How I Did It.

I walked into Bush's office and saw the President, a weird Asian dude sitting off in the corner, smoking, and my last boss's boss -- General Blackmon, of all people, standing immediately in front of me. Bush bellowed, "There he is, that young whipper-snapper. Are you ready for your first civilian job, Pino?" Shocked, I snapped to attention, and hollered, "Yes, Sir." General Blackmon leaned forward and shook my hand, instructing me to sit down. He then asked, pointing to the Asian dude, "Pino, have you ever met or seen this man before?" "No, Sir," I said. Bush just sat there, behind his desk, studying me. The General and I then had the following conversation:

"Pino, is it true you're the nephew of former Chilean General and dictator, Augusto Pinochet Ugarte?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Is it also true you have worked SPECOPS for the last ten years, planning, coordinating and directing subversion and espionage operations against Latin American governments unfriendly to the United States?"

"No, Sir."

"Did you not personally brief, in detail, the President's father, former President George Bush, Senior, on the vulnerabilities of the Noriega regime in Panama, which underpinned the US invasion of that country, which soon followed?"

"Sir, I am unaware of any such activity, nor would I disposed to discuss it, if it did in fact exist."

As I sweated what seemed like cold blood down my spine, everyone stared at me in a bizarre moment of silence. Finally, Bush slowly arose, approached me, shook my hand and led me to a table, where dinner was awaiting us. "Sit down, Young Man," he said, showing me to my seat, slapping me on the back. "I thought we'd grab a bite to eat while we talked. I hope you brought a good appetite, Pino."

As I sat down, I could feel the weight of a colossal mission settling onto my shoulders. Yeah.....they knew I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.

You sound good enough to write books for a living. Writer are we?

Yeah. We've been trained by the best, right? Aaron.

Bush soon told me flat-out, "Pino, I want you to concoct a gigantic myth about a devastating, Islamic terrorist attack on the U.S., one that's so horrific and convincing that it'll give me the popular support I need to invade the Middle East to steal oil and better protect Israel. I need it for world consumption in ten days. Can you do it?"

I'd worked for Bush, indirectly, for the last two years. I liked him as a president, and had always voted Republican. And then there was the question of what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life after the military. "This is it," I thought. "This is what I'm supposed to do." Soon I heard myself muffling, "Yes, Sir," and staring at a table-top covered with photos, blueprints, and memoranda. General Blackmon stood over me, fumbling with files, while Bush described in depth the 'who, what, when, where, how and why' behind it all. Meanwhile, the Asian dude kept filling up my glass with whiskey.

Okay, I've got it. Was it Colonel Mustard in the Library with the candlestick?

The point is I fabricated everything -- the WTC, 911, and its aftermath. The entire thing is a gigantic myth. There never was a WTC, or 911, or OBL, or anything else. We manufactured all of it, simply to justify our invasion of the Middle East. It worked beautifully. I'm very proud of myself, and my boss.

You need to write a book - not for publication, just for you. About 25 years ago, I began to set thoughts to paper on my upbringing and my life experiences. Now, it totals more than 900 pages. The best part is going back and reviewing what I had written 15-20 years ago and chuckling at what I thought was important then. The only thing I have learned is that we never stop learning.

I've been journaling daily since 1990. I'm up to about 50 notebooks. I need to start re-reading them. It's about that time.:thumbup:

If I managed to actually publish a book on what I believe, the PC police would hunt me down and shoot me in the streets, to cheers of massive mobs of scumbags.

Funny - it might be a best seller, turned into a movie with a Chuck Norris type star and make you rich beyond your wildest dreams.

Yeah. Maybe. Right now, our new prinicipal and super are kicking our asses so hard I can hardly organize a ham sandwhich when I'm not at work or driving to and from. :headbang:

That's what unions are for, right?