Posts Tagged ‘Domestic Spies’

CHERRY CREEK, Colo.

From within the cemented bunker
of a suburban Denver parking garage
a curiously-clad and burly bearded paranoid perches as a slightly-more-animate gargoyle
spying out at the onslaught of precipitous precipitation.
The precipitation was less rain than
snow that just couldn’t keep its shit together;
it fell hard,
as hard as underachieving snow could fall betwixt the competing STOP lights.
The crossroad traffic signals twisted and swung in the wind
(a red-light dance-off),
its illumination reflecting off of the precipitation
until the rain shone like splattered neon blood.
All the while,
the un-stoned gargoyle watched from the concrete stairwell of the aforementioned parking garage.

Cherry Cricket of Suburban Denver

Cherry Cricket of Suburban Denver

Across the street existed a popular burger joint, the Cherry Cricket. I, the aforementioned gargoyle, arrived early to the parking lot to perch and wait… only to descend and arrive late to the agreed upon restaurant. I opened the external doors like a space cowboy on zero oxygen and a taste for whiskey (not just any whisky, you see, but that requiring the extra-e). Once within, Bubba at the door assumed Charlie’s Checkpoint position and asked for my papers. I showed someone’s identification and was immediately allowed entry into the innards of the establishment and once there I came across the vision of Her: sitting as a lotus flower amidst a swarm of buzzing menfolk seeking to pollinate. She brushed off their advances as her eyes summed the arithmetic that was I. Her maths figured me to be the remainder of Victor Neverman, a young lad she knew once in another life. Lily Kudzu smiled warm enough to break the Arctic and spur me forward.

Vic's fourth grade class photo (Lily Kudzu is top left with 'LK')

Vic’s fourth grade class photo (Lily Kudzu is top left with ‘LK’)

“You asshole.” She chimed in songbird harmony from her side of the booth we were escorted to. Her words alone could be read out of context if you did not witness the exhibit of mirth upon her face. “Upon minutes of friending you on Facebook, I am suddenly followed by vans with excessive antennae and I always get the TSA ‘upgrade’ at airport security. Who are you?”

“Do you not recognize me?” I asked, curious and waving off the waiter.

“I expected someone less bearded, half as tall, with no white hairs.”

“You may be perceiving time too relatively.” I explained, consciously reminding myself to stop pulling nervously at the edge of my beard. “I’ve grown some since last sighting and these hairs are black with some excusable silver. No white hairs.”

“Blame it on the fluorescent lighting.” Lily Kudzu shrugged away her apparent misconception.

She wasn’t exactly what I remembered from the fourth grade, either. She admitted that her 80’s hairdo was gone and she had chosen eye contacts over the windshield of spectacles that had rivaled my own in those days of lore. She no longer looked as I remembered. She looked… a Woman.

“I do realize…” I admitted with utmost candor, weighing my words within a dramatic pause. “You are a woman.”

“That’s a good start.” Lily Kudzu admitted hopefully, her worried brow in a furrow.

“Why did you agree to meet me?”

“Because…” Lily Kudzu began as any earnest mirage of vaporous memory forming in the desert of your mind would begin, at least, until, that mirage sights you attempting to eat a hamburger topped by sloppy green chilies. “Vic, you are really a messy eater.”

“I, um…” I stumbled with a verbal response as I rejected the messied burger in my hands. Pulling half-chomped onion and specks of green chilies from my beard, I admitted, “I may have bitten more than could be chewed.”

Lily Kudzu studied me with an expression that was attempting to be supportive in a “your poor thing” kind of way. As in, “you poor thing, you’ve been a feral child living off of corn cobs for thirteen years, of course you don’t know how to consume a sandwich without it turning into something resembling a finger-painting project.” Of course, I wasn’t a feral child who had lived off of corncobs, which left her sympathy even less deserved.

My sense of civility dented like a participant in a school bus derby, I put my burger aside and listened to Lily Kudzu’s story. There was a man from her recent past. He was a dick. They were married, then unmarried and then he really became a dick. This man, the ex-husband, was allegedly a purveyor of dental implants. Yes, “dental implants”, otherwise known as the trade of spook.

Lily Kudzu's ex-husband "sold dental implants" (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

Lily Kudzu’s ex-husband “sold dental implants” (wink, wink, nudge, nudge)

While it might seem improbable to the mainstream flotsam, there are hidden keywords – cryptographic double-entendres, if you will (and will you must certainly should) – that may mean something benign to the virginal ears of the uninitiated and yet something entirely different to the well-spooked. “I sell dental implants” is practically synonymous with “I am more or less a domestic spy with an eyeglass pointed at your bathroom window, a camera behind your mirror, a bug on your phone, a GPS under your car and a drug-dog snouting your luggage.” If you are at a common dinner party choosing amongst the ill-catered charcuterie and some fellow with a misaligned smile introduces himself as a dealer in dental implants, you shall be well extolled should you douse his mustachioed face with whichever inebriant elixir you possess in hand for this scoundrel is surely a member of the Military Industrial Intelligence Complex and likely already intimately familiar with your web-browser search history.

Where was I before I was so misled by an interrupting thought? Ah yes, Lily had an ex-husband. I offered to Lily my unique set of skills to assist in sabotaging whatever life direction this X might have had in mind, but she wasn’t interested. She wasn’t vengeful, she was proud of the strength she found in his absence. Why… then, did she agree to meet me: this Gypsy drifter, rolling through town like a tumbleweed with green chilies hanging from its beard?

“Because I wanted to know if you really existed? I mean, it’s been so long, I wasn’t sure if I just accidentally dreamed you some night.” Lily Kudzu then inquired in turn, as she had patiently waited for this, her turn, “Why did you ask to see me?”

“Same reason.” I responded, eyes wide with admission. “I wanted to know if I really existed.”

Cricket burger with monster green chili

Cricket burger with monster green chili

CHERRY CRICKET RESTAURANT: burger joint with real burgers, a variety of toppings and a damn good draft selection. High energy & loud enough that others cannot eavesdrop on your conversation. A good den for conspirators. I give it 5 out of 5 NeverStars.

Somebody is watching you...

Somebody is watching you, it is the NSA

You are being watched. The WashPost has recently disclosed that the NSA is collecting billions of records each day as it traces you via your cell phone. You, dear reader, may go off the grid if you like… and when you do, please tell the 20th Century I said “howdy”. Otherwise, keep your cell phone as a member of contemporary society and just deal with the fact you are being watched, scrutinized and likely laughed at for your under-par grammar skills and the ill-timed selfies you keep sharing with the intern.

What’s that you say, friend? Why would the NSA track you when you haven’t done anything wrong? Why, when you are one of the good guys? Well, sure… but,

First of all – the NSA is the security apparatus of the Establishment. To be a good guy in their eyes, you have to suckle up to the twisted tit of the status quo. Bon appétit with that wicked teat, mon frere. The NSA is quite simply antidisestablishmentarian and yes the entire purpose of this paragraph was to write “antidisestablishmentarian” at least once. Scrabble that, Sis!

Thirdly (because I forgot my second point) – the NSA already knows who the bad guys are, it is looking for the friends of bad guys. The WashPost calls this “Co Traveler Analytics” (click on the washpost site, it is a worthwhile diagram). The cell phone in your pocket sends out signals to cell phone towers and those cell phone towers, in turn, send idiotic text responses right back. By feeding off of all this commotion, the NSA can see where nearly everyone is at any time. They aren’t just following targets; they are looking for co-travelers of those targets.

Of course, targets on the President’s Christmas Hit List are of a different category and really they are just living long enough for the next drone to finish charging up via whatever Yemeni electrical converters may be necessary. No, the “targets” we are talking about are a step beneath these dead men walking: your Green Peace pirate, your Tea Party sloganeer, your Conspiracy Theory bloggist. These are the targets the NSA already has a dossier on. Where YOU come in is the tangential relationship.

(No, not trans-genital you perverse guttersnipe!, tangential means “in tangent to”…)

For example, if you see me at a bus stop and we both take the bus to the mall and then naturally eat at the same food-court and then take the bus back from whence we came, the NSA will circle your name as a co-traveler of the target. Something that might seem coincidental might just earn you a red-flag in the NSA’s scrapbook. Oh settle down, fellow traveler! Don’t fret over riding the bus with me, you were red-flagged long ago when you first read my blog or set-up a dating profile on my now defunct Huey Lewis fan dating site, http://www.IfThisIsIt.com (please don’t tell me you just clicked on a site I already told you was defunct).

And you thought you were watching Lady Gaga

And you thought you were watching Lady Gaga

Fear not, fellow paranoid! I come bearing gifts. What follows is a list of measures you might take – not to elude the NSA (the National Security Agency, or as they were known last century, “No Such Agency”), as you cannot elude them long enough to read this blog while remaining on the grid. No, nay, never. Rather, the purpose of this list of measures is to confuse the NSA. It is better for THEM to think you are where you are not than to not see you and really start sniffing.

This list was inspired by a rendezvous I had with a childhood friend, Lily Kudzu. I was man seeking affirmation I was the same Victor Neverman as the faded memory of my childhood when Lo! and Behold! I learn that Lily’s ex-husband was an agent of the Military Industrial Intelligence Complex. Of course, his business card read “purveyor of dental implants”, but that is obviously coded-doublespeak for “gaddam spook!”

The rendezvous of childhood friends, Vic & Lily, after innumerable years is a curious read. You may read it… here.

Without further ado…

MEASURES YOU MIGHT TAKE TO CONFUSE THE NSA’S TRACKING METHODOLOGY UNTIL THEY TOO READ THIS BLOG AND COMPENSATE FOR THE FLIES IN THEIR FASCIST OINTMENT

Anti-Co Traveler Analytics

Local Cell Phone Co-Op:

Create a community of phone sharers outside your normal social/work network and then trade phones on a regular basis. If there are 7 members of the community, develop a schedule of who will have which phone when so that each member of the telephony commune will know which phone to forward calls/messages too. Sure, it makes it difficult to figure out who is sexting you and whom they think they are sexting, but so is life: difficult and kinda kinky. BENEFITS: the NSA thinks they are tracking you, when they are actually tracking any one of seven different people.

National Cell Phone Transit Centers:

Create a community of phone participants in different regions to not share phones, but rather keep them in transit. Each participant would have multiple cell phones always turned “on” which they would mail to various participants via ground shipping, while keeping one local. The NSA would have to track several different cell phones and think You were on several different simultaneous road-trips at all times. Yay! way to blow their fucking mind!

Max Headroom fanatics may be the only people you can truly trust

Max Headroom fanatics may be the only people you can truly trust

Omnium-Gatherum of other Confusion Measures

  • On various social networking websites, post contradicting pictures of yourself. You in a wig is not contradictory enough, be sure the alternate pictures have different cheekbones, with eye/nose/ear placement at different angles. BETTER YET, make the pictures someone else entirely. This will confuse the Facial Recognition software Facebook already has in place and the data they then sell to Intelligence services.
  • Turn your GPS on in your phone device while taking photos of yourself with alternate geographical backgrounds, which you then publish online with conflicting coordinates.
  • File tax returns in states you never lived in.
  • Fly to foreign destinations and never leave the airport, let alone go through customs. Just read foreign language magazines and pay for a third-world massage as you wait for your flight home five days hence.
  • Setup multiple social networking profiles with same name & different face, with same face and different name and then friend yourselves.
  • Setup multiple profiles on dating networks. Especially varying ethno-religious sites (Jewish, Catholic, African-American, Just-Farmers, Ashley Madison, etc., etcetera). Go with same name/different face & same face/different name strategy as varying sexes and varying sexual persuasions (e.g. I am Victor(ia) looking for married Mormon Farmer Lesbian Sister-Wives, etc. etcetera) and then date yourself.
  • Setup checking accounts at different banks. Withdraw $10,000 and fill out the Currency Transaction Report, then deposit $9,999.99 at another bank, asking for 1 cent returned from the cashier’s check produced by the originating financial institution. Deposit that 1 cent back at the originating bank.
  • Use voice-modifiers on Skype and use your voice when logged in as other people on Skype. Hire scripted actors to make personal calls with your voice on Skype. Create a Skye account with Max Headroom and prank call your local Citizens Watch.
  • Join a genealogy network and submit someone else’s cotton swabbed DNA sample. Then join as someone else and submit your own DNA. Send Xenophobic messages between your alter-identities until you are all banned from the site. Join a new site.
  • Renew driver’s license every year and change your political affiliation then vote against the assigned affiliation every year.
  • Get rewards club membership at competing grocery stores. Buy all meats at the organic produce friendly store and all produce at the butcher friendly store. Buy your alcohol and Nyquil in cash-only.
  • Sign-up for multi-player online gaming and pay a kid in Malaysia to play as you for 20 hours a day. Then adopt the child, import him to the United States and pay him to impersonate you at the office.
  • Open a twitter account and have every tweet be anti-you. For example, my alternate account would tweet:
    • “I h8 white people who drive Japanese cars #unpatriotic”
    • “Anyone born on xx/xx/19xx sucks #loser”
    • “I don’t trust bearded men under the age of 50 #creepy”
    • “What a beautiful day! #thanksNSA or #globalwarming”
    • “JFK is dead #getoverit”
    • Open a second twitter account to troll everything the original says
      • “Whatevs, Nazi #nazi”
      • “Dick. #look#in#the#mirror”
      • “LMFAO. Psyche! #NotLOL”

Earlier this week, I blogged about the unlikelihood of this Snowden character and the direct parallels to the war satire, Catch 22. Last night, trumpeted by the bullfrogs outside my window arrived the witching hour and with it a message from my old fear-mongering foe, Reverend Chette. While in the past the good Reverend has attempted to scare me shitless with his dire prognostications of the fate of one Victor Ulysses Neverman, this message was instead a confirmation of my suspicion about Snowden’s legitimacy. In short, Reverend Chette believes this NSA leakage uproar a smokescreen hiding whatever clandestine mechanization might be going on in the dim background.

Below is his message in full. I would like to offer some defense of a true victim of this Snowden scandal: the now ex-girlfriend, Lindsay Mills. While it is very likely she will cash in on this new fame as America’s newest “reality” celebrity, it is possible she has been bamboozled by the Snowden she loved and left to burn in the spotlight of the paparazzi. For one: the media (and Rev Chette) have already portrayed her as a professional pole dancer. I have read enough of her blogs and other reports to refute this – she is a professional dancer for a ballet troupe in Hawai’i and she happens to have a blog where she describes herself as a pole-dancing superhero and post half-naked photos of herself along with a video of her pole dancing. There is obviously a difference between an artist and a lap-dancing opportunist. Hmmm… perhaps I too am blinded. I have always been a sucker for a damsel in distress.

Here is the girlfriend’s blog, L’s Journey (it appears the high volume of site traffic has forced the blog-site to deactivate this page, try reading what the British muckrakers have dug up here). The more I think of it… perhaps she was the agent provocateur pulling Snowden’s puppet strings.

As promised, Reverend Chette’s rant in full:

Good Evening Vic,

I know it’s been quite a while since our last correspondence, but I’ve found the developments of the past few weeks/days too irresistible not to risk reaching out. As you know, my contacts deep within the shadowy confines of the unstoppable machine give me more insight than the sheep-herded masses, and what I’m about to tell you will hopefully help you navigate the perilous waters of current events.

At this point I’m sure you are asking “why me?” Well, let’s just say you are the lucky bastard that I decided to use to get the word out. Sorry to be so blunt, but I don’t have time to pussy-foot around when it comes to important matters such as these, and per our previous conversations and interactions, you seem to be a man than is open-minded enough to realize the true breadth of what I’m talking about.

Now, down to the brass tax. Since you are a connected man, I’m sure you have expert knowledge about what is currently taking place regarding the leaking of information about one of our favorite gov’t agencies. Mr. Snowden, as you have heard, is a man seemingly on the run, touting himself as a savior to the common man and a beacon of light for society as a whole.

Vic, like myself, I figure you have been a little skeptical of how “convenient” this all seems. I can confirm to you now, per my very good sources, that this is indeed entirely too convenient. If this were a football game, this last play by our Administration would be comparable to the old “Statute of Liberty” formation. They want us to look for the pass, while their minions run down the sideline after a reverse handoff. This is from the old school playbook. Moves like this are so old, that when someone finally pulls it out of the hat again after such a long moratorium, it seems original. Except, in this case, they don’t want you to know it’s taking place at all.

Back in the good ol’ days, we used to run similar schemes like this all the time, just on a smaller scale. This one is brazen, and I’ll be damned if it ain’t working. Forget Snowden…the guy is nothing more than a smokescreen, a distortion, an invention of our current Administration, and of connected individuals with an interest in making sure that the people retain (or regain) trust in their government.

I’m sure your first question is “why would they do this to themselves?” And, “what do they have to gain?” That my friend, is where this gets interesting. These people are not stupid, and they don’t play around when it comes to keeping the status quo in place. Most people in this country would just dismiss what I’m about to tell you because it seems too far-fetched. Not me. I’ve been in the trenches. I know how these people work and how they think. I know what is at stake for them, and what they stand to lose.

If Snowden is real, he is only real in body. He’s an obvious plant by our own gov’t to take the focus away from more important issues and potential problems that could creep up as a result of the numerous scandals that had taken our Administration by storm recently. From the IRS scandal to the Benghazi incident, this Administration and other parts of our gov’t have been up to their eyeballs in shit for far too long, and it was appearing they would be there a while longer…all under Mr. Snowden appeared out of the blue to save the day.

Mr. Snowden, however he was deceived or enticed into doing this (probably with an amount of money that will make him a very rich man), will eventually go down as nothing more than a young, naive, loose cannon with an inferiority complex, and a burning desire for attention. You or I may not be happy with those labels if it were us in his shoes, but if the price was right, we might just consider giving up our life to live one in some foreign fantasy land of prostitutes with a dump truck full of cash. Why Snowden exactly? I’m not entirely sure, but considering how classic this move it, I’m sure there was a good reason for choosing him.

Oh, and the girlfriend story? Ha! That was probably some of the funniest shit I’ve read in quite a while. In fact, like Mr. Snowden himself, it was just too convenient. These guys are good, but someone really needs a lesson from an old pro like me in how to run diversion tactics. I mean, really…a world traveling pole dancer? What the fuck were these guys thinking? The guy that was responsible for coming up with that lame nonsense must have cringed when he read that in actual print. If not, I hope someone has a hole already dug for him in the desert, because that fucking moron is going to give the whole organization away. At times like this, I wouldn’t mind selling out again and jumping back into the game just to slap the shit out of someone.

You see, they are willing to take a hit for a few days if the end-game will be that they will be proven right – that these government programs are legal, legit, and are being run with the correct checks and balances. While the mainstream media, bloggers, and critics go apeshit saying “I told you so!!” in the near-term, the long-run scheme is to take one for the team, and live to fight another day. Once the wailing and gnashing of teeth is over, and they are proven to be correct, then not only have they scored a major blow for their credibility, but they have pushed the real issues to the back burner long enough that ether the majority of the public and major news media tire of the old story, or in an effort not to make themselves look stupid again, they decide to “move on.” Either way, this buys them time, and most importantly, it buys them credibility, even if they have to cheat to get it. Remember, this is not civics class, as I know you are well aware. This is the real world – one that most people never see, especially not Americans that are more worried about buying their next car, planning their next vacation, or watching episodes of Jerry Springer, to really care or to ask about what really goes on.

So, as for the Snowden story, I call complete bullshit. If you want the real scandal, keep your eye on the IRS, or dig deeper to find the real gem hidden in the weeds. My educated assessment, based on my years of experience in the field, tell me that they must be desperate to divert from something. Is the potential of the IRS story really that great? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe, they are running down the sideline behind our defense now while we continue to watch the QB.

Stay safe,

Chette

Catch 22: Yossarian hovers over a dying Snowden

Catch 22: Yossarian hovers over a dying Snowden

Man was matter, that was Snowden’s secret. Drop him out a window, and he’ll fall. Set fire to him and he’ll burn. Bury him and he’ll rot, like other kinds of garbage. The spirit gone, man is garbage. That was Snowden’s secret. Ripeness was all.

― Joseph Heller, Catch 22

After the whistles blew, uncovering extensive surveillance of the American people by the National Security Agency, outrage filled the headlines. The streets, themselves, were quiet, but the media went apeshit. I, Vic Neverman, skipped over the story as a non-event, what I perceived to be common knowledge. In Bluffsdale, Utah, NSA’s Spy City is being erected to store each of our phone conversations, texts, tweets and emails where their algorithmic spider-bots crawl over the words in search of suspicion worth red-flagging. This is going to be the Tower of Big Brother Babel. But what is the point of building a Spy City if the NSA isn’t going to poach records from Verizon and the rest of corporate infomerica? This latest whistle-blowing is only news to the mainstream.

Julian Assange, CIA patsy or just pastey? Seen here today at the Ecuadoran Embassy.

Julian Assange, CIA patsy or just pastey? Seen here today at the Ecuadoran Embassy.

What did raise a brow of suspicion is this Edward Snowden character, the confessed leaker. It is a strange, treasonous age we live in, where these whistleblowers become celebrities. We never learned much about the Wiki-Leaker Bradley Manning before the Pentagon put him in the dungeon, but we now all about Julian Assange, the Godfather of Leakage currently hiding out in an Ecuadoran Embassy in London and this dude is total creepers (and setup according to the Cubans). The latest to the party is Snowden, formerly anonymously known as Verax (which is Latin for “kitchen stain remover” or some shit like that), the tech contractor employed by Booz Allen Hamilton and who, from the luxury of his Hong Kong hotel hideout, gave his big scoop to the Guardian and the Wash Post.

(curious about who the heck is Booz Allen Hamilton? see this profile from Top Secret America)

Something is rotten in the Land of Danes as this dude stinks like thawed red herring. First, “Snowden” is obviously another pseudonym, a name borrowed from Joseph Heller’s classic war satire, Catch 22. It was the character Snowden who dies in Yossarian’s arms; Snowden, whose spilt guts tell the protagonist bombardier the “secret” of man and man’s mortality. Yossarian is driven mad with the secret, yet also enlightened with the knowledge that death is inevitable.

Edward Snowden, spilling his guts about the NSA

Edward Snowden, spilling his guts about the NSA

This Snowden, too, is something of a martyr of enlightenment – or so he likes to portray himself. According to him, instead of living out a comfy existence in Hawai’I with his girlfriend and 6-figure salary, he decided to go public with the NSA’s dirty laundry. He says he thought long and hard about the negative impact this will have on his family. He says he realizes he will never be able to go home.

Ed Snowden has all the makings of a disingenuous, self-righteous douchebag.

Don’t get me wrong – I am pro-transparency. I am anti-fascist. I am against the Police State watching me watching them watching me. I think Bradley Manning is a hero, but a treasonous one that should be punished according to our laws. I believe Julian Assange is doing great work; just that he is another self-righteous, self-appointed savior of our liberties and a dick. Time will tell what we learn about this Snowden dude. We don’t yet know the ends to know if they justify his means. Apparently, the whistle tune he blew was so shocking the press will only release a fraction of it. It is hard to tell, yet, just how necessary it was for Snowden to sacrifice his lap of luxury for the benefit of our perverse private texts, but we are bound to learn more.

Cue Julian Assange, who just crawled out of his Ecuadoran Embassy hole in London to propose Snowden for sainthood and to offer Wiki-Leaks up to host all the dirty little secrets of Snowden’s spilt entrails. We may very soon learn much more…

Who is Spain?
Why is Hitler?
Where are the Snowdens of yesteryear?

― Joseph Heller, Catch 22

Proverbs for Paranoids, no4: You hide, They seek.

― Thomas Pynchon, Gravity’s Rainbow

The age of the domestic drone is upon us. Look at the greasy General Tso-stained Zodiac chart under your fried rice, right after the Year of the Kinky Monkey comes this: the Year of the Domestic Drone.  And here the cycle ends; there is no Year of the Bloated Pig to follow and save us. The Drones are here to stay. Settle in for the long kiss goodnight, at least to your personal liberties…

To Protect and To Serve and To Watch and To Record and To Cite your shitty Parking

To Protect and To Serve and To Watch and To Record and To Cite your shitty Parking

Fortunately for us domesticated suburbanites, there are test rats who’ve been under the rule of the iron-fisted sky for years. From these infidels, we may learn a trick or two on how to evade the omnipresent eye of Big Brother. Behold – the captured Mali Papers, detailing Al Qaeda advice for avoiding drones. This is part two, see my previous drone blog on the first six rules which seem to be sponsored by the Russian Vladimir’s Secret Lingerie and Electronic Gizmo Catalog. If you are pro-domestic drone, then perhaps my introduction into the subject is the place to start to learn why you are misled.

Note: this is advice for Americans against a potential fascist dystopia in the near distant future. I certainly do not condone the douchery that inspired these Mali Papers in the first place.

Below are tactics 7 through 22 along with Vic Neverman’s personal comments:

Al Qaeda Anti-Drone Tactics (7 – 22), courtesy of the Associated Press

7 – Using general confusion methods and not to use permanent headquarters.

One can only imagine what jihadists consider to be “general confusion.” 3000 years ago, the I-Ching mentions, “Chaos – where brilliant dreams are born.” This is more than fortune cookie inspiration. The drone evader must be irrational. I am not saying set your pants on fire… but on 2nd thought, why not? The drones overhead are piloted either by some algorithm that never saw you coming or some bored pilot who is easily distracted by flaming pants or nude beaches.

It may not be easy to live a domesticated suburban life without a permanent headquarters, but it is possible to switch up your goings-on. Don’t frequent the same bar every Monday Night. Look at online porn at different public libraries. Nap on different park benches. Keep things new and fresh.

8 – Discovering the presence of a drone through well-placed reconnaissance networks and to warn all the formations to halt any movement in the area.

Don't stand anywhere your reflection can be seen from the Moon. Like the freakin' Space Bean of Chicago.

Don’t stand anywhere your reflection can be seen from the Moon. Like the freakin’ Space Bean of Chicago.

Setting up social media could work for routine drone dodging, but a backup plan must be in place should shit hit the fan and the social networks go off-line. Many hysterical conspiracy nuts fear a One World Order’s attempt to subdue We the People and, well, should this occur THEY (the 1-worlders) could pull all stops and shut down the web and cell towers. That is why there is nothing better than a little ham radio. Be sure to pick out a catchy handle like “Jimmy Two-Shoe”, “Goodfoote” or “Bacon Longstrider”.

9 – To hide from being directly or indirectly spotted, especially at night.

Hiding from being directly spotted is a no-brainer, but what the hell does it mean to be “indirectly spotted”? Simple… avoid places that will broadcast your reflection. Or your whereabouts on the web. Turn off your GPS device – they only dumb you down anyway. How do you think you are so easily followed? It is because that Aussie-accented vixen giving you directions is also setting up your own bloody roadblock.

10 – To hide under thick trees because they are the best cover against the planes.

F'ing Predator! He's invisible and he can see in the dark.

F’ing Predator! He’s invisible and he can see in the dark.

Bullshit. The jihadists obviously did not grow-up watching as much HBO as I did. Take the movie, Predator. What do you think the Predator Drone is named after? The crazy son-of-a-bitch alien that hunted Arnold “Dutchy” Swartzeneggar in some Central American hellhole. After Arnold cooked that bitch, the Army took the alien technology and used it in drones to search via infrared and other cool shit like that. Trees, no matter how thick, can’t save you from the Predator.

11 – To stay in places unlit by the sun such as the shadows of the buildings or the trees.

Darkness is overrated. Drones can see in the dark. Better advice is to be moving where there is much movement. When you are one flotsam in the currents of humanity, it is much harder to pick you out.

12 – Maintain complete silence of all wireless contacts.

Then why have wireless contacts? Maintain complete silence when you believe you are being followed or monitored. Then go with a reserve ham radio frequency or resort to calling on disposable phones, but only numbers that are not being monitored.

13 – Disembark of vehicles and keep away from them especially when being chased or during combat.

It would be a good idea to avoid common transport when you believe you are being followed. I only take buses and taxis and only to places I did not intend on going to in the first place.

14 – To deceive the drone by entering places of multiple entrances and exits.

Shopping malls, sports arenas, subways… though keep in mind each of these will have their own internal monitoring.

15 – Using underground shelters because the missiles fired by these planes are usually of the fragmented anti-personnel and not anti-buildings type.

If you are concerned with fragmented anti-personnel missiles then I am afraid I cannot help you. Yeah, I am just afraid.

16 – To avoid gathering in open areas and in urgent cases, use building of multiple doors or exits.

On a more covert level, if you are going to meet with someone you don’t want to be caught with, try Turkish bathhouses, brothels, other places it would be assumed you are up to other duties. If you have an important meeting, try meeting in line at the DMV. Big Brother created the DMV as a means to keep people away, THEY would never suspect you purposely meeting in line there.

Plan to meet at the DMV. No authority would ever assume you would willingly go to the DMV if you didn't have to.

Plan to meet at the DMV. No authority would ever assume you would willingly go to the DMV if you didn’t have to.

17 – Forming anti-spies groups to look for spies and agents.

Umm… not sure what kind of friends you have, but if I attempted to start mobilizing all my friends to look for spies I wouldn’t have friends much longer. Good luck with this one. Best bet is to just be critical of those who laugh at your jokes. A girl that should be out of your league who is suddenly interested in you… probably too good to be true.

18 – Formation of fake gatherings such as using dolls and statutes to be placed outside false ditches to mislead the enemy.

Maybe the jihadists did have HBO. This sounds like something straight out of Home Alone. I am not sure what good false ditches are good for.

19 – When discovering that a drone is after a car, leave the car immediately and everyone should go in different direction because the planes are unable to get after everyone.

Learn to ride a skateboard. They make for quick getaways from tailed cars. Just don’t be the first one out or you might be the first one nabbed by your pursuers who are just as happy to have one vandal who they can torture out the names of the others.

I, however, cannot balance upon a skateboard should my tailbone depend on it. Instead, I just loosen the screws on my friends skateboards and wait for them to try to escape first.

20 – Using natural barricades like forests and caves when there is an urgent need for training or gathering.

A bunch of bearded dudes gathering at Mammoth Cave National Park doesn’t sound like a good idea. If there is a need for training/gathering in private, perhaps agree to separately descend upon the same campsite out in the wilderness. Avoid plotting at Wafflehouse or Denny’s or anywhere the waitresses are smarter than they look.

21 – In frequently targeted areas, use smoke as cover by burning tires.

So much for being inconspicuous. Sure, just run over to Firestone and start setting shit ablaze… No, this is not a good idea.

22 – As for the leaders or those sought after, they should not use communications equipment because the enemy usually keeps a voice tag through which they can identify the speaking person and then locate him.

Oh yeah. Disposable phone or not, the NSA knows who you are whenever you speak. With the disposable phone without GPS, it will just take them longer to find you and burn you out of your hole. Your voice is a virtual fingerprint. Better off texting.

All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.

– W.H.Auden, September 1st, 1939

I am frequently stopped amidst frantic rant by a listener who naively inquires, “Are domestic drones really a bad thing?” They then list several reasonable roles a drone may be able to serve patrolling our skies: enforcing speed limits, scouting for forest fires, substituting for squad cars in police car chases. Aye – valid arguments, all. A drone could even peek into your car to see if you are texting while driving (illegal in some states), receiving oral pleasures while driving (I assume this is illegal) or if you exhibit visible signs of intoxication (illegal in all states)*. Police drones make for safer streets, but once the genie is out of the bottle, he is a fat bitch to cram back in.

*Mothers Against Drunk Drivers has churned out anti-intoxicated driving propaganda for decades, so this is not a concept lost on the public. Other driving restrictions may not be so clearly spelt out. Perhaps we do need a MABJD?

To Protect and To Serve and To Watch and To Record

To Protect and To Serve and To Watch and To Record

Keep in mind, dear reader, by your mere read of this paranoid conspiracy drivel on your computer screen you are being flagged by the NSA (no such agency, shhhh) as someone who reads paranoid conspiracy drivel. My new friend, Professor Erasmus of Otter Dam Military Academy, waxed woefully about how many National Security lists he must be on for just associating himself with yours truly, Vic Neverman, as well as having a sworn blood-brother who happens to be Persian. As a person of interest, Erasmus must attempt to sleep at night knowing his physical and cyber presences are always being monitored with the collected data being filed away at the NSA Spy City Compound in Utah. Once DRONES are overhead videotaping every move of interesting persons, Erasmus (not to mention your humble narrator) will cease to live in a world where privacy exists.

Imagine this – if the British Empire had drones, all of the Revolutionary Ambitions of our Founding Fathers would have been squashed like a grape (seedless, of course). If John, Paul, George and Ringo (Adams, Revere, Washington and Benny “Ringo” Franklin) had to deal with drones, all of their subversive machinations would have been for naught and we would all be speaking German right now (because the Brits wouldn’t have had the USA to bail them out of 20th Century wars). Nicht sehr gut, ja?

Assuming the inevitable – that the stage is set for a dystopian future of fascist police state policies (that is, if you doubt we already exist in such a state), I am writing a series of posts dedicated on how to maneuver unseen/unheard/unfelt and become a wallflower ventriloquist with an ace up your sleeve and a rabbit in the hat.

My first post is a nostalgic piece on Old Man Neverman and his efforts in alluding oppressive authority in the 1980s.

I will also have posts that examine the tactics of the ultimate drone lab rats – Al Qaeda. These are split into two pieces – the silly technical advice on which Russian drone-deterrents your run-of-the-mill terrorist might buy & then common “duck and run” strategies for avoiding detection from the overhead menace.

Soon, I will be posting my hypothesis that the introduction of reality television was a government plot to acclimate the American Public to eternal scrutiny of the omnipresent cameras of the Police State.

Good Luck and Godspeed!

-Vic

TransAmericana

“They are smarter than you. You think you have something They haven’t seen before? You are wrong. They know each move you make before you make it because They know how your mind works. That is why you must not just run, but run like a mad man. Run like plastic bag caught by the wind. Leave your spine behind and dance like a jellyfish. If you do not know what your next move is, then They will not know what your next move is.” – Old Man Neverman (suspected as being D.B. Cooper)

For those unfamiliar with the saga of Victor Ulysses Neverman, allow me to begin this tale of voyage with some quicks facts from my past.

FACT: I lived in Chicago before being squeezed out by the oppressive Machine regime. Yeah, Chicago is the “city that works” alright. And if you try to stand in the way of one of the Machine’s cogs, you will be crushed.

FACT: I left Chicago to hide out in a safe house in Southern Milwaukee where I drank strong kraut beers at airport lounges and chased dimwitted midwestern women at the various gin joints. But Milwaukee just wasn’t far enough from my windy city troubles.

Basil, half-dog, half-Olympian. Waiting patiently the Boss to grab a pint at his favorite Portland watering hole


FACT: I relocated to the hills of Oregon where me and my paranoia could live in peace. I established an idyllic lifestyle amongst a community of hipsters, artists, trustifarians and their pets. I even had a dog, Basil (Baz-Il, not Bay-Zul like the herb). Basil is the demigod-dog resulting from the mating of Zeus and some Aussie Shepherd bitch.

FACT: The Neverman family became imperiled when my sister began to be courted by a government contracted spook. From the start, I informed my sister of the security industrial complex, how the NSA is watching all of us and how her new romeo is likely a spy himself, monitoring our notorious clan of ne’er-do-wells.

FACT: My sister married the spook anyway.

Vic confronts the government contracted spook of a brother-in-law

FACT: Upon returning from a freelance journalist assignment to the Golden Triangle of SE Asia where I was confronted by my Never-nemesis, Phineas Crux, I learned the NeverSister was NeverKnocked-up by my government contracted spook of a brother-in-law.

FACT: Just as Bodhisattva denied himself enlightenment in order to help guide the rest of the droles out of the cave of Plato’s parable (everything you think you believe is just the shadows dancing on the cave wall from the light of the fire behind you, aka ‘the matrix’), I too denied myself metamorphosis into divine light in order to become an uncle to this new NeverSpawn to ensure the NeverNiece doesn’t succumb to the house of lies built by her government contracted spook of a father. So I relocated to Florida.

FACT: As soon as I relocate to Florida (or at least within the first two years of my relocation), my government contracted spook of a brother in law decides to move my family (sans Vic) to the Rocky Mountains where he is overseeing the Cheyenne Mountain military base where the Illuminati will hide away during the upcoming Mayan predicted apocalypse (NOTE: this is my conjecture on his true job, though I know for certain the Mayan calendar does not predict end times).

Escaping into the western wilderness: Nicco, the NeverMonkey; 'Rain Dance', the NeverNiece; and Vic Neverman


FACT: I used my security permissions at the NeverNiece’s day care to pick her up (after passing the biometric tests proving my identity as the NeverUncle). I had one of the day care workers demonstrate the diapering procedure. I then put the NeverNiece in a car seat and drove away… I was going to take her back to Oregon and raise her amongst the hill people. I was going to change her name to ‘Rain Dance’ or ‘Omaha’ so she would fit in with the other children of the commune. I was going to raise her in peace, yet with an understanding of the evils of the world outside. I was going to teach her how to hunt elk, kind of like that girl from the movie ‘Hanna’ where I would be play the Eric Bana quasi-paternal role and Rain Dance would totally be able to kick people’s ass.

FACT: My NeverNapping abduction didn’t get as far as the first diaper change. I figured Rain Dance might actually be happier living in the matrix with the NeverSister and the spook.

The movie, Hanna: What I envisioned for 'Rain Dance's' new life

FACT: Then they all moved out to Denver.

I think that catches us up to where the story of this journey begins. My government contracted spook of a brother-in-law had to drive his pet mongrels cross-country to Colorado, a trip my sister did not want him to do alone. He begrudgingly asked me the favor of co-piloting this voyage. As my last chance to see my family before this spook hides them away in some under-mountain bunker, I agree to this trip.

So begins TransAmericana.

Thursday Evening the following comment was posted on the “Contact Vic Neverman” page from someone calling themselves “Reverend Chette Williams”. It is worth posting as a stand-alone blog and so I present it here. Beware, the contents are paranoid:

Vic,

Hello! My name is Chette, and your blog has piqued my interest. As a former member of a certain three letter organization, which I will not divulge at the present, I can tell you that you are being watched…very closely. I know because they came after me when I threatened to talk about various things I had seen, and operations I was involved with over the years. Fortunately, for my own well-being, I still have contacts within “they” that keep me apprised of their various dealings. I don’t know everything of course, being that I’ve separated myself from their grip and escaped the machine, but I know enough to throw some caution your way.

My former job as a Profiler gives me some insight into things that may help you. First of all, you can just about guarantee they already know who you are. Now, I figure for the time being you will be in what is called, in layman’s terms, a controlled monitoring situation. This means they’ll monitor you and your activities for approximately six months to gauge if you are a threat. Likely this phase is either complete, or has been in ongoing for quite some time. I won’t go into the details how they monitor you, as it would probably just scare the shit out of you, but they’ll leave no stone unturned. My experience tells me it wasn’t hard for them to find you.

Just by reading your blog and browsing some pictures I can tell you this, and you stop when I’m wrong: You’re likely a white, early to mid-thirties male. You are unmarried and live alone, probably in an apartment or rental home in the city. You are likely from Florida, or a near-by state, although you have traveled extensively in the past (something which interests “they” very much). Much of your travel has to out of the country, some to “unfriendly” sovereign nations. You drive a foreign made vehicle, likely a sedan – something that doesn’t stick out to the casual observer. You have a full-time job that keeps you occupied during the day, but some travel is associated with your work. That’s all I’ll add for now.

Hopefully, I have gotten your attention. Now for the scary part, which I saved for last to make sure it has maximum effect. There is someone close to you that is part of this monitoring. If the monitoring phase is complete, it may be someone that was either briefly close to you, or tried to get close to you. I don’t know who because they have many independent agents (really independent contractors) doing their work for them. My guess would be a girl, possibly a co-worker or acquaintance that you recently met. This girl would have likely not stuck around long. In fact, she may have come and gone without much explanation. But, she was close enough to you to gather the intel she needed, and maybe to plant some monitoring devices. They have at their disposal the most sophisticated technology, things that you couldn’t yet imagine. But, the same things work that have always worked, and to a single male in his mid 30′s that is likely a fresh piece of pussy. I could be wrong, but I do know how they operate.

Now, I have to run as I don’t wont to include too many trigger words in this commentary to tip “they” off, but I’ll return at the right time to fill you in on some additional details, and if I hear any chatter being thrown your way, you’ll be notified. By the way, what does “S.I.F.” mean?

I forwarded the above to some of my closest counsel and below are their comments:

Government Contracted Spook of a Brother in Law: Classic – good thing your spartan lifestyle allows you to notice any contraband left in the lair…

Des Riley: I’d still invest in a bug sweeper …

½ of Brothers Von Trior: Dude, Outstanding, truly outstanding. I am going to share this with my brother. He will love it. He always assumes “they” are watching, listening etc… Well if you disappear one day, at least we now have a lead…

AC Huxley: Well no offense Vic but if any of my tax dollars have been put towards monitoring you I’m leaving the US.

Raz Kelly: Awesome. Guess im not the girl spy as i am still around
(of course if Raz were the “girl spy”, this would be exactly what she would want me to think… a ruse to throw off my scent)

Finally, here is my response posted on my “Contact” page:

Hello Reverend,

I appreciate your interest and the warnings most dire. You do have my attention, yet I wonder now what you mean to do with it. If you were truly a helpful friend, would you hide behind a very public identity? One need not spend a lot of effort to learn much of “Reverend Chette Williams” and might I suggest that you, Sir, are not this man?

Certainly, I am no stranger to alter egos, but I do stray from impersonating very real identities. I am curious as to why you chose to forge the identity of a corrupted man of the cloth, unless it may be a parallel of your own past. A former agent of some government alphabet soup who had fallen into dishonor? Then what am I to you? A chance at redemption?

It is a very dangerous game we each play. I eagerly anticipate your further correspondence.

As far as SIF – this is of course an akronym for “secret internet fatty”, a risk associated with e-dating when a profile underestimates their own weight. Are you suggesting that you, yourself, are not as you seem?

Godspeed,

Vic Neverman

Destroyer: Mission to Mars

Posted: February 5, 2011 in paranoid life
Tags: ,

(part 3 of 3 of a blog series on Dan the Destroyer and his visit to Florida)

At last, prophecy fulfilled, Dan the Destroyer arrived in Central Florida. For the first time since leaving my Oregonian life behind, I have been confronted with a remnant of that past. I gave Dan some direction and blindfolded him the rest of the way. Beer was on the quick draw and soon after I confronted him, “I know you are a narc and I have blogged about your narcism so if anything happens to me, the public will know the truth! …Except that I have blurred out your face and covered my own so they will only know so much and have to guess the rest.”

Dan offered his typical defense when faced with accusations of being a government mole: bewilderment. He even had a bewildering haircut. Trained in Quantico (or maybe Langley) to play poker, Dan offered nothing up. His explanation for being in Florida revolved around a small business conference and his desire to transact business in Cape Canaveral at the Space Center. Dan, electrical engineer that he is, fell back on a story of manned missions to Mars and robotics required for such ventures.

Fortunately, Vic Neverman is not a stranger to such conversations. Indeed, I have offered myself up to NASA as a volunteer for a one-way mission to Mars via long email to their public relations department. Figuring the government would love to get me out of their greasy hair, I expect a call any day.

Vic Neverman, always looking for a passage into orbit

Dan went into conversation about robotics and I quickly cut him off, telling him the most vital automaton for such a trip would definitely be a sex-bot. Think about it… getting to Mars requires a two year trip there IF you properly coordinate each planets journey around the solar system to find the quickest route. Should you go equipped with a way back (easier said than done), that would be another couple years home. That is a lot of space and time to fill.

While many human beings have a high ideal for their concept of MAN, I do not. I believe man to be much closer to animal than to the ideal we set for ourself. One of the key (beautiful) flaws of man is the natural desire to procreate – or in the very least, the love of chemicals released during the procreation act. In a solo mission to Mars, the astronaut would simply need something, anything, to simulate the procreation rituals. In a multi-man Missions to Mars, inter-spaceship relations would be very testy in this space odyssey if each astronaut did not have their own private carnal escape awaiting them back in their pod.

Dan proposed sending a husband-wife team. I laughed. Multiple husband and wife teams? I laughed even heartier. Space can do strange things to a psyche. I know this from spending so much time underground in hiding (excessive space and lack of space are eerily similar). Your nerves fray and the few relationships that do exist are stretched until somebody snaps. What’s to stop one angry lover from shooting out their other through the air lock and into the infinite? No space cops can stop them. The simple act of one astronaut tossing another’s dildo out the airlock is harrowing enough (well, not to me personally, but you get the point).

The relationship dynamic between man & woman (woman & woman, man & man, woman & man, all inclusive here) is not built to handle a space journey like a mission to Mars. And so, there is only one answer… Sex-botics. Dan, I believe, felt the eureka moment. Perhaps this is the moment his small business venture was waiting for: that one spark to ignite a new industry.

“Before you go shifting paradigms…” I suggested to my friend, the engineer. “Remember this, when I speak of a sex-pot-bot, I am not referring to a mechanical sex-slave. Such a tool would only garner so much use. What man needs is fluctuation, variety even. Within the sex-bot should be code, an algorithm in the programming that randomly chooses when and how not to abide to the owner’s will. If the astronaut always retired to his chamber knowing Johnny 5 was going to give him head prior to his shower, then such a luxury would become underappreciated. Let us say the contrary, that SkyNet’s Poon Tang* only made herself available 65% of the time… the great anticipation of the astronaut would result in feelings of endearment for the cases when satisfaction was reached. The focus and adoration resulting from a fickle machine would certainly enhance its value to a socially starved astronaut. Love is directly tied to fear and in this case, fear of a lonely night would bring man and machine that much closer.”

*reference to the early 20th century rosy-tattooed Chinese escort of the same name, rather than whatever urban ramifications this term currently has.

Of course, the biggest problem would then be if the algorithm rejected Buzz Lightyear too many times to earn it a ride out the airlock. Then it would be back to too much space and time and nothing to “do”. And then there is the possibility of integration back into society upon return. Five years of loving a sex-bot might be too much to come back from.

Dude, Dan the Destroyer, Vic Neverman


Dan the Destroyer certainly left Florida a little wiser. I am sure somewhere there is a file being processed that includes my comments on spacial dynamics and for this I am glad. If Big Brother needs any more ideas, they can send Dan back to Florida to pass a few more beers in my direction…

(part two of a three part blog series on Dan the Destroyer)

While Vic Neverman might be known primarily as a conspiracy theorist, it is only because the spotlight of my career is on that portion of a larger body of work. Overall, I am a seeker of truth in topics that reside on the outer fringes of normalcy. For example, crypto-zoology… I have hunted the Beast of Bray Road from my safe house in South Milwaukee, I have stunk it up in the cypress swamps of Florida in search of the Skunk Ape, and I have wandered through Texas pastures looking for Chupacabra. During my brief stint living a bohemian existence in Oregon, I pursued the elusive old man of the forest: Big Foot.

With news that Dan the Destroyer was coming to Florida, my mind recently went back to my many adventures along the Columbia River where Dan, the Dude Collective, and I camped and hunted Bigfoot. By hunt, let me clarify, the goal was to find proof. The last thing we wished to achieve was killing, injuring, or capturing a Sasquatch.

While one would think living in Oregon would make Bigfoot expeditions easily accessible, that one would be wrong. Deadly wrong. The problem with Bigfoot is that the greatest frequency of sightings exist in the “no hike” zones of marijuana country. There is so much weed grown in these backwoods of Oregon that the ganja industry has placed numerous heavily armed illegal immigrants throughout the region with direct orders to shoot at anything that moves. Marijuana is big business in the Pacific Northwest and that business is well protected. This is why it is not easy to find a high-frequency Bigfoot zone safe to hike in. It also begs the question: has a Sasquatch ever been gunned down by a weed-watcher? We can only hope the answer is no. Should the answer be yes, no good could come of it as illegal farmers would not bring attention to the facts behind such a kill.

So there is certainly a lot to consider when seeking out an area to hunt Sasquatch. We found the safest region of high-frequency sightings was the Gifford Pinchot National Forest on the Washington side of the Columbia River. Just a few hours from our home of Portland, we found a home base at Panther Creek.

Dude Collective: Dude, Dude, Vic Neverman, Dude, Dan the Destroyer


Allow me to shed some light on the secret society of “manosphers” I refer to as the “Dude Collective”. Our group has been accused of being both anarchists (one of our members is an ardent anti-absolutist, living his life to destroy all absolute concepts) and of being a political organization looking to rule through enlightened despotism. The truth is, there is no one main goal or mission of the Dude Collective. Our political leanings are diverse and the only commonalities are our love of women, beer, and liberty. The history of the Dude Collective is extensive with origins that mixed European masonic tradition with Hamatsa shamanism of the Kwakwaka’wak indigenous peoples of British Columbia. Thanks to the passed down secrets of this latter group, our Dude Collective was well prepared for seeking out the Old Man of the Forest. The only trick? Finding someone bold enough to be the “Bigfoot bait”. Fortunately, we had Dan the Destroyer.

Dan was originally nominated to dress up in a Sasquatch outfit in an attempt to lure out a legitimate Bigfoot simply because it was commonly known he was working for Homeland Security and was considered to be just a narc. Should Dan be shot by hunters or raped by a grizzly, it was thought he would be easily replaced by the next domestic spy Big Brother sent our way. The truth was, though, that Dan wasn’t as expendable as we would have liked to believe. Not only was he the resident engineer (though he certainly broke more things than he built, thus his nickname), Dan also became endeared to the rest of the Collective. Sure, we constantly lied to him in order to pass disinformation along to his spymaster, but we did genuinely like Dan.

Vic Neverman and Bigfoot (Dan the Destroyer in costume)


We dressed Dan in Yeti garb and followed him as he wandered into the forest making feminine orgasmic noises (this wasn’t protocol, it was just typical Dan behavior). Perhaps Dan’s high-pitched yelps turned off male Bigfeet, perhaps he just didn’t have the right scent to be a Sasquatch in heat, but we never encountered our target. In fact, the best we ever did was get drunk enough to raid other campfires and get a laugh out of our nervous neighboring campers. Except that group of coed volleyball players. Those chicks just thought us creepy goons, regardless of how many times we offered them a few beers back at our campsite to make up for trespass.

Ahhh, good times…