Ben Gold, IJC
My name is Gold, Ben Gold, I work for the International Jewish Conspiracy. It takes a lot of people to operate the world from behind the scenes, I’m just one, a trouble shooter.
It was a rainy Friday in September. At 4pm, I was in my office, wondering if I should pack it in for the day, when there was a knock on the door.
The suspense didn’t last long as the door opened and in walked a pair of legs that belonged on a statue in Greece. I scanned up to the rest and said, “Won’t you have a seat?”.
When she was seated, I offered her some coffee, which she wisely declined. Then she started in on her tale or woe. In my line of work I hear so many tales like these that sometimes even a magnum of bourbon won’t blot them out.
“Mr. Gold, my name is Alice Brimley. My husband is Aurther Brimley, the senator from Texas. I’m being blackmailed and I need your help.”
“He’s more than that, Mrs. Brimley, he’s also a Grand Master of the Illuminati and a former head of the Austin chapter of the Cattle Mutilators, as you well know, being a member of the Illuminati yourself.”
She winced and started fumbling with a cigarette. I lit it for her, and she took a few drags, as if trying to think of a new route through a maze. “Where do you get your information from Mr. Gold?”.
“The sign on the door says IJC, Mrs. Brimley.”
“I did a terrible thing Mr. Gold, a terrible thing.”, she began again, forcing a few tears. I lit a cigarette for myself, and she probably sensed that I wasn’t buying the maiden in distress routine. She continued, “About six months ago, I met a man while I was staying in London. His name is Evan Croix, he said that he was in town on business. We had dinner, I should have checked him out, but I flattered myself to think that he was attracted to me.”
“Makes sense from where I’m standing.”
“He turned out to be a foot soldier for the Masons, you know, the Templars. They are trying to get to my husband through me so that they can forward their campaign against the International Oil Cartel.”
“Hmmm, the IOC, I think they run the Olympics too. Just what exactly does this Croix fellow have on you?”
“He followed me and took some pictures of me kissing the hotel tennis pro. Then he got a shot of me entering 10 Downing St., official business, some shots of me murdering a fellow and dumping the body into the Thames, and a couple more of me getting crazy in a after hours club.”
“Sounds like enough.”
“I’ve been drinking a bit too much lately.”
“What’s his line?”
“He wants me to get my husband to force the IOC to lower the price of gas by 30 cents a gallon. I think its a financing scheme. As you know the IOC has a policy of never lowering gas prices as its against their plan for world domination.”
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“If I knew that Mr. Gold, I could have hired any old private dick to go rough him up. I need someone with a little more, schmaltz, if you will. Here’s a check.”
“I haven’t said that I’ll take the case yet.”
“Its blank so just fill in whatever you think is reasonable. It makes little difference to us as we control the money supply.”
The words “I’ll take the case.”, popped out of my mouth before I knew it was open, and I plucked the check from her thin fingers.
I saw her to the door and then went back in and took my .38 from the desk drawer. The boys in the IOC have reputation for playing rough.
My first stop was Mustafa’s Club 57 on 57th St. Mustafa and I went way back to when he was running property crimes for the Brotherhood. Now he was in charge of all crime in New York, and with his smarts would probably end up running the whole country. At the door I was detained by the usual bouncers. I let them search me and hold the .38, then they took me in to see Mustafa.
“Benny, my man, how’s life in the IJC?”
“Never better, how’s the Brotherhood working for you? Heard you were made Man of New York?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ve done pretty well. What brings you down to my little nexus of organized crime?”
“I need some help tracking a member of the IOC?”
“The IOC? You don’t want to mess with those motherfuckers. They’re fucking crazy!”, Mustafa paused a moment to compose himself, “Sorry for the swearing, I was just doing a promotional video and sometimes my patterns of speech continue after the shoot. You should have seen me last week. I was doing a promotional video for Cops and when I got home I was all nigga this and nigga that. My wife went nuts, understandably. Let me tell you, one ought not to call one’s wife a nigga ho, even in jest.”
“I know what you mean, keeping up appearances is tough sometimes. You should try having to wear this prosthetic nose all the time, no fun, especially in the summer.”
“We all have our burdens, but trust me, you don’t want to deal with the IOC. Besides, I don’t know anyone who can get you in there.”
“I didn’t think so. I was hoping you could hook me up with the Islamic Terrorist Cabal. Everyone knows that they are heavily mixed up with the IOC. Initially I thought I’d just go to the nearest mosque, but I need to find someone suitably high up that can help find an agent named Croix, and it would take me months to wade through all the ‘useful jihadis’.”
“Yeah, I’ve got some good contacts at the ITC, real white collar mullahs, never touched an AK outside of photo shoots. I’ll hook you up with Jimmy Ahmed, he goes by the professional name of Mohammad Aberjabbarjibjab. He’ll help you out if he can, but this is going to cost you.”
“I figured. You know the IJC never parts with significant amounts of paper money, but I can get you as many diamonds as you want.”
“OK, sounds good, I’ll hook you up for, say, 100 pounds.”
“Sure, that’s no problem.”
Mustafa and I shot the shit for while longer at his club and had a few drinks. It was going to take a day for him to set up the meeting with Jimmy so I decided to take a day off and get a little R&R.
The next day I went to a movie at the local theater. The name of the film was “Kill or be Killed”. It was the typical Hollywood production. On the surface it was a lot of car chases, explosions and gun play. Good honest Americana. It was, of course, also filled with subliminal messages pushing the Hollywood studio’s pro-gay, pro-abortion agenda. I never could figure out how they can be both pro-gay AND pro-abortion. I mean if they succeed in turning everyone gay then how is anyone going to get pregnant in the first place? There are so many organizations bent on world domination that haven’t fully thought out the consequences of their platform.
A friend of mine in the FBI once gave me a pair of glasses that would make all of the subliminal messages obvious. They use them to build files on everyone in Hollywood. I tried them a few times but they kept sticking to the prosthetic nose. Anyway, I figured my work is filled with looking at subtext, why concern myself with it after hours.
I stepped out of the theater onto wet streets and rain dropping like price of food after a botulism scare. I turned up the collar of my coat and hailed a cab. The meeting was to take place in central park, probably the largest un-bugged area in New York, except for the occasional CIA secret squirrel. I jumped out of the cab and took a short walk into the park, where I found Mustafa waiting under an umbrella at the appointed spot.
“Where are your goons?”
“I gave them the night off, Jimmy can be a bit skittish sometimes.”
“Not the best location for a meeting on a night like tonight.”
“At least we can be sure that the bugged squirrels won’t be around.”
I lit a cigarette under Mustafa’s umbrella and we noticed two men approaching. The guy with the beard was, no doubt, Jimmy Ahmed, the other guy looked like a Midwest football quarterback. “Who’s the second?”, I asked Mustafa.
“Don’t know.”
The two men closed in and Mustafa started off.
“Hey Jimmy, how’s it going? Who’s your friend?”
Jimmy and Mustafa shook hands and we made introductions. The friend was Colonel Hammersmith, two plus two equals Military Industrial Complex.
Jimmy explained, “I brought Hammersmith here as he and I are working on a project that, indirectly involves your man, Croix. We are looking for him too. Perhaps you can help us, perhaps we can work together.”
“That depends.”, I stated, “Why are you looking for him?”.
Hammersmith answered, “For reasons of national security, that’s all you need to know.”.
I took a drag from my cigarette and shot back, “You’ll have to give me a little more than that, Colonel. Maybe I can start you off. In 1956 you captured a UFO and took it to Area 51 Nevada. Since then you have been running a nice business building defense equipment based on alien technology. The one thing that has eluded you is the Fusion power source, which has always seemed to be just around the corner. Now, on the verge of ‘discovering’ this technology, you find that some yoyo Templar is going to get the IOC to drop the price of oil, thereby reducing the adoption of your reactors and dropping corporate profits. Jimmy here is tagging along because he wants your reactor to succeed, weakening the hold of the IOC on the world energy market and allowing his organization to fulfill its REAL purpose, namely the overthrow of the French-Italian Fashion Inititive (FIFI) to bring about a return to simple formless female attire and Adidas sports wear for men. Should I continue with the involvement of the Dairy Board?”
Hammersmith seemed a little alarmed that I knew all about his stupid alien spaceship, shit, who doesn’t. Jimmy merely stared at me in amazement.
Mustafa was the first to speak, “Hell yeah! I knew it!”.
Hammersmith glared at me and spoke, “You seem very well informed, Mr. Gold, too bad you don’t know where Croix is, that’s one piece of information, that I have and you don’t; but I can give it to you, if you help us apprehend him. We’d go ourselves, but he’d expect that, he’d never expect the IJC.”
“And if I do? What happens to him?”
“As long as he can’t interfere with the regular IOC price increases, I don’t really care, and I think Jimmy will agree with me on that.”, Hammersmith explained, “However there is still the matter of the Dairy Board. Croix has been running unauthorized cheese shipments and the Dairy Board will want more than an agreement to stop.”
“How much more?”
“Generally, in a case like this, they would torture the suspect for information and then disappear him into one of their overseas gulags.”
“Harsh.”, I summarized. “OK, tell me where he is and I’ll bring him in.”
An hour later I was walking up the stairs of a motel on 3rd and Lexington. I got to room 302 and gave it a knock. The door opened. Croix was a dapper gent in a tweed suit, he peered out from the half open door and asked, “What can I do for you?”.
“You can let me save your life.”, I replied.
“Well, you better come in then.”, he said, showing me the .45 in his right hand, and motioning me inside. He gave a glance down the hall and then closed the door. He patted me down and took my .38. “Can I offer you a drink, Mr…”.
“Gold, Ben Gold, and yes, I’ll take a bourbon and soda.”
He put his .45 in his pocket and went across the room to mix the drink. I could see he already had one himself and there was a second one the coffee table with some lipstick on the rim.
“Do you want me to tell you how I am going to save your skin?”, I questioned.
Croix handed me the drink and replied, “I’d be more interested in why.”
“Maybe I’m just a noble guy, in an ignoble world, where even the sham dialog in a crazy blog sounds old and tired.”
“Maybe you are. What does that make me then? The villain, a chump, some form of comic diversion?”
“You’re a bit hard to figure. Initially I thought this was a straight up case, but I should have known better. Dames like Alice Brimley never serve it up straight.”
“Alice Brimley? Who’s that?”
“Come on Croix, isn’t it a little late in this story for you to be playing dumb? She’s the woman you sent to hire me with a story about how you were blackmailing her to get to her husband.”
I went to the bedroom door and opened it. “You can come out now honey.” Alice paused within and then emerged and went to the sofa to light a cigarette.
“I guess things haven’t worked out as we planned.”, Croix said, lighting a match for Alice and then starting his own.
“That remains to be seen, as your real purpose had nothing to do with the IOC. It took me a while to figure out your angle. If your scheme was really about financing why not just get the Illuminati to print you some money? There’s no need for you to mess with the IOC. But then it occurred to me that the second highest goal of the Templars is to reestablish rule in the middle east, which is currently ruled by the IOC and the ITC. So you must be interested in information regarding these groups. This is why you hired the IJC, who else is better qualified?”
I lit a cigarette and let the weight of my arguments sink in. There was a knock at the door.
Croix looked at me with an inquisitive expression and then, fishing the .45 from his pocket, went to the door. As he opened the door it burst in and Hammersmith was wrestling with Croix for the .45. Hammersmith won the duel and Croix backed up toward Alice. Mustafa and Jimmy entered and closed the door.
Alice spoke up, “You’re just in time gentlemen, Mr. Gold has been regaling us with a tale about how Mr. Croix and I are co-conspiring. To what end I have no idea, something about the IOC or ITC, I can’t keep it straight. Do go on Mr. Gold, it is all very entertaining.”
More drinks were made and cigarettes lit until the room had air like the summer in Los Angeles.
Hammersmith, motioned with the .45 and said, “Please continue, I’m all ears.”
“Well, let’s see, I could continue but none of you are going to like it. Do you really want me to spell out the truth or should I sugar coat it?”
“Give it to us straight”, said Mustafa.
Alice agreed, “Yes, Mr. Gold, I want to hear the truth, I’ve been living a life of desperation for so long that I need truth.”
The others motioned assent and I continued, “The truth is that there is no International Oil Conspiracy. Its true that the price of oil does go up, but this it due more to market conditions than to a global conspiracy. There is also no such thing as the Brotherhood. Mustafa is indeed black, and he does indeed own a club, but he doesn’t control crime in New York, he’s never even committed a crime. Well, in 3rd grade I remember that he got a trashing for stealing $2 from his aunt’s purse, but that’s it. Since Mustafa is a merely a club owner I presume that his contacts, Hammersmith and Ahmed aren’t what they seem either. Is this true Mustafa?”
“Well, yeah, Hammersmith isn’t really a colonel, he’s a corporal in 24/7 Security Services, I use them for the club. I don’t know anything about the Military Industrial Complex and Hamersmith was the best I could do on short notice. Jimmy’s not a terrorist either, he’s actually not even a Muslim, but his family is from Greece and he kind of has that terrorist look about him, if you know what I mean.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
I continued, “The Military Industrial Complex does exist, but its a mindless beast, like government bureaucracy, not a driving purposeful conspiracy. And terrorism is really just a bunch of arrogant self-righteous murderers, there is no International Terrorist Cabal. Sure there are terrorists all over the world and they communicate with each other, but so do pedophiles, doesn’t mean that all the pedophiles in the world work in some hierarchical structure. Then there is the Illuminati. The US government can’t control Iraq how do you think that they control the world? You can turn it around and say that things in Iraq are exactly how they want them to be, but then you are just proving that which you have assumed to be true.”
“What about the Cattle Mutilators?”, asked Alice.
“I really have no idea about that. However I do know that the International Jewish Conspiracy is either non-existent or the most ineffective conspiracy since the Illuminati. Do Jewish people look out for one another and have a sense of community? Probably, but how does that get to running the world?”.
At this point I took off my prosthetic and wiped the sweat off my nose with my handkerchief. “Can someone please open a window before we all asphyxiate?!”. Mustafa complied and started opening windows. The sounds of the street and the rain poured in with the fresh air.
“Why do you wear the nose if you aren’t in the IJC?”, asked Jimmy?
“Why do you wear that arab get-up if you aren’t an arab and you live in New York?”. I turned to face Hammersmith, “Will you stop trying to intimidate me with that lighter?!”. He smiled sheepishly and put the .45 lighter on the table.
“You seem to have covered off everything except for the the Templars and the Dairy Board.”, said Croix.
“Are there a bunch of guys running around the modern world looking for grails and thinking that they are Templars. Why not, there are people running around in sewers thinking that they are 12th level Wizards. Are they actually Templars, no. As for the Dairy Board, they do in fact exist but they limit their schemes to cheese, keeping the prices high and the quality low. They are the only real conspiracy that I am aware of.”
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