Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
1
“WELCOME, FELLOW SELF-RIGHTEOUS HYPOCRITES! COME JOIN OUR
GROWING FAMILY OF SOCIOPATHIC DEGENERATES!”
THE UNSIGHTLY SERGEANT GRIM
Welcomes YOU to Sign Up For
COMMUNITY WATCHDOG TORTURE DETAIL!
(Mr. Grim’s most recent City Hall seminar speech)
So,
these
two
zombies
are
eating
away
at
this
corpse,
right?
So
one
of
the
zombies
says,
“Ooh,
man,
suddenly
I’ve
got
an
upset
stomach!
Have
you
got
any
Tums?”
So
the
other
zombie
tells
him,
“Sorry,
man.
I
already
ate
his
abdomen.”
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
No,
really,
so
there’s
these
two
zombies,
and
they
both
grab
this
politician,
and
they
rip
open
his
skull
and
eat
his
brains!
And
then
he
runs
for
office
and
wins!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
No?
Well,
how
about
some
“Yo
Mama”
jokes?
(Someone
claps
halfheartedly)
Yeah!
Thank
you,
thank
you!
Well.
.
.
Yo
mama
so
dead,
her
boyfriend
used
her
as
a
shield
at
the
last
drive-­‐by!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
Yo
mama
so
dead,
she
dated
that
brainless
politician
I
just
mentioned
and
got
whacked
by
his
teenage
intern-­‐slash-­‐girlfriend!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
Slash
slash!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
Like
what
you
wish
that
politician
would
do
to
your
taxes!

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
2
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
Slash
slash!
Ah,
yes,
well
.
.
.
I
do
love
a
recurring
theme.
My
kind
does
so
obsess
sometimes.
I
am
the
Unsightly
Sergeant
Grim,
President
of
your
local
“Community
Policing”
task
force.
On
to
another
hilarious
topic!
Shall
we?
Ahem
.
.
.
Truly
the
most
refreshing
thing
about
a
sociopathic
perverted
scoundrel
like
me
having
virtually
unlimited
funding—thanks
to
your
tax
dollars!—
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
—and
having
absolutely
NO
consideration
for
anybody’s
welfare
but
my
own,
is
the
truly
inspiring
way
I’m
allowed
to
set
up
my
own
private
rules
as
President
of
your
Community
Policing
task
force.
Thanks
to
your
complete
trust
in
me,
I
can
bypass
“due
process”
and
all
that
other
“legal”
mumbo-­‐jumbo,
for
entirely
self-­‐serving
motivations.
After
all,
what
do
you
know?
For
example,
the
most
wonderful
thing
about
having
access
to
electronic
through-­‐
wall
weaponry
and
other
clandestine
assault
and
surveillance
technologies,
and
being
able
to
covertly
torture—with
giddy
glee!—governmentally
targeted
individuals
for
hours
on
end,
is
the
most
hilarious
time
I
and
my
colleagues
in
crime
have,
as
we
listen
to
our
helpless
targeted
victims
insult
us
as
we’re
torturing
them!
Do
I
see
some
glazed-­‐over
eyeballs
among
our
distinguished
audience?
Yes,
you
may
have
heard
something
or
other
here
and
there
about
“electronic
harassment.”
Well,
that
quaint
term
says
nothing
of
just
how
far
we
in
the
government
“security”
racket
have
taken
it.
Our
handpicked
Torture
Squad—our
deceptively
named
“Community
Policing”
crew
of
psychopathic
thugs—do
have
quite
a
field
day
out
in
the
field!
We’re
outstanding
in
our
field.
All
day
and
night.
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
And
I’m
sure
you’ve
also
heard
the
term
“gang-­‐stalking,”
or
“group-­‐”
or
“organized
stalking.”
If
you
haven’t,
where’ve
you
been?
This
is
an
age-­‐old
strategy,
utilized
to
instill
acute
psychological
terror
in
the
hearts
of
our
victims.
We
simply
place
our
targeted
victims
under
24/7
surveillance
(everywhere
they
go!)
and
“give
them
a
hard
time,”
to

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
3
put
things
mildly,
with
no
small
assistance
from
neighborhood
watchdog
groups;
and
without
ever
getting
close
enough—accessible
enough—for
our
victims
to
do
anything
about
it.
Ah,
our
favorite
moments
are
when
we
first
ambush
our
initially
unsuspecting
victims,
and
start
hammering
them
all
the
way
down
to
an
inevitable
total
psychological
breakdown.
It
is
during
these
moments
of
inception
that
they
start
lashing
out
profanities,
and
smashing
things
up,
and
alienating
their
family
and
friends,
and
so
forth,
in
their
useless
attempts
to
discover
who’s
really
screwing
up
their
lives.
Not
only
do
our
psychologically
manipulated
and
devastated,
socially
ostracized
and
isolated,
utterly
helpless
targeted
victims
believe
that
their
ranting
and
blaspheming
and
condemning
us
to
hell,
and
all
that
other
carrying
on,
actually
has
some
kind
of
stultifying
effect
on
cold-­‐blooded
malevolent
fiends
like
my
colleagues
and
me—as
though
we
had
a
conscience!—but
they
even
go
so
far
as
to
believe
that
it’s
some
sort
of
psychological
insulator;
a
buffer,
if
you
will,
that
protects
them
in
some
substantive
way
against
our
nonstop
psychological
“take-­‐down”
campaign,
not
to
mention
our
craven
electronic
assaults
upon
their
brains
and
bodies.
Oh,
PUH-­‐LEASE.
Ha-­‐ha!
And
that
is
why
we
prefer
to
conduct
our
severest
covert
assaults
upon
them
between
the
wee
hours
of
morning
and
sunrise.
That’s
when
our
helpless
and
pathetically
clueless
targets
are
always
at
their
creative
peak!
Execratively
speaking,
of
course.
It
has
a
lot
to
do
with
the
tried
and
true
method
of
sleep
deprivation.
My,
but
you
wouldn’t
believe
some
of
the
things
that
come
out
of
their
mealy
mouths,
once
they’ve
been
rudely
and
cruelly
startled
out
of
a
deep
sleep
with
some
nice,
short,
agonizing
microwave
pulse
bursts
to
their
upper
torsos!
I
still
notice
some
deer
in
the
headlights
in
our
esteemed
audience.
Like
I
said,
what
do
you
know?
I
am
the
Unsightly
Sgt.
Grim,
and
I
am
in
need
of
some
dirt-­‐cheap
recruits
for
my
time-­‐consuming
work
in
the
field
of
“Community
Watchdog
Torture
Detail.”
We’ll
get
into
that
as
we
go
along.
But
first,
you
must
understand
that
there
is
a
whole
unseen
world
out
there
that
the
average
passerby
is
unable
to
grasp,
simply
because
the
vast
majority
of
you
hasn’t
the
slightest
concept
of
just
how
far
the
Unsightly
Sgt.
Grim
and
his
demonic
colleagues
will
go
to
attain
what
is
so
important
to
depraved
degenerates
such
as
we.
We,
who
are

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
4
among
the
most
perverted—the
most
spiritually
and
psychopathically
undead—that
this
cherished
Land
of
Liberty
has
to
offer.
It
brings
a
rehearsed
tear
to
my
eye.
We,
who
are
willing
to
put
your
basic
human
rights
on
the
chopping
block,
in
order
to
fulfill
our
own
selfish
desires
and
petty
vendettas.
What
I
am
talking
about
is
POWER,
ladies
and
gents.
POWER.
Well,
POWER
and
NOTORIETY,
of
course.
We
do
so
thrill
at
the
anticipation
of
that
oh-­‐so
precious
pat
on
the
back
among
our
morally
derelict
cohort.
POWER
and
NOTORIETY
are
oh
so
reverently
coveted
by
polluted,
self-­‐important,
sadistic
brains,
such
as
the
one
firmly
nestled
within
this
particular
overly
commodious
and
inherently
cockeyed
cranium
teetering
atop
my
own
slithering
spinal
column.
Why,
I
would
actually
perform
this
immoral
covert
governmental
“duty”
for
free!
“Patriotic
service,”
we
like
to
call
it!
Well,
at
least
that’s
a
great
motto
for
the
recruits.
Don’t
you
think?
I
think
not.
Truly,
why
must
we
think
for
ourselves
at
all?
Why,
we’ve
got
the
government
to
tell
us
the
difference
between
right
and
wrong.
Ours
is
not
to
question
why;
ours
is
to
maim
and
kill
when
ordered
to
do
so,
like
obedient
soldiers
for
God
and
Country!
Right?
Hmm,
well,
maybe
if
I
were
assured
my
own
apartment
and
three
squares
in
the
deal,
I
might
be
talked
into
doing
it
for
free.
But
let’s
not
go
and
quote
me
on
anything
for
now;
especially
since
POWER
is
my
prime
motivation.
Leaving
such
an
overt
altruistic
trail
of
breadcrumbs
to
my
doorstep—that
is,
saying
that
I’d
do
it
for
free—
might
not
be
the
most
strategic
of
schemes
at
this
time.
Not
when
the
power
I
want
is
so
near
to
within
my
grasp.
Not
to
mention,
we
haven’t
yet
sifted
through
this
present
gathering
of
potential
supporters,
for
proper
chaffing
and
fleecing.
Let’s
not
get
ahead
of
ourselves!
If
I
were
to
tell
you
that
I
was
an
FBI
agent,
or
an
officer
of
the
NSA,
or
a
card-­‐
carrying
member
of
the
Department
of
Homeland
Security—you
know,
one
of
those
rather
uppity
“high-­‐level,”
“upper
tier,”
more
or
less
purportedly
classified
“intelligence”
organizations
that
have
so
recently
been
given
carte
blanche
to
trample
upon
the
inalienable
rights
of
“specially
designated”
United
States
citizens—would
you
believe
me?
You
know,
just
because
I
said
so?
Here,
what
if
I
showed
you
this
badge,
or
flashed
one
of
these
other
seemingly
verifiable
credentials?
Flash
flash,
there
it
is,
it’s
all
official
now.
Isn’t
it?
Can
I
not
now
torture
anyone
I
choose?
And
might
I
not
enlist
your
aid
in
the
process?
May
I
not
indeed
order
you
to
assist
me,
or
commandeer
your
property
and
possessions
in
order
to
fulfill
my
duties?
Well,
sure,
I
just
showed
you
my
badge!

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
5
Oh,
you
might
not
believe
me
now;
but
ultimately,
I
know
that
I
could
deceive
you
into
thinking
I
was
a
special
agent.
Or
maybe
I
am
a
special
agent!
Why,
I
can
flash
this
very
badge
of
office,
here,
there
you
go
again,
and
deceive
you
into
believing
a
complete
lie
about
my
being
a
“secret
agent,”
or
“military
bigwig,”
or
whatever.
Honestly,
what
do
you
know,
really?
You
know,
like
an
old
lady
letting
some
strange
man
into
her
home
because
of
his
neatly
pressed
coverall
with
the
utility
company
logo
on
it.
And
a
clipboard
for
effect.
Slash
slash!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
Because
maybe
I’m
telling
the
truth!
Like
I
said,
whatever.
And
not
only
do
I
know
I
could
deceive
you,
or
whatever,
but
I
will
even
get
you
to
do
my
dirty
work
for
me!
Sure
I
could.
All
I
merely
need
do
is
allow
you
to
witness
the
workings
of
a
wildly
new
and
exotic
classified
form
of
electronic
weaponry—something
you’ve
never
seen
before
in
your
entire
life—and
you’d
be
convinced
that
I
was
whoever
I
said
I
was.
All
I
need
do
is
show
you
something
technologically
unavailable
to
the
public,
something
to
make
you
ooh
and
aah
like
a
dopey
wet-­‐pantied
little
schoolgirl,
and
thereby
ply
you
into
performing
treasonous
acts
of
criminal
atrocity
upon
some
of
your
witless
fellow
citizens.
It’s
called
POWER,
ladies
and
gentlemen,
and
I’m
here
to
divvy.
Listen
up.
All
I
need
do,
in
order
to
deceive
you
into
thinking
I
needed
you
for
a
“covert
mission
of
vital
national
security,”
is
to
show
you
how
easily
I
could
invade
the
rights
and
privacy
of
one
of
my
current
nonconsensually
targeted
“test
subjects,”
with
a
mere
bit
of
classified
tech
weaponry
that
would
make
your
store-­‐bought
I-­‐phone
look
like
a
defunct
slab
of
shale.
And
then
I
would
show
you
how—with
the
mere
press
of
a
button
on
my
fascinating
little
piece
of
shiny
high-­‐tech—I
could
torture
my
helpless
little
test
subject
as
you
watched.
As
you
watched!
Right
now!
I
can
transmit
it
to
your
I-­‐phone!
While
he
is
sitting
in
the
erstwhile
privacy
of
his
own
home!
And
with
absolutely
no
strings
attached!
That’s
correct,
ladies
and
gents,
there’s
absolutely
no
way
that
our
“test
subject”
could
ever
do
anything
about
it,
and
there’s
also
no
evidence
pointing
to
you
or
me!
We

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
6
have
his
entire
house
wired!
Right
now!
And
we
have
a
cheap
hired
crew
of
good-­‐for-­‐
nothing
criminal
misfits
to
shadow
him
around
town!
Organized
stalking!
Oh,
but
we
call
it
“national
security
civil
surveillance,”
like
the
Nazis
used
to
call
it.
Sounds
better
that
way.
So,
now,
here’s
your
chance.
I
could
get
you
to
help
me
torture
and
harass
him—slowly,
gradually,
softly
and
sweetly,
with
no
strings
attached,
right
now!
That’s
right!
We
can
torture,
maim
for
life—even
murder
him.
Drive
him
insane!
Ha!
And
if
we
do
happen
to
kill
him,
we
can
walk
away
from
the
murder
without
anything
to
worry
about.
No
implications!
No
consequences!
No
complications!
Free
and
breezy!
Cover
Girl.
Of
course,
our
victim
would
have
to
be
someone
whom
we
heretofore
would
already
have
mutually
agreed
we
detest
and
want
brought
to
ruin.
We
don’t
want
any
unnecessary
friction
between
you
and
me!
Do
we?
Of
course
not.
Does
this
intrigue
you?
I
have
here,
in
my
hand,
a
top-­‐secret
classified
portable
electronic
weapon
that
utilizes
a
controllable,
invisible
beam
of
frequency-­‐manipulable
microwave
energy
that
can
be
aimed
and
discharged
at
my
unwitting,
helpless
targeted
subject
from
a
sustainable
outside
distance
of
about
fifty
meters.
This
weapon
can
also
bombard
our
subject
through
any
common
nonconductive
wall
or
floor
or
ceiling
into
an
adjoining
room—although
we
would
have
to
move
in
considerably
closer,
if
we
wanted
to
do
significant
damage
through
one
of
these
obstructions.
Directly
upon
our
unwitting
subject!
Right
through
a
wall!
I’m
telling
you!
Now,
I
do
have
to
briefly
touch
upon
the
fact
that
we
actually
have
the
technology
to
torture
anyone
we
like
via
satellite
or
drone,
or
even
certain
household
appliances;
and
those
more
sedentarily
disposed
among
us
certainly
make
full
use
of
those
options;
but
merely
relying
on
such
remote,
impersonal
weaponry
would
take
away
from
all
the
hands-­‐on
fun
we
ground
troops
have,
what
with
skirmishing
around
town,
with
“boots
on
the
ground,”
so
to
speak,
and
with
all
of
our
retarded
thugs
in
tow,
yakking
on
walkie-­‐talkies
and
all
that
neat
soldier-­‐boy
fun
&
games
malarkey.
It’s
a
snickering
riot!
We
psychopaths
need
to
get
up
nice
and
close
and
intimate,
when
we
engage
in
abusive
behavior.
It
keeps
our
lower-­‐rank
criminal
scumbags
occupied,
and
helps
keep
those
darned
unemployment
figures
down
for
media
release.
Let’s
just
take
all
this
tech
talk
and
boil
it
down
a
bit
more
so
the
more
slowly
grasping
among
you
can
attempt
to
grab
the
nuts
and
bolts
of
it.
It’s
really
quite
simple,
and
perfectly
doable.
Think
about
how
your
typical
everyday
cellphone
functions.
Your

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
7
cellphone
can
transmit
and
receive
calls
right
through
the
wall.
Well
then,
there’s
microwave
technology
for
you
in
layman’s
terms,
you
bumbling
baboons,
ha-­‐ha.
Now,
this
somewhat
larger
piece
of
exotic
classified
weaponry
I
am
hoisting
operates
under
the
very
same
scientific
laws;
although
the
output
on
this
little
baby
is
amplified
to
a
rather
more
toxic
and
even
lethal
level
of
directionally
concentrated
microwave
emission.
Oh,
let’s
just
call
it
what
it
is.
Not
emission.
Assault.
This
particular
model
is
also
modified
for
piggyback
ELF
transmission—which
utilizes
acoustics—oh,
you
know,
infrasound,
ultrasound,
bada-­‐bing,
bada-­‐boom—
acoustic
frequencies
above
and
below
the
audible
range
of
normal
human
hearing
that
cause
involuntary
mood
alterations,
and
even
inflict
incapacitating
illness
in
our
target.
We
can
bring
down
the
house
with
a
large
enough
ELF
transmitter.
For
real!
This
particular
weapon
also
has
a
combination
auxiliary
MRI/IRF
readout
monitor—the
outdated
version
of
which
one
of
you
dirty
peasants
probably
used
to
search
for
your
filthy
little
fetus
inside
of
you
at
the
hospice!
This
resonator
provides
a
digitally
defined
readout
of
solid
objects
in
scaled
time
and
space—utilized
through
sonics
and
thermal
imagery,
of
course—onto
this
tiny
visual
monitor,
which
is
used
to
locate
and
track
the
test
subject
on
the
other
side
of
that
wall
or
floor
or
ceiling
from
which
I
am
conducting
the
assault.
This
way,
if
my
target
moves
here
or
there
in
the
next
room,
I
can
follow
him
around
and
keep
the
toxic
irradiating
microwave
beam
focused
upon
him
at
all
times.
Or,
I
can
simply
adjust
the
beam
for
wide-­‐range
emission
to
bathe
his
entire
room
with
the
radiation,
and
save
myself
some
unnecessary
walking
around.
I
mean,
once
my
target
has
been
successfully
corralled
and
isolated
inside
his
little
hovel,
why
bother
with
all
that
chasing
and
aiming,
chasing
and
aiming?
I
might
be
trying
to
finish
off
a
turkey
sandwich
or
something.
And
the
infrasonic
resonator
does
wonders
in
incrementing
the
dastardly
effects
of
the
microwave
assault.
It
alters
the
victim’s
mood.
Vertigo,
nausea,
migraines,
you
name
it.
Oh,
don’t
ask
me
about
the
details;
what
do
I
know?
My
job
is
to
press
the
button
like
the
obedient
brainwashed
idiot
I
am.
But
I
can
promise
you
this:
We’ll
have
our
mutual
enemy’s
innards
twitching
and
spasming
in
no
time,
and
to
no
end!
We’ll
have
the
poor
schlep’s
head
throbbing
and
heart
twitching
to
beat
the
band!
Child’s
play!
And
it’s
all
basic
21st
century
technology,

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
8
folks.
All
perfected
way
back
in
the
last
century.
Hmm,
I
still
notice
a
couple
of
you
are
having
a
hard
time
following
me.
Allow
me
to
explain
the
technology
in
a
different
way.
Let’s
just
take
an
ordinary
microwave
oven
and
remove
the
front
door
from
it.
Now
let’s
just
override
the
fail-­‐safe
mechanism
to
the
door,
which
under
normal
operation
would
prevent
you
from
operating
the
oven
while
the
door
is
open.
Then
all
you
have
to
do
is
point
the
open
end
of
the
oven
at
whomever
you
wish,
and
turn
it
on!
You
surely
wouldn’t
want
to
be
on
the
receiving
end
of
that
deal,
now
would
you?
Now
do
you
understand?
And,
the
microwave
emissions
from
that
oven
will
travel
right
through
a
wall—just
in
case
you
were
thinking
that
you
were
going
to
put
some
distance
between
us
once
I’ve
targeted
you.
That
is,
if
I
were
to
be
targeting
you
specifically.
Heh-­‐heh.
Well
then,
now
let’s
just
put
that
basic
concept
for
a
weapon
into
a
few
busy
decades
of
refinement
in
our
Research
and
Development
Department.
That’s
right!
We’ve
been
refining
it
for
decades!
There
are
literally
tens
of
thousands
of
this
very
model
I
have
here,
in
use
at
this
very
moment,
all
across
the
planet,
within
the
borders
of
each
and
every
member
NATO
nation
that
has
agreed
to
suck
our
exaggerated
phallus
whenever
we
say
so.
Well,
of
course,
yes,
all
of
our
“allies”
(prostitutes)
are
in
on
it,
too.
What’d
you
think?
Isn’t
unregulated
military
freedom
grand?
And
this
is
just
the
tip
of
the
iceberg,
folks.
This
is
merely
the
technology
we’ve
seen
fit
to
reveal
to
you.
We
do
occasionally
use
one
of
our
ace-­‐in-­‐the-­‐hole
options,
in
case
one
of
our
own
decides
to
defect—to
blab,
as
it
were.
We
can
never
be
too
sure
who
will
bite
the
bait
and
latch
on
for
good,
and
who
will
chicken
out.
Good
evil
is
so
hard
to
find
these
days.
Not!
Of
late,
in
larger
cities,
we’ve
actually
been
hiring
the
bargain-­‐basement
services
of
sadistic
gangbangers
to
do
this
treacherous,
treasonous
work
for
us.
Really!
Ooh,
I
notice
that
fits
the
description
of
some
of
you
in
our
esteemed
audience
tonight.
Hello,
fellows!
Well,
hiring
the
likes
of
you
gives
us
a
virtually
unlimited
supply
of
emotionally
retarded,

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
9
morally
bereft,
murdering
scum
to
do
our
dirty
work
for
us,
thereby
keeping
our
own
hands
free,
free
and
blameless,
to
solicit
and
expand
even
greater
nondescript
demonic
mayhem
elsewhere
in
the
world!
Oh,
and
this
strategy
also
allows
us
to
keep
a
wary
eye
on
you
retarded
gangbangers.
“Keep
your
enemies
closer,”
is
what
the
Don
says.
And
by
gosh,
your
pay
scale
is
so
dirt-­‐cheap!
We
liken
the
intellectual
capacity
of
your
lot
to
that
of
our
typical
small-­‐town
hick
recruits.
And
speaking
of
keeping
you
close,
it
might
be
a
good
idea
for
me
to
relay
one
further
tidbit
of
info
to
you,
along
these
same
lines.
Since
it’s
already
child’s
play
for
my
agency—whoever
we
are,
ha-­‐ha—to
wire
our
target’s
entire
environment
for
24/7
surveillance
and
torture,
there
is
that
ever-­‐so-­‐slight
possibility
that
we
might
already
have
wired
quite
a
number
of
additional
individuals
from
our
B
List.
Our
“Prospectives”
List.
Our
“Just
In
Case”
List.
You
know,
just
to
be
on
the
safe
side.
To
cover
our
own
asses,
as
it
were.
But
let’s
get
back
to
our
floor
model
here.
Once
I
have
located
and
focused
my
sights
on
my
targeted
subject,
I
can
adjust
this
weapon
to
emit
a
wide-­‐range
microwave
beam
covering
the
subject’s
entire
body,
causing
excruciating
overall
discomfort
and
anxiety;
or
I
can
adjust
the
beam
to
a
pencil-­‐thin
attenuation,
which
can
cause
intensely
severe
disruptions
to
any
one
of
his
internal—or
external—organs!
Or
topical
lesions,
burning
pinpricks,
and
blisters!
Makeshift
herpes!
And
check
this
out!
With
just
the
flip
of
a
switch,
I
can
translate
the
frequency
of
the
microwave
frequency
into
a
staccato
electromagnetic
pulse
blast!
This
accessory
comes
in
quite
handy
when
we
want
our
victim’s
heart
to
skip
a
beat.
Or
to
stop.
Honestly!
I
can
give
you
heart
palpitations,
even
a
heart
attack,
with
this
very
weapon!
From
a
remote
location!
Look!
I’ll
show
you!
(Points
weapon
at
audience;
audience
starts
moving
away
in
fear.)
Ha!
Just
kidding!
(Audience
calms
down.)
Or
am
I?
Hmm,
I’m
telling
you,
ladies
and
gents,
my
demonic
colleagues
and
I
have
driven
targeted
citizens
of
this
very
country—this
very
pathetically
clueless
country—INSANE

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
10
with
this
agenda
of
ours.
Insane!
Certifiably
insane,
folks,
I
kid
you
not.
It’s
quite
simple
if
you’ve
got
an
established
roster
of
psychiatrists
and
other
medical
and
social
service
professionals
on
the
take,
just
in
case
some
one
or
other
of
these
hapless
tortured
targets
makes
it
that
far
up
the
rungs
to
an
actual
clinical
facility
where
somebody
might
pay
half
a
mind
to
the
target’s
seemingly
preposterous
testimony.
We
run
a
tight
ship
here
in
the
Domestic
Terrorism
business,
folks.
We
need
all
of
our
strategically
positioned
friends
in
high
places,
in
that
occasional
need
for
a
domino
effect.
All
it
takes
is
an
“official”
medical
report
citing
our
target’s
“paranoid
delusions”,
and
we’ll
have
the
rest
of
you
rolling
in
the
aisles
at
the
hilarious
travesty
of
it
all!
Our
victim
will
be
unable
to
convince
anybody
of
what’s
really
happening!
We
can
get
one
of
our
psychiatrist
dupes
to
lock
the
bum
up
in
a
psych
ward.
Nothing’s
funnier
than
watching
a
target
snap!
I’m
telling
you!
Now,
the
Unsightly
Sgt.
Grim
can
personally
assure
you
that
it
has
been
proven,
by
thousands
of
in-­‐the-­‐field
test
cases,
that
75%
of
normal,
ordinary
human
beings—fools
just
like
you!—have
been
deceived
into
“joining
in
on
the
fun,”
as
I
call
it;
and
without
all
that
much
painstaking
fanfare
or
ado
of
coaxing
on
my
part.
Yes,
ladies
and
gents,
three
out
of
four
of
you
could
and
would
be
duped,
by
a
convincing,
conniving,
sadistic,
undead
huckstering
bastard
such
as
myself,
into
participating
in
the
treasonous,
unmitigated
torture
and
attempted
murder
of
another
human
being,
simply
because
the
Unsightly
Sgt.
Grim
told
you
to
do
it!
Sure
you
would!
Oh,
come
now,
all
I’d
have
to
do
is
tell
you
that
my
victim
is
a
terrorist,
or
a
pedophile,
or
an
anarchist,
or
a
racist,
or
whatever.
Our
key
word
here
is
whatever;
it
shoots
down
all
that
unnecessarily
problematic
inquisitiveness
that’s
best
left
inexplicable
to
the
gullible
masses.
Whatever!
It
invalidates
reasoning
so
marvelously!
It
renders
your
powers
of
discrimination
so
very
malleable,
so
very
streamlined
and
efficient
to
our
fetid
cause.
After
all,
what
do
you
know?
You
merely
know
whatever
I
divulge
to
you.
And
you’d
best
believe
that
when
I
do
divulge
I’ll
be
helping
myself
to
the
manipulable,
self-­‐
righteous,
vindictive
beast
within
every
one
of
you.
For
example:
Have
we
any
“Christians”
in
our
audience?
Yes,
I
knew
we
would.
Hi
there,
holy
rollers!
Well,
I
have
it
on
good
statistical
evidence
that
some
of
you
professed
“Christians”
would
veritably
froth
at
the
mouth
for
a
chance
to
“nullify”
an
obscenely
lucid
and
blabber-­‐mouthed

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
11
atheist
who’s
out
there
in
public
making
just
too
much
sense
for
his
own
good.
Well!
I
have
here,
on
encrypted
flash
drive,
photos
of
Richard
Dawkins
eating
stem
cells
from
freshly
aborted
fetuses!
Sure
I
do!
How
can
you
not
believe
me?
Here,
take
a
look
at
the
indisputable
proof.
Now
come
on,
let’s
go
get
him!
That
would
be
fun,
wouldn’t
it?
Richard
Dawkins
wouldn’t
stand
a
chance
against
you
“Christians,”
once
I
convinced
you
to
help
me
lynch
the
bastard
and
tear
him
limb
from
limb.
Well,
and
we
could
lynch
him,
too—that
is,
if
he
weren’t
so
damned
wealthy
and
popular
by
now,
not
to
mention
devoid
of
any
vices
we
can
manipulate.
We
do
need
to
render
our
victims
destitute
and
friendless
beforehand,
you
see.
Before
they
become
successful.
In
order
to
sufficiently
isolate
them
from
the
rest
of
society.
Some
of
them
do
evade
our
filthy
clutches
from
time
to
time.
But
we’re
getting
a
handle
on
it!
Yeah.
Just
look
what
we
did
to
that
Hitchens
guy.
We
call
that
kind
of
whack
“cancer-­‐in-­‐a-­‐bottle.”
This
is
why
this
Watchdog
program
is
so
crucial
to
my—er,
our
survival.
We
need
to
knock
them
down
before
they
become
successful,
before
they
get
away
from
our
slovenly
clutches.
Yes,
OUR
survival.
OUR
clutches.
Now,
would
I
divulge
this
information
to
you
if
I
weren’t
on
the
up
and
up?
Trust
me,
folks.
You’re
with
me,
right?
Of
course
you
are.
Surely
you
realize
what
a
prejudgmental
pack
of
insipid
snobs
you
all
are.
You’d
all
jump
at
the
chance
to
be
on
the
“winning
team.”
You
remember
the
drill:
God
and
Country!
Forbes
Magazine!
Sis-­‐boom-­‐bah,
blow
the
enemy
to
smithereens,
rah-­‐rah-­‐rah,
all
of
that
fervid
patriotic
pretense
of
oxymoronic
“spectator
sportsmanship”
that
runs
rampant
in
your
caterwauling
“root-­‐for-­‐the-­‐home-­‐team”
menagerie
up
there
in
the
cheap
seats.
You’re
with
me,
right?
And
honestly,
all
I’d
have
to
tell
you
is
whatever,
and
you’ll
be
chomping
at
the
bit
to
kill
our
carefully,
yet
casually,
predesignated
“common
enemy.”
We
can
do
it
at
the
next
sports
event!
That’s
right,
we
can
conspire
to
torture
and
destroy
our
next
victim
right
after
this
week’s
pop-­‐whore
brays
the
next
horrid
rendition
of
our
cherished
national
anthem
bespeaking
liberty
and
freedom
for
all
before
the
game.
I’m
telling
you,
you
just
couldn’t
help
yourselves
from
frothing
over
murdering
somebody,
and
I’m
just
the
guy
to
oversee
it.
That’s
right,
whatever,
blah-­‐blah-­‐blah,
and
you’d
help
me
to
kill
someone
who’s
a
complete
stranger
to
you,
and
to
hell
and
damnation
with
the
sucker’s

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
12
rights—the
very
same
rights
you’d
be
screeching
like
a
banshee
about
if
you
were
to
be
similarly
deprived
of
them.
Because
who
cares
about
a
complete
stranger?
For
you
see,
strangers
are
much
easier
for
an
otherwise
“normal”
human
being
to
murder
than
someone
he
knows.
No
emotional
attachment!
It’s
like
firing
a
missile
from
a
drone
at
a
house
in
Basra,
from
a
“respectful”
distance.
No
itchy
sand
in
the
britches.
No
skin
off
your
nose.
And
if
you
happen
to
know
the
victim?
Well,
we’ve
had
our
up-­‐and-­‐running
subliminal
desensitizing
conditioning
program
subtly
altering
your
imbecilic
engrams
for
ages.
We’ve
seen
to
it
that
you’ll
despise
each
and
every
one
of
our
handpicked
scapegoats
at
least
as
much
as
we
do
by
the
time
you’re
ready
for
game
time.
And
in
that
case,
we’d
immediately
send
you
to
the
front
line!
Froth!
Froth!
And
what
I
meant
is
“the
front
of
the
line.”
Dibs!
Froth!
(Rim
shot
&
cymbal
crash)
And
if
I
told
you
that
you
must
despise
our
victim
.
.
.
well,
you
must.
Here,
make
it
easy
on
yourself,
and
just
substitute
the
word
“victim”
with
“enemy.”
They’re
easily
interchangeable.
You
must
share
with
us
our
common
enemy,
that’s
right.
You
wouldn’t
want
the
rest
of
us
to
think
that
you’re
not
one
of
us
stalwart,
righteous,
marching
patriots
of
United
Conformity,
marching
joyfully
with
us,
swords
all
drawn,
marching
together
down
through
that
big,
wide
gate
into
the
jaws
of
hell,
would
you?
You
wouldn’t
want
me
to
think
you’re
not
Agency
material,
would
you?
You
wouldn’t
want
me
to
think
about
pointing
my
gun
again
at
you,
would
you?
But
again,
let’s
not
get
into
the
pejorative
aspects
of
the
deal.
Because
oh!
The
really
FUN
part
about
destroying
our
targeted
victim’s—your
and
my
targeted
victim’s—
er,
I
mean
enemy’s—hum,
about
destroying
our
targeted
enemy’s
very
life
and
measure
is
the
organized
stalking
and
24/7
surveillance
part
of
it!
Now,
I
want
to
go
over
this
aspect
of
the
job
once
more,
because
this
is
the
really
fun
part
of
the
whole
deal!
This
is
where
we
orchestrate
a
round-­‐the-­‐clock
covert
psychological
terror
campaign
against
our
target
by
slowly
infiltrating
his
social
environment
and
private
domicile
with
a
hired
crew
of,
oh,
a
handful
of
reasonably

Excerpt
from
“The
Invisible
Tribulation
of
Mr.
Rheingold
Budweiser
Miller”
©Paul
Sylvester
Stayton
13
intelligent
knuckleheads—just
like
you!—whom
I
have
already
deceived
into
thinking
that
I’m
one
of
those
“officially
ordained
public
servants”
divvying
out
“secret
left-­‐hand-­‐
of-­‐God
justice”
to
all
of
those
“dangerous
underground
criminal
masterminds”
ingrained
within
our
“preciously
vulnerable”
society.
By
gosh,
we’ll
make
you
feel
like
a
goddamned
hero,
you
murdering
psychopath!
As
you
assist
us
in
treasonous
assassination!
You
peons
will
believe
anything,
I’m
telling
you!
For
instance,
listen
to
this:
I’ve
got
a
handful
of
retarded
neo-­‐Nazi
skinhead
bums
on
the
payroll
right
now
in
Sacramento—
dirt-­‐cheap!—who
actually
believe
they’re
some
kind
of
“international
secret
agents.”
Oh
yes!
Pathetic,
emotionally
retarded,
gangbanging,
good-­‐for-­‐nothing
racist
BUMS,
ladies
and
gents,
strutting
around
as
though
they
were
really
something,
like
they
were
cream-­‐of-­‐the-­‐crop
government
agents,
I
tell
you
no
lie.
Dirt-­‐cheap
cannon
fodder.
Take
a
bow,
boys.
And
it’s
thanks
to
retarded
criminals
like
these
that
we
are
enabled
to
fulfill
the
purposeful
mission
of
our
24/7
organized
stalking
and
surveillance
and
electronic
torture
campaign,
which
we
have
organized
and
implemented
to
gradually
yet
incessantly
disrupt
our
target’s
daily
routines
with
various
coordinated
group
strategies
designed
to
cause
him
to
believe
that
the
entire
community
is
involved
in
the
campaign—instead
of
the
mere
handful
of
spasmodically
shifting
and
bobbing
orchestrated
local
yokels
that
we’ve
actually
unleashed
upon
him.
It’s
a
topnotch
professional
psychological
assault,
which
is
something
I
truly
must
say,
while
still
within
earshot
of
this
fine
group
of
prospective
recruits
gathered
before
me
tonight.
This
is
the
wholesale
treasonous
invasion
of
our
targeted
victim’s
life,
utilizing
both
our
electronic
weapon
assaults
and
our
organized
group
stalking
tactics.
After
only
a
week
or
two
of
this
devastating
assault—with
all
the
dirt-­‐cheap,
goddamned
help
we
can
get,
thanks
to
you—the
victim
will
be
rendered
a
babbling,
drooling,
twitching,
paranoid
mess
who
can
barely
walk
the
streets,
let
alone
function
normally
in
an
everyday
social
setting.
Did
I
not
tell
you
what
fun
it
would
be!
Please
sign
up
on
the
list
on
the
message
board
in
the
lobby,
and
we’ll
consider
interviews
with
the
more
ravenously
enthusiastic
among
you.
Oh,
and
don’t
tell
Bud
Miller
about
this.