From bigxc@prairienet.orgSun Feb  5 07:58:17 1995
Date: Wed, 1 Feb 95 16:39:49 CST
From: Brian Redman <bigxc@prairienet.org>
To: Multiple recipients of list <conspire@prairienet.org>
Subject: Conspiracy Nation -- Vol. 3 Num. 75


              Conspiracy Nation -- Vol. 3  Num. 75
             ======================================
                    ("Quid coniuratio est?")
 
 
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FLYING HIGH WITH COMMANDER BILLY JEFF
"A Scenario"
 
[...continued...]
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Hillary caught sight of Marie, the French maid. "Come here, 
Marie," she purred. Marie dutifully obeyed.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"I note your conduct in the Lincoln Bedroom with my husband, 
Billy Jeff," said Hillary.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"But Meez Heely! He was chasing *me*!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Hillary ignored her. "You're fired, you slut! Pack your bags and 
get on the first train back to France!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"But Meez Heely..."
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Hillary glared. "Don't back sass me girl, or I'll scratch your 
eyes out! Go pack your bags! You're fired! Get out!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Marie ran off, sobbing.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
The Commander was in Air Force One, flying down to Arkansas and 
Dan Lizard's promised wild party.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Billy Jeff looked up, and was surprised to see Dylan Thomas! The 
deceased author was somehow standing there, smoking a cigarette.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Let's 'rap', Mr. Thomas," suggested Billy Jeff. "Come on, what 
do ya say? I'm an intellectual, just like you. Hey, ya know what 
else -- I'm a Yale man."
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"You are a pimp. Bend over, so I can grind out my cigarette on 
your ass," the dead author replied.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Say! You can't talk to me like that!" shouted Billy Jeff. But 
then the room became filled with, it seemed like, thousands of 
faces, all of them burning with great *hatred* for Commander 
Billy Jeff!
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Billy Jeff woke, screaming. "Igor! Igor!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Igor" Stephanopoulos came rushing from the forward cabin of Air 
Force One. "Yes, master?!" he inquired, alarmed.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Oh, Igor, it was terrible! Dylan Thomas said I was a pimp, and 
then everybody hated me! They hate me, Igor! They hate me!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Igor sat down beside Billy Jeff and consoled him. "No, master. 
No, they don't hate you! They *love* you!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"No, Igor, they hate me! The American people all hate me!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Why no, master. Why, look out the window. Down there in America 
they all *love* you!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"They do?" blubbered Billy Jeff.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Yes!" lied Igor. "Everybody loves you!" Then, because it usually 
assuaged the frightened Billy Jeff, Igor suggested they both sing 
their special song. "Come on! Let's sing the old Oxford song!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Yes!" Billy Jeff clapped his hands excitedly. "The old Oxford 
song!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
They both began to sing:
 
       Oh Oxford, we remember you.
       Smoking pot and chasing chicks
       And even sometimes we'd
       Open a book or two!
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
They exploded in laughter. "I feel better now!" exclaimed Billy 
Jeff.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Billy Jeff lurched forward towards the cockpit. "I want to see 
the view from up there," he explained.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
He entered the cockpit, where Captain "Flyin' Jack" McCord was 
piloting Air Force One toward Arkansas and Dan Lizard's cocaine 
party.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Wow... Look at all those controls," said the Commander. He 
paused a moment, then asked, "Say... Do you think you could let 
me fly the plane for awhile?"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Old "Flyin' Jack", veteran pilot of so many C-130 flights between 
Arkansas and Nicaragua, turned toward Billy Jeff. His jaw dropped 
in amazement. "You've gotta be kidding."
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Naw... Come on. Let me try flyin' it."
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"No way."
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Billy Jeff moved toward Flyin' Jack. A look of menace appeared in 
his eye. "Say... You look depressed, Captain McCord. You're not 
about to commit 'suicide' are you?"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"O.K. You can fly the plane." Flyin' Jack vacated his seat and 
Commander Billy Jeff occupied it.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Billy Jeff lit a marijuana cigarette and took a deep drag. He 
looked toward Flyin' Jack. "You want a hit?" he asked.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"No, thanks," replied McCord.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Suit yourself." The Commander took another drag. "Say... Where's 
the accelerator on this crate?"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
Flyin' Jack showed him the throttle, and Billy Jeff opened it up 
all the way. Air Force One began to pick up speed.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Hey! This steering wheel not only turns, but it can also tilt 
toward me!" exclaimed a surprised Billy Jeff as the aircraft went 
into a steep climb.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Yahoo! We're flyin' high!" shouted Commander Billy Jeff as he 
took another puff on his "reefer".
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Hey... You know, *in* *theory*, we could fly this baby way high! 
I mean, *in* *theory*, we could go into outer space!" theorized 
Billy Jeff.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
But just then a squawking sound began to be heard on the "squawk 
box". It was Hillary!
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Billy Jeff! Get me Billy Jeff!" she ordered.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"I'm right here, my dearest," replied Commander Billy Jeff.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Billy Jeff! Turn that plane around *NOW*!! That is an *order*, 
Mister!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Aw but, my sweetest, I'm on an important diplomatic mission!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Save that shit for the newspapers!" screamed "Meez Heely". 
"You've promised to attend the Econo-Feminists meeting, and the 
sisterhood ain't gonna like it if you don't show. So turn that 
plane around *now*, or there's gonna be *Hell* *to* *pay*!! Over 
and out!"
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
A reluctant Commander Billy Jeff yielded to this "higher power" 
and relinquished control of Air Force One to Flyin' Jack McCord.
 
 .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .
 
"Aw gee whiz! I never get to have any fun," he complained to no 
one in particular.
 
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Aperi os tuum muto, et causis omnium filiorum qui pertranseunt.
Aperi os tuum, decerne quod justum est, et judica inopem et 
  pauperem.                    -- Liber Proverbiorum  XXXI: 8-9 

 Brian Francis Redman    bigxc@prairienet.org    "The Big C"
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    Coming to you from Illinois -- "The Land of Skolnick"        
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