Veronica called me at the office today, around one in the afternoon, and asked me to receive her latest male friend for a consultation “around three.” She was a bit disappointed when I told her I only had a half-hour slot open at two-thirty.
“Don’t worry,” I assured her, “since it’s my schedule constraint, not his, I’ll only charge one-third of my usual minimum consultation fee that covers the first ninety minutes.”
“Oh, come on, Tom,” she wheedled, “he’s a friend of mine!”
“So – you want me to charge him nothing?”
“Please, please, Tommikins,” she beseeched in her best little-girl voice, “his grandfather owned a coal company in eastern Kentucky, completely non-union and incredibly profitable, especially after they started strip-mining and then contributed to Republican representatives and senators who pressured the EPA into making the federal government pay for cleaning up the mess the strip mining left, instead of the coal company doing it. He inherited over thirty million dollars, Tom; and, what’s more,” she confided, hard pressed to conceal her glee, “he’s a complete idiot!”
“Okay, let me get this straight,” I dryly requested. “You want me to give a multi-millionaire a free consultation session in order to impress him with your connections inside the Beltway and thereby make it easier for you to plunder his bank accounts?”
“Tom Collins Martini,” she scolded, “you’re forever twisting what people say around until it sounds like they’re all evil inside and only out for themselves and stuff! You know perfectly well that how you just constituted… no, constructed…
“Construed,” I helpfully interjected.
“Yeah, all right, construed what I just said is, like, a total exaggeration, and not really true or anything!”
“All, right,” I relented, “what the hell – I wasn’t planning on making any money between two-thirty and three o’clock this afternoon, anyhow.”
“Nathan Bedford Forrest Glampers,” he proclaimed in a thick and unmistakable southern accent as he extended his hand in affable greeting. “Veronica tells me you’re one of the sharpest fellows here in Washington.”
“Well, I can’t guarantee that,” I cordially informed him as he gripped me like a vise and proceeded to engage in what was certainly more of an arm-wrestling match than a handshake, “but I certainly appreciate her confidence.” “Please,” I finally managed after disengaging myself, making a sweeping gesture at the chairs and couch, “make yourself comfortable.”
He sat, sprawling on the couch by the window, the sun streaming in from behind him at an oblique angle, lending him an ineffable, luminous aura. Did it make him look like a Dutch master’s rendition of an Old Testament prophet or a Dorothea Lange photograph of an inmate at a Depression-era lunatic asylum? I couldn’t decide which – and it mattered not one whit, as he quickly rendered such rumination utterly moot.
“All right, now, let’s get down to business. I’m here about the [expletive].”
“Excuse me, sir,” I replied, “but which [expletive] would that be?”
“For God’s sake, son, which [expletive] do you think I’m talkin’ about?” Glampers squinted and shot me a hard stare. “The one it looks like’s gonna be sitting over there,” he growled, pointing through the window toward the White House, “in about twelve weeks!”
“Well, Mr. Glampers,” I rationalized, “it’s not like he’s a full-blooded Midnight Purple Mandingo [expletive]. He is, after all, also fifty percent pure, lily-white Northern European Aryan Caucasian stock, you know.”
“That,” Glampers declared knowingly, “just makes him one of Thomas Jefferson’s house-[expletive]s, and a house-[expletive] is still a [expletive].”
“Well, Mr. Glampers,” I volleyed back with a worldly shrug, “the United States of America is a democracy, and if the registered voters in a sufficient number of states to bind two hundred and seventy members of the Electoral College decide they want a [expletive] in the White House, then a [expletive] in the White House there shall be.”
“And I bet it’ll be the first time,” Glampers grumbled, “that a [expletive]’s house was worth more than his car, too.”
“Look at it this way – ” I suggested, “the White House may be pretty fancy, but it’s still public housing.”
“Hey,” Glampers smiled, “that’s right. Son, I think Veronica was right about you. Looka-here, young fella,” he confided, leaning toward me and lowering his voice, “I’m talkin’ to ya right now because time is short and the stakes are high. There’s more than meets the eye goin’ on with that Barack Obama.”
“Oh, of course,” I nodded, consciously suppressing the reflex to roll my eyes. “Now you’re going to tell me that Mr. Obama is a socialist, a homosexual, a terrorist, a drug addict, an extremist Moslem fundamentalist, a Kenyan, a crypto-revolutionary, a baby killer, a child molester, a black nationalist, a black racist, a black supremacist, a traitor secretly conducting illegal diplomacy with the government of Iraq, and/or a tax-and-spend liberal who eats salsify de Berger brioche, prefers wine to beer and doesn’t like iceberg lettuce.”
“All of it true,” Glampers exclaimed as he sat bolt upright. “Or at least the parts I understand. What’s a sal… sal-sissy…”
“A salsify de Berger brioche?” I prompted.
“Yeah,” my guest affirmed as he took out a leather-bound book of ruled paper and made ready to take notes.
“It’s a French pastry with vegetable and cheese filling. Salsify is an edible root from a plant in the sunflower family, reputed to taste like oysters; and ‘de Berger,’ or, more properly, ‘Fragrance de Berger,’ is an artisanal Corsican cheese made from the blended milks of indigenous Calvi Haute-Corse sheep and domesticated Ajaccio wild goats fed exclusively on western Mediterranean wildflower meadows, curded with natural forage, free-range milk-fed veal rennet from Bastia, formed in hand-woven grass matte molds, washed in a bath comprising a unique mixture containing the strains of Geotrichum candidum, Brevibacterium linens and Rhodosporidium infirmominiatum found only in the Bronze Age volcanic ash with which it is coated and subsequently cured in moist salt air for a minimum of fourteen months in seaside Miocene limestone caves on the east coast of Sartene.”
“Got it,” he murmured, scribbling away frantically. “Anybody who would eat something like that obviously despises America and everything it stands for. Now, what’s a ‘crypto-revolutionary?’”
“It means that some people have been accusing Obama of covert membership in the New Party, a political organization they characterize as having an agenda to overthrow the legitimate government of the United States and replace it with one appointed by the Secretary General of the United Nations.”
“That’s it!” Glampers slammed his notebook shut with certain finality and stood up, triumphant. “The missing piece of the puzzle I’ve been looking for – Obama’s secret connection to the United Nations!”
“Beg pardon?” He had me there – I had no idea what the hell he was raving about.
“It’s what I’m here for, too,” he exclaimed excitedly. “And it’s as if Divine Providence pointed the way, what with that there remark ya’all just made!”
“Pointed the way to what?”
“To the one thing you left out of the list – that Barack Hussein Obama is the Antichrist!”
“Oh, that.” True, I had left it out of the list of outrageous nonsense morons have been spouting about Obama – it’s damn long enough already, isn’t it? Oh, well…
“Ah, yes, I’ve also heard Barack Obama is the Antichrist,” I admitted, “and that he practices La Regla de Lukumi, or Santeria as it is sometimes known; and that he’s a Yoruba witch doctor, an Asanbosam, a type of African vampire; the reincarnation of the voodoo god Dambala, an Hawaiian Kanaka Maoli sorcerer, a Menehune Kahuna, a Haitian spirit walker zombie master, a malevolent Sufi who conjures bloodthirsty d’jinn, an evil Arab fakir who consorts with murderous ifrits, and a plain, old-fashioned warlock. But sir,” I protested, “Halloween is tomorrow.”
“Maybe,” Glampers speculated as he resumed his seat on the couch, “so is the End of Days.”
“In that case,” I observed, you won’t have to worry about Obama moving into the White House.”
“Maybe,” he continued, “Obama moving into the White House will cause the End of Days.”
“It would appear,” I opined, “that you are quite an expert on eschatology.”
“What?” Glampers drew himself up, obviously very offended. “Are you suggesting that I like to… play with… poop?”
“That’s ‘scatology’ you’re thinking of, sir,” I hastily clarified. “’Eschatology’ is the study of the Apocalypse, the Second Coming, the Rapture, the prophesies of Daniel, Judgment Day, Armageddon, that sort of thing – including the Antichrist, of course. I assumed, when you mentioned him, you would know…”
“How do you spell that – eska… Esskay… ?” Glampers had his notebook out again.
“That’s ‘E-S-C-H-A-T-O-L-O-G-Y.’”
“Thanks.” Glampers looked up from his work. “Veronica told me you was one smart son of a [expletive], and you obviously are. So… yeah…” he elaborated as he finished writing and once again set his notebook aside, “Barack Obama is the Antichrist.”
I couldn’t resist. It wasn’t like I was getting paid for this, now was it? “How do you know?”
Glampers threw me a slightly annoyed look, shrugged, then picked up his notebook, opened it to one of the places he had bookmarked with color-coded tabs, and began to read. “Nostradamus said the world will end in 2012; so does the Mayan calendar and a famous Chinese book of divination called the I Ching; and that’s the same year Obama’s presidency will end, which would be exactly 42 months after his inauguration; and the Book of Revelation says the first part of the Tribulations after the Rise of the Antichrist will be exactly 42 months long. Recently discovered and previously unknown predictions by Nostradamus also indicate that the Antichrist will be black, just like Obama, and that he will marry a woman descended from slaves, just like Obama did. Nostradamus also said that the Antichrist would disrespect the flag and then only pretend to respect it in order to deceive the mob; and Obama wouldn’t salute the flag, say the Pledge of Allegiance or wear an American flag lapel pin until there was a public outcry about it. The Book of Daniel says that the Antichrist will be pro-abortion and so is Obama. It says the Antichrist will come from the East – Kenya is in the East – and that he will wear a blue cloak; Obama always appears wearing blue suits. The Book of Revelation says that the Antichrist will be charismatic and the liberal-dominated media is constantly telling us that Obama is charismatic. Revelations also says he will come out of nowhere to great popular acclaim, just like Obama did. If you calculate ‘Barack Hussein Obama’ in the Hebrew Gematra, you get six hundred three score and six, the Number of the Beast, plus, his zip code is 60606. The Book of Revelation says that the Antichrist is going to be a man in his forties and a Muslim of Middle Eastern descent; Barack Hussein Obama is in his forties and a Muslim of Middle Eastern descent. It says the Antichrist will seek the most powerful position in the world; the presidency of the United States is the most powerful position in the world and Obama is seeking it. It says the Antichrist will hypnotize his followers and Obama practices mass hypnosis at his campaign rallies. At 30 minutes, 17 seconds into the second presidential debate, Obama turns away from the camera and an inverted pentagram is clearly visible on the back of his head. In the Book of Luke, Jesus beheld Satan as lightning from Heaven and “Barack” means “lightning” in Hebrew, and “Obama” means “from Heaven” in Hebrew, so “Barack Obama” means “lightning from Heaven,” just like Jesus said symbolized Satan Himself in the Book of Luke. The Book of Revelation says that the Antichrist will preach peace to seduce the masses; that’s what Obama’s doing. It says the Antichrist will come mounted on a white mare that has had six black riders – Obama’s mother is a white woman who had six African husbands. The Book of Daniel prophesizes that the Antichrist will be a prince from the south who becomes king of the world – Kenya is south of Jerusalem and also south of Babylon, where Daniel lived, and Obama is a United States senator; today, that would be as close to a prince as you could get, just like being President of the United States is as close as you can get to being king of the world. Revelations says that the Antichrist will associate with those possessed by demons and Obama associates with William Ayers, who was possessed by demons that beguiled him to follow Godless Communism when he founded the Weather Underground Movement and who today is possessed by no less than Satan Himself; and what’s more, Obama’s political career started in Ayer’s home with a meeting that was initiated with a ritual blessing by the Devil in the person of the fallen angel Lucifer. Revelations says the multitudes will worship the Antichrist like God, and that’s exactly what Obama’s followers are doing right now. The Book of Daniel says that the people will be amazed as the loyal chamberlains and servants of the righteous king – that’s George Bush, you see – desert him to follow the Antichrist; and just look what’s happened lately, what with Colin Powell, Susan Eisenhower, Christopher Buckley, Tricia Moseley, Douglas Kmiec, Lincoln Chafee, Wayne Gilchrest, William Weld, Michael Smerconish, Francis Fukuyama, Charles Mathias, Scott McClellan, Henry Kissinger, Ken Adelman, James Baker, Lawrence Eagleburger, Alexander Haig and last night, even Steven Colbert – each and every one of them, mind you, endorsing Barack Obama – do you think something like that could be happening if the Prince of Darkness wasn’t involved in it some way or another, pulling the supernatural strings behind the scenes? And, of course, last, but certainly not least,” he concluded, beaming with satisfaction, “seventy-three percent of McCain-Palin supporters believe Barack Hussein Obama is the Antichrist.”
“Okay, point taken,” I conceded. “But Steven Colbert isn’t real, you know.”
“What do you mean, he isn’t real?” Glampers glowered at me, piqued and confused.
“That person you see on his cable TV show is a fictitious character he created, based on Bill O’Reilly.”
Glampers’ face fell about a mile. “It is?”
“Absolutely,” I confirmed. “The real Steven Colbert is a liberal, just like Bill Maher.”
Glampers complexion went completely ashen. “But the interviews…”
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed, “a lot of his guests don’t get it, either. But anyway, besides that, tell me, in light of all that you know, what do you make of this?” At that, I drew his attention to a copy of an e-mail I had received yesterday morning, and brought up to display on my office computer screen while Glampers had been speaking at length. It read:
From: {Redacted}
To: tomcollins@tomcollinsblog.com
Sent: Wednesday, October 29, 2008 4:35:15 AM
Subject: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: [Fwd: “Sarah Palin is the Antichrist!”]]]]]]]]]]]]]
“Mrs. Sarah Palin, the Republican Vice President.”
What could be more specific? What other words could more clearly convey the idea?
But that statement holds a message within – a terrible, shocking, horrifying message that – when you think about it, seriously and objectively – must obviously come directly from God Himself!
Examine the attached picture if you can’t bring yourself to believe it, but it’s true!
“Mrs. Sarah Palin, the Republican Vice President” is an anagram of “I craven leper pus blasphemer and I Antichrist.”
How could such a thing be merely attributable to random chance? There are more combinations of letters spelling out English words than there are grains of sand on every beach in the world! And out of all of those, these two statements are composed of exactly the same letters! How could that be accidental? You might as well say that Life Itself “just happened by accident!”
Hurry – the election is but mere days away! Send this warning to everyone you know before it’s too late!!!!!
I followed Glampers’ gaze as he read, and, when I could tell he was done, I clicked on the attachment, which presented a standard anagram proof – both statements, one above the other, with every letter at the top connected by a single straight line to one, and only one letter at the bottom, and vice-versa. Below the diagram appeared a caption, which read:
WHAT ARE THE ODDS THIS IS JUST A COINCIDENCE?
IMPOSSIBLE!
ALL BELIEVERS IN THE BOOK OF REVELATION,
THE RAPTURE, THE SECOND COMING,
ARMAGEDDON AND THE END TIMES
ACT NOW TO SAVE AMERICA!
In retrospect, I realize that I shouldn’t have done that, because shortly after he looked at the diagram, Glampers’ brain exploded. Now, I know what you’re thinking, Dear Reader, but I’m not saying his head exploded, like what you see in the movies – of course not. When somebody’s head explodes, that’s a special effect and you’ll never see it for real, anywhere. But when somebody’s brain explodes, it’s the result of acute, extreme high blood pressure brought about through an adrenaline cascade provoked by conditions of unbearable stress; in this case, extreme cognitive dissonance caused by confrontation with what his logic and belief systems evaluated as indisputable, incontrovertible proof supporting two mutually irreconcilable states of nature, i.e., that both Barack Obama and Sarah Palin are the Antichrist. What you actually see when a person’s brain explodes is that blood starts running out of their ears, mouth, nose and eye sockets. I know, because brain explosion is the third most common negative health reaction my clients undergo during consultations, right behind myocardial infarctions and massive nervous breakdowns with catatonic sequelae. I’ve never been sued, though – I mean, come on, get real – all I ever do is talk to people, and, maybe, show them a few visual aids once in while, that’s it.
As is our standard operating procedure for such occasions, I leapt to Glampers’ immediate aid while Gretchen dialed 911 and fetched the DC ambulance, which, true to form, took forty-eight minutes to get there as she and I kept Glampers more or less alive using the emergency medical equipment I have stowed in my office closet. Believe me, I’m CPR certified, but there’s no way I’m giving mouth-to-mouth resuscitation to my clients – you have to draw the line on the concept of full customer service somewhere, and that’s where I draw mine – Glampers’ breath could have knocked a New Jersey seagull off a Manhattan garbage scow. But Fate wasn’t done with me yet, no, not by a long shot – in the midst of all that, my three o’clock appointment showed up early, and, not finding anyone in the reception area, opened my office door, took one look at Glampers, and then promptly puked on my silk Persian rug and fainted dead away himself! So the ambulance, once it finally showed up, had to double-deck it out of there with two gurneys bearing unconscious, impeccably dressed gentlemen. Christ Almighty, was my office a mess – there was blood and vomit everywhere. I had to change clothes, call the cleaners and take all of today’s remaining meetings in the conference room while they mopped up and got the stains out of the furniture and my poor old long-suffering silk Persian rug.
Anyway, my three o’clock appointment was revived down the street in the George Washington University Hospital ER and subsequently released. Glampers ended up in the ICU at Georgetown, I’m in the den at my home in Great Falls, Virginia, and Veronica just called to say she’s convinced the nurses she’s Glampers’ niece and she’s waiting at his bedside so she will be the first familiar face he sees when – or, should my experience with persons having his condition be any indication, if – he wakes up. Leave it to Veronica to identify the most likely way to a rich guy’s heart, no matter what the circumstances. So, that about does it – goodbye and good riddance to October 30th, 2008. What a day! And oh yeah, oops – I almost forgot – Happy Halloween!