|El Jefe - the "classy" years|
This really happened, OK?
So Larry and me were chillin’ outside the President’s office, and El Jefe (that is what President Obama likes to be called by us in private) opens the door, peeks outside and goes “Psst — fellas — come in here for a second.”
We go in, he looks out the door to his left and right, closes it and locks it. Then he goes and sits behind his desk and motions for Larry and me to sit down in front of his desk.
He says: “You folks have been working really hard at protecting me and bringing counterfeiters to justice. I think it’s time you guys loosen your earpieces and tip-up the shades.”
I thought he was gonna give us some nice presidential pin or pen or some shit like that, because he pulls out this fancy case with shiny felt and gold trim on it, like what they put nice pens or pins in. He opens it and shows me and Larry, my partner, the contents of the fine box and then El Jefe raises and lowers his eyebrows up and down really fast a whole bunch of times, trading looks with Larry and me.
What is inside the box is a giant spliff.
He pulls it out of the box then pulls a zippo from his desk drawer, flips it open, lights the spliff and takes a big ‘ol hit.
I look at Larry and Larry looks at me and then El Jefe coughs and laughs as all the smoke is launching out of his mouth at us and he passes the thing over the presidential desk to Larry who looks like a man who has just caught his parents getting it on.
Larry has no clue what to do with the thing. El Jefe and me can’t believe it: the man actually answered truthfully when he applied for the job about smoking marijuana! Shit, I just said I experimented with it twice in college to make it seem like I wasn’t lying but Larry really had never seen the stuff up-close!
El Jefe offers again and Larry takes it.
“Just baby puffs, Larry. We don’t need you discovering new planets, especially without a space suit.” El Jefe cracks himself up at this.
Larry lights, inhales and coughs like a dying man with TB and the Jefe busts up laughing again.
“Pass that shit over to Dan. I’ll bet he’s an old pro,” El Jefe says, raising and lowering his eyebrows again real fast.
Dan passes the thing to me and I do the double-mini toke followed by the big inhale-and-hold, slowly easing the smoke out of my lungs and mouth for maximal THC absorption.
El Jefe nods his head in approval and I hand him back his cannabis cigarette and he takes another drag.
He pulls out a remote-control and presses a button. Over the speakers some shit — I think it was some seventies stuff like “Emerson, Lake and Palmer” — comes on. El Jefe eases his chair back and puts his feet up on the desk and his arms behind his head.
I look over at Larry who is looking around the office like a little kid and I try not to bust up laughing.
El Jefe closes his eyes and says “Fellas — I am going to notify you of something that you will not believe. I am in fact a puppet. The people that are really in charge are inter-dimensional aliens who, when you are ‘tuned in’ to their frequency, have a third-eye right smack-dab in the middle of their forehead. And they operate among us.”
As El Jefe is speaking, I catch Larry out of the corner of my eye fidgeting with his ear-piece.
“Yessir. They could be your neighbor, your mailman, your Senator, your VP. But you wouldn’t know it, because they are cloaked, and our perception of them is…eclipsed. Unless….” He opens his eyes and offers the spliff to Larry, who declines.
He passes it to me. I oblige.
“Why am I telling you this? Because they make me say incredible things that don’t make any sense, like how the Islamic State of Syria and Iraq is not Islamic, or how I will close Guantanamo Bay. Shit — check out that Nobel Peace Prize on the wall, fellas. How many other mad bombers have won peace prizes, eh? Folks — they are gaslighting us to see how much of the bull-puckie we as human beings will gobble, and boy oh boy we will gobble quite a bit.”
What the hell is Jefe talking about? Man, he must be high. But he continues.
“You know what gaslighting is, Larry?”
Larry shakes his head.
Jefe grabs his iphone off the desk and types on the screen.
“To quote wikipedia: ‘Gaslighting or gas-lighting is a form of mental abuse in which false information is presented with the intent of making victims doubt their own memory, perception and sanity.’ Yup. The world is being gaslit…gaslighted? Hmmm….” El Jefe ponders for a second.
He takes another hit off the doobie and snorts some of the smoke from the other end out of the air.
“I kid you not. They are hiding in plain sight, and they are here to bring the entire shithouse down. 9-11 was the opening ritual act of the demolition by the ceremonial Archpriest of the Three Eyed Ones, Big Dick “Pull My” Cheney. Soon you’re gonna check things that’ll make John the Revelator blush.”
He looks around, then leans closer to us.
“But I digress. I can’t talk like this to anyone because their plan is so brilliant that if I spoke out against it I would be considered a lunatic. Anyone would. So you can’t fight inter-dimensional beings with third-eyes on their foreheads, because they got all the bases covered. Got it? I just play the rube prez. What the hell, eh Larry?”
By this point Larry is sweating profusely and visibly nervous. Damn, that weed was powerful.
“Why are they doing this?” Jefe leans forward so he’s pretty much on his own desk and face-to-face with Larry, scrutinizing him. “Eh, Larry?”
Larry: “Um — er — what?”
“I said ‘why are they doing this?’ and I think you know, Larry.” Jefe slinks back into his chair.
At this point I start to get worried about Larry. He seems like he’s on the verge of a full-bore freak-out. He’s sweating, fidgiting, messing with his tie, adjusting his holster, and El Jefe just sits and stares at him.
And then the weed, the music and my mind all converge on some tripped-out wavelength of reality and there it is: above El Jefe’s two regular eyes I see a third eye, right there on his forehead boring into Larry’s mind!
I get up and check the mirror on the wall next to a picture of George Bush Sr., and I got the eye on the forehead too!
What the shit?! I am one of them also and I didn’t even know it!
Larry is about to shit his pants when El Jefe says, “Don’t worry, Larry. We’re just gaslighting you. Go and tell everyone about this. See what happens, hehehehe.”
Jefe takes another pull on the spliff and turns the music up.
Yes, it is Emerson, Lake and Palmer, and the track now playing is called “C’est La Vie”