Ghost Troop Home Page    April Fools Part 3

 

September 10, 1015, email to Thom & Toby of the New York Times

Boys,

I’ve popped the best infobomb since Woodward & Bernstein, and you’re in the middle of it.  Have y’all had time to block my stuff yet, or is my email still getting through to you?  I’ll bet it is, ‘cause you just confirmed to me that my report of yesterday has reached you, and that you’re beginning to read it.  Shit, man you journalists all get to work late.  I did a saturation campaign last night and got it to hundreds of people before you.  I’m going to do the same with this.  Man, your career is bouncing like a pair of dice on a craps table.  Lucky for you I didn’t load ‘em to stare snake-eyes up at you, but I didn’t.  You still have a chance.  I’ll save my curse for when you need it.

Whaddaya think about my new e-mail address, boys?  No one saw that one coming, but I’ve had it ready since I came back from my honeymoon bike ride (a tandem) from the Gulf of Mexico to the Grand Canyon with Mrs. May, the love of my life and my lawyer, God bless her.  Yep, we rode through Lubbock in a dust storm, over the Rockies dodging fires, cops and Apaches.  I had to stand a bear down with my long staff one night in the woods.  I did it though, because he was fucking with someone I loved more than life.  I love lots of people more than life, boys.  I love the men and women of the Armed Forces more than my life, and I love the American People more than my life.

I’m not a great guy, but I’m a for-real motherfucker, and you would give anything in the world to have had me as a friend.  Why?  Because I can charm those who please me.  Hell, we hit it off pretty well talking Russian in a scratchy phone, so you must have been charmed.  In fact, the word charm is derived from the Latin carmen (song), the thing that a poet possesses.

I’m a poet, as well a warrior, and I’ve proved both while you cringed and cranked out lies.  If you boys will finally get in gear, I’ll be able to get back to practicing the martial arts, writing good poetry and playing bad guitar. [Editor’s emphasis, in all cases]  I’ve set the table for you, so dig in.  You’re big enough that the stuff I’ve sent to the publisher about you so far (you haven’t seen it all, I suspect) won’t kill your career, and I didn’t want it to.  I don’t want to hurt any media types, never did.  You see, I found you charming too.  God knows, I love y’all’s women, ‘cause they’re easier than trailer park trash.

On the whole, I have gotten to know you and your fellow journalists pretty well over the last five months.  I knew from the git-go that y’all were scared, and I don’t blame you.  Hell, I was scared, too.  I wrote “3/7 Cavalry, tragedy and travesty” on April 13, in about two hours.  I think it will be used in journalism courses.  In the essay I said I believed that the Bushling was using black operations, so I used Army operational security from that day forward.  I kept mobile while I used my cell phone to call ABC, NBC, CBS, your rag (were you Jayson Blair’s mentors?) and many others I’m not mentioning if I don’t have to, whose records are already copied, sealed and safeguarded by professionals of many stripes who are standing behind me.

I drove to Dr. Ted Estess, the dean of my college, and got him take and distribute a copy.  Hell, half of the University of Houston was having an academic tizzy over whether one of the Honors College stars could have really done a national-class piece of work like that.  Dozens of profs have pulled up the foreign sources they needed to confirm.  They’re teaching the stuff y’all haven’t had the balls to print – in Bush’s home town.  They view media’s abandonment of principles to the White House as amusing, and they tell the kids my stuff to make ‘em laugh.  They know that your megamedia bosses will pay the cost in public confidence, ergo market, ergo money.  The net stands to gain the most, so I’ve turned it into an infoweapon.  Every time I write an e-mail (like this one) they have more to post.  Hell, this is more fun than infidelity:  you guys are a bunch of cheats, so I’ve taught them how to cheat you back.  Yep, good thing I’m a dog with girls, because I learned how to coax.  Millions of them are going to go to alternative media now.

Serves you right!  Y’all lost the war you started on the Constitution so that your buddy, the prez could start the war on Iraq.  The war deal that the big media boys made with the big corporate boys made with the big political boys…  You know, the deal.  Well, Captain May sez that deal is off, that deal is a bust, and that deal will end up ending a lot of reputations.  Not my problem.  Collateral damage.

I’ll try to make it easy on the media, because I think y’all are ready for me to be nice now.  You see, you’re all chickens, and when you’ve decided to take your new course you all pretend to like doing it, so go ahead and pretend to like me.  Someone had to blow the lid off, or you would have let it spiral into dictatorship, every one of you.  It’s only fair that it was me, because I wept like a baby when I knew the 3/7 Cavalry had been blown to hell on the Baghdad Airport.  That was April 5, Thom.  Were you one of the guys who collaborated to set up the Private Jessica hoax to keep the American People in the dark, Thom?  You media boys and girls have been involved in some black ops of your own.  Yep, everyone got real naked and got embedded together.  Was George XLIII good?  You got screwed by royalty.  Proud of yourself?

You let me sweat it out in Houston living in the underground in Bush country when you knew the man was using black ops.  You got close to the truth of the 3rd ID in the July 4 edition of your rag, then left me stranded when I dumbly thought that the media had already grown balls.  You left the Army in the desert, and they’re now endangered – very endangered.  Goddamn it, you’re intelligent even if you’re a fucking wimp, so you know I’m telling you the truth.  You’ve let Bushlings play expansionist war.  You’ve let them take us close to nuclear war (in July).  July, hmmm…  I think that this July will be found to have been one of the more intriguing periods in American History.  What do you think, Thom, Toby, weren’t you in on the intrigue?  Wanna call me and do a story, or are you still busy playing with your Bushes?  Here you go:  [telephone number omitted by Editor].  (Pass it on to people with more grit than you have, dudes.)

I’ve got around a dozen folks on my black list, and I’m a hair away from adding you Thom, because on the phone you tried to be fucking coy with me.  I don’t have time for “coy.”  That’s bullshit for bullshit artists, boy, so save it for your peers.

Lots of you piece-of-shit journalists have good brains, but you’re weasels, all weasels.  Want me to prove it?  Don’t need to, Thom.  Y’all proved it.  I just wrote the book, April Fools, Captain May.  It’s a great April Fools joke, and it all started the day I sent my Houston Chronicle editor “Visions of Stalingrad, claim victory in Iraq now,” though it didn’t run until April 3.  I showed I had balls by looking at the Bush war plan and going on the record saying it would turn into the German invasion of Russia in ’41.  Brilliance, Thom, Toby, or balls?  Your answer to this and every question of manhood is “What do you mean?”  My answer is “What’s the difference.”  Never mind, I’m not going to waste time trying to educate you.  I like teaching teens more, because you can actually shape them.  Your soul is deformed.  You are not a journalist at all – you’re a propagandist.  Leni Reifenstahl died yesterday, and the infoblitz I pulled off yesterday was my salute.  I bid her genius goodbye; I bid her compromises good riddance.  Y’all are just a bunch of Leni’s, only far inferior in talent and zeal for your work.  You’ve empowered a dictator, too.

“Know thyself” was the navel of Hellenic wisdom.  Thom, Toby, y’all don’t know shit, let alone self – or in your case, is it the same?  Y’all are like Proteus, shifters of form.  Call me Odysseus…, and call me sir, mother fucker.  Don’t you ever, ever try to speak to me as if I were one of you press club pals.  I was, am, and ever shall be Captain May to you.  It’s my shred of dignity, and no illustrious title, but I earned it when someone needed to lead a pack of curs to tear up tyranny.  I’m going to hold you folks to the Constitution for the rest of my life, be it fifty years or fifty minutes.  I have focus, and that’s worth any price.  The alternative is to be like you, and you sicken me.

I meant what I said about the black list.  It waits for you if you fail to show me respect again, if you fuck around as we fix the overthrown Constitution.  I am warning you as Captain Eric Holmes May, MI, USA, Commander of Ghost Troop, 3/7 Cavalry (Light) that I will cast you to the outer void if my ghosts shriek for it.  I will black list you as I’ve blacklisted the ones below.  I know it’s a piece of McCarthy and that’s why I’m doing it:  because you’re a piece of McCarthy.  I’ll give you a special copy, boys, and you can tell kiss-ass friends and piece-of-tail office tramps that Captain May threatened to put you on it but didn’t.  Don’t make me, fellas.  I’m not a nice guy, but I’ve got a tough job to do, and I won’t flinch, trust me.

The rout is on.  Get turned around or get trampled.

I’ll recall your better points to the public:  Thom, you did talk to me in Russian, and that was a special comfort to me while I was underground with the truth and you were living a swell life with a swell lie.  Better, far better than that, you are the man who hooked the Times for me.  Thanks, you’re temporarily spared.

Toby, you actually wrote a note to me after I sent you all my op-eds to assure me that the Times was fearless and objective, and that you were going to read every piece over the weekend at the beach.  I chuckled at you, and called your bluff by getting back in touch.  You folded immediately with the lame line “I didn’t know how extensive your revelations would be.”  I chuckled again.  I just love the color yellow.  Thanks for the laughs, Toby.  Like Thom, you’ve hooked the Times.  You’re temporarily spared.

That’s as much grace as I’ve shown anyone in five months, gentlemen.  I’ll pet your heads if you’re docile, but I’ll kick your tail up your ass if you cross me again.  It’s really a good thing that the Houston Chronicle, The Dallas Morning News and The El Paso Times have pissed me off even worse than you, along with a rag-bag one-star general, a couple of elected reps and a couple of Bushlings.  But you know and I know that you’re totally compromised in documents that have gone into networks and activist communities, and you’ll have to answer for it.  If they kill me, which the cowards are considering, they’ll probably have a revolution on their hands, because the book looms like a sword of Damocles.  It’s predestined for the top of the charts, and it calls for revolution if tyranny doesn’t subside.  Revolution?  Yep, it’s an idea I ripped off from Tom Jefferson.  He wrote and essay once and called it the Declaration of Independence.  I’m telling the American People that they must fall back to its Commandment to revolt if weasels like you destroy the Constitution.  How’s that for a raise of the stakes, Thom?  I see your bosses folding, just like the Bushling has folded.  You’ll all fold, and the higher-ups, your masters, will stick you with the blame.  Fine.

Captain May

PS:  “Down, dog, and kennel!”  Who can identify the quote?  (Hint:  He was a captain, too.) First journalist to write me a good published piece about what a fine job I’ve done for my country gets his or her words included in the book, and goes to the Honor Roll of Allies.  Captain May teaches school when he’s not mobilized, children, and he’ll give good grades for good little boys and girls if good little boys and girls will do what Captain May sez  Got it?  Get it!  Get going!

I’m attaching my essay, “Private Jessica, the media and the military,” and the essay “3/7 Cavalry, tragedy and travesty.”  Publish the Jessica piece first to get the people ready, then give ‘em the other.  When I get tired of waiting, you’re black listed.  If I get assassinated, every player in the book is black listed.

 

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