedy bankers’, and to some extent that is true. But there is nothing natural or an ‘act of God’ about a recession, or a war, or an epidemic.

 

I’m off to the Moon soon to meet more of my old friends. This time, serving and current members of the Knives and Horns Club. I’m very partial to a glass of fluoride with my green cheese, but wouldn’t recommend it; you end up becoming a moron.

 

Have a nice day on your doomed planet!”

 

JS, November 2008.

 

 

---