A Quick Note on Hibernation

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Now that I have woken up from my annual winter hibernation, it’s probably a good time to discuss the truth about human hibernation.

Bears, wolves, moths, whales, amoebas, and even the lonely sasquatch hibernate during the cold, dead months of winter. So why don’t humans? Even though it is not widely known, the true story is that they do and always have. Galileo, Aristotle, and Thomas Jefferson are counted among the biggest proponents of human hibernation. What is the common link between those three men besides their stunning intellects and inhuman productivity? They are all dead. Obviously their lack of life is not surprising in itself, it is the fact that they were murdered to protect a conspiracy that dates back to the beginnings of humanity.

They Covered Our Eyes

Proto-Humanity didn’t need to know that hibernation was good for them. It was instinct. When the cold came, you found a cave and huddled together with your tribe, sleeping peacefully until the warmth returned. Proto-Humanity advanced into our earliest human ancestors at an unheard of evolutionary rate with the help of hibernation.

Sorry Ralph, short straw tends the fire, you know the rules

Pre-Hibernation Soiree and Raffle

The early humans kept pace with this rate of advancement, unconscious of what the key was. A day came when some figured it out. They wanted the secret all to themselves. They formed a cabal and began a disinformation campaign that would convince their fellow humans to adopt a year round schedule. The cabal enslaved humanity and rose to power by employing the now-secret power of hibernation.

The leaders of every great ancient civilization were members of the cabal. The Sumerians, The Egyptians, The Minoans, The Shang Dynasty, The Babylonians, The Romans, The Mayans and every important royal family up to modern times has been a member of the hibernation cabal. But much to their dismay, they have not been alone.

Small Rebellions

It is not known who the first outsider to lift the veil was but word quickly spread throughout the scientific and philosophical communities. Each advance in human society can be tied to the spread of the hibernation secret. And each dark age of suffering can be tied to a purge. A purge conducted by the cabal against the outsiders who had learned their secret.

Humanity fought on. Some outsiders survived the purges and carried on, some cabal members defected, and new brilliant minds were discovering the secret on their own. Socrates, Sun Tzu, Siddhartha Buddha, Leonardo Da Vinci, and Benjamin Franklin all knew the secret and achieved greatness. All are now dead.

There is one conspiracy in the world, only one conspiracy, although it is known by many names. One conspiracy to rule them all and in the darkness bind them.

The Fight Continues

There is a good chance this account will be destroyed. The cabal still exists, and the outsiders fight on. The royal families and other heads of state and their corporate and religious partners continue the tradition of stealing our own greatness from us. Do you want to reach the glorious heights of ultimate achievement or do you prefer to live in your miserable year-round shackles? Hibernation is the key to unlock your highest potential. Hibernation will make you the man or woman that nature or your preferred god intended. Hibernation will also make you an enemy of the all-powerful cabal.

I believe the risk is worth it.

My own annual hibernation is now over and

Uhhhhmmmm

…., hmmm, no, actually no, see you in a few weeks.

The Battle of California

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There was a California before the Americans. Before the Spanish. Before the Russians and the dark-skinned Natives. There was a California before, and there was a battle for it’s soul.

Promised Land

The man came by land, across the long-fallen bridge. The fish came by sea, pulled by the North Pacific current. The bird came by air, a long and dangerous flight. Each was drawn to the place by the same desire: the freedom to walk, the freedom to swim, the freedom to fly. The mountains were high and the valleys were fertile. The skies were always blue and the water was clean and fresh. The enemies of the old world were left behind and a new life could begin.

Each wanted this place for their own. To plant seeds so that future generations could grow and prosper. But they found something else in California as well. Each other.

The Factions

The man, royalty in his homeland, would easily dominate this new world. What beast could stand up to his sword? What creature could match the elegance of his purple cape? The glint from his crown would blind the mightiest foe. And he had the power of the mind: rational thought, self awareness, math. No one would stop him.

The fish, finned and fanged and deadly, would easily dominate this new world. Who else could swim so fast? Who else had three rows of razor sharp fangs? His sense of smell could find a foe at over one hundred miles. Who else could breathe liquid and move in their sleep? No one would stop him.

The bird, who had survived the most grueling trip of all, would easily dominate this new world. Could anyone match his sight, the ability to spot a target from 10 miles away? He controlled the sky, and he who controlled the sky controlled the battle. His camouflage was unmatched, green feathers, and black, and brown, nature would hide him. A demonic, corkscrewed penis, designed by Satan himself would allow him to outbreed by force any foe in the new world. No one would stop him.

Skirmishes

The bird, flying high above the earth, was the first to notice that he was not alone here. Without thinking and without remorse he dove towards the man and attacked. Flapping and kicking and biting wherever he could find purchase. The surprised man could not believe what was happening, there were no enemies here. He recovered enough to run for cover and compute this new data, which the bird mistook for retreat.

The victorious bird decided to go for a victory swim. As he had thought, none could stand before him. The fish attacked swiftly, from beneath, and the bird did as the man had before him. The fish smiled at the fleeing bird, tail feathers protruding from his many rows of teeth.

The man would not be surprised again. He sharpened his weapons and his senses. This land was not his land. Yet. When he came upon the lounging fish he launched his spear and dove into the water to fight. The fish bolted, unprepared for this furious assault. He had done nothing to this man, but next time, next time he would do something.

The Battle Raged

None could easily claim victory. The man had been there the longest and had come closest to domination, but this meant nothing to the other two. The two younger Californians quickly learned the ways of the land and caught up to the man. They would raid each other’s homes several times per year, sometimes being chased away, sometimes taking a spoil or two, but never fully crushing their opponent. Each of the three sides hated the other two equally and there was no chance of alliance against a common foe. And that is how they fought, one against one, and one against one, and one against one, over and over and over again.

After years upon years of battle, a temporary truce was initiated. No one was sure who proposed it but the fighting was halted for an entire year. While the fish and the man recovered and rested, the bird trained and built weapons and developed new tactics. For it was the bird who proposed the truce, to lull the others into complacency. The fighting resumed as normal, but the bird saved his surprises for the right time. In the second year after the truce, the bird unleashed his furious attack and thought he had achieved absolute victory.

But the fighting resumed as normal the next year. Nothing had changed. The fish would continue to have the most success throughout the year, but every year he would tire and fade as the season changed to Spring. None could take advantage of the other two. And the fighting would go on.

Some say the man finally cracked. That he went crazy from the continual battle and went on a rampage. Some say he made a revolutionary leap in tactics. Others say he initiated total war, willing to do what the others were not. Whatever the cause, the result was the man’s victory over the bird and the fish.

Annihilation

The man would not repeat the mistake of the bird. He scorched the land and sea and the sky. He salted the earth. He destroyed every speck of food and beauty. There would be no more fighting as there was nothing to fight for. Victory was his and no one would ever take it from him. The man sat alone atop the pile of dust he had created and cradled his victory, whispering sweet nothings to it and making promises that no one would ever hurt it. Tears flowed at the beauty he beheld.

Brandon McCarthy: Savior of Humanity

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The world as we know it was going to end in December of the year 2012. Several chains of events had been predicted for thousands of years to converge at a specific point in time. That point in time was September 5th, 2012. There was only one man who could prevent the annihilation of all human life on Earth.

The Dream

After midnight on 5 September, Brandon had a dream. In his public life, Brandon McCarthy was a professional pitcher in the American sport of baseball. The dream he had resembled the dream he had before every game he was scheduled to pitch. He is the king of the mountain, an ape named Donkey throwing giant barrels at his foes. He is unstoppable and his shoulders and elbows never fail to fling the barrels with amazing power at the Italian men at the plate at the bottom of the mountain. In his dream, every pitched barrel is a perfect strike.

The dream shifts. A barrel flies back toward the mountain. This is different, this never happens. The barrel goes past McCarthy and strikes the small ape Pennington, defender of Second Valley. A zeppelin descends from the sky and lifts the injured Pennington to take him to the hospital.

The dream shifts. Brandon floats above Pennington’s home, a plumber waits outside. The plumber is unaware of the injury and late for his next appointment. He waits for hours. He is a loyal and devoted plumber. The man at the plumber’s next appointment grows more and more annoyed. He decides to fix his own garbage disposal. He is a microbiologist, and he is unqualified for this job. The garbage disposal whirs to life as he inserts his hand. He bleeds to death, alone, on the kitchen floor.

The dream shifts. Sirens go off at a laboratory. There is a breach. The lab technicians search for the expert in charge of XT-581. They call his phone. The phone rings in the home of the microbiologist, no one is able to answer. Brandon feels the fear in the lab as the lab techs panic. No one else is qualified to deal with an outbreak of XT-581. It spreads.

The dream shifts. Food riots start in the supermarkets and end near the dumpsters. Bodies pile in the streets and stadiums. Nuclear missiles fly in response to presumed biological warfare. The earth is scorched into oblivion. An overturned calendar reads 21 December, 2012.

Safeco Field’s innovative new pink-striped turf proved itself adequate for stacking corpses

Awake

McCarthy jerked into the real world. It was morning. Game day. He was drenched in the stench of french perfume. His wife had overdone it again the previous night, her sweatsuit soaked in high-performance parfum. He had been inhaling the fumes coming off her body the whole night. The light bulb flashed in his brain, the dream, could it be?

In his secret, shadow life, Brandon held a triple PhD in chemistry, psychiatry, and astrology/divination. In a recent study he had conducted, he determined that long exposure to strong perfumes could induce visions, particularly when the subject was sleeping. The neural inhibitors that prevent farseeing are themselves inhibited by the chemical odorants of some strong perfumes. A future of possible events opens before the subject. He had put the research aside temporarily because there was a series of important intra-divisional games coming up. But the implications of the research pushed to the forefront of his brain.

Was it a simple nightmare, or a horrific vision of the future? The dream could be real.

The Game

The dream faded soon after waking, as they do, but he would be prepared for any signs today. He also needed to prepare for the game against the loathed Angels. He developed some pitch sequencing algorithms for the hated Angels and stretched before heading to the stadium.

The game appeared no different than any other game, except for the presence of the despicable Angels. In the third inning, the repugnant Angels took the lead. In the fourth, the second Angel to come to the plate launched a missile ball back up the middle. Clarity struck McCarthy, the dream played out in his head. This moment in time was the convergence point, all past roads to the apocalypse lead here. This was the single point of failure in the plan of destruction. Of course it would be the Angels playing the adversary’s cat’s-paw.

Brandon was running out of time, the screaming ball was quickly approaching. There was no alternative. He could not allow the destruction of civilization. He must protect Pennington, who must meet his plumber, who must make his next appointment with the microbiologist, who must stop the outbreak of XT-581. Brandon had only one course of action. He threw his head in front of the ball.

Brandon laid on the mound and for the split-second before his memory of the event disappeared forever, he knew he had successfully prevented the destruction of life on earth.

The face of a relieved hero. Mission Accomplished.

Legacy

McCarthy suffered severe brain damage and required extensive surgery to save his life. The doctors could not save his memory and he would never again be the same. He could not tell this story himself because he has forgotten it, but we Mariners fans appreciate his sacrifice. Well, everyone probably appreciates his sacrifice, except for the thwarted Angels bent on the destruction of all life, but the people of Seattle appreciate it the most.

And as they say, behind every great and heroic man there is a great and heroic woman. So we would be remiss not to mention the contributions of Brandon’s wife. If not for her need to smell like a French prostitute, Brandon may have never had the premonition that saved the world.

Thank you for your service to humanity, McCarthys.

Phidippides: Disobedient Savior of Marathoners

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As the story goes, Phidippides was the inspiration for the Marathon. He ran 25 or so miles after the Battle of Marathon to tell the leaders of Athens that the Persians were defeated. About 2000 years later some European guys decided to make a race using this distance and put it in the Olympics or something. But do you know what could have been if Phidippides had chosen a different path?

Phiddy

Phidippides, or Pheidippides, or just Phiddy to his friends, was a Greek herald during the first Persian invasion of Greece. Before the Battle of Marathon he had run from Athens to Sparta to get some of that Spartan manmeat on the frontlines of the upcoming battle. This is already significantly more impressive than the more famous run because the distance between Athens and Sparta is about 140 miles. He ran it in two days. 25 miles in an afternoon or 140 miles in two days, you decide.

Moving on, the Persians landed, the Greeks were waiting on the beach near Marathon, they fought, the Greeks won and the Persians had their first of many embarrassing defeats against the Greeks under their belt. And this is where the true fake story of what happened diverges from the probably also fake more famous story of what happened.

Captain Smurberdules

A junior officer on the winning Greek side was handed the task of informing Athens that the battle had been won. This task was delegated because all of the higher up military leaders wanted to celebrate and get wasted. So they assigned Captain Smurberdules the mission of travelling to Athens because his father wanted him to have some important part to play in the battle. He was also the most incompetent junior officer they had in their command, which is saying something if a person has any knowledge of junior officers. But even Captain Smurberdules couldn’t mess up this mission, it was much too simple.

So Captain Smurberdules devised a route that made sense to him, and then, being a lazy, rich, incompetent fratboy, he assigned a runner to carry out the mission for him. He was not going to miss this party.

Orders: Sometimes they just don’t make sense

Phiddy receives his orders

Phidippides, after running 140 miles in two days and then participating in the battle, was hoping for a restful celebration. It was not meant to be. Captain Smurberdules knew of his distance running prowess and handed him the map he had drawn. Phiddy giggled, thinking it was a joke. The Captain did not enjoy being laughed at. He ordered Phiddy to “move out right now on the route I have ordered or there will be hell to pay”. Phiddy got serious and suggested that the route was asinine and that it would take at least four times as long as a normal route. The Captain slapped him and said that was the last time he would be called an ass to his face.

Phiddy tried another tactic. He suggested that the Athenians would like to know quickly and that it would reflect well on Captain Smurberdules if they were informed quicker. The Captain asked if Phiddy had been to “Advanced Route Course”, and when Phiddy replied no the Captain said he was unqualified to question an ARC grad. Phiddy asked why the route traveled well away from Athens instead of just going straight there and the Captain said that the Persians would expect the messenger to go straight there. Phiddy then wondered why the route swooped into the ocean 10 miles north of Marathon, an ocean controlled by the Persians. The Captain replied that it would help him lose them and they wouldn’t expect it. Phiddy asked why the route travelled all the way around Mount Parnitha on a very circuitous path and the Captain said “Because mountains are tall you imbecile, I’ve studied them.”

Captain Smurberdules was quite annoyed by now and he had a party to get to. He yelled at Phiddy and told him to complete his orders or else, no more questioning of his authority would be tolerated. He was finally free to head off and meet Thad and Rex at the beach.

A Choice

The planned route was well over 100 miles long and full of hellish terrain. It would take days. Phiddy had travelled from Marathon to Athens several times and he knew it could be completed in a few short hours. Sometimes orders have to be disobeyed for the good of the mission. Once he arrived in Athens, no one would care that he took the short route. In fact, they would probably praise his proactivity and go-getter-ness and promote him.

Phiddy don’t follow stupid orders

So with his decision made, Phiddy sprinted the short 25 miles to Athens and was joyously greeted by the elated citizens and leaders of the great city state. He didn’t miss a party after all, as a gigantic celebration kicked off in Athens. Phiddy was praised for relaying the message so quickly. He had made the right choice.

He was wrong

As the myth is known, Phiddy arrived in Athens, made his announcement, and then died of exhaustion. The truth is, he was able to celebrate for quite a while and enjoy his newfound fame. That is until Captain Smurberdules and the rest of the Greek Army arrived.

The Captain was hungover and Rex and Thad had tattooed a bunch of penises on his face when he passed out at the party. He was having a bad day. When he found out how quickly Phiddy had arrived in Athens he knew his orders had been disobeyed and he was livid. He immediately called a military tribunal, stated his case, and Phiddy was tried and convicted. The next day, Phidippides was executed.

Legacy

What would have happened if Phidippides had followed orders? Marathons today would be over 100 miles instead of 26.2 that’s what. Phiddy says you’re welcome marathon runners. The snarky ultra-runners reply “We already do 100 miles, no big deal.” Well guess what ultra runners, if marathons were over 100 miles then ultra-marathons would be 200 or 400 miles, or even more?!? Phiddy says you’re welcome ultra runners.

Not a runner? Do they hold marathons in your city? Guess what it means if a marathon is over 100 miles? That’s right, your city is in gridlock and shutdown for 4x as long. Phiddy says you’re welcome everyone else.

Everyone, say thank you to Phidippides.

The True Fake Story of Paul Revere

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Most Americans know the story of Paul Revere. How he lit a lantern or two or watched a guy light a lantern and then warned people about it and probably did not scream at children that the British were coming. But do you know the true fake story of Paul Revere’s Midnight Ride?

A Serious Game

It all started with a game of Gourdroll between the British and their colonists. The friendly nature of the series had long ago eroded and both sides made it their highest priority of the year to win. Shops would close down, children would be let out of school, farms lay unplowed. The people of Boston would gather at the harbor on the day the British team’s ship arrived to throw to-mah-toes and spotted dick and tea at them. It was quite the raucous party.

This animosity was brought about by the recent dominance of the British. The colonists had not won a Gourdroll series in decades and they were angry. This year would be different. The colonists had assembled a team of destiny, and to top it off, the captain of the British team had recently died of scurvy or syphilis or some made up disease. This was their year.

The game was going according to plan heading into the final roll. And that’s when fate arrived, in the form of William Cornelius Buckner III. The gourd was rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled, and it rolled right between the legs of William Cornelius Buckner III. The day was lost. The British had won.

It gets through Buckner!

Meltdown

The fans lost their minds. Buckner was pelted with gourds into unconsciousness. He would wake up briefly several times before being gourded again as he was paraded through the streets for the rest of that horrific day. Riots and fires broke out all over the city. Wanton destruction was the theme of the meltdown. The British team only escaped with the help of a detachment of Redcoats who massacred the fans blocking the exit. One of those fans was named Pudge Revere.

Pudge was the youngest sibling of the Revere clan, one of the most notorious families of gourdroll hooligans in Boston. The Reveres had been known in years past to gather outside the berthing area of the British team the night before the series in order to get drunk and sing loud songs about bloody limeys. It had never been personal, until now.

Paul Revere, the de-facto leader of the clan, organized a hasty council with the other prominent hooligan families.

The Council

- Paul Revere – “Alright me droogs, war is upon us”.

- John-Boy Revere – “WAR, ARRRRRRGH”.

- Gustav Vahlberg – “We pissah mertn cahbe, no biffin”.

- John-Boy – “BEER, MORE BEER, ANGRY”.

- Toots Revere – “Dey kilt my bro, my little bro”.

- William Dawes – “We need a warning system near the Bri-”

- Grandma Revere – “Guldern Toots better stop talkin like one a them coloreds in my house”.

- Paul – “Grandma-ma, enough of your vile tongue, get the beer.”

- Grandma – “New generation got no respect, treatin old people like that, and in my day the white men acted like white men, new fangled wizzle wozzle and hippity hop.”

- Paul – “OUT OLD WOMAN.”

- Grandma – <muttering under breath><leaves>.

- Dirky Dirk Vahlberg – “Yo, you know what I says, I says we go down to that ship and get wicked pissah crazy on some limey bitches. They disrespect us, they murdah yah bro, they gots to pay, gots to. Nevah back down bros. If I was there right now I’d be messin up limeys left and right, bam to the face, left hook, uppercut-”

- Gustav Vahlberg – “<incoherent><indecipherable><gibberish><YELLING>.”

- William Dawes – “Gentlemen, we are justifiably angry, but we mustn’t be hasty. We have not the power nor the arms to attack their ship.”

- Dirky Dirk – “Shuddup posah, you ain’t even like gourdball, you ain’t a true fan, pussy.”

- William Dawes – “I am so a true fa-”

- Paul – “My brother is dead, we must act. But Dawes is right, we must have caution.”

- John-Boy – “CAUTION!” <drinks>

- Dirky Dirk – “Caution is 4 bitches.”

- Paul – “He is right. Caution truly is for… bitches.”

- William Dawes – “We are too weak, we should wait for the British to come to us, ambush them. We should set up a warning system of some such so-”

- Paul – “He is right, we should wait and ambush them.”

- Dirky Dirk – “No way yo, I can take em, we can take em homeys, don’t listen to this bandwagon fan chowdahead.”

- William Dawes – “I will not be insulted. Dawes OUT!”

As William Dawes walked out, he heard the bluster continue on. The beer was flowing, and this debate would go late into the evening.

Preparations

As the city descended into chaos, the British were not idle. The British commander organized his troops and developed a plan to quell the violence. His plan did not include the words “Be Nice”.

Luckily for America, some of the colonists had not been idle either. Grandma Revere knew that the blood would flow if the filthy British scum descended upon Boston to put down the riots. Grandma hated many things, but the American colonies were not one of them. The rioters were angry but unorganized, and their judgement was clouded by rage. They would be slaughtered by the Redcoats. So Grandma Revere left the council and went to work.

She grabbed William Dawes, who was blubbering outside the house, and told him to set up his proposed warning system. She also told him to prepare to ride in order to warn the locals when the British departed. Grandma Revere would not have her city taken unawares by the Redcoats. The colonial militia was just West of Boston and they also needed to be warned of developments. She knew that Dawes could not ride alone and they had lots of ground to cover. She would ride as well. So her next step was to acquire the fastest horse she could find. Shadowfax was his name, and his speed was legendary.

Meanwhile Back at the Council

- Paul Revere – “Me thinks we need more beersh, GRANDMA, MORE BEER!”

- John-Boy – “BEER, MORE BEER.”

- Paul – “So we agree fithnally? If Brady was playing today, we woulda won?”

- Toots – “Brady’s a BUM.”

- Dirky Dirk Vahlberg – “THREE RINGS BITCH, THREE RINGS!”

- Toots – “Rings shmings, guy’s still a bum.”

- Dirky Dirk – “I’LL KILL YOU!”

- Paul – “Guys, guys, listen to this, I got something important to say. I lovesh you guys, yer all just, the besht.”

- Dirky Dirk – “Shit man, shit. Love you too Paulie, I’msh just, I get angry with drinkingth sometimes, love you all so much.”

- Gustav Vahlberg – ”Yargle butta slishsk” .

- Toots – “Fuckin Buckner.”

- Paul – “Goddamn Buckner.”

- Dirky Dirk – “Busta ass Buckner.”

- Gustav – “Pissah shmel gerf.”

The British are Coming

The British force prepared to head out. The signal system worked beautifully and Dawes and Grandma Revere took off on horseback. Shadowfax flew through the town with Grandma Revere warning everyone she came across to hide from the Redcoats or go West. She was briefly slowed by roving British scouts, but their musket balls could not catch Shadowfax.

As she and Dawes traveled West and North, the network of riders that spawned from them grew exponentially. A giant game of telephone played out and in a few hours everyone within 50 miles would know that the British were coming. As previously agreed upon, Grandma Revere and Dawes met in Lexington to warn the colonial leaders.

As she climbed from Shadowfax, Dawes saw blood on the saddle. Grandma was soaked in her own blood. Even Shadowfax could not outrun every fired musket. Grandma Revere did not seem to be in any discomfort, so Dawes asked her if she felt any pain. “Pain don’t hurt,” was all she said.

Grandma Revere walked inside and told Samuel Adams and John Hancock to “Get off your lazy asses and get ready to fight.” John Hancock leapt to his feet and screamed “I will beat the shit out of you old lady,” before being corrected that she meant the British. With her mission complete, she took a well-deserved rest.

A Small Problem

The next morning back at the Revere house, the council was waking up after a wicked awesome night of drinking. Paul wiped the dried vomit from his face and poured himself an eye-opener. British soldiers shortly greeted him at his door and took him in for questioning. They told him that a Revere had been riding around committing espionage the night before. The British gourdball team gave them Paul’s name as they were familiar with Paul as a rabble-rouser from his hooligan shenanigans.

In Lexington, the colonial leaders were having a discussion about the night’s events. They had a problem to solve. A hero was needed to spread the good word of the upcoming fight with the British, and here, two heroes had fallen into their laps. Unfortunately, everyone knew that Dawes was a latecomer to gourdball fanhood and he couldn’t even name a single player’s name. No one would rally behind his banner. And then there was Grandma Revere. She was abrasive, rude, old, and most unacceptably, a woman. She was also well-known throughout New England as being a horrific racist (which was saying something considering the era). She was not what heroes were supposed to be.

Then, the answer to their problem arrived in the form of a messenger from Boston. Paul Revere had been accused by the British of being the rider from the previous night. They would just agree with the British and praise Paul as the hero and write songs about him and spread news of his deeds. He was a good Bostonian and a huge fan of gourdball. He would make the perfect hero. They would even give Dawes and Grandma a nice medal and pat on the back in a secret ceremony and thank them for their service.

Hero of the Revolution

Of course Paul Revere accepted this plan. He was more than willing to help the cause that would fight the British and get vengeance for the tragic gourdball loss, oh, and also the death of his brother. Another plus is that it would anger his Grandma and he would always be able to rub it in Dawes face. Also, the fame. The songs, and the poems, and the lies rolled in and Paul Revere was honored as one of the great heroes of the American Revolution.

For their part, while annoyed, Grandma and Dawes knew that not all heroes were recognized properly. They decided to be happy they could help and not blow up the conspiracy. Not like they had a choice, the fix was in and history would never know how important they were.

Julia Child: Master Assassin

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Julia Child is known as a hero for emboldening the palettes of America for the latter part of the 20th century. She is also the most highly decorated assassin in the history of the Office of Strategic Services (OSS) with over 1500 confirmed kills between 1941-1945.

Recruitment

Born Julia McWilliams, she would not adopt her more famous last name until after her service with the OSS was complete. Julia had a perfectly cromulent childhood in California. In the interwar years, she paid her way through college by participating in various high-stakes bare-knuckle boxing matches. During a particularly brutal bout against three professional fighters, she sparked the interest of one William Donovan, future head of the OSS. Donovan would later remark:

“I had never seen such ferocity. Maybe– maybe the closest thing in nature I could compare it to was a cornered badger. It wasn’t bloodthirsty, it was just– it was a calculated primal rage. Not that there wasn’t blood, oh my, the blood…those poor boys had no idea what they were facing.”

Donovan knew that a second war was coming and he also knew that young Julia was exactly the type of person America would need in the coming battle with fascism. He monitored her from afar for several years, but always kept his memory of her close. After Pearl Harbor, Donovan brought Julia in to his new organization.

Fortress Europe

Agent McWilliams, AKA “Julienne”, AKA “Bloodmist”, AKA “Fräulein Blitzsterben” was notionally assigned to OSS Headquarters in Washington DC during World War II as a typist. However, her true mission was to infiltrate Fortress Europe and “work the list” along with several dozen of Donovan’s other top OSS agents. The list contained 100 names of mid level Axis leaders whose deaths the OSS thought could destabilize Fortress Europe over the coming years. Donovan believed this was a rather ambitious task for his new agents, but if they could complete the list in the next few years the eventual retaking of Europe would be that much easier. Five weeks after the order was given, Donovan was handed a decrypted message from Julia that simply read “What’s next?”

It was Julia’s fellow OSS agents in Europe that gave her the “Bloodmist” moniker. It was as much about the scene she left behind after a mission as it was her seeming ability to phase through grates and barred windows to find her targets.

“I remember showing up to a small medieval castle where HQ suspected a Nazi Colonel to be staying. The place was a rock, impenetrable. But there was no one there, it just looked abandoned. I thought the Jerries had moved on. I also thought it was odd for a castle to have all of the interior stone walls painted red. And then I saw the outline of Bloodmist, the only piece of gray stone in the place. I swear, the outline had a smile.” – OSS Operative James Johnson

Julia knew she was developing a reputation among the enemy, and this reputation would lead to an increased Nazi effort to stop her. So staying one step ahead, she altered and refined her methods to avoid detection. She continued to plague the enemy backfield well past the D-Day invasion. It was during this time that French villagers gave her another name based on the thin strips of Nazi flesh they found stuck to buildings throughout the countryside.

It was in a large bunker complex deep inside Germany in early 1945 that the Germans would finally name her.

The Bunker of Nightmares

Intelligence reports filtered in that mentioned Nazi leadership was gathering in a large underground complex deep behind the front lines in Germany. The end of the war in Europe was nearing but the Allies could not pass up the chance for a decapitation strike to end it sooner. Speed was needed, efficiency was required, methods were discussed. William Donovan made a suggestion to unanimous approval. Julia would infiltrate the compound, collect intelligence on the layout and personnel, and signal the strike team at the opportune moment.

Julia entered the compound on a Friday and over the next 48 hours she would enact a reign of terror that would account for 30% of her career confirmed kills. The strike team entered the compound on Sunday evening to investigate why they had never received Agent Bloodmist’s signal that the mission was a go. They were greeted by the grisly scene of 500 dismembered corpses strewn about the complex in various states of frozen terror. Sitting at a large table in the dining hall was a tall American woman who invited them to sit down and, “Try the khlav kalash, it is glorious”. A small boy huddled in the corner clutching a blanket. Julia told them his name was Wes and he was innocent. He did not speak for three days.

Excerpt from the translated interview of Wes Krueger:

“Men started screaming on Friday, we were all scared. My father was cook, in the bunker, we were from village. On Friday night, we started to find the body parts. Hanging from things, or laying in the middle of rooms in patterns. The screaming never stopped, there was always someone screaming somewhere. We hid in the kitchens while the soldiers hunted. But they weren’t hunting at all. <sobbing> They said a demon was come for us. They called the demon “Blitzsterben”. I was scared, but I could tell all the men were terrified too, which scared me more. They were all hunted, found, killed. She found me…but, but she said I was free to go but <incoherent>”.

Julia made sure young Wes was taken care of. Under her orders he was transferred to a foster family in the United States and given a new last name to help him forget his past. It bothered her that she was the reason he was scarred for life, but she would do her best to make it up to him. Oddly enough, Wes would become a successful director in Hollywood, using the scars and memories of that terrible weekend as material in several of his horror films. He would never thank Julia for this, but without her he may have never achieved greatness.

With much of the Nazi leadership now destroyed and the war in Europe winding down, the OSS had another need for the special skills of Fräulein Blitzsterben.

The Pacific

Upon her transfer to the Pacific, Agent McWilliams received mostly small taskings, at least in comparison to her time in Europe. Things were different there, and the commanders were less knowledgeable about the tool they had at their disposal. Julia was different too. The years of killing in Europe had worn down her soul and she had discovered a new love of gourmet food in France. She longed to return to France and treat her taste buds. But she knew she was still needed and Japan was a fearsome enemy.

Julia participated in the island hopping campaign and was also active in the Philippines. With the Allies quickly approaching the Imperial home islands and the Japanese steadfastly refusing to surrender, drastic measures were discussed. After the death of President Roosevelt, the new American president, Truman, was presented with a revolutionary new option. The allies had developed powerful nuclear explosive devices that he was told could finally bring Japan to its knees. The OSS presented an alternative option.

President Truman debated with his cabinet for weeks. He was well aware of Agent McWilliams reputation and her ability to completely obliterate any enemy put in front of her. Several of the president’s advisors believed that nuclear power was too unknown and may prove ineffective. Julia had always been effective, some even believed she was too effective, including Truman.

In late July of 1945, Truman picked the nuclear option as he believed it was more humane.

Julia was kept in reserve in case the nukes failed. She was assigned to an Army Air Corps unit and ordered to stay airborne indefinitely to ensure a quick response. On August 6th, the aircraft carrying her went down somewhere in the Philippine Sea. A search was conducted, but no trace of the crash was found and resources were limited. Julia was not forgotten but the world was quickly sidetracked by the surrender of Japan and the Allied victory.

The war was over. The world rejoiced.

22 days later, a large American woman swam to shore in Okinawa towing an unconscious man in a flightsuit behind her. Her war was now over too.

And you know the rest of the story

Her superiors reported that the sea had burned off whatever was left that had made her Bloodmist. Others believed that once her gifts were no longer needed, they were taken away. Donovan was one of the few people who knew the full extent of what Julia had done for her country. He knew it would stay this way as well, that the world would never be told of her contributions to the victory. He knew that it must have come at great cost to her. He also knew that she was done. Julia would funnel all of her energy into her love of the culinary arts. The U.S. government, in honor of her service, helped her realize her new dream with various State Department posts around the world that enabled her training. Over the years she became an international symbol for the home-made gourmand and one of the most famous chefs in history.

Today Julia Child resides peacefully on the classified South Pacific Island where the United States sends it’s most secret heroes when they retire. She still cooks.

Fairly Fake History

A Quick Note on Hibernation

They Covered Our Eyes

Small Rebellions

The Fight Continues

The Battle of California

Promised Land

The Factions

Skirmishes

The Battle Raged

Annihilation

Brandon McCarthy: Savior of Humanity

The Dream

Awake

The Game

Legacy

Phidippides: Disobedient Savior of Marathoners

Phiddy

Captain Smurberdules

Phiddy receives his orders

A Choice

He was wrong

Legacy

The True Fake Story of Paul Revere

A Serious Game

Meltdown

The Council

Preparations

Meanwhile Back at the Council

The British are Coming

A Small Problem

Hero of the Revolution

Julia Child: Master Assassin

Recruitment

Fortress Europe

The Bunker of Nightmares

The Pacific

And you know the rest of the story

Intro post

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