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The Art of The Conspiracy

The Art of The Conspiracy

In a dimly lit bar ensconced in the chill of a capitol hill winter afternoon, sit three men.

 

 

They are holding an impromptu meeting in light of some unexpected events. The three do not know each other but of each other. That’s the way this deal goes down.
That’s the way they like it. That’s the way it needs to be.

The first one to speak, with some reluctance, was the bearded one.

“If you recall, our most recent meeting discussed giving guidance, mentoring if you will, to a known public figure that may have desired to concoct a conspiracy involving a yet to be identified public figure.”

“I thought we knew who he was and what he wanted,” said the nondescript bartender.

“Shut your trap, you know he likes to dramatize for effect,” whispered Mr Panama.

“Well , we do know the man and certainly the world knows him, “ replied the bearded one.

“ To summarize, part of our council was to advise against direct involvement. Instead, we strongly suggested conspiracy by proxy, that he go through a third party to mechanize events.”
“Mechanize? Has he been watching too many mob movies?” uttered the unassuming bartender.

“Well, if he has do you really want to make him angry?” whispered Mr. Panama.

“Excellent point.”

“Well,” continued the bearded one. “It seems said public figure has ignored our advice and taken direct action. We are here to discuss potential fallout and can we say plausible deniability.”

“Um, yes, we can, um, I can,” answered the nondescript bartender.

“That wasn’t a question you dolt,” interjected Mr. Panama.

“Of course. I knew that. Hey, can I have a better name,” asked the nondescript bartender.

“No, as a member of a conspiracy, nondescript is perfect. It is , well, nondescript,” replied Mr.Panama. “That does remind me of a similar issue. Mr Bearded One, For clarities sake can I suggest we give those involved more distinct monikers?”

“Monikers? Did you just get a thesaurus,” asked the bartender.

“Yea, I’m improving myself. You gotta problem?

“No, It’s just an observation.”

“Distinct Monikers,” echoed the Bearded one. “Yes, we can do that. Let’s call the person seeking advice “pompadour.” His recently identified subject of the conspiracy will be called “the judge.”

“Oh, the picture is becoming clearer now,” said the nondescript bartender.

“Good because I thought I was going to have to do a paint by numbers thing with you two,” mumbled the bearded one.”

“It’s all over the news. How could we not connect the dots,” stated Mr. Panama.
“Yes, which is precisely the problem,” replied the Bearded One. “We need to make sure
we are insulated.”

“Refresh my memory. How did he get a hold of us in the first place,” asked the Bartender.

“A sandwich delivery with shall we say a little fiber,” replied the Bearded One.

“Oh, the old note in the sandwich trick,” said the Bartender.

“Yes but delivered to one of our couriers who then delivered it to the Bearded One,” added Mr Panama.

“So we are untraceable?”

“We Should be,” said the Bearded One.

Just then the front door burst open and on its heals followed the last of the winter sun.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway in the shape of a man who could have been Elvis or some other guy with a pompadour.

“Oh no,” uttered Mr. Panama.

“How did you find us?” asked the barman.

“I just asked around for the best Margaritas on Capitol hill,” replied the new but confused arrival.”

“What’s with the miniature poodle on your head,” asked the barman.

“Oh, I let her do that as a puppy. Now it’s the only way she’ll go anywhere with me.

Who’s On First ( The Perfect Conspiracy Theory Continued)

Who’s On First ( The Perfect Conspiracy Theory Continued)

In a neighborhood pub in the shadow of the Nations Capitol an unassuming bartender stood post behind the bar. In one hand was a dishtowel and in the other was the same pint glass he had been polishing for the last hour.

   The bar had a supply of clean glasses that could survive several friday nights of fraternity parties but it was what people expected of bartenders.He was all about service.

It was at times like these his imagination tended to escape the shadows of the murky pub and explore the boundaries of reality.

The bartender glanced up at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was about time for a visit from the bearded one. Right on cue the door opened and a shaft of afternoon light barged its way in outlining the man he only knew as the bearded one. When the door had closed and the sunburnt silhouette had faded from his retina he found the bearded man standing in front of him while he waited for his next conspiratorial proclamation.

“My sources say the penny ruse is run amok and the stage is set for Cabal phase 2. I shan’t stay for a beer. I must be off,” said the bearded one and in the blink of an eye he was gone.

Oh I think you already are, thought the bartender.

Mr. Panama will be happy to hear the news. There was no telling when he would show up. Mr. Panama prided himself on his unpredictability.

Mr. Panama often said that he did not live his life in patterns so as to be impossible to follow. The bartender thought Mr Panama lived in a multitude of dimensions but reality wasn’t one of them.

The bartender returned the glass to the shelf and started on another one.

The sound of throat clearing caught his attention and he turned around and low and behold Mr Panama had silently appeared sitting at the bar. I hate when he does that, he thought.

“Has the bearded on been here today,” asked Mr. Panama.

“That would be a yes,” replied the bartender.

“Did he have recent news pertaining to our mutual venture,“ asked Mr. Panama.

“Oh the cabal?”

“Ix nay on the abal cay”, whispered the panama wearing one.

“Oh I’m sorry. Yes, he said something to the effect of “the penny ruse is run amok and the stage is set for Cabal phase 2. I shan’t stay for a beer. I must be off.””

“Very well but I’m confused about the beer part.”

“Well, he couldn’t stay for a beer. I should have left that bit out.”

“Yes, well it sounds like he believes the true goal is really the misdirection. “

“Oh, that’s bad.”

“Au contraire, that is good.”

“It is?”

“Yes. Remember that our main goal really is to keep the penny in circulation.”

“Oh, that is not the diversion?”

“No. The beauty of the plan is that the diversion is the goal.”

“But isn’t Mr. Beard part of the conspiracy?”

“Well yes and no.”

“Oh. Well, who’s on first?”

“Pardon?” replied Mr. Panama.

“Sorry, I’m just a little confused.”

“Mr. Beard is part of the plan. He plays the role of the unwitting conspirator.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.”

     And I must be playing the role of the unwitting bartender, he thought as he returned the newly polished glass to the shelf.

“Now that that is settled. I shan’t stay. I must be off,” said Mr. Panama

The barmen turned around and noticed that the man had left without a sound. Even the squeaky door was silent.

The barman shook his head and thought “Who’s On First” was much easier to follow. How did I get involved with this charade? I think they both must be off.

Fostering Paranoia (Brewing The Perfect Conspiracy cont..)

Fostering Paranoia (Brewing The Perfect Conspiracy cont..)

The good stuff. Lies and trails to nowhere. Disinformation, subterfuge and
disingenuous relationships. The good stuff. The fun stuff.

Any good conspiracy or at least one worth a book or hollywood movie contains the good stuff.
The good stuff organizes the people that have taken notice of strange goings on and points them in several directions at once.

Its the original ‘hey look over there’ gag with the part of your uncle played by a group whose goal is something a little more nefarious than
stealing your french fries.

A good campaign of disinformation can foment paranoia among those that think they are on to something. When this happens, the odds that the conspiracy will be successful goes up tremendously.

Those that are suspicious will start to see conspiracy in every nook, cranny and
shadow around them.

Once the phrase “but that’s what they want you to
think” is uttered, their credibility, if they had any, is totally blown.

If they are lucky they can get a book deal, if not they may find themselves
spending hours in therapy with an occasional trip to the pharmacist for
some ‘calming’ medication.

..Capitol Hill bathed in the shadows of the afternoon sun. It was late
August and the Hill was doing something it did well, making people sweat
and spreading corruption. Quite often the two are related.

A ceiling fan lorded over the patrons in a nondescript bar a few blocks
from Capitol Hill. It rotated at a teasing rate that said “Yea, maybe I can turn
faster. Wouldn’t you like to find out.”

Beneath the fan sat two gentlemen each nursing a beer. Both were
wearing the same gold and black signet ring. Both had the same build and
were around the same age. But for the beard of one and the Panama hat
of the other they would be hard to tell apart.

“So what’s on the agenda today. I hope its the good stuff. I have been
waiting quite a while for the good stuff,” said Panama.

The Beard opened a manilla envelope and pulled out one sheet of 4×5 notepad paper. “It says here that we are getting some attention and need to start our previously discussed campaign of disinformation and paranoia.”

“Alright. The good stuff,” exclaimed Panama.

Fun with the good stuff.

Brewing The Perfect Conspiracy Theory

Brewing The Perfect Conspiracy Theory

Two blocks from capital hill at the end of an unassuming street sat a neighborhood bar. In a sparsely lit corner of the bar a small table is occupied by a rather nondescript gentleman. A narrow shaft of light cuts across his chin, arcs across the table and exposes a weathered hand that has raised quite a few toasts over the years. A sparkle of light flashes from his ring finger as he raises a cold glass of freshly poured ale.

Behind the bar a young man is prepping garnishes for the happy hour rush. A twinkle in the corner of the bar catches his eye. He remembers the ring the man wore and figured that as the source of the flash. Nothing about the man was remarkable but the ring and its strange carousel symbol was interesting enough to lodge in his memory.

The man had mentioned that he was meeting up with someone and they should be here shortly. The young man wondered if his confidant would also be wearing a strange ring.

That would be cool, he thought. Maybe some kind of conspiracy is afoot

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