J. Croft
ONCE UPON A NIGHT AT A BAR, WITH A TRAITOR
Thu Aug 31, 2006 14:34

 
ONCE UPON A NIGHT AT A BAR, WITH A TRAITOR

J. Croft
freedomguide.blogspot.com

WARNING: The following is absolutely made up, it’s just some drunken ranting so you can just go back to sleep Mr. and Mrs. ‘Murika. Chumps.

This happened a few years ago, right before we invaded and conquered Iraq. It was at a stereotypical chain sports bar, in the middle of suburbia amid the great mass of Middle America-“flyover country” to the person I had this bar conversation with.

I was on my computer, and… you ever get a feeling you should do something, go someplace? I’m not talking the average notions that enter our noggins, I’m talking grab you by your very soul and go do it right now, damnit!

I did there and then, and that compulsion was to hit this one bar. (1)

Now, I like hanging out at bars and drinking, having some food to soak up the beer so you’re still good to go on the drive home afterward.(2) So this was looking to be a good ideal, cuz I like hanging at this particular bar… it’s one of those chain bars but they have decently sized drafts at decent prices and the food’s good (tasting) enough so I went.

I go in, hang at the bar and it’s in a horseshoe configuration. I go and sit: in the middle,sat this howdy-doody redhead looking yuppie dude. I’m talking bowl cut redhead, a flaming rich assed preppie with the gay gator shirt, shit-eating grin, texas drawl, y’all and he was so obviously SLUMMING IT at my bar.

This person’s air… I got to comment on the “air”, the attitude people give off.

People have a presence that goes beyond the sum of posture, cleanliness, health, dress, the look on their face; it’s the manifestation of their spirit. Their spirit that reflects the totality of their lives; what they’ve experienced, learned, done.

And this cat’s presence… it was like watching a great white shark in a school of minnows… in a rare moment of contentment with his appetite, yet perfectly capable of using a hundred different means to literally destroy any one of us at that bar that night.

His beady gaze, his eyes: underneath the well-practiced joviality he had the eyes of a cobra. This, in other words, was a man to reckon with in spite of the preppie frat boy image he pumped out so hard.

And this dude was unusually outgoing, engaging. The dozen or so other dudes and one withered up old bar skank-and especially myself-would say a few things, between beers and eating watch the NASCAR. Or, zone out in thoughts about the half dozen or so things in our small, ordinary lives, that crop up to the beat of Metallica and Pearl Jam.

But not the Texan. His voice booming he’d talk to anyone and everyone-this asshole’s some kind of politician! Okay, he’s young so he’s some kind of aspiring politician-which is even worse because everyone knows a aspiring politician has a whore’s morality with the hungry ruthlessness of a crackhead… There’s a bit more to this though-his voice is familiar to me somehow, I heard it before but I’m racking my beer-soaked brain trying to figure out where…

Anyway, this dude, first time at this bar, wants to get everyone involved in a big across the bar conversation, manufacturing a social moment, and the first comment was on NASCAR. Now me with a couple of drafts in me, I let it rip. I tell everyone “NASCAR is the redneck golf.” (C’mon. It is, admit it; unless you’re actually DRIVING it’s a colossal waste of time.)

“Only way that “sport” could get my attention is if they mounted machine guns on their cars”.

That got Tex’s attention, which is what he wanted as politicians are attention junkies. He mainly took offense at me using golf to rip on NASCAR. Being drunk-and a rifleman/patriot-and not having the best of judgement I tell him that golf ranges are a waste and should be made into rifle ranges.

Yes, in spite of the less that subtle sense this guy was dangerous, I shoot my mouth off.(A tactical mistake, yes, revealing my politics so brazenly-but see, I was drinking at the time and I’m typing this now so it’s all good.)

That ended that for a couple minutes, and some folks cleared out. I drank, ate my food, listened to the metal, watching howdy-doodie charm the bar skank and the others. Most of them cleared out.

“Hey, come over her and sit by me. I’ll buy you a beer.”

You’d do the same thing; amble on over and get that drink. So I went and dude spazes all of a sudden:

“YOU DON’T HAVE A GUN, DO YOU?!”

He said it in a outwardly stern voice-yet underneath there was a palpable sense of fear, like he felt vulnerable... as vulnerable as any of us "common folk".

At this point out of the corner of my eye I see this Mr. Clean looking weightlifter in the tight fitting white t-shirt rise, looking ready to do battle. He was obviously a Soldier, and a very experienced one at that, and any battle with him wouldn’t have made him break a sweat.

Having left my gun at home(see note #1) anyway I could tell him the truth: uh, no, I say exactly.

“Good.” The political crack whore says. Mr. Clean sits back down and becomes irrelevant to the rest of this completely fictional story, dude then throws down his politics in a confrontational manner: “you support Israel don’t you?” Confronting me with a “you’d better say the right damn thing” attitude.

Now I ...ing lie: Yeah. Sure. I say. And here it hits me where I heard him before when he introduces himself(3). Hits me like lightning when I realize I heard him on the radio!

(Tex was a caller at a popular talk show I at onetime listened to ‘til they showed their true colors and stuck with the official line about 9/11. They had on this author who wrote a book about two prominent politicians belonging to this secret society at this prestigious university. Tex identified himself as a member-from a old political family dating back hundreds of years, and with royal ancestry to boot. He talked about how when he was a kid, he broke into his Granddad’s footlocker full of the crap their secret society used. Talked about how his Granddad, who never was hostile to him beat Tex like he’s never been beat before or since. He called in mainly to defend that power cult he was in, that everything wasn’t so conspiritorial as the author was claiming. )

So: here was the reason I was so compelled to come to this particular bar on this particular night. Embracing Destiny, I sit next to him, he orders me a beer having paid by credit card as millions of brainwashed ‘murikans have been trained to do at 18% APR, and up.

Dude throws some flattery in my way, complimenting me about my leather jacket; then makes a comment that styles repeat themselves, showing off a little of his extensive education.

He starts talking about his family; his was in politics since the Revolutionary War he states. Feeling my cojones, wanting to test him a bit I ask a question to probe a conspiracy theory: “So, you’re like royalty, aren’t you?”( Through my years of study I’ve found that there are a few, interbred “royal” clans that really run this planet’s civilizations. ______ was I believe one of those. Google “Illuminati families”)

Yeah, that tested him; he suddenly got uncomfortable on me, catching him off guard: he was actually shaken, like I stumbled upon some vile family secret-and I bet I did.

“Uh, yeah.”

He talked about the coming second round of fighting with Iraq; about how his brother went off to war(SUPPOSEDLY), and his parents laying out the plan for his life. Basically, he’d get this symbolic post where his signature would be used for one of the many licenses the state requires of you. Dude was in town because he had a swearing in ceremony 9 AM, so logically one of his “regality” would want to get bombed to numb the obvious discomfort of dealing with the commoners.

So, I thought, let’s ask him another penetrating question; this time about foreign policy. So I ask him about the at that time Islamic Gold Dinar being pushed by the Malaysian President Mahtahir as a trade substitute for the dollar. I also asked about Saddam Hussein’s attempt before we invaded to lead a Muslim uprising in switching payment of crude oil to the euro.

“Well, you have to understand that the coming war is about keeping control of the oil.” Understanding that America’s economic hegemony has been reduced by deliberate surrendering of our economic infrastructure to the dollar being the universal reserve currency backed by our military.

Dude then got nasty, suspicious and troubled I could ask such a question: “How did you find this out?!”

Not thinking ahead enough, I told him the truth; got it off the internet.

“We’re gonna have to do something about that” he mutters in disgust. I mean, he actually deflated a bit in a mix of disgust and anger. But being the political player he was, my boy bounces right back to his practiced joviality.

We then talked about his political family (you’d know the name if I revealed it) and aspirations of getting a congressional seat; his attitude was that it was as guaranteed to him as a king’s crown would be to a prince. An attitude which totally disgusts me as this is supposed to be a Republic.

So I press again: How about if someone runs against you?

“Doesn’t matter; I’d still win.” As certain as if we were talking about the sun rising tomorrow.

“But, what if he’s got money”-thinking of Ross Perot, perhaps the last real challenge to the farce that is American politics.

“Doesn’t matter, we’d outspend him. It’s not what you know, it’s who you know.”

Thing about politicians like Tex is, they’re sociopathic in nature; they don’t give a damn about what they do to folks, so long as they can retain power. Oh, they care if you threaten to take their power away, so if they can’t shut you up they’ll bullshit you. Tex here now pulls his lame ass psychological game, trying to make what he just admitted to seem as nothing.

“You’re too cynical.” He says, papering over the obvious admittance of corruption. “Have faith in your government, and your leaders. Pay your taxes.”

It was then he gets around to asking about me. I tell him I invest, which seems a pleasant surprise to him so, what do I invest in? I tell him silver(at the time it was below $6.00/0z)

“Worst possible investment you could make” Tex says, with the certainty he KNOWS that market’s manipulated and supressed by friends and relations of his, in spite of that commodity’s actual scarcity-and that if investment demand revives sufficiently it could and will cause a disruption as supply would never catch up with demand.

This bar conversation was wrapping up; he was wrapping it up as he got the bartender’s attention to cash out with his credit card. He makes this comment.

“Yep, in three to five years this is what we’ll be using instead of cash”.

(Can only be counting on the dollar being so devalued in the near future-much nearer now-that a new currency is instituted. The federal reserve bank cartel’s not reporting m3 money data anymore. A North American Union is quietly being forged and a new, unified currency called the amero will come with it. Americans have been trained for years to use credit cards instead of cash and increasingly, written checks. Do the math!)

I answer back: “Or live like Daniel Boone.”

(My forced out acknowledgement that such a evil scheme is all but unstoppable with the way you chumps-yes you reading this-are. The only hope a Free Individual has is total separation from the beast. Yes, my second tactical mistake of the night, and it helped him home in on my political stance-but I’m still here typing this, so maybe I lucked out.)

So that ended my talk with the blueblood. He went on for a few minutes with the withered up bar skank talking about how some judges were being punished because they were taking more in kickbacks than they were “allowed”. I left.

I couldn’t take being in the ...er’s presence any longer. (3)

I drove home, the conversation the whole night imprinted in my memory as deep as 9/11-including another conversation with a Army Ranger who basically was having a hard on about the coming “war on terror” and how things were going to change in this country-how we’d have to live with fewer rights. Something I vehemently disagreed with, but looking back see that chump knew Americans better than I did. Knew the way things really are in this fraud of a nation better than I did. Perhaps he was even on a mission to evaluate firsthand peoples reaction to the 9/11 black op.

That’s for another time; what do I conclude?

First off, all those conspiracy books, reports-their warnings about how corrupt America is were brought to stunning, horrid life to me. Confirmation that these traitors run the government and they go along with a master plan in exchange for personal power. That they own the political processes, and that it’s no wonder that even a billionaire outsider, a patriotic populist like Ross Perot couldn’t win-had no chance of winning.

Second, that sitting next to Tex it also was revealed that these blueblood traitors are as human, as frail, as mistake prone as you or I-and as fearful of the same things we are. That being out in the public they’re no different as to strength and weakness as you or I. Draw your own conclusion on that one.

Third, and this came later, that their power is not absolute. They’re not omnipotent, nor invincible. They can be cornered. They can be surprised. They can be fooled. They could even have what they’ve built turned on them if only people would wake up, realize what’s really important and get activated.

Fourth, as much as the Patriot Movement has been thwarted, we ARE having a effect. That people still struggle against the beast HAS slowed it down. If we could learn to exploit the beast’s weaknesses: the Internet and local political offices in small towns capable of being self-sufficient, and build a ground-up decentralized Freedom Movement it could have a chance. A chance because not everyone in government serves the dark side. That if the People could rise up and effectively challenge the beast on a national level, that that would be the window of opportunity for them to show their true colors, make the moves that could truly free America, and save this nation from it’s planned destruction.

Yet, like I stated in the beginning; this is a work of complete fiction, I’m making all of this up. Draw your own conclusions.

(1)Curious, as I got that compelling urge in my heart to hit that bar that particular night, at the same time I was also getting this thought that didn’t seem like it came from my own head. That thought was to grab my gun and take it with me…, blasting dude in a public place is a great way to scorching the rest of your life, and next time I shot that gun for the first time it jammed up on me and I had to dump it at a gun show.

(2)When I was little, I nearly got killed by a DRUNK driver, and several years ago I came so close you wouldn’t believe to getting run over by a DRUNKEN hick at a accident scene. That being said, I gots to say ... THE STATE, THEIR NAZI DUI LAWS AND THEIR ...ING CHECKPOINTS!! ... their insurance and seatbelt laws too.

(3)I still wonder if perhaps I should have had that gun, to shoot that traitor-but I realize then I’d been caught, and his execution wouldn’t have sparked a Revolution, it would only result in me spending the rest of my life tortured 24/7. No future. No chance, no hope of making change in this rotten society.

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