With Bill Bates as Ghaz al’ Ridwan Ma’bus and his friend Klaus Schwab looking on approvingly, Pope Benedict had just used two of the sacred nails previously used to crucify Christ to destroy the immortals Lazarus and Mary Magdalene – my friends.
The earth continued to protest, sending raging winds to whip through the disaster site that was once The Temple Mount – yet The Beast and his minions merely took that as a sign of approval, a welcome to the chaos that the Antichrist’s reign was sure to bring.
After receiving the sign from Bates, the Pope again donned his helmet and retrieved the final spear. Then he looked my way.
The Beast sends forth Pope Benedict to complete his mission.
Then it was that my courage faltered and I looked down upon him.
The pope’s battle helmet and the dust storm obscured Benedict’s visage, yet not his intention. He was here to destroy the final immortal – he was going to kill me.
“YAAAAAAAAWWWWWWP!” I wailed – shocked at the unimaginable intensity of the pain!
It was a feeling beyond the limits of endurance, even for an immortal, and as Jesus’ Nail entered into me, I felt…
The nails used to crucify my wrists and feet burned anew.
Fresh blood oozed forth from a myriad of tiny holes that ringed the crown of my head.
My back ripped open against the splintered wood of the cross – tearing from unseen lashes that slashed into me.
My knees swelled up.
My legs ached.
My shoulders protested against the weight of a cross I had never carried but suddenly felt as if I did.
In my mind’s eye, I saw Jesus of Nazareth, and at last, I understood the full extent of all the horrors that my master had suffered nearly two thousand years ago at this very place — and I remembered what I saw as an eye-witness to the horror of it all…
And I wept.
“My Lord, I love you.” I prayed, suddenly no longer afraid, welcoming my fate.
The sands of time dripped slowly, and my Deliverer pushed his spear further into me – up and to the left – towards my heart.
The blood now dripping even from my eyeballs, I could no longer even see Benedict beneath me, yet it mattered not.
Miriam bowed her head, while Alan sputtered – still unable to accept the possibility there might be a secret vault beneath St. Peter’s Basilica that he knew nothing about, “I don’t believe it!”
“It’s true.” Miriam agreed. “La Papessa had the vault built specifically to house my letter. The construction was completed by a craftsman who was in the employ of the Bishop of Hostia – her son. As it turns out that contractor was an illiterate mute – making him an ideal choice for such a covert job. As far as I know, outside of the craftsman, Pope Joanna, and her son, the only other person that knew about the vault was me.”
“Does anyone have access to that depository now?” Alan asked.
“Three people.” Miriam advised. “The current pope –for among the many articles that come with the Papal Throne, a cryptic message about La Papessa’s vault was included in Pope Francis’ personal artifact collection. However, if we surmise that only those popes who have contacted me about it have actually read the letter, then the number of popes who knew about the vault has been very small indeed.”
“How many?” Alan asked.
“None.” Miriam smiled winsomely, before explaining further, “I doubt that any of the popes have ever looked at La Papessa’s message or spent any time trying to decipher its Bible Code. After all, didn’t we just say that Joanna’s reign was discredited? Thus which pope in his right mind would want to be caught meddling with her affairs? Certainly not the millennial-appeasing Francis. Ah, don’t you see the beautiful tapestry of God’s work — even though Pope Joan suffered, it was not for nothing – for she protected this knowledge from prying eyes, even until this very day!”
“I’d like to believe that, but we can’t be sure.” Alan surmised. “Yet you spoke of THREE people — who are the other two?”
“I believe one could be the Confuto Penitentiary.” Miriam speculated. “He is the keeper of the most secret items of the Papal Artifacts collection.”
(Dammit, she’s on to something. And when Miriam gets a whiff, she’s like a bloodhound that won’t stop).
“No. I mean what I said. The Confuto – Supreme – Penitentiary.”
“I love seeing you two argue.” I interrupted, taking another swig of my drink, having now lost count of how many of my Modelo’s I’d swilled in the last hour. (They sure do go down easy when you’re having fun). “You sound just like an old married couple.”
Both Alan and Miriam blushed red at that comment, and Alan stuttered, “Miriam, there hasn’t been a Confuto Penitentiary for over two centuries.”
(Ah, but there will be soon, buddy – and I couldn’t help thinking about the mysterious Cardinalate Marrollo’s recent request to Benedict – could Marrollo know about The Sacra Crypta and the secrets it housed?)
“No Confuto in office is a good thing!” Miriam advised. “For that’s one less person we have to worry about. But that still leaves one man left who is all the more important to us. He’s never contacted me about the letter but he still worries me.”
“Benedict.” Alan filled in the blank.
“Benedict.” Miriam agreed.
“We must see him.”
“We must know which side he is really on.”
“Well, that settles it then. We three shall go to Benedict.”
“Good thing we have our Covid Freedom Passes. When do we leave?”
“I guess that’s up to John.” Alan looked over at me in anticipation.
I took another long pull on my beer, wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, and then leaned back in my chair to make it a recliner, “You two are welcome to get on up out of here whenever you like. And the sooner the better. But as for me, you know I never took the Covid jab so I ain’t got to Vax Pass – and I ain’t about to get one. Naw, I’m just fine where I am.”
“John, how can you say that?” Miriam asked. “Are you concerned about the vaccine’s side effects? But I don’t understand, yes the vaccine is super dangerous, but know they can’t here you.”
I didn’t reply.
“This isn’t about the vaccine or it’s horrible side effects on humanity, Miriam.” Alan surmised. “John probably has more Freedom Passes than we do – albeit homemade ones I’m sure. The fact is that he knows we all must go together.
Still I was steadfast in my silence.
“Bates already has my Nail.” Alan reminded. “Yours and Miriam’s are the weapons we need to defeat him. We can’t afford to let him get them too. If he does, he’ll be able to perform The Armageddon Rite!”
Another taste of my drink, and I licked my lips, “Ah, that’s good. Mr. Modelo sure does brew a good beer, don’t he?”
“Jesus needs you.” Miriam ignored by charades. “I know you are still hurting, but The Lord will restore you again, John — and you will praise Him for it. Don’t you care anymore?”
At that, I jumped out of my chair, sending beer cans flying, “HE doesn’t care about me, so why should I care about him?” Hobbling over to my bookcase, I pulled out the chest that held my Nail, and threw it at them. “If you want that damn thing so bad, you can have it. Go! Do whatever you two want to. Go to Benedict – see how far that gets you. Visit Bates, if you like. I don’t care; just leave me alone to die!”
And with that, I forced Alan and Miriam out of my house – tossing Miriam’s PPE out with them and then slamming the door shut.
And so they left – off again to pursue their great Commission.
As for me, I was alone at last.
Finally I was ready get to back to work — for The Opus Magnum beckoned. And this time I vowed to continue that rite until the very end… and hopefully die trying!
It’s not often when I actually want my revelations to continue, but today I did because I was curious to know more about the relationship between Pope Benedict and Teri Abbracciavento.
“You’re hiding something.” The Pope calmly averred to his guest. He was sitting unmasked in his high backed chair behind a massive desk that was itself situated upon a raised dais in the middle of his office – all of which allowed him to look down upon any visitors seated before him.
“Oh, I wish you’d close those drapes so I don’t have to stare into the sun behind you.” Mystery complained as she removed the face mask she’d been wearing in the foyer to comply with the Vatican’s Well-Health requirements. “It’s not creating the halo effect you’re looking for, so can we lose the charade in my case?”
A momentary tightening of the jaw was the only perceptible sign of Joseph’s irk, yet outwardly he smiled as he pressed another button on his desk – causing the heavy curtains to close.
The room grew noticeably darker, yet Joe made no effort to turn on any lights, “I’d imagine you’re more comfortable with the lights off, my dear? After all, from The Darkness you came, and to It you shall ret—“
“Spare me the dramatics, please, Joe. I already told you I appreciate the praise for the Ki-Moon mission – although that was a pretty easy job. And yes, my father is doing well at the chateau you secured for him. But this meeting was supposed to be about BAVI and what we’re going to do next.”
“Haven’t we been discussing that for the last 45 minutes? And yet YOU who are the one not being forthright with me.”
“You can read me like a book – or so you believe.” Mystery smiled. “Well if you are correct, then what is it that I am hiding?”
“You have avoided my questions about Professor Zarus.”
“What is there to tell? You told me to ensure that he was safe.”
“I told you to bring him to me!” Joe slammed his fist onto the desk.
“It wasn’t safe here.”
“But it was safer to bring him to BAVI?” Joe took a deep breath and sat back in his chair – he looked at Mystery for a long time without saying a word.
(Well this at least solves one mystery for us – BAVI is clearly Bill Bates nee Ghaz al’ Ridwan Ma’bus, right?)
Meanwhile I saw Benedit get up and walk over to his sidebar, poured himself a tall glass of Barenfang– sans ice – and then returned to his seat.
He did not offer Mystery a drink.
(Good for you, Joe!)
Looking at his guest, Pope Benedict took a long pull of his liquor and let out a big sigh. “Mystery, so help me God, you are playing a game you cannot win. If you try to double cross me, I will not only see that you burn in Hell – which is already a given – but you’ll lose your promised riches in this life too. Is that what you want?”
Straightening her shoulders and raising her chin high, Mystery gamely replied, “I merely want what is coming to me. No more. No less.”
“Oh, you’ve got that coming, sister. Don’t worry.”
(Hmmm, that’s news to me. Like I said before, perhaps if I had attended some of the more recent Brotherhood meetings I’d be more up on current events – interesting).
“I only did as I was told.”
“Not by me! I told you to bring Zarus to Rome.”
“That plan is still in progress.”
“So who told you to take Zarus to BAVI first?”
“I can’t answer that question.” Mystery looked down at her lap.
Another nod to ponder, another sip on his drink,. “Interesting. Yet, no matter. I’ll let you can keep your secrets, Mystery – for now.”
But then, Joe’s voice grew darker, “It’s not a sin to expel a demon. With that in mind, dear, I ask you — why should I even let you walk out of my office alive?”
(Wow, now this was clearly a side of my friend that I had not seen before!)
Yet Mystery didn’t even flinch. “We both know that you cannot complete your plans without me.”
Joe finished his drink, “You’d better hope that’s STILL the case, eh?” And before Mystery could reply, he added, “But let’s get to the heart of the matter — Zarus is secondary — it’s his prized possession I really need.”
(Oh no, not you too, Joe).
“Oh that…” Mystery snickered.
“Yes?”
“Well, it seems… there’s been a change of plans there. You see, although Alan himself will be coming to you, his Nail won’t.”
“What good is Zarus to me without The Nail?”
(This is looking worse for you, Joe. Whose side are you on, anyway?)
“That’s between you and BAVI. My mission, in your very words, was to ‘deliver Alan Zarus’ to you and, as I said, that is still in progress.”
“You, demon-whore!” Joe snarled, slobber running down the side of his mouth. “You know Zarus is worthless to without The Nail. Mystery, you have failed me!” And he arose from his seat and moved menacingly towards her.
Mystery made no move to stop him — for she appeared certain that the Pope was all bark and no bite.
It must have come as a surprise then when Joe viciously grabbed her by the throat and pulled her out of her seat!
Spinning her around and slamming her back against the desk, Joe continued choking her, “You knew it was Zarus’ Nail I wanted. You knew I needed all three. And yet you dare to defy me? Why?”
Unfortunately for me, my marathon vision of my friend Alan was still continuing. (I mean seriously, how much more of this can I be expected to pay attention to?)
Unfortunately for Alan, although it was but a short walk to his own apartment building, I could see that his distress was only growing worse – the man even forgot to put on his face mask while walking to his apartment! Luckily for him, none of the nighttime patrols spotted him.
(Ah, I see that he DID get the quote I was referencing in the last chapter. Well done.)
“Bah.” He replied, taking up both sides of his self-dialogue. “You read too far into this. It was merely a coincidence. She’s not married and neither are you. Don’t be so afraid to LIVE, man! No, no, tomorrow we’ll see her and make it up to her.”
(Oops — I guess that cat’s out of the bag, eh? In case you didn’t know, Miriam is the Hebrew woman who is Alan’s long lost love. It’s really quite a pitiful story – remind me to tell you about it sometime.)
“Ha, that’s always been a lost cause. I haven’t seen her in decades. I don’t owe her anything. I’m free to be with Teri if I so choose, right?”
Thus did he continue arguing with himself, on the one hand, trying to excuse his actions with Teri, and on the other, spouting off the wisdom of the Bible as justification for his abrupt departure. And all the while seemingly trying to assure himself that he had no feelings for Miriam.
At last, as he made his way inside the door of his flat, and there his self-argument ended; for as he looked down at the pile of mail, his eyes immediately fixed themselves on a small piece of airmail that sat atop the others.
(Well at least I am not the only one that she’s torturing).
Ripping it open, I was not surprised to see him read the following…
“1492 is coming for you – MM.”
Blood drained from Alan’s face, “My God, she knows.”
(Poppycock. Miriam doesn’t get revelations like I do, so she would have no way of knowing what’s going on here. Oh, it’s true that she does have another source for her information, but I doubt that Gabriel would be talking to her of Alan’s escapades with an intern).
As if he didn’t have enough drama already, I saw that Alan also now realized something else — he had to leave – immediately.
“Can I risk going to Rome now?” He wondered. “Perhaps Benedict will have to wait?”
Racing to the bathroom, he splashed his face with cool water. Then, looking in the mirror, “My God, what if Benedict is in danger, too?
“Is Teri mixed up in this? Is she a part of some mad plot to assassinate Bill Bates? Or Benedict? Or, God forbid – both of them?”
And, after looking at himself for a long while, “And where does Miriam fit in? Or The Brotherhood?”
Knowing there were no answers to his questions, Alan merely resolved to do that which was in his power, “I know not where Miriam may be now, but one thing I do know – I WILL see Benedict.”
Quickly then, he prepared to leave. Thankfully, this was made all the easier by his advance preparations – for this was not the first time that “Alan Zarus” had been required to abandon his life in a rush. Trying to remain calm, I watched as he flipped a switch in the rear of his closet that triggered a secret access panel which opened to reveal a small hideaway.
(Alan always was into the whole cloak and dagger scene. I actually think he fancied himself as James Bond or something. After all, Alan was suave, debonair, and into the finer things in life. BUT, and this is a BIG but, Alan never had much of a way with women – as you have just witnessed – and he was quite a pansy when it came to violence, so I think Mr. Bond is pretty safe – he doesn’t have much competition from my friend Alan).
Reaching inside the hideaway, Alan pulled forth a pre-packed leather carryall which was filled with all the essentials he would need to retreat into hiding — until it would be safe for him to resurface elsewhere, under a new identity.
After making his way back out of the apartment, there was then only one more stop that I knew he had to make before he could truly escape the danger that was chasing him (again)…
In my dream world with Alan Zarus, it was now past 3 am; yet I knew that my friend had no choice but to tarry to the downtown sector and visit Casa de Economii si Consemnatiuni – that’s the local CEC Bank, whose impressive palace on Calea Victoriei in Bucharest held Alan’s most prized possession.
Luckily for him, Alan has a Vaccine Passport and Identichip that gave him near limitless movement privileges (how he got those freedoms is another story). He also remembered to wear his face mask – in his case a top of the line Nano Mask Platinum. He needed all of that to complete his journey this evening because he was stopped by three different patrols on his way to the bank – yet after scanning his credentials all three let him pass without problems.
Just as important as his freedom apps, Alan had long ago arranged for Elitist status with the bank and thus had been given his own access code which allowed him round-the-clock access to a private, backdoor entrance from which he could gain admittance to the Unknown Catacombs.
Now let’s understand something – Alan could not simply walk up to the back of the CEC, insert a simple key card, and then enter the secret vaults. Nor did he have to walk down some back alley and give a clandestine password to a pair of eyes belonging to an unknown bouncer behind a nondescript door slot. In point of fact, to anyone observing Alan on this night, it did not appear that he was actually attempting to gain access to the CEC at all; for in reality, Alan never approached the bank building, but instead entered into a seemingly normal row house about a block away.
Once inside, he made his way to apartment 1G, inserted his key, and opened the door to a fully furnished, yet ever unoccupied unit. After locking the door, Alan took off his mask and went immediately to the guest bedroom, where he opened the closet door and parted a mass of clothes to reveal yet another hidden doorway. This portal did in fact require Alan to enter his access code, and then submit to facial, fingerprint, and Identichip scans. Once he passed these tests, he had to speak his name so that the security system could also verify his voice identity. The system then ran one additional check – confirming that no other occupants were presently engaged inside its vaults — and then after successfully completing all this, at last the door opened — revealing a well-lit passageway.
(I told you Alan liked that ‘secret agent’ stuff!)
I watched Alan trudge along a secret walkway that led beneath the streets of Bucharest and down into the CEC’s Catacombs. Just how long the catacombs had been in existence, I couldn’t guess, but I do recall Alan telling me the CEC had been using the former death chambers for more than a century — having converted the various crypts into impenetrable treasure troves for lease to those individuals like himself who could afford to pay the exorbitant rates required to gain the privilege of storing their most secret items in such a place.
Like any of the other magnates who used these unusual deposit boxes, I knew that Alan could only gain access to his own storage location – for only one person was allowed inside the catacombs at a time and while that individual was there, a host of state of the art security measures were in place to ensure that all other crypt-cases were made off limits to the intruder.
And so, after successfully completing a few more security checkpoints, at last Alan arrived at the cache which held his own belongings. Here he paused to catch his breath – for the night was already long, and he was exhausted, yet I’m sure he knew that this was only the beginning of his flight.
Each security cadre in the CEC’s Catacombs had but one and only one key. Not even the bank personnel, at any level, had a copy of the unique skeletons which were required to open the final locks that secured these deposit boxes. Like the others who used these vaults, Alan knew what this meant — if he ever lost his key, whatever he had placed in his hidden tomb would be lost forever.Luckily for him, Alan never lost his key – despite having had it for decades – and he used it now to open his crypt’s portal.
The stone barrier was removed and a muted light was triggered, revealing the lone item inside – a small wooden caisse about one foot long and one-half foot wide. (Sound familiar?) Alan gingerly reached inside and withdrew the smoke-scorched box. Although he had held this small coffin countless times, I saw that Alan was again moved by the magnitude of his most-prized possession.
After more than a few deep breaths, Alan gained the courage required to flip the s-clasp and open the container, “Though they confront us on the Day of Disaster, the Lord will turn our darkness into light!” He prayed, before gasping involuntarily as he gazed at the thin piece of pockmarked iron inside. “Ooohhh….It’s so beautiful.”
(Now here I would have to disagree. You’ve seen this thing — does it look beautiful to you? When that murderer came into my home and then met his own untimely demise when he touched my treasure, was that a beautiful sight? No! So what is Alan talking about?)
Moments passed, but Alan quickly remembered why he was here, thus he closed the casket and placed the box into his leather carryall. Then he proceeded to carefully place his crypt-key inside the storage box and shut the tomb’s portal – effectively rendering this now-locked catacomb forever useless.
After which, Alan retraced his steps out of the Catacombs, and eventually re-emerged into Apartment 1G. The portal closed behind him and he moved the closet clothes back into place, before making his way back to the front door of the flat.
Finally ready to get on with his escape into oblivion, Alan opened the apartment door – only to reveal three murderous (and masked) men waiting for him!
And with that my vision ended – too bad for Alan, but at least I was finally off the hook.
Now, you’re just going to have to trust me on this next part as to how I know what I know, but for the time being, just take my word on this, OK?
So after my assailant confirmed I was dead, he held his blade up, watching my crimson-grey blood cascade down the metal. That’s when he did something that might shock you – in spite of not knowing my Covid-status, and even though he was definitely NOT socially distant as he continued to straddle my body, my attacker took off his face mask! (Oh the horror, right?)
Yet what he did next might make you run for the hills.
“I wonder…” The goon said as he brought the knife to his mouth and licked his tongue along the shank. “BLAH! PLUFF! Why, it tastes like… dusty moth balls? Baron, don’t tell me you’ve been crazy enough to experiment on yourself too?”
Unfortunately for him, I was in no condition to reply. However in a rather ironic twist, the record player hadn’t been disturbed by all this commotion and was still playing the Jim Reeves Anthology — now softly sounding Guilty through the speakers…
Dufus that he was, the intruder never noticed this cruel coincidence. Instead he put his face mask back on and then continued the task that he came here for – ransacking his way through my home, he pulled down rows of dusty books from built-in shelves, broke open my dilapidated cabinets, and cleared my closets of rummage, whiskey bottles, and even my dirty laundry — looking anywhere and everywhere for but one specific treasure.
It wasn’t gold, food, toilet paper, my stash of counterfeit Immunity Passes, or anything that held worldly value – for even though I plenty of those rare commodities, my intruder as after… something else.
(Fool! He has no idea what he’s about to do. But, whatever happens, YOU are here to witness that it wasn’t my fault, right?)
For a moment the masked brute paused in thought as he stood among feathers still floating in the air after slashing my mattress (yeah right, like I would hide It in there?). “C’mon, I know it’s here somewhere.” And he scanned the room, until finally, “Aha — the TV!”
And in a flash, he bounded back into my living room.
I still lay motionless in an ever-growing pool of blood, yet the murderer paid me no mind as his eyes searched for something specific – for it wasn’t really the TV he was after.
When he couldn’t readily locate his desire, he took a step back behind the Laz-E-Boy and retraced the steps of his intrusion; throwing a shadow punch or two to mimic his previous assault, and then following along the path of his destruction, finally he came to, ”Yes, I’ve got it!” Kicking the Roku aside, he hungrily grabbed the rectangular box that my rabbit ears had previously sat upon.
“Ha, Antennae Stand my ass,” he ogled the smoke-scorched caisse as he took a seat in my chair, caressing the 10×6” black box. “So this is one of The Three, eh? Oh, my lord is going to be so happy with me — I wonder what kind of reward I’ll get?”
He scanned the sides, trying to see how to open the box. When he located the tiny s-clasp, “What the–? John, you don’t even have this locked?” And flicking off the clasp he then began to open the box “Is that any way to protect one of Jes—“
<Rrraboom-boom-BOOM!>
Thunder shook the house, and the temperature suddenly plummeted – surely sending chills tingling over the man’s body — yet still he looked into the box.
He began to hyperventilate in his mask and his body became gripped in a cold sweat — yet still he looked into the box.
Removing his mask, he took a risk and tried breathing in fresh air, yet his lips began to crack from a sudden parchness and his tongue became as dry as the desert sands — yet even still he looked into the box, totally captivated by the object inside.
Minutes turned to hours while the intruder sat motionless, maskless, and absorbed by what was once my most prized possession.
Until at last, the man began to reach a meaty paw into the case…
<RrraBOOM-BOOM-BOOM!>
Yet, even as he griped the cold relic, he must have realized it was a deadly mistake.
“YAAAWWWPP!” He wailed in agony, flying backwards over the chair. Unable to let go of that which he came for, my murderer’s screams continued for but a moment more, and then he collapsed in a heap, bleeding from ghastly holes in his hands and above his ankles. After only a moment, his shirt began to fill with blood, and I knew that his side had been ripped open as well — allowing his punctured lungs to let flow their contents. Even his hair became matted from the blood that also pulsed forth from the multitude of tiny punctures that wrapped a picket-fence around his scalp.
Oh, please don’t be surprised by any of this, after all, this is the way it always happened – as another would-be burglar died a death infinitely more gruesome than that which he had inflicted on me.
In fact, I myself could tell you this, for I had witnessed the man’s demise.
Rising from a pool of my own blood – and feeling older than ever — I frowned as I looked upon the new mess in my living room, “Hrmpf. I suppose I have to clean up another one.”
I could have checked the man’s IdentiChip to learn more about him, but I didn’t wanna risk activating any 5G sensors in the area by turning on my biometric reader – especially when I knew why the man came anyway. Like all the others he only wanted one thing and that was all I needed to know about him.
Taking a quick breath, I hoisted my intruder-turned-corpse over my shoulder and carried him out through the kitchen door and into my backyard. You might be shocked that I didn’t put on a face mask or that I dared touched another person without knowing their Covid-status, but I’m not a sheep like you so I knew that masks didn’t work against Covid. More importantly I knew the truth about the Covid – it’s a scam! –so complying with a bunch of regulations that were always more about population-control than actual science was never my thing. I’d been around long enough to know a fascist power play like The Great Reset when I see one, and this was wasn’t even hard to recognize because the globalists behind this version of the New World Order didn’t even bother to hide their agenda.
So the technocrats had a new idea to control the world – what do I care? Do what you like, just leave me in peace.
I live on the outskirts of Williamsport, PA – the name of the township is actually called ‘Cogan Station’ – I doubt if you’ve even heard of Williamsport and I KNOW you haven’t heard of Cogan Station – and that’s fine by me. I bring it up now just so you can get an idea of my lifestyle.
I prefer to be alone.
I live in the woods and while there are a number of other home sites nearby, I don’t have any neighbors within shouting (or snitching) distance and that’s the way I like it. My place is located about ten miles off the main road and it’s a good ways into a wooded glade. I have the land cleared out around my house, but there’s still quite a bit of woods that surround me.
All of which means I get to keep my privacy – usually.
Besides the mail (read: spy) drones, every so often I get a visitor – someone from a elderly outreach center (read: contact tracer), or a neighbor who forgets that I don’t like to be disturbed, or perhaps a group of courageous kids who are looking to mess with a known anti-masker like me.
And sometimes I’ll get a visitor like the fellow I got today — which is always a bit of a nuisance.
After I hefted the goon to the yard, I had to catch a breather – thankfully this was easier without a mask to block the fresh country air.
Ahh – I can’t believe this is illegal, I chuckled to myself at the absurdity of all the “New Normal” Covid rules allegedly designed to keep us safer but in reality accomplishing nothing but destroying our freedom.
Now if you saw my lands, you noticed that the rear of my ten-acre property has quite a few dirt piles scattered around; to most people these mounds would probably look like mere compost heaps for my garden — and on the surface they are.
But dig a little deeper and you might be surprised at what you find.
I spent the next hour and a half going digging yet another grave. After I dug the IdentiChip out of his forearm, I gruffly tossed the man into the grave and hauled a bit of compost from another pile to cover the site – burying yet another secret in my yard.
“Hell, I’ve got more skeletons than Dr. Flipflop.” I wiped my forehead with a handkerchief. “I’m gettin’ too old for this crap. God curse your soul, scoundrel. You made me miss my Phillies. Amen!” Then I threw down my shovel and stormed back towards my house. “Hey, maybe I can catch the postgame?”
Yet even as I said it I knew it was a pipedream. First I had to get out my own drone and fly the attacker’s Identichip to a location far away from my house – that took me another hour.
Then I had to drink a beer (or three) to calm down.
Finally I had to clean up inside the house.
When I came to the object that had caused the death of my attacker, I casually picked it up the thin piece of black iron and placed it back into its case.
Too bad this thing couldn’t kill me too, I lamented.
After that I set about the task of trying to get the TV upright again – things didn’t go well at first and I started to let the expletives fly as my anger rose, but just then a new Jim Reeves’ song came filtering out of the stereo speakers – Adios, Amigo.
It was Jim who finally saved my day – for I couldn’t help but sing along with his song, in good cheer at last, “Adios, Amigo. Adios, my friend. The road we have travelled has come to an end…”
The Last Temptation of John 