Pinky receives a book from Twink, disguised in a cloth Siddur cover, that lists the names of married TV execs who are ex-cons and/or gay. One comes to mind, Pinky’s mind, before he opens the jacket (which he does upside down, eventually): Toupée Texroth. Toupée Texroth is a former jumpball investor with a lead slug implanted in his collarbone where his girlfriend’s 13 year-old hit him 30 years ago, with a .357 magnum. Toupée jokes about it that he had asked for champagne. Pinky wishes to frame Texroth as the source of a damaging leak about a phantom salary ceiling at the Cabinet level. No one in the public mind can even fathom that salary caps and the Cabinet are spoken of in the same context, because the press is that level ignorant of Pinky and Twink’s moral values, or that of their gang and their ilk. It is Twink who has both set the ‘salary ceiling’ and invented the Texroth frame job, though he is clever in not ever directly suggesting it to Pinky. Pinky is led to draw his own conclusion, though Twink has rigged it so that only one conclusion is possible.
The “salary ceiling” refers to who gets to earn how much privately and using what means, and still be a Cabinet member. This plays to Pinky’s winner-take-all attitude---he must win the most, and the Cabinet members not more than a certain percentage of his own gain, plain-dollars-wise by comparison rather than strictly as a cut, a literal take. Pinky explains, “this is math.” Amongst the Cabinet members, meanwhile, private earnings are manipulated puppet-style by Twink’s own private business machinations as he sees fit to promote the power, confidence, sway, and swaggering of any one over any of the others. In this game, the standings are always fixed and no one performs naturally, i.e. unenhanced by financial tinkering directed by Twink through Wall St. brokers. (The brokers give good or bad advice to Cabinet members on their investments, based on Twink’s needs---that is one level of play.)
Pinky and Twink ARE NOT, surprisingly, the President and his Chief of Staff. They are just two itinerant businessmen with ultimately fatal lobbying power in Washington.
Pinky’s empire of “old” money, stacked high to its own ceiling that quite nearly outdoes the Vatican, with which it is always secretly at war for jealousy’s sake, is actually freshly minted and collected from arms sales to timed-out foreign heads of state who might want to keep a hand in. Pinky both brokers these deals for weapons manufacturers and owns about 80% of a number-two gun manufacturing lobby, which most people do not even know is “owned” by anyone. The reason he owns number two is ‘cause he has, actually, a loose tongue and can’t stop saying “SHIT” when harried; which is all the time, so devious is his crapshoot with power. “SHIT” is thus the name of the consignment, i.e. Stay Home In Texas, a lobbying entity, as I said, which skips from hotel to hotel, laundering dining tabs and uniformed guard payrolls. The secret police of SHIT is ignorant of SHIT’s policies though it has an operative in every local police force throughout about fifteen states, down to the hick-town level; and local police friends who receive kickbacks in, loosely, all 3-5 others. There are thus 3 to 5 shell games going on at any given moment as to the Tennessee bribery commission, for example, never mind at all other levels of corruption. Pinky also takes in $100 million or so every year or three from former courthouse reassignments of cash to other big winners, in targeted lawsuits, which he also brokers. Pinky gets a cut of each settlement in Gaza as well as these percentage takes. No one knows how much Pinky really is worth, since he never has to spend any of it, and even if one were to figure in the $10-50 million dollars boxing ring promotional rentals he farms out to ‘black labor’ (i.e. illegal-alien-boxing-management), one would be wrong again.
Twink knows something Pinky does not, and that is the name of the weatherman and the cameraman whose watch has changed over the summer. Weatherman and Camera Guy have gone from live Night, Mother reading sessions to The Night Porter video evenings. In other words the weather and camera are not important to Twink, or to Pinky, because they (weather and camera) do not pay attention to the ballooning economy or its lovers of debt. Twink has a great defense lined up for the day house of ‘cards’ (what they call the Vatican) and the deck of cards (what they call the ‘battleship-grayscale’) go under and the manipulations of force, income, and lies are exposed and dismantled. The defense is, he is a closet homosexual but a hero to his party. The other argument is that he is voting for Snickerdoodle in the next presidential election anyway, so it can’t be said of Twink that he wants power for himself.
Pinky’s mother was to Twink what Twink never had, anything but an artificial vagina to call mom. Pinky’s mother was a real cunt, in other words, whereas Twink’s was made of porcelain and could be used as an ashtray till the pagoda of cheese was whisked away and the dining Acquarians assembled for their lodge meeting. Twink’s idea about the Far East was that Japan would have to pay for the Rockefeller Center all over again if Rockefeller did not want his estate blown up by the Garagiola Corporation, a mining outfit specializing in detonating underground garbage chutes that would channel debris, flames, and ashes up the “kidschanu” of Rockefeller, “that Jew”. As either Twinky or Pink had it, can’t remember. Garagiola Corporation took its name from the infielder but had nothing to do with him aside from its checkered-sportscoat-like façade, in other words its own home was an art deco skyscraper in downtown Houston, and was known as “Dallas Squared” (code Twink). As a business, it was empty save for a few scattered Stasi documents on transcendental meditators; lesbian card sharks whose names could be used as cover speak for secret missions; and priests who sucked underage cock because 12 is holy. Its real function was a flagholder in Panama with a felt-tipped, wing-top Toupée, not Texroth but Topsider, for a mascot. Toupée Topsider loved women but Pinky and German---I mean Twink, Twink’s nickname was “German”---they forgave him that. Toupée Texroth was the one they floated turds to in their dreams of finally making it with a gingham-wrapped veal cutlet and a cigarette butt burning their ass at the same time.
The weather and the camera man take turns reading plays and watching kinky SS films like “Three Men and a Baby” while pressuring the snooze button every 10-15 minutes and taking a leak on the Capitol lawn. Twink scurries by during the “Night Train” episode of Harlem Shuffle on video night, so that whether or not camera is on is relevant only to tombstone raiders. Twink has a copy of some poems by Paul Valéry in his jacket pocket just in case anyone is within firing range and he is caught dead—in that case, he will be ‘a faggot-loving Frenchman’ to the world, and the truth will remain obscured. Twink’s mission, during the Night of the Long Lawn-Watering, as the security and media lapse will be known forever after, is to deliver a couple of chickens to Mr. Hawk himself, arms dealer with ring-on-chain Pinky, outclassed by a Louisiana merchant on this one but still receptive. Inside the chickens, which are live, are diamond watch pieces the chickens will shit out given enough chicken feed by a sting operation, also engaged by Twink. Pinky is going to fall for a line of sugar and two donuts, presented to him as “Donatellos” by the arms dealer Art History major “Crike” while Pinky is drunk at his son’s graduation ceremony. The chickens will be pecking around Pinky’s vomit in the morning, a picture which will be sure to leave the staff of SHIT outside the inner sanctum of Pinky’s private life for as long as it takes him to clean it up, as well as outside the stomachs of the chickens. Also no government cops will appear. So Pinky will clean up his own vomit, discover the chickens, remember the Alamo, and strangle them till they shit the watch parts.
The watch parts then fit into a puzzle you have to use a clear-lined eyedropper shape to observe, test-tube format, ganz objektiv. (NEUTRAL, OHNE VORURTEIL). If you align them with TV cathode ray tubes, Ayatollah Sistoli appears with one in each denture and blesses your sacral rectum before you SHIT the next Bombay sapphire into the wife of Zeus’ mouth, i.e. “Heraclit, Heraclit, she have a clit?” (DRUNKEN THUD by Pinky, who continues: “SLUR-SLOBBER”). When Pinky sobers up, he will possess a secret weapons cache himself without knowing it. That way, Orchestral Manoeuvers In the Dark can always say it was really a Wallon whose story was told, in this cryptic new text of theirs, and not McGill’s. Now the reason OMD knows all this and can be reasonably sure it will happen in this way is that OMD lived for 2 weeks in the rear courtyard building, with an American football wide receiver, of a factory known as The Gazebo, in Trumbull, NJ. The Gazebo was responsible for putting out silver hexagonal wrench parts in the 1949 volcanic fire aftermath, but went under by the time any wedding bands were living on its premises with linesmen or other big zeros. But where there is bloodshed is not always pressure, where murder occurs not always a hatchet job, and twin brothers betray other-countried countrymen all the time if what is wanted is Absolute Torah SssTories, or Absolute LaVoratories, not JURIES, all the time.
For those who do not follow the Wallon/McGill’s scandal and the connection of Pinky and Twink’s army of confederates to secret ritual or the sounds of late 80’s, Hella Hella is the eighth planet in the eighth house and made use of as code for “dangerous”. Any similarity between “lavatory” and “lavoratory” or the Labour Party is purely accidental and cannot be used to wire a cigar-bearing Moustaqa. Also, “gay marriage’ is used to describe a national threat level by Pinky and/or Twink at any given moment in their idolatrous love story because the names of prominent inverts from the class of ’37 are used throughout the literatures of intelligence cover-ups, and the files of the agencies that create them, to deflect attention from the military maneuvers beneath. Thus “Lina Wertmuller is a lesbian” is a double entendre for “Liliana Cavani will keep the press off the scent of our bomb plot,” even though neither is, strictly speaking, a lesbian.
As a child, The Great White Hope tossed the Nerf ball back and forth on the lawn of the White House not with Pinky or Twink, but with their Ayurvedic superior, Rocket Boy. Rocket Boy, built by Japan and Russia, had icon status and had the patent on it that would not run out until the year 2020. The Great White Hope is a casual and vindictive media slut who covers Pinky’s railroad tracks on the lawn, and the arms that run upon them, by destroying people’s identity cards in public, getting in a tousle with security, and thus enabling himself to be tackled and mudslides to occur. Then he climbs into the BMW and cuts a razor-sharp turn on the sundial so they have to reset it---repair estimate, 300 years. Long before Pinky and Twink were on their own well-flagged map of power divvying up the proceeds, the Great White Hope had plotted with their parents’ generation to sack not just Rome but first everyone in it, starting with Rocket Boy’s opposition. Rocket Boy would never have made it so far as the US Patent Office with his brand of cheer had GWH, GmbH, not hired a sinister brigade of stalkers and phone tappers to dexterously bore tiny holes into the base of people’s skulls. This was easy to do with sugar. Those targeted were in line to accuse Rocket Boy of vaguely resembling an inflatable, badly aged vagina---to his face. The holes, once bored, released pressure in the lofty brains of potential accusers, not as in a concussion, but as a short cut for those among the accusative opposition who had been training for their stupidity for the past forty years and had simply nowhere to drain the brain cells to---until Twink’s great discovery of trépas-nation. The Great White Hope, meanwhile, distracted the mass public during this massive operation by endlessly redecorating their running and basketball shoes, so as to confuse them, and by pretending to smoke acid on mirrors and shoot low-grade heroin in a secret, parallel life that provided purely for endless petty speculation. Nickelodeons on the face of the great “Camera I,” America---“not so,” subsequently hired neo-Camera Guys and Weather Operators would resume. GWH would carry a little spoon on the end of a chain of events, said to deploy all the way back to the Greatest Generation, but in fact the spoon is there for people to think different drugs are involved than are anyone’s actual habit. The actual habit of the Greatest White Hope of Babylon, Missouri, was he smoked crack with nuns and knowingly supplied green hair dye to Rocket Boy when it was clear the latter would never recover from angry-spectator disease. He would just dye of it, as we say in the business. When you look at the spoon, though, you just think he’s addicted to silver hair gel. It’s a great technique.
I have nothing positive to report about the Great White Hope, except that he is a loan-shark when not given to sky-diving and other deterministic sources of sports information. The parachute opens, and the bomb is dropped: how dull is that. Pixels in his aerial photography are numerous. The target is usually hit, give or take a few millimeters from the center of the frame. Yahoo. If they are a gay.org, so much the better.
Story of the Great White Hope, or, “Sharkskin does not fit the wearer of this adhesive monogram.” One lapel of this court reporter (who is really more of a recorder of the ports at Starbucks, and not adept at micro-cassettes or particularly transcription-oriented) bears a lavallier mike, plus a fly in the ointment as part of her inexplicable crest of arms. The legend of Xerxes fascinates her endlessly. Whatever she says, you can be sure that the truth is, somewhere, somehow, “in Persian. Opinionated down to her steering wheel cover, which also carries an insignia---Chevrolet---she serves on a commission for public security “hazards retrieval”. This has meant unearthing loads of junk bonds from other planets, so not just this one factory recall escapade that everyone talks about. In the meantime she roots for St. Louis Cardinals and uses a lot of polysyllabic words she can’t carve up with hyphens well enough to suit her boss. Here it must be explained that “she” is really her boss, or she is “his”. And: he is really “GWH, GmbH, not just a plastic container salesman for salad-eating lawyers. She is he as he is she as we are they are HURT “WE” all together. As I was trying to explain it before---you see? “Hazards retrieval” also means that if luggage stands abandoned at a bus stop, it’s her casual job to pick it up and diffuse the thing, which she does with courtesy and aplomb, the way one might stop into Safeway and snap open a Tab while walking to the parking lot---EVEN IF THERE’S NO CARBONIC ACID IN THE PACKAGE!!
What the insignia on the steering wheel commission doesn’t cover is her license to kill on sighting the insignia of any other tele-sprocket operator. So don’t wear a Pinky ring to work on Seamus Heaney’s watch, part one---you’ll be filled in on the next few episodes till III or IV roll around.
The truth about the Great White Hope is more banal than anyone in America is capable of admitting, because if they did that they would feel lonely and small. Great White Hope is and was not a precedent for anything, never mind the first precedent America had ever seen. Yet in many fantasies, “it all began with the Great White Hope”. “I don’t know, fully, how to compensate for their lack of initiative in cultivating their own private lives, “ thought GW, “but because they lack honor, nobility, or valor, I suppose I shall have to commit to promoting drugs---throwing drug parties, passing out drugs, and hooking to support their habits. Other people’s habits.” Thus by the time GW was 34 or so tuberculosis had almost set in----it would have done so completely, but fortunately fate struck a match between GW and a disconnected spirit residing in thermal underwear, (above a landmarked high street or pavilion), upon a throne. This spirit, who called herself Dante The Dancer, really had tuberculosis and her entire consciousness was rooted in having this perpetually nagging, blind, faithful servant of a blood spot likely to be coughed off at after-hours parties. Any minute now for her whole life, Dante The Dancer could have kicked off, or kicked a bucket, or kicked up her own parade of inimical geese for GW’s amusement,---or, heaven forfend, Pinky or Twink’s---the truth being that MOST thought the GW Hope needed to be shut out of neurotic discussion about his own mythic status. So they refused to introduce GWH, GmbH to the Dancer for fear of stocking extra Nyquil in the supermarkets and everybody shut up for a few more decades after that.
Great White, like most people who’d like to discharge the contents of a powder keg back into the womb some lies are borne of, carried a mere .22 millimeter test tube when this day began where he launched himself upon Camera guy and Weather reported Korea was on a different station. In the test tube were diseases normally associated with deformed umbilical depravities. GWH wanted to lunge at a telescope with a homage to Schiaparelli reflected in the mirror of his ambitions, just knock it away, but there was no need. His services were only ever engaged to quell something riotous, like a good joke with a lot of people having sex in it. When such things became too commonplace and in earnest, he would set up shop across the street from the Capitol, sitting and smoking in his lawn chair like the fly-by-night extrovert he truly was, nipping and tucking at the massive aroma of urine emanating from the golf course. He would wait for some passerby to deliver the Haz Mat. Then he would dress up as a girl and go to work for the pubic eyeball, thereby eliminating the need for security payroll at least as far as the pubic eyeball could follow it.