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I ran into Greg Potemkin in DC yesterday when I was in town to lobby for The Euthanamerica Foundation, which I helped establish to counteract the obsessive focus on young Asians being promoted by the Oregon-based Euthanasia Society.
Greg is considerably younger than I, but we became fast friends five years ago when we toured Uzbekistan together for the International Brotherhood of Magicians (IBM) to promote magic awareness and escapism. After exchanging the traditional IBM greeting, which consists of pulling multi-colored scarves from each other’s ears until we were worn out, we retired to the nearest Starbutts to catch up.
“I’ve got a really cool gig going here in DC,” Greg said. “I’m executive director of the shadow government headquartered in an office building in the Soggy Bottom Historic District on the east side of Rock Creek Parkway.”
I had heard whispers of the DNC (Demagogue National Committee) operating a cryptocracy in our nation’s capital, but this was the first evidence of its existence I had encountered. I asked Greg what his duties were.
“It varies,” he said, “but did you see the guy telling former Speaker of the House Nancy Lugosi that General Flynn’s alleged “scapegoat” tweet was fake? That was me.”
“Man, that’s cool,” I said. “How did you know it was fake?”
“Easy,” he said, leaning closer and whispering across the table. “The IT guy who works for our Secretary of Fake Department generated it. But Lugosi was great. She told me later that she didn’t care that General Flynn didn’t send the tweet. She said the fact that she got to say ‘scapegoat’ was the important thing.”
“I guess no one in the Demagogue Party really cares if something is fake or not, as long as it hurts Big D. Who is Secretary of Fake for the shadow government?”
“Al Gore,” Greg said. “There’s no one in America more fake than Secretary Gore. He pulled off the fake climate crisis, the fake hanging chad hoax in the Miami-Dade recount, the interminable fake kiss with Tipper at the Demagogue Convention when he was nominated—the man is the Muhammad Ali of fake stuff.” He paused and laughed. “And any masseuse will tell you he doesn’t want a real massage when he books their services—he wants a….”
“I know what he wants. What other stuff?”
“Our Fake Department has an entire division devoted to prosthetics and phony appearances. They did Chuck ‘Corn Rows’ Schumer’s hair plugs, Anthony ‘All Beef’ Weiner’s abs, Richard ‘Blue’ Menthol’s Viet Nam medals, and Dick Bourbon’s fake smile. They lengthened former Secretaire D’Etat Jean Kerry’s lower jaw and paralyzed the rest of his face with Botox. They also built up Elizabeth ‘Dances With Wolf Blitzer’ Warren’s cheekbones to make her look more Cherokee and fabricated her floor length headdress with real bald eagle feathers.”
“How about Lugosi’s eyes?”
“We’ve arranged for all of her face lifts. I think she’s up to fifteen. And you know the fake sniper attack on Mrs. Clinton when she landed in Bosnia in 1996? We did that. DNC’s been ginning up fake stuff for a long time, long before I came to work for them. But since Big D’s election, we’ve really ramped up operations.”
“What about the Russian involvement in the election?”
“We did all of that. We’ve got so many left-wing Demagogue civil service and career bureaucrats in the actual agencies in DC who want to destroy Big D, we can pull off anything we want.” He looked around and leaned toward me. “These protests at town hall meetings, the riots in the streets, the phony outrage of the House and Senate Demagogues over everything that happens—we orchestrate all of that. Former Hungarian George Sore Loser funds most of it.”
“Who handles your media relations?”
“We started to hire former NBC anchor and self-described Special Forces hero, Lyin’ Brian Williams, but the Board of Directors decided we didn’t have to generate any phony headlines or news, because the mainstream media does all that for us. For free! Can you believe that?”
“I do,” I said. “Who’s on your board?”
“The Chairman of the Board, of course, is former president B.O. He knows so much about fake stuff—he could write a book. In fact, he wrote, I mean Bill Ayres wrote, two totally phony books. He made up most of the stuff in his book, including the bit about his white girlfriend, which he says now was “a composite.” His entire history is made up. He basically flunks out of Occidental, then gets into Columbia? How does that happen? No one in his class at Columbia who majored in Poli Sci, B.O.’s major, ever met him. And he was editor of the Harvard Law Review but never wrote a note or piece in the journal they publish—you can’t make this stuff up.”
“Apparently you can,” I said as I placed a $5 bill on the table, then made it disappear right before the Starbutts employee tried to pick it up.
“I’ve let my magic skills deteriorate,” Greg said, “but I can fake it if I have to.”