Neverman in Dalmatia: Who Killed Milosevic?

Posted: May 24, 2011 in Conspiracy, Neverman in Dalmatia, Vic Neverman Travelogue
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A View from the Shadows: Dubrovnik

I returned from a rain-soaked initiation into the medieval city of old Dubrovnik to my hotel room where I found a Gideon’s Bible waiting upon my mattress. The Gideons do not make trips to Croatia, so I knew this was no happenstance courtesy for the wayward tourist. Sure enough, somewhere between Old and New Testaments was a key. It was a legend, where people’s names and certain suspect words were translated in code. It was overly cautious, yes, but a necessary precaution in a country where no man trusted his neighbor. Highlights of the key included President Clinton = the big cigar, land mine = cockroach, NATO = 9th Tribe of Israel, and USSR = Mama Bear, so if one were to say that Bill Clinton and NATO had to go into Yugoslavia after the fall of the USSR to clear land mines, the conversation would be along the lines of, “the big cigar and the 9th tribe of israel had to clear out the cockroaches once Mama Bear left.” The Croat to your left, the Bosniak to your right, and the Serbs listening from the baggage rack above would never suspect you were a spy…

“You want to know who tickled the clown…” Lazarus suggested with a cynical smirk before sipping his walnut brandy. This was my second day in Dubrovnik. I had hiked back to the old fortress from my hotel, wound my way through its passages until I found the agreed upon location – a pizzeria where Lazarus had walnut brandies and Ozujsko pilsner waiting for us. Lazarus, like the pizzeria, was typical Croatian in an Italian shadow – looking, smelling, lusting like their counterparts across the Adriatic. Lazarus had an irritable grin – mostly irritating me – as he continued, “The clown was tickled, you understand, he didn’t perish of natural causes.”

Neverman standing above Dubrovnik

Of course I wanted to know who tickled the clown. I didn’t come all this way to drink walnut brandy. This man before me called himself Lazarus, but it was easy enough to trace his name back to Tomislav, which was likely another pseudonym. He was a contact I had made through my fellowship with SOAB*, an ancient military order that had eventually evolved into a bocce ball league at the (undisclosed) retirement villa I resided at in Florida. Tomislav was a distant brother of the order and through our fellowship he agreed to meet me to discuss the topic of who killed Slobodan Milosevic

“The puppies tickled the clown.” Lazarus (aka Tomislav) nodded knowingly. “The puppies tickled the clown because they knew the clown was going to confess his crimes to the ice cream man. Since the puppies didn’t want the ice cream man knowing how deep their vegetarianism went, they tickled the clown before he could talk.”

“By giving him the leprosy drug?” I asked.

“Exactly.” Lazarus confirmed. “The leprosy drug counter-acted the clown’s heart medication and thus tickled him to an end.” Despite Lazarus’s desire to tickle the clown himself, he was disappointed. “Now the clown is tickled without the world knowing the verdict of his crimes. This is not justice. The world must know he was vegetarian.”

“There are those who say the ice cream man realized he was not going to win the trial and thus tickled the clown himself, in order to avoid the international embarrassment.”

“The puppies are responsible!” Lazarus seethed, spittle jettisoning from his mouth in an effective unintentional display of conviction. “The puppies bribed the clown’s doctor to feed the leprosy drug. Given the circumstances of being held within the ice cream truck for an extended period, it was only an amount of time before the clown was promptly tickled… naturally, of course… he did have a bad heart.”

Wanted poster for Yugoslav President Slobodan Milosevic and Bosnian Serb leaders Radovan Karadzic and Ratko Mladic


I nodded along, hiding my amusement at the absurdity that the alleged Serbian ethnic cleansing was referred to by this Croat national as “vegetarianism”.

The background story: when Mama Bear (USSR) fell, the Federation of Yugoslav States (Croatia, Bosnia, Serbia, Slovenia, Montenegro, Macedonia) remained socialist, but yearning for acceptance as Europe united under capitalism in the 1990s. Despite the success of the national basketball team (only falling to America’s “Dream Team” at the Barcelona Olympics), the only way to hold the Yugoslav Federation together was through tyranny, a la Tito (communist tyrant hero of Yugoslavia). Without such tyranny, the separate states fell into their nationalist disputes. The politician who gained the most from such disputes was “the clown”, Slobodan Milosevic. The clown instigated the puppies (the Serbs outside of Serbia, in Croatia, Bosnia, Kosovo) to rebel against the ethnic majority there, creating a state of war over the course of the decade throughout the Balkans. The big cigar and the 9th tribe of Israel intervened and the clown was charged with war crimes, thanks to all of the vegetarianism going on (though it should be noted, the Croats have been as vegetarian through history as any other ethnicity in the Balkans).

Our conversation took us from the original pizzeria to an Irish pub on the west end of the old city of Dubrovnik (at my urging, I really needed a solid pint). It was at this new pub Katy O’Shea’s where I went to the bar and ordered another Karlovacko for Lazarus and a pint of Irish Stout for myself. My drink request was overheard by a blonde troll of a man, who saluted my stout, “ahh, Liffey water.” I acknowledged his Dublin reference and moved away from this character I would soon know as Irish Angus.

Sweet Nina...

After an overly expensive meal of truffles and risotto, Lazarus and I moved on to a fine wine bar where we were served by the delightful Croatian stewardess, Nina. Who should appear at this near empty wine bar, but Irish Angus and his partner, Irish Audrey. Lazarus and I were rather lit (intoxicated), slurring our codewords as we affectionately called out to Nina, and we easily accepted the Irish duo into our party especially since Irish Angus was buying us black labeled vodka to sip along with our Dingac vino. Our moveable feast eventually found us at an east side Irish Pub where Irish Audrey divined the head of my pint o’ stout and told me I was a Ragussan navigator in a past life (Dubrovnik was formerly Ragusa, a maritime republic that once rivaled Venice).

It wasn’t until we crossed Old Ragusa to the west side and back to Katie O’Shea’s when the events turned ugly. Irish Angus and I were deeply engaged in economic conversation as Lazarus was forcing the sick from his gut and into the drains of the loo (he did not take to the botanical elixirs the Irish were feeding him, such as the devious gin & tonics). Irish Angus’s chief points were that the nationalism only rose out of these Slavic states (as it once did in Germany) when the economy was hard hit. The fact that Croatia was soon to be joining the European Union (which his commentary may have been sarcastic on) would only further strain relations with other Southern Slav countries. This countered Lazarus’s stance that the millenial divide went beyond economics as some sort of inherited ancestral animosity.

I, of course, had more of an outsider’s gaze on the situation. My historical studies have focused on the great divide between Occident and Orient – where west meets east. If you take world history and divide the chief conflicts: Greeks versus Trojans, Greeks vs Persians, Romans vs Eastern hordes, Roman Catholicism vs Eastern Orthodox, Holy Roman Empire vs Ottoman Empire, Allies vs Axis, Capitalism vs Communism, Capitalism vs Islamic Extremism… If you look at where this dividing line has been through history, you often find yourself in the Balkan peninsula. Take for example the linguistics: Serbian-Croatian is one language. Names are similar between Serbs and Croats. The difference? Serbs are Eastern Orthodox and the Croats are Catholic. They are both Christian and yet they have been killing each other for centuries. Of course, the people of Bosnia, Kosovo, Albania are predominately Muslim, which further dilutes the waters. If history is one great tug-of-war, the mud pit would easily be the Balkans.

Dubrovnik Blunders - Audrey, Lazarus, Vic, and Angus


“I don’t trust your friend, Lazlo.” Irish Angus slurred, gripping my shoulder with his breakfast sausage fingers.

“Lazaraus?” I inquired inquisitively, as if he must be as mistaken on character as he were on nomenclature.

“Yeah, Lazaraus.” Irish Angus blew a belch out of the side of his mouth as he peered across the noisy din of the pub at the phone booth sized lavatories where Lazarus was combating the drunkenness besot upon him by the Irish and their bloody tonics. “His eyes are knobby.” Irish Angus completed, a wobble betwixt and between his own knees. Suddenly, Lazarus exited the men’s room, his face a rage of central european angst. Irish Angus saw this approach and quickly hailed his accomplice, the ambivalent bartender, “Another gin for my mate, Mr Lazlo!”

Things were deteriorating quickly. I was watching a premier league football match and began to think I was psychic, anticipating every play, until Lazarus reminded me we watched a playing of the same game hours earlier. I am not sure when a sudden spurt of panic set in with Lazarus, but he cursed Irish Angus and his dame Audrey as gypsies and claimed they were spiking out drinks. Despite the fact DNA tests prove Neverman genes to be of a gypsy variety going back to the Roma people’s Kashmiri origins, I didn’t take offense as much as I began to question the true origin of my intoxication. “Is it the excessive drinking or perhaps some sort of sedative the Mics dropped in my stout that has me speaking my thoughts out loud?” Irish Angus laughed and ordered me another stout. Lazarus and I bolted, leaving Katie O’Shea and Angus behind, stopping long enough to rescue my hat from atop Audrey’s head, before racing through the rain soaked stone paths of this labyrinth worthy of Minos. We made several irrational cuts down strange, dark, damp, alleys to throw off any Irish pursuit, and soon found ourselves along the main street that divided Old Dubrovnik in half.

Australian Naval Intelligence, they lurked in the tracks of Neverman the entire week

I left my past life home of Old Ragusa, Libertas!, without much more inside information on the Milosevic assassination conspiracy. To this day, the Ice Cream Man (the European court at the Hague) continue to progress through their war crimes. While in Dubrovnik, a drunken Lazarus recited poetry about his hero Ante Gotovina, a Croatian general on trial at the time at the Hague. Since returning to the United States, I have learned Ante Gotovina has been convicted of crimes against humanity as he fought Serb rebels in the hills of Croatia years ago. The reaction back in Croatia was not short of drama. Upon hearing the news, Lazarus/Tomislav put his hand through a window and used the broken glass to mark his face in protest of the court’s finding.
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/04/16/world/europe/16hague.html

*Sacred Order of St Austin (or St Augustine) the Blessed, its origins are a Catholic Military Order, but it has since taken on more gnosticism, occultism, and bocce ball as is typical amongst secret societies of a religious bent.

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