14 minute read
THE GENERAL
BY MILLARD DEUTSCH
The General performed his briefing for several incoming United States Presidents, because they regarded him as the highest ranking and most well-informed individual in the entire world of intelligence. Since all conversations in the Oval Office are recorded, Bill Casey then-director of the CIA, insisted that whenever the subject of UFOs or extra-terrestrial life was mentioned, the General was not to be identified except by his codename; "the Caretaker". The General was proud that there was nothing he didn’t know, or couldn’t easily find out, since he had the entire resources of the entire world’s secret governments at his personal disposal any time he wanted. He was fearless and utterly ruthless when he had to be. He had known and struck fear into the hearts of virtually every major leader in the world. But on this particular day, it was his turn to have the bejaysus scared out of him. The General’s blood boiled when he thought of the new President. The bastard leapfrogged right over him in the Agency's hierarchy and they appointed him Director for purely political reasons. The General remained the Deputy Director, which meant he had to run the Agency and do all the daily dirty work while the current President accepted the accolades. This had happened to him twice. Another Director made a major
mistake at the Palm Beach Men’s Club, reminding all the important men present of his successes. A few weeks after that man’s flippant verbal indiscretion, they found the Director of the most powerful secret police agency in the world floating face down in his favorite fishing spot, in a peaceful river, deep in a sun-dappled New England forest. In his retirement, the General had occasional pangs of conscience about things he had done out of his towering pride and ruthless arrogance. As a result, he attended services at the Catholic Church more frequently. He loved to sit quietly in the cool comfort of the air-conditioned Palm Beach church and look at the flickering candle flames while imagining his absolution and forgiveness of all his many crimes. Of course, he couldn’t confess any of the many terrible things he had done. As he got older and reflected on his life; his face looked very sad and remorseful about all the deaths, cruelties, deceptions, tortures, and dirty deeds for which he was directly and indirectly responsible. His soldiers committed these acts under his command, all in the guise of patriotism. His past tormented him, and he often wondered if it had all been worth it. He prayed for forgiveness and absolution. For his complicity in all those crimes, what he needed was a “celestial pardon” from God Himself... The General was deeply angry about the day long ago when he went to see the man who was now President. This man rose to prominence in the Agency because he was in the oil business, but more than that he was really in another business for them. Truth be told, he was the man behind the importation of billions of dollars worth of illegal drugs into the United States through oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico owned or leased by his Company. There were no inspections or customs involved in traffic from the mainland back and forth to any of the oil rigs in the Gulf. So it was the perfect way to bring vast quantities of illegal drugs into the country, which were used to fund most of the government’s secret black budget projects. These trillions of black budget dollars remained completely hidden from the “cosmetic government” budget involving Senators, Congressmen, and so forth. Besides, most of them looked the other way, as long as they got their own payoffs. Almost all of them came to Washington to operate like creepy little smash and grab criminals. Their plan was to steal and get as much as they could, for as long as they could, then retire with millions of dollars beneath their Golden Parachutes. In fact, they voted in favor of any measure that benefited them. Measures that most of the public knew nothing about, but paid for and provided the legislators with their extravagant lifestyles. Most of the voters had no idea that they would pay for these criminals and their spouses, providing them with full salaries plus cost-of-living allowances for the rest of their damn lives. Many, many millions of dollars each, while the dumb taxpayers struggled to survive on piddly little social security payments in their retirement. Payments which would eventually be canceled so the legislators could funnel the funds back into the war machine and the military-industrial complex where they received payments and kickbacks. They would not live on petty little social security checks dribbling in during their old age, instead
these elected officials would live in luxury like the heartless criminals they had become.
Another man, the second largest oil well driller in the world, had drilled most of the wells on those Presidential oil rigs in the Gulf, and accidentally found out what was happening on the rigs. This tough and very bright Texan terrified by
this drug business, which he was powerless to stop, would be the one most likely to be the scapegoat and get arrested. This wily Texan got the hell out of Dodge making a run for it. None of his many influential friends could understand why he suddenly sold all of his immense holdings, converting hundreds of millions of dollars into gold when it was $6 an ounce. He divorced his wife, grabbed a friend’s
incredibly sexy young wife, and left the country for good. He bought a big estate in England and a thousand acre ranch in Argentina and sailed the oceans of the world in an enormous sailing yacht. He gave his racing car partner, carte blanche to do whatever he felt was best. Eventually the Texan retired from international auto racing to play polo, even though he struggled, being quite large for the sport. Another friend, St. Germain, a fledgling race car mechanic, worked for the Texan when he was 18 years old. He learned of his former boss’s self-imposed exile many years later. He didn’t understand the real reason for his sudden departure until much, much later. His former boss allegedly “cured” his cancer using a large calibre handgun. When he died, the Texan was one of the largest landowners in South America, owning many hundreds of thousands of acres in several countries.
The General witnessed what horrible havoc and misery the poor wretches and their families suffered while addicted to the money-making drugs. The President and his cronies controlled vast segments of society worldwide through their plan to get everyone they could chemically dependent via his suppliers, either on illegal drugs or via prescription pharmaceuticals. Despite it all, the General still had just enough of a shred of conscience left that he secretly abhorred the whole disgusting drug business and despised the rotten bastard who rose to the top of the Agency and beyond because of his management of it. It deeply galled him that this same person now sat in the White House, where he hypocritically pontificated along with his predecessor about his government’s fictitious so-called ‘War on Drugs.’ As the General walked down the halls of the White House on his way to the Oval Office, officers snapped to attention and saluted him all the way, and many of those old thoughts ran through his mind. But when he stood before the President in the Oval Office, he put those things aside and deferentially said: “Good morning, Mr. President. How good it is to see you again, and especially here in the Oval Office. Congratulations, Sir. Now may I bring you up to speed on the world’s state of affairs?” The President sat back behind his desk and listened wryly, impatiently tapping his fingers together, as his trained monkey briefed him on matters which he already knew since he had secretly helped create most of them. When the General concluded his report, the President stood up and said. “Very good, Dick”. The General’s name was not ‘Dick.’ That was an alias he acquired when he fouled-up a little mission early in his career. A few irreverent men in the agency jokingly referred to him occasionally with the double entendre behind his back as ‘Dick.’ But they all knew damn well that this was not a man to be made fun of. He was powerful, extremely dangerous, and had absolutely no sense of humor, especially about himself. So he visibly bristled when his former ‘colleague’ called him ‘Dick.’ It had been a power play on behalf of the man who was now President, and he enjoyed watching the General’s discomfort as he put him in his place. Now it was the President’s turn to brief the General, and it was a briefing the General would never forget. The President stood up and walked
around the desk. “You know Dick, one reason that we never really got along at the Agency, although you did an excellent job of running the day-to-day affairs, is your attitude from your lofty position. You think you know everything. You don’t know crap! Just because you have access to so much information, you think you know a hell of a lot, but you don’t know the full story and I think it is time that you got the bigger picture. “I’m sure you heard about that crazy Hungarian scientist who runs our entire secret scientific projects for us. He says that ‘Human beings, as we know them, are not native to this planet.’ That is completely true. And if those stupid self-righteous so-called Christians had any brains, or used the ones their Good Lord gave them instead of as a pail of rocks, they would realize that their beloved Bible is really the true story of genetic engineering and the colonization of this planet. “Anyway, I know that you are aware of the thirteen major bloodline families who own the world and instruct us on how to control it for them. You have personally known and dealt with many of them over the years. What you might not know is the reason that they are so concerned about their bloodlines. It is not just for snobbery, but because they need to preserve a high amount of racial purity, undiluted by too much human DNA, in order to maintain certain abilities. The reason I am telling you all this is that we have allowed you to rise to your position within the government because you yourself have a high amount of alien DNA. Essentially, you are one of the family in more respects than you know. This is also the real reason why we use DNA testing for identification before people board Air Force One. We want to know exactly who is getting on board my airplane. “The foolish public still teaches its children the idea that anyone can rise to be President. But it might surprise these idiots to know that out of the 43 Presidents occupying this office all of them, myself included, are related to only three men and to each other. And 36 of the 43 are related to two of the three European-alien bloodlines. We were all descended from either Charlemagne, Alfred the Great, or Plantagenet. “My own family’s bloodline is very ancient, and we have managed to preserve our special abilities. In every election since George Washington, the person who became the President is the one who had the most ‘royal’ DNA. It might surprise you to know that I am related by blood to virtually every other major ruler in the world, just as you are, but to a lesser degree. “Dick, we need to schedule a trip and I will show you some more things, but not just now. I want to make sure you understand that what I have just told you is a trillion times more secret than anything we ever classified at the Agency.” As with all the previous Presidents of the United States, he had sworn his main Secret Police agent to secrecy with these last words. Then he suddenly grew two feet taller than his normal tall stature. The President’s features slowly morphed into that of a giant reptile with slightly human features. This utterly shocked the General and involuntarily he gasped as he saw the transformation of the President into a tall alien lizard man in front of him. His many years of rigid self-control overrode his fear, and his mind searched for rationalizations of what he was seeing. His eyes swept the room looking for holographic projectors, but the big reptile in front of him said, “No Dick, there are no tricks, this is my real appearance.” As he loomed over the General, he put his terrifying reptilian face right down into the General’s own and looked right into his eyes with snake-like vertical pupils, and added, “You will keep these matters SECRET for as long as you live or I will personally slice you open while still alive, drink your blood and eat your liver… AFTER I have punished you with things too horrible for your brain to imagine!” The breath of this God-awful monster was so horrible that the General almost vomited and passed out simultaneously. The stench was like a combination of female menstrual blood and dead decaying road kill. His body involuntarily convulsed, and he was gulping and gasping as his breakfast migrated into his throat. “Now get out of here! I need to rape some young underage human bitch, and suck the fear energy out of her while she's screaming in terror. While she’s impaled on my pindar, I’ll morph back into my real form, boosting my own energy so that when I return to my human disguise, I can maintain it effortlessly. “I’ll contact you soon. In the meantime, I want you to put some agents on the case, kidnap a dozen or so tasty pubescent human females for me to use. Of course, the real reason they are ‘recruiting’ these juicy girls will remain a secret between you and me. Now get out!” The General had faced many terrifying and utterly horrible things in combat, in overt and covert wars all over the world. But he was so deeply frightened by what just happened that he could barely walk out of the room without losing control of his bowels.
When he finally got back to his office in the Agency, he told his secretary he was not to be disturbed, closed and locked the door and took out a half full bottle of Scotch from his bottom desk drawer, and drank the whole thing. As the fiery liquid burned, making its way down his throat, he realized that the many things he had done to maintain the supremacy of the thirteen families were completely treasonous to the entire human race. He was a goddamn four-star General for crissakes! He had worked his way up from buck private having one of the most highly decorated military careers in history! He felt like a miserable goddamn rat-bastard traitor! There was not a damn thing he could think of that he could do about it. If he ever dared to tell anyone in the Agency about what he had just learned, they would either think he was totally nuts, or they would report him to the President. On reflection, he felt just like Jacqueline Kennedy must’ve felt when she saw her husband shot in the face with a poisonous toxic shellfish bullet by the same Secret Service agent who was driving the car in Dallas, after the bullets of the snipers in front of the car had struck him. The Secret Service would guard her and her children for the rest of their lives; who the hell was she ever going to tell?! Which was why she married the international head of the Mafia. He was the only one who could protect her! But the General wasn’t a woman, nor did he have the prestige of a rich, important family, to barter for his protection. The proud commander put his head down on his desk and tears rolled down his face. His mind considered a myriad of gruesomely unpleasant ways to commit suicide. And he knew them all… “Caretaker out....”
