World Domination Update
“Ghost Riders of the Purple Cheese”
vol. VI, iss. iii
“The voice of one crying in the wilderness”
In this issue:
Quote of the moment: “Don’t — It tastes like orange flavored ass!” — saint
Secret Word of the Day: Bomb-Sniffing Bees
Site of the Week: The Smurfs are Communists [read saint’s reply to the webmaster!]
Barbecue Sauce of the Month: Cactus Sam’s vampire-repelling roasted garlic
Now Playing: Frank Zappa — “Chunga’s Revenge”
· The Dubya-gate Tape
· Alleviating Menstruation
· The Octopus
· Sermon — Thomas 12
· Ask Evil Matt
· Holy Hedgehog
In this issue:
As we forge ahead into our fifth year of World Domination through self-thought, it should be increasingly clear to those actually employing their mental modes that our very way of life is yet again under assault by Brain Police agents and their Bush-league lackey.
Recent revelations have come to light that the Dubya Administration had more of a heads-up to Al-Qaida shenanigans than they previously let on, yet did nothing to prevent the 9/11 debacle. Granted, the clues were not as blatant as with FDR foreknowledge of Pearl Harbor, but there was apparently enough information about that we shouldn’t have been as asleep at the wheel as we seemingly were.
Bush has cried innocent to this, saying that despite being told that Al-Qaida operatives were actively planning to hijack a plane in the near future, the threat wasn’t specific enough for him to do anything. Apparently things need to be spelled out concretely for our chief executive to get motivated. To put that in JFK terms, telling him “someone is planning on killing you in the near future” elicits no response, but being told “a disgruntled ex-marine Marxist is planning on shooting you in Dallas around 12:30 on November 22nd at the corner of Elm and Houston Street from the 6th floor corner window with a Manlicher-Carcano rifle” might get a reaction out of him.
Or not. That’s still a bit vague by Bush standards: it doesn’t say what part of the body would be shot at.
Bush is setting a dangerous precedent that ignorance is acceptable behavior, which for “think for yourself” aficionados is terrifyingly bad. Actually its bad for everyone, as Pentagon and WTC employees tangibly learned last November, but if our Prez is only roused to action when things are bluntly, blatantly laid out for him, then there is obviously no thought process going on in the Oval Office.
Then again most of us already knew that, but here’s proof. Doubtless, Dubya was planning on changing the national bird from the bald eagle to the ostrich, since being told that there was impending hostile hijacking planned against American property prompts no noticeable response.
In the case of Reagan and Iran-Gate, the question was “what did the president know, and when did he stop knowing it?” With 9/11, the question is “what did the president know, and when was it explained to him?”
Fortunately, we think we have an answer to the last.
It is not widely known, but the White House tape devices that led to Richard Nixon’s downfall are still in use, and intrepid Branch Floridians have actually gotten ahold of the appropriate transcript.
The Dubya Tape
Rice: Excuse me, Mr. President, sir?
Bush: Hang on; I’m in the middle of some important strategery here. F Six.
Powell: Miss. B Eight.
Rice: But sir? This could be important.
Bush: Hit; submarine. (sigh) Fine, what is it?
Rice: We have reason to believe that al-Qaida operatives are planning to hijack one or more of our planes in the near future.
Bush: F Seven. Al-Qaida? Isn’t that some kind of Mexican cheese dish?
Cheney: I’ve had those! They’re good. Especially with Ranch Dressing.
Rice: Ummm, I think you’re thinking of a quesadilla. Al-Qaida...
Powell: Miss. C Eight.
Rice: ...Al-Qaida is a large Islamic terrorist organization.
Bush: Hit; submarine. Large, huh? Did they vote for me?
Rice: Well, no, sir. They’re foreign. They don’t like Americans.
Bush: Miss. Foreign, huh? Makes sense; bunch of Mexican Muslims. So is this something to worry about?
Rice: They’re not Mexican, sir...
Powell: If they’re Moslems hijacking a plane, they’ll probably just grab an El Al flight and trade the passengers for someone in prison. We should probably tell Mossad.
Rice: Actually, we believe the target is a domestic airline. Potentially more than one, too.
Bush: Huh. Do we have anyone they’d want to trade for?
Rice: Well, Ramsay Yusef...
Rice: Sir, Ramsay Yusef; he’s a terrorist with links to al-Qaida. He bombed the World Trade Center back in ’93 with a truck full of explosives; tried to blow up the base and get one building to crash into the other.
Cheney: I remember him; we caught him because he went back to the truck rental and tried to get his deposit back.
Bush: (laughter) Well, if that’s the type of terrorists we’re dealing with, we probably don’t need to worry. Is it my shot?
Rice: So you don’t...
Cheney: Excuse me; George? Ken Lay’s on Line One for you.
Bush: Kenny Boy! Hot damn; hand that phone over.
Cheney: He’s calling collect again.
Rice: Sir? About the hijacking?
Bush: Oh, right. Do we have any specifics?
Mrs. Bush: George?!? Little Rascals are on in five minutes.
Bush: Thanks, hon.
Rice: Again, sir, we don’t have specifics, except that there is a plot.
Bush: F Eight. Look, if this Mexican El Queso group wants to hijack a plane, it’s probably just a bunch of illegal immigrants trying to find an easier way to sneak over the border.
Cheney: Ken’s still on line one, and Satan, Prince of Darkness is on line Two. He needs to reschedule his 4 o’clock appointment.
Powell: Miss. A Eight.
Bush: Miss. Look, Condoleeza, the American people don’t want me flying off the handle half cocked on incomplete information. Don’t want to cause a panic; people don’t spend as much if they’re scared. We need a complacent nation spending themselves silly, and this could interfere with that. Now, if you get something solid, let me know. F Nine.
Powell: Hit; carrier.
Bush: Hot damn! Now we’re getting somewhere!
in other news...
As always, I feel it is my duty to provide feedback on every little point in the WDU - so here goes:
1. Happy Anniversary! I for one, am proud to belong to an organization that's five years strong. And my thanks to Saint/shade for financing the whole operation. You are only a "true" religion if the US government has an agenda towrds you and I'd bet shade's left wing nut that the BF alls into that category. You can't go five years without being noticed (unless your a sleper cecell of Al Quada..)
Seriously, I 'd LOVE a T-shirt. In fact, I'd like to contribute a few design ideas. Look foe them soon.
Oddly enough, the "classic" rock station in my area plays a healthy dose of Zappa - and by healthy, I mean fucking anorexic compared to the amount of Allman Bilgers that they shove down our throats. Still, a LIMITED selection of Zappa still makes to the airwaves (usually: Valley Girl, You Are What You Is, and Montana)
I’ve always considered the Rev to be our first real recruit (FireSkunk notwithstanding) and the Right Hand Man around the compound. Not to mention the Official Patsy if all this goes bad and we get Waco’ed...
To that end, we’ve pretty much assumed the Brain Police and their FBI flunkeys have been monitoring us for some time — probably longer than the five years we’ve officially been a blip on the Brain Police radar screen. Some of the emails and requests for membership are highly suspicious, even by the laxest of paranoid standards [such as this issue’s already infamous sodium pentathol email.]
The Rev’s t-shirt contributions will be posted on the merchandise page when they are available.
The Neil Peart/Ayn Rand revelation somehow comes as no surprise to me: I’ve always thought that Peart’s technical prowess was directly proportional to his lack of soul. So much skill, so little feeling. The same can be said about Ayn Rand, except the ‘skill’ part... Then again, in Rand’s horrific alleged ‘masterpiece’ The Fountainhead, the ‘idealized’ character/hero (Howard Roark) is a soulless, emotionless golem held up for us to emulate. yerf. Still, I love Rush, but my favorite songs of theirs are instrumentals like Overture or La Villa Strangiato, or with minimalist lyrics, like The Necromancer. A pox on Geddy Lee and that helium-induced falsetto.
Glad to hear the Zapster gets even anemic airplay, in North Carolina no less! You’d think in that redneck of the woods there’d just be a steady diet of Oak Bilge Boys, Garth Bilge, Bilgie Nelson, Conway Bilgey, Minnie Bilge, Bilge & Dunn, Charlie Daniels Bilge, and of course Bilgy Ray Cyrus. The inclusion of ‘You Are What You Is’ in the Rev’s aforementioned rock rotation list is especially surprising, given the song contains the word “nigger”. For the full context:
|A foolish young man of the Negro Persuasion
Devoted his life to become a caucasian
He stopped eating pork, he stopped eating greens
He trade his dashiki for some Jordache jeans
He learned to play golf, and he got a good score
Now he says to himself, “I ain’t no nigger no more!”
Then again, I never was that big a fan of the song, until I heard FZ remix it (with additional lyrics) on his mock-Broadway/Broadway-mock revieue, Thing Fish. The “offending” line is changed to “nignint” [ie: ignorant nigger] with the additional commentary, “One-Adam-Twelve, see de Nignint wit knife. Proceed wif cautium: knife may be open!”
Bone to pick from The Twin Branches:
There was also no known custom of freeing a prisoner at that time of year to celebrate anything. Thus the offer to liberate Jesus or Barabbas is pure fiction.
Are you absolutely sure on this one??? I think reasonably you are missing this one. How do you know exaclty about customs that existed nearly 2000 years ago? I once heard that Napolean had a custom of scratching his nuts before leading in to a slaughter. However, I have not been able to identify any records of this custom. Also, despite brutality, what makes you so sure hat Pilate wasn't more civilized at times. I would imagine he had a lot of different sides to him, I mean he was a Roman leader after all. Justice was swift and brutal, but he also had a taste for Roman pleasures don't yout think? He was also a rep of the most advanced civilization of the time. We are not talking about a caveman here. Brutal as hell, agreed, but a dutiful and respectful Roman leader, very likely. Why else would the Jews bring Jesus to him. They knew they could get what they wanted.
Never heard the thing about Napoleon; I asked Evil Matt, and he was stumped too.
You ask, “Are you absolutely sure on this one?” Well, I’m absolutely sure there is no known custom of freeing a prisoner each Passover in Judea. Now, if you want an “I’m secure in my Christianity” disclaimer to feel better (which strikes me as the case) then let me qualify that it is possible that there was such a tradition, just that no historical source (other than the Gospels) recorded it. Some testament to its authenticity may be discovered in the future.
Still, you’d think a progressive, positive move such as that would be indicated in some contemporary historical narrative. As of yet, 2,000 years of archaeology has yet to find any such record that this alleged custom existed. The lack of evidence to this effect is well documented, too. More ink has been spilled commenting on the identity of Barabbas (Aramaic for “son of the father”) than on the tradition itself, simply because there is no way to comment on something that has no recorded historical basis and that is blatantly out of synch with Roman practice at the time and specifically the blood-thirsty tyrant (Pilate) alleged to enact it.
Obviously, if you are privy to legitimate information to the contrary that has managed to escape the notice of twenty decades of scriptural research, then please share; both I and the rest of the Biblical scholarly community would be very interested to hear it.
[subject: Reinhard Gehlen]
Aside from some lucky breaks and the greed of impoverished Soviets, the west never really developed a strong foothold inside of the Soviet Union in terms of Human Intelligence. We could out spend them. We could use our technological superiority over them, but when it came to field work, they plain and simply owned the west. How many spy scandals has the west known, where someone in an important, authoritative or administrative postion turned out to be an agent for the Soviet Union?
Gehlen was an interesting fellow. He did have a benefit towards western intelligence, at least initially in that he had an existing network of spies in an area where the majority of the Western nations had none. Granted his network was well infiltrated as early as 1942 by Soviet Intelligence, but there was at least some useful information passed from the Soviet Union to the west. Beyond that, the majority of the information that was passed was probably Counter-Intel or propaganda from some Russian looking to feather his pension or support an expensive habit.
Wow... couldn’t have said that better m’self.
Actually, I probably could have, but won’t...
...and in other other news...
The latest from GWBee
Only the Bush Administration could find a way to combine two pet themes of mine, Your Tax Dollars at Work and My Bee Won’t Stop Buzzing...
In the latest move on the War Against Terrorism, scientists at the Department of Defense have trained bees to seek out explosives. This was done by putting small amounts of TNT around succulent flowers, and conditioning the bees to associate the smell of explosives with the smell of pollen.
And no, I’m not making this up....
The idea was originally to use the Bomb-Sniffing Bees to help clear minefields, as the Bomb-Sniffing Bees could (theoretically) find the mines without exploding them. The intrepid insects would be fitted with tiny, sand-sized locators to help track them. However, some DoD genius decided the Bomb-Sniffing Bees had broader uses, such as detecting suicide bombers or hidden munitions at borders, military bases, and even airports.
The plan has some obvious drawbacks, of course, such as it won’t work at night or during inclement weather (cold, rain, etc.) Not to mention bees don’t live very long, and you would have to keep training new Bomb-Sniffing Bee brigades every few months...
I can just see this: a swarm of Bomb-Sniffing Bees covers an incoming truck at an army base, and troops descend on it only to cry, “look out! The driver’s got a Dr. Pepper and a Snickers bar!”
Many of you may remember a while back my encounter with a rather unusual brand of tobacco-free smokes called ‘ecstacy’.
The cigs themselves are long gone, but I still have the box, which you gotta admit is kind of neat. Aside from the wacky —hey, how often can you say you’ve smoked the Mexican Witching Herb?!?— it’s also got a couple of pieces of Sanskrit script on it that have always intrigued and perplexed me. A second attempt a year or so ago to clarify via the manufacturers was fruitless.
I was recently discussing this with The Ignition Missionary, and lo and behold, ol’ boy says he has a friend at Yale who is fluent in this Tantric Tongue. So I ran off some quick scans and passed them along, eagerly awaiting the resolution to this multi-year mystery.
A response, as forwarded by the I.M., was surprisingly quick in coming:
Hey, bud. They aren't written in Tibetan (weird language, which I can't read) — they're in the sanskrit alphabet used in Nepal and India. The first one says "dhimahi"... the second one says "prachodayat" (I think, it's a little fuzzy at the end).
What these words mean, I have no idea. They might just be names, like Marlboro.
So I stuck Evil Matt on the job, and at long last, have an answer. I think.
dhimahi = “(come) meditate”
prachodayat = “inspire” or “guide to right direction”
Well, now you know. Sort of.
Still no idea why someone would roll a cigarette with the Mexican Witching Herb, though...
meanwhile, back on the World Domination radar...
New Frontiers in Medicine
In his ground-breaking book Menstruation: Its Causes and Cure, Dr. Raymond Bernard proves (to his satisfaction, at least) that menstruation is merely the result of women eating meat, wearing tight clothes, and having too much sex.
As the title implies, the book also goes on to remedy the situation: the monthly mess can be “cured” by eating only uncooked vegetables, wearing loose robes, and having sex once a year (on Spring Equinox.)
Now, ladies, before you toss out your Calvin Kleins, stock up on raw turnips, and forgo nookie ’till next spring, you’ll probably want to know a bit more about this gynecological guru who’ll hopefully take away your menstrual misery.
“Raymond Bernard” was the pen name of Walter Siegmeister (1901-1965). He also wrote under the nom de plumes Dr. Robert Raymond and Dr. Uriel Adriana, but I’ll refer to him here as “Bernard” for convenience. His academic accreditations are legit: he had an M.A. from Columbia and a Ph.D. from New York University. I have been unable to discover what his theses were, though since the last (gained in 1926) was a Ph.D. and not an M.D. they weren’t in medicine.
Then again, you probably figured that already...
Aside from manuals on menstrual alleviation, Bernard also has a work called Constipation. As you can probably guess, the cause is eating meat, the cure is eating raw vegetables.
Dr. Bernard also wrote a number of non-medical books, though, most of which delve into theosophy rather than home remedy. Summaries of most of the more esoteric works can be found here. By far the most famous piece of his is The Hollow Earth. Many consider this to be the definitive tome on the subject, and it is almost certainly the most widely read book on this controversial topic that flies in the face of the obvious plot by geologists to make us think there is (gasp!) solid ground beneath us.
Bernard was convinced his teachings, like those of his contemporary Dr. Wilhelm Reich, were not accepted by the mainstream due to a conspiracy in the academic community to suppress them. However, unlike Reich, Bernard never had FDA Agents raid his lab, destroy his equipment, burn his notes, and throw him in prison—all because the FDA didn’t agree with him. Perhaps Bernard suspected such a move was shortly coming, though, which helped his decision to relocate South of the Border with a handful of adherents. Or perhaps he was craftily leaving the country because he was most likely one step away from an indictment for what I will politely call “financial mismanagement.” Either way, though, his eventual exodus to Ecuador was encouraged by a few of the more unusual facets of his overall ideology.
Bernard’s beliefs were heavily influenced by the anthroposophical writings of Rudolph Steiner, but his main motivation stimulus and inspiration came from an otherwise unknown Puerto Rican psychic/witch/seer calling herself Payita. To understand Bernard, it is absolutely crucial to understand Payita’s teachings. Grossly oversimplified, here’s her world-view, which Bernard whole-heartedly embraced:
The Goddess (who Payita called “Great Mother” and from whom she received regular visits/visitations) parthenogenically created life in the Universe, starting with a race of perfect SuperWomen on Uranus. [spare the jokes; they’re too obvious.] Great Mother’s UberFemme spawn also reproduced parthenogenically, but one day one of them gave birth to “defective female” (read: man). This was Lucifer. He promptly began causing no end of trouble, encouraging everyone to eat meat and use money. His offspring began to spread across the solar system, and the farther away from Uranus they got, the more degenerate they became, until they at last reached Earth. Payita called these the “Terras,” a race about 14 feet tall who inhabited the great city of Atlantis, but after its legendary liquidation they moved underground into the hollow Earth. Mega-degenerate abomination offspring of theirs (homo sapiens) remained above ground, wallowing in such unforgivable sins as meat eating and money use.
Payita made a number of prophecies during her life, one of which was of special urgency to Bernard: a nuclear war would occur in 1965, wiping clean the planet’s surface of all life. However, the Terras would save a select, worthy few: those who did not use money, abstained from sex, and only ate raw vegetables. The Terras would evacuate them just before the mushroom cloud apocalypse and fly them to Mars in UFOs.
Keen readers no doubt notice sharp similarities here to the Heaven’s Gate commune, but I suspect these are largely superficial, as (near as I can tell) Bernard never claimed any divine status for himself, and (fortunately) his followers did not meet the grim vodka and barbiturate finalé that Marshall Applewhite’s clan did. Whether Bernard’s commune would count as a “cult” is highly subjective anyway, but for now I’m inclined to say no, unless I can uncover more detailed information on the group—which did not seem to even have a self-designated name for themselves. Obviously, the main parallel seems to be both organizations anticipated salvation by flying saucers.
In light of the last bit, Bernard was an early advocate that all UFO sightings of the late ’40s and ’50s were not extraterrestrials, but actually Terras out joyriding and jokingly passing themselves off as aliens. He believed that they emerged from an entrance to the hollow Earth somewhere in South America, with Brazil being the best location candidate.
To that end, he set up a commune in Ecuador with roughly forty followers, awaiting Terran evacuation from Earth. There they disposed of all monetary systems, went completely celibate, and lived off a strict diet of . According to one account, Bernard completely gave up bathing during the several years he spent at his commune. He would also lead occasional expeditions into the surrounding jungle, hoping to uncover another entrance to the Terran interior city beneath the Earth’s mantle.
Bernard never lived to see the 1965 atomic holocaust; he died that year of pneumonia. Surprisingly, his followers were not discouraged by the arrival of a non-nuclear 1966. By most accounts, they believed he wasn’t dead per sé but had been “taken” Enoch-style to Shamballah and eternal paradise. There is contextual (if ambiguous) evidence that, as late as 1998, remnants of his Ecuadorian commune still existed.
Although almost all of Bernard’s books are now out of print in the mainstream, many of them can still be bought on line, such as at this site.
Sadly, Menstruation: Its Causes and Cure is not among the ones offered.
...meanwhile, moving on from raw vegetables to sea food, we find...
& The Squid Conspiracy
1) Death in West Virginia
A little before 1 p.m. on August 10th, 1991, a maid was making her rounds at the Sheraton Inn hotel in Martinsburg, West Virginia. She soon reached room 517, and noting no ‘do not disturb’ sign on the knob, knocked. Getting no answer, she used her passkey and entered; the door’s deadbolt and chain were not in use.
The bed was unkempt but hadn’t been slept in. As she debated whether to change sheets anyway, she suddenly saw the bathroom door was open. Beyond, blood was smeared across the white tile floor.
Hesitantly, the maid entered, and was met by a most morbid sight.
Aside from the floor, one wall also had gouts of blood splashed onto it, and a clean, medium-sized piece of broken glass lay underneath. Under the sink was a blood-soaked towel, to which the maid later commented, “it looked like someone threw the towels on the floor and tried to wipe the blood up with their foot, but they didn’t get the blood, they just smeared the floor.”
Inside the tub was a literal pool of blood, as well as the remains of the man who had obviously made it. A shoelace was tied around his neck, and two plastic wastebasket liners floated in the sangrial bath. Both arms were visible, and each wrist had bold, deep slashes in them: eight in the left arm, four in the right.
The maid promptly called 911, and after police and paramedics arrived, they removed the body and emptied the tub. Under the man they found a can of Old Milwaukee and a safety razor.
The police promptly reached the conclusion that this was a suicide, an understandable judgment aided by a discovery in the other room. On a brand new canary yellow legal pad, a short message had been hand-written in blue ball-point:
To those who I love the most,
Please forgive me for the worst
possible thing I could have done.
Most of all I’m sorry to my son.
I know deep down inside
that God will let me in.
A wallet by the bed confirmed the corpse’s identity: Joseph Daniel Casolaro, known to family and friends as “Danny.”
Paramedics removed Casolaro’s corpse. Since the cause of death was readily apparent, they decided to skip an autopsy and turned the body directly over to the local funeral home. There, it was promptly embalmed (and, by one account, rather badly at that.) Contrary to West Virginia law, this was done without family consent.
It would be two days before any next of kin could be tracked down and notified. When Danny’s brother Tony received word from the Martinsburg P.D., he immediately disbelieved the “suicide” diagnosis.
Just before leaving for Martinsburg, Danny had explicitly told his brother, “if anything happens to me, don’t believe it’s an accident.”
Danny Casolaro was a writer in his early 40s who had published a wide range of articles in equally diverse periodicals, such as The Washington Post, Home and Auto, and The National Enquirer. He had even worked on a couple of films, including To Fly Without Wings, narrated by Orson Welles.
His current project, however, was an extended piece of investigative journalism that had consumed his efforts and attention for over a year and a half. It had quickly bloomed to book-length. His original plan was to call it A Pale Horse (as in Revelation 6:8) but after careful consideration of the rapidly expanding subject matter, he opted for the title The Octopus.
The term was Casolaro’s own, used to describe what he saw as a conspiracy of ostensibly unrelated tentacles that indeed had a single head secretly controlling them.
Casolaro had been in Martinsburg to meet with a source who he apparently believed would help tie the whole story cohesively together. Just before leaving, he had told friends and family he was “going to bring back the head of the Octopus.”
Conspicuously missing from Casolaro’s hotel suite were his notes and files, which he habitually took everywhere with him.
2) Dark PROMIS
The concept for The Octopus spawned in 1989, when a friend at a computer trade magazine turned Danny onto a scandal involving a small software firm and the U.S. Justice Department. The company was the Institute for Law and Social Research, commonly called Inslaw, founded and run by William and Nancy Hamilton.
In 1982, the Hamiltons had developed a law enforcement software program called Prosecutor’s Management Information System, or PROMIS. By 1982 standards, PROMIS was way ahead of its time, in that if coded correctly it could interface with any computer platform and allow instant data sharing over a vast national network. Common enough nowadays, but revolutionary back in ’82. PROMIS also possessed a number of other perks that made it, on the whole, a prime piece of programming ideal for policework.
The Justice Department expressed great interest in PROMIS, and signed a deal with Inslaw to buy the initial run for $10 million and install it in twenty of the top prosecutor offices across the country. If they liked it, they would renew the option and distribute it to up to a hundred more. Through extended licensing rights, the Hamiltons estimated their program could ultimately be worth several billion in income.
The Hamiltons delivered their PROMIS in early ’83, but instead of getting any payment, they got an extended legal battle when the Justice Department refused to pay up or even return the software.
And although the Hamiltons didn’t know it yet, around this time the Justice Department began using a software package suspiciously similar to PROMIS, installing it nationwide and even selling it to governments abroad.
By 1985 it was obvious to all involved that the government wasn’t going to honor the contract. The Hamilton’s lawyer was former U.S. Attorney General Elliot Richardson, famous for taking a stand against Nixon during Watergate. Richardson advised the Hamiltons to sue, especially when several insiders began stepping forth saying it had never been Justice’s intent to pay in the first place.
In September 1987, Judge George Bason ruled in favor of the Hamiltons on Inslaw vs. The United States of America, stating that the Justice Department had clearly attempted to steal PROMIS and bankrupt Inslaw through an “outrageous, deceitful, and fraudulent game of cat and mouse, demonstrating contempt for both the law and any principal of fair dealing.” An appeals court upheld this ruling.
Before damages could be rewarded, however, Judge Bason suddenly received word that he would not be reappointed, and as such was essentially removed from the case before any further rulings could be issued. The new presiding judge threw the case out on dubious technical grounds, effectively allowing the Justice Department to get away with their shenanigans.
This was where things stood in late 1989, when Danny Casolaro first met with the Hamiltons to discuss a brief exposé on the affair.
Although he had no idea at the time, Casolaro had just stumbled across a tentacle of the Octopus.
3) Danger Man
As stated, several people had come forth to testify that there was a very real conspiracy within the Justice Department to steal PROMIS and bankrupt Inslaw. Easily the most important—and unusual—of these witnesses was Michael Riconosciuto.
Riconosciuto was a prodigy from Washington state with an I.Q. easily in the genius range. At age 10 he strung up an alternative telephone system for his neighborhood. His high school science project was a fully functional argon laser, and when he was 16 he was a research assistant for Nobel laureate Dr. Arthur Schalow.
Riconosciuto also did contract work for the Government, and by his own admission this included code modifications to the PROMIS software. These modifications included an invisible back door that would allow certain users to access file contents without detection. The version Riconosciuto worked on was secretly sold to the Canadian Royal Mounted Police and Canadian Security And Intelligence Service for trial runs abroad.
Riconosciuto was also apparently involved in several other, darker side projects indirectly related to PROMIS, and since “Riconosciuto” is a mouthful, Casolaro coined a more appropriate moniker for him: Danger Man.
Danger Man swore out a signed affidavit admitting his role in PROMIS modification on March 21st, 1991.
Within a week, he was arrested for methamphetamine manufacture.
Per Danger Man at the time, “I’ve come up with the cheapest way to refine platinum there is. But I’m screwed because they’ll try to show that the chemicals I use are precursor ingredients to making methamphetamine.”
Relatively few, myself included, believe this alibi, though most, myself included, acknowledge that the timing of the arrest is highly suspicious.
Whatever the case, Danger Man did have a detailed knowledge of PROMIS source code, strongly suggesting credibility to his claims of being involved with its modification. Moreover, many elements of his story of PROMIS’s post-modification have been independently verified.
It was when Danny Casolaro began to learn of these, and their respective tangled tangents, that he knew he was onto something bigger than simple software stealing.
4) Intertwining Tentacles