study to determine the feasibility of constructing a scientific/military base. “| was one of the lucky thirteen,” George remembers. “In fact, you don’ t have to be a rocket scientist to be a rocket scientist. Von Braun told me that many of his ideas came from science-fiction magazines. “The project was so secret that the thirteen of us could not even tell our bosses--they didn’ t have what was called ‘need to know.’ | would tell [my wife] Judith that | was going to Washington, D.C., and then | would change planes to go to Huntsville, Alabama, where much of the work was done. | made up stories about Washington for her, while | really was in Huntsville, which also was the watercress capital of the world. I’ d make up a story about the cherry blossoms, or seeing a senator in the street. “Unfortunately, when | left the government after nine years (two in the army), | lost my own security rating and need-to-know, so | had no idea if the station was ever built on the moon, and | no longer got cheap watercress.” According to Wikipedia, “The permanent outpost was predicted to cost $6 billion and become operational in December 1966. A lunar landing-and-return vehicle would have shuttled up to 16 astronauts at a time to the base and back. Horizon never progressed past the feasibility stage in an official capacity.” HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015432

However, just like George had lied to Judith, he in turn learned in 2014 that he was lied to about the actua/ purpose of Project Horizon: “[It] was a study to determine the feasibility of constructing a science/military based on the Moon. On June 8, 1959, a group of the Army Ballistic Missile Agency (ABMA) produced for the U.S. Department of the Army a report entitled Project Horizon, a U.S. Army Study for the Establishment of a Lunar Military Outpost. “The project proposal states the requirements as: The lunar outpost is required to develop and protect potential United States interests on the moon; to develop techniques in moon-based surveillance of the earth and Space, in communications relay, and in operations on the surface of the moon; to serve on a base for exploration of the moon, for further exploration into space and for military operations on the moon if required; and to support scientific investigations on the moon.” kok # “When | had been in the Army, | was assigned to work on top secret military and satellite work,” George tells me, “the FBI did routine checks. One of our neighbors told Judith that the FBI visited them but were told not to let us know of their inquiries. Apparently, you were on their ‘watch list’ --based on your ‘radical’ writings, | assume. | learned HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015433

from my boss at the Signal Corps that my top-secret clearance was in jeopardy. Granting my clearance took about a month longer than normal, but eventually it was granted.” Meanwhile, | was placed on the FBI’ s RI (Round-up Index), though | had broken no law. Who knows, maybe it was because | published a cartoon depicting a man sitting at a desk, speaking on the phone: “I'm very sorry, but we of the FBI are powerless to act in a case of oral-genital intimacy unless it has in some way obstructed interstate commerce.” When Life magazine ran a favorable profile of me in 1968, an FBI agent sent a poison-pen letter to the editor: “To classify Krassner as some sort of ‘social rebel’ is far too cute. He's a nut, a raving, unconfined nut.” But in 1969, the FBI's previous attempt at mere character assassination escalated to a more literal approach. This was not included in my own Co-Intel-Pro (Counter-Intelligence Program) files but, rather, a separate FBI project calculated to cause rifts between the black and Jewish communities. The FBI had produced a WANTED poster featuring a large swastika. In the four square spaces of the swastika were photos of Yippie founders Abbie Hoffman, Jerry Rubin and me, and SDS (Students for a Democratic HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015434

Society) leader Mark Rudd. Underneath the swastika was this headline-- LAMPSHADES! LAMPSHADES! LAMPSHADES!--and this message: “The only solution to Negro problems in America would be the elimination of the Jews. May we suggest the following order of elimination? (After all, we've been this way before.) *All Jews connected with the Establishment. *All Jews connected with Jews connected with the Establishment. *All Jews connected with those immediately above. *All Jews except those in the Movement. *All Jews in the Movement except those who dye their skins black. *All Jews. Look out, Abbie, Jerry, Paul and Mark!” (Shades of Wernher von Braun.) It was approved by FBI director J. Edgar Hoover's top two aides: “Authority is granted to prepare and distribute on an anonymous basis to selected individuals and organizations in the New Left the leaflet submitted. Assure that all necessary precautions are taken to protect the Bureau as the source of these leaflets. This leaflet suggests facetiously the elimination of these leaders.” And, of course, if a black militant obtained that flyer and eliminated one of those “New Left leaders who are Jewish,” the FBI's bureaucratic ass would be covered: “We said it was a facetious suggestion, didn't we?” HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015435

On top of that, my name was on a list of sixty-five “radical” campus speakers, released by the House Internal Security Committee. The blacklist was published in the New York Times, and picked up by newspapers across the country. It might have been a coincidence, but my campus speaking engagements stopped abruptly. When | was assigned to write a piece for the Los Angeles Times, | titled it “| Was a Comedian for the FBI,” because | mentioned that | had once recognized a pair of FBI agents taking notes while | was performing at the Community Church in New York. My FBI files later stated that | “purported to be humorous about the government.” Since when did taxpayers provide the funds to cover the FBI’ s theater critics squad? The banner headline on the cover of that LA. 7imes Sunday Calendar section blared out: Paul Krassner-- “1 Was a Communist for the FBI.” \|n the San Francisco Chronicle columnist Herb Caen wrote, “Fearing Krassner would sue, the 7imes recalled and destroyed some 300,000 copies at a cost of about $100,000. Krassner would have laughed, not sued.” Or maybe | would've sued and laughed my ass off. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015436

By 1963, George had risen to Chief Scientist, Astro-Electronics Division at the Signal Corps, and McGraw-Hill contacted him, asking if he would write a book. And indeed, he began working on /ntroduction to Space Communication, which became the world’ s first book on that subject. “The problem was the incredible pace of technology,” he says. “While | was writing Chapter 5, the nuggets of wisdom in Chapter 2 were becoming obsolete. The last chapter was called ‘Ad Astra’ (Latin for ‘to the stars’ ), where | tried to forecast future technology. When the book was published in 1964, most of my future projections were already obsolete. Darwin had no idea about the speed of evolution when applied to technology. By the way, more copies of the book were sold in Russia than in the United States.” On George’ s last active project, he worked with the original seven astronauts. He was program manager at Simmonds Precision, responsible for the design of the fuel gauging system on the command module where the astronauts were housed. In 1972, Apollo 17, the eleventh manned mission, was the sixth and final lunar landing in the Apollo program. “We were on an extremely tight schedule, and my team worked nearly eighty HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015437

hours with virtually no sleep to finish on time. We received a rare commendation and bonus from NASA for superior performance ahead of schedule and below budget.” Gordon Cooper--one of those seven original astronauts—had piloted the longest and final Mercury space flight in 1963, becoming the first American to sleep in orbit. “He gave me a rare souvenir,” George reminds me, “a dehydrated oatmeal cookie the size of a large dice that he had on a space mission. During a family dinner, | passed around the cookie for everyone to see. Dad was hard of hearing and didn’ t hear the story, so he popped the space cookie into his mouth, and it was gone before | could get any words out of my mouth. It was pure grief when it happened, but funny now.” As | write this in 2014, George is 85, and if a movie were to be made about him, he’ d like to be portrayed by Matt Damon. In October 1988, he was diagnosed with advanced prostate cancer and given three years to live, but his daughter Devra, a naturopath, convinced him to meet with a macrobiotic counselor, and overnight he changed his diet and lifestyle. Now it’ s twenty-six years later. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015438

He played tennis until six months ago, when he discontinued after a bad fall, because he was playing too aggressively. Currently, his exercise consists of taking walks and lifting dumbbells, though not simultaneously. He remains active, doing business seminars for adult education, providing legal plans for families, small businesses and employees, and calling square dances. But not for helicopters. Or drones. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015439

The Six Dumbest Decisions of My Life I' m talking here about seriously dumb decisions, not those minor regrets like that time in 1970 when £squire magazine assigned me to fly to New Mexico where director Monte Hellman was filming 7wo-Lane Blacktop, about street-racing. Among the actors was a pair of musicians, James Taylor as a driver, and Dennis Wilson as a mechanic. They both agreed to be interviewed, besides screenwriter Rudy Wurlitzer and others. During a conversation with Taylor about not laughing at jokes, he said, “My brother once told me a joke that made me laugh.” “Wait, don’ t tell me now,” | said. “Let’ s save it for the interview.” However, | was supposed to reveal behind the scenes of making the movie, but | learned that there were a couple of violations of law: A few members of the cast had been tripping on magic mushrooms; and a 17- year-old actress, Laurie Bird, who played “The Girl,” had sex with two members of the crew. Nine years later she would commit suicide. Anyway, | decided not to write the article--| was a reporter, not a snitch--and never did get a chance to do any interviews. Nor did | ever hear the joke that James Taylor’ s brother told him and made him laugh. | HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015440

was mildly disappointed, but what follows are half a dozen of my really dangerous dumb decisions that continue to make me humble. 1. Early one morning in 1963, at my tiny apartment on the Lower East Side of New York (now the East Village), | was in bed with a young woman | had met at a party, when the phone rang. It was her boyfriend, a lower-echelon Mafioso. He asked if | knew where she was. | told him no, even as she was cuddling next to me. He said he would check his source and call me right back. A few minutes later, he did. “You were seen with her last night. You spent the night with her. She didn't come home last night. You punk! He said that he was coming to my office a few blocks away—-which is where he thought he was calling me--to talk about it. | told her she'd better leave, and | rushed to the office, but he was already waiting outside the “Mad building” [where MAD magazine was published], peering through the locked outside door into the lobby, expecting the elevator door to open and me to step out and open the door for him. Instead he saw me on the sidewalk coming toward him. “What are you doing out here?” he said. “Well, | came out just a minute ago, but you weren't here.” “| was calling you up because you didn't come out.” HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015441

“Oh--I figured you had the address wrong, so | took a walk around the block.” “Let's go to your apartment.” “Don't you want to come up to my office?” “| said. ‘Let's go to your apartment.’ ” “You don't expect to find her there?’ “She leaves traces wherever she goes. By the way, do you have a telephone at your apartment?” “Oh, yeah, well, it happens to be the same number as my office, incidentally.” There was a certain tension between us while we were walking to my apartment. “Tell me," he said, “do you have many friends who smoke Tareyton cigarettes?” | suddenly realized what he meant by “She leaves traces.” At the apartment, she was gone, but the bed was unmade and he couldn't help but notice the semen stain on the sheet. Which, of course, was no proof that it was she who had been there. However, the ashtray was filled with Tareyton cigarette butts. “Do you smoke Tareytons?” HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015442

“No,” | answered, “I don't smoke any cigarettes.” “| guess | caught you with your pants down, didn't I?” He picked up the phone and dialed a number. He was calling her mother. “l found him,” he said. “What should | do, throw ‘im out the window?" | was scared that he might actually do it. He hung up the phone and | didn't know what to expect. | thought, How could a realist have gotten himself into such an unrealistic situation? We proceeded to have a discussion. “| got the horns," he yelled. “Il gotta do something! It ain't manlyf “Look, restraint itself can be a form of manliness.” “You know,” he said, “Il could arrange to have you killed while | was having dinner with your mother and father.” “Well, actually, they're not having too many people over to the house these days.” His low chuckle in response to that wisecrack marked a positive turning point in our conversation. He finally forgave me, and we shook hands. Then he borrowed twenty dollars, which we both knew | would never get back, but it was worth not being thrown out the window. | had HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015443

known he was her boyfriend, and so | vowed never to risk sleeping with a gangster’ s girlfriend, especially if she smoked cigarettes; 2. In 1979, | covered the trial of Dan White, )who had assassinated two progressive government officials in San Francisco--Mayor George Moscone (in 1975, as a state senator, he authored a bill to decriminalize marijuana) and Supervisor Harvey Milk (a dedicated gay activist)—and yet, after an incompetent prosecution and a shrewd defense, White was sentenced to only seven years. That evening, | was unwinding at home, smoking a joint and preparing to write my final report for the Bay Guardian. My reverie was suddenly interrupted by a phone call from Mike Weiss. We had become friends during the trial, which he had covered for 7ime and Rolling Stone. He was calling from a phone booth across the street from City Hall. | could hear crowds screaming and sirens wailing behind his voice. He had to yell: “There’ sa riot going on! You should get here right away!" Reluctantly, | took a cab. When | arrived at Civic Center, there were a dozen police cars that had been set on fire, which in turn set off their alarms, underscoring the shouts from a mob of 5,000 gay protesters. On HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015444

the night that Milk was murdered, they had been among the 30,000 who marched silently to City Hall for a candlelight vigil. Now they were in the middle of a post-verdict riot, utterly furious. But where were the cops? They were all fuming /ns/de City Hall-- where their commander had instructed them to stay—-armed prisoners watching helplessly as angry demonstrators broke the glass trying to ram their way through the locked doors. | spotted Weiss and a student from his magazine-writng class, Marilee Strong. The three of us circulated through the crowd. Standing in the middle of the intersection, Chronicle columnist Warren Hinckle was talking with a police official, and he beckoned me to join them. | gathered from their conversation that the cops were about to be released from City Hall. Some were already out. One kept banging his baton on the phone booth where Weiss was calling in his story, and he had to wave his press card before the cop would leave. | found Marilee and suggested that we get away from the area. As we walked north on Polk Street, the police were beginning to march slowly in formation not too far behind us. But the instant they were out of view from City Hall, they broke ranks and started running toward us, hitting the metal pole of a bus stop with their billy clubs, making loud, scary clangs. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015445

“We better run,” | told Marilee. “Why? They’ re not gonna hit us.” “Yes, they are! Run! Hurry!” The police had been let out of their cage and they were absolutely enraged. Marilee got away, but | was struck with a nightstick on the outside of my right knee. | fell to the ground. The cop ran off to injure as many other cockroaches in his kitchen as he could. Another cop came charging and he yelled at me, “Get up/ Get up!” ‘l’ m trying to!” He made a threatening gesture with his billy club, and when | tried to protect my head with my arms, he jabbed me viciously on the exposed right side of my ribs. Oh, God, the pain! The cops were running amuck now, in an orgy of indiscriminate sadism, swinging their clubs wildly and screaming, “Get the fuck outa here you fuckin’ faggots, you motherfuckin’ cocksuckers!” | managed to drag myself along the sidewalk. It felt like an electric cattle prod was stuck between my ribs. Marilee drove me to a hospital emergency ward. X-rays indicated that | had a fractured rib and a punctured lung. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015446

The City of San Francisco was sued for $4.3 million by a man who had been a peaceful observer at the riot following the verdict. He was walking away from the Civic Center area when a cop yelled, “We’ re gonna kill all you faggots!” --and beat him on the head with his nightstick. He was awarded $125,000. | had wanted to sue the city, but an attorney requested $75 for a filing fee, and | didn’ t have it. | was too foolish not to borrow it, and | decided to forego the lawsuit. | must’ ve been crazy. 3. In 1985, after living in San Francisco for sixteen years, | moved to a walk street in Venice, a block-and-a-half walk to the beach. | rented a top- floor tiny two-room apartment consisting of a kitchen/office where | could see the ocean and a living-room/bedroom which came with a convertible sofa. The bathroom had a bathtub/shower. One afternoon, | took a bus to Santa Monica to eat at a little soul- food restaurant in a food court and to see a Woody Allen movie. When | returned home, | walked up the steps to the top floor, and when | opened the door to my “penthouse” apartment, it was filled with smoke. | had stupidly, utterly recklessly, left a candle burning in a glass ashtray on the arm of the sofa. | didn’ t forgetto do that. | chose to leave it that way. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015447

The ashtray had broken in half from the heat, and the sofa was burning, although asbestos material had prevented it from being on fire in a way that would spread the flames. | ran down the steps and got the fire extinguisher off the wall in the hall, ran back up and sprayed the sofa. “You should be ashamed of yourself,” | said to myself. | was grateful that only the sofa had been destroyed. Also, my pride in expanded consciousness had disintegrated. |’ ve never quite forgiven myself for having endangered the lives and property of the tenants in the other four apartments. | had ignored the concept of cause and effect. My bad. Immensely. 4. On the morning of April 1st, 1995, | flew to San Francisco. | was scheduled to emcee a benefit for Jack Kerouac’ s daughter, Jan, who had been on dialysis treatment for the last few years. On that sunny afternoon, | was stoned in Washington Square Park, wearing the MAD magazine jacket that my daughter Holly had given me for Christmas. The smiling face of Alfred E. Neuman--stating his renowned philosophy, “What--me worry?” --graced the back of my jacket | was waiting for the arrival of the annual Saint Stupid Day Parade, led this year by Grand Marshal Ken Kesey in an open-topped convertible. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015448

The event was sponsored by the First Church of the Last Laugh. Their sound equipment was surrounded by yellow plastic tape warning, “ Police Line--Do Not Cross.” Somebody in a clown costume handed me a three- foot section of that tape. The celebration featured music, comedy and a traditional free brunch, along with such favorite rituals as the Sock Exchange and the Leap of Faith. Kesey was also in town to speak at the benefit, which was held only because Jan happened to be the daughter of a ground-breaking literary celebrity, even though he had abandoned her mother when she was pregnant with Jan. | said to my friend Julius, who drove me there, “It’ s not enough any more just to be a sperm donor.” Jan had met her father only twice. The first time, she was nine. The second time, six years later, he sat there, drinking a fifth of whiskey and watching 7he Beverly Hillbillies. Jan would eventually die of kidney failure at the age of forty-four, never having fulfilled her fantasy of becoming drinking buddies with her father, who died when she was a teenager. Now, backstage, someone | knew handed me a baggie of what | assumed to be marijuana. | thanked her and put it in my pocket. Ah, yes, one of the perks of the benefit biz. Later, as the final members of the HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015449

audience were straggling out of the theater, | was sitting with Julius in his car in the parking area at Fort Mason Center. He was busy rolling a joint in a cigar-box on the dashboard with the map light on. There was a police car circling around in the distance, but we unwisely ignored it. Suddenly, a moment later, there was a fist knocking heavily on the passenger-side window, and a flashlight shining in my eyes. Shit! Fuck! Caught! We were ordered outside and, with our arms outstretched against the side of the car, with the face of Alfred E. Neuman smiling at the cop and asking, “What--me worry?” And indeed, the cop was worried. He asked me if | had anything sharp in my pockets. “Because,” he explained, “I’ m gonna get very mad if | get stuck,” obviously referring to a hypodermic needle. “No,” | said, “there’ s only a pen in this pocket" --gesturing toward the left with my head-- “and keys in that one.” He found the coiled-up three feet of yellow plastic tape warning “Police Line--Do Not Cross,” and said, “Where'’ d you get this?” “At the Saint Stupid Day Parade.” “What's it for?” “To keep people away.” HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015450

But then he found the baggie. And, to my surprise, it contained magic mushrooms. He examined the contents. Then, reeking with sarcasm, he said, “So you like mushrooms, huh?” Under the circumstances, it was such a ridiculous question that | almost laughed, but | realized that, from his point of view, this was a serious offense. Julius was given a $50 citation for possession of marijuana, but | was arrested on the spot, handcuffed behind my back, and my Miranda rights were read to me. | stood there, heart pounding fast and mouth terminally dry, trying to keep my balance on the cusp of reality and unreality. Fortunately, attorney Doron Weinberg got me off with a $100 fine and nothing on my permanent record. But | finally understood what that cop meant when he snarled, “So you like mushrooms, huh?” His question was asked with such archetypal hostility that it kept reverberating inside my head. So you /ike mushrooms, huh? \t was not as though | had done anything that might harm another human being. This was simply an authority figure’ s need to control. But control what? My pleasure? Or was it deeper than that? What was his actua/ message? Back through eons of ancestors--all the way back to what psychedelic researcher Terence McKenna called “the unstoned apes” --this cop was continuing a never-ending attempt HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015451

to maintain the status quo. He had unintentionally revealed the true nature of the threat he perceived. What he rea//y said to me was, “So you like the evolution of human consciousness, huh?” “Well, yeah,” | thought, “now that you mention it, | do. | mean, when you put it like that--So you /like the evolution of human consciousness, huh?--sure, | do. | like it a whole lot.” Too bad | had remained silent instead of using my instinct and advising Julius, “Let’ s get the hell out of here.” 5. Once, in the men’ s room at an airport, | couldn’ t help but notice a man standing at a urinal a urinals away from the one where | was carefully aiming my stream with my left hand onto the round marzipan- like disinfectant. But he was allowing his penis to aim itself, because he happened to be busy using both hands to floss his teeth. It was a monument to multi-tasking. I' m embarrassed to admit that, rather then flossing, | would use a dollar bill to clean between my_ teeth. Instead, | was actually adding bacteria to my mouth, thereby giving a_ new, literal meaning to the concept of “dirty money.” As a result, my teeth were in terrible shape. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015452

| had known better. Back in 1971, publisher Stewart Brand had invited Ken Kesey and me to co-edit 7he Last Supplement to the Whole Earth Catalog. Our managing editor, Hassler (Ron Bevirt’ s Merry Prankster name), introduced me to the fine art of flossing. “| began cleaning between my teeth with dental floss, and then brushing carefully after every meal for the last nine years,” he told me. “Dental floss is really important because it removes particles of food from between the teeth that can’ t be dislodged by the brush. It’ s this crap between the teeth that really causes decay.” Although | didn’ t practice what he preached, | immediately assigned him to write a piece about the process of flossing for 7he Last Supplement. After all, the Whole Earth Catalog was devoted to informing its readers about a variety of New Age tools. And floss was definitely a useful tool. “Floss comes in two thicknesses,” Hassler wrote. “Thin, called Dental Floss; and thick, called Dental Tape. Recently, | found Dental Floss Unwaxed. All the floss and tape |’ ve used in the past were waxed. | find that | prefer the waxed because it slips in and out between my teeth cleanly without leaving any of the floss behind, which | find to be a problem with unwaxed floss. I’ ve realized the importance of my teeth in HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015453

the service of my habit. Munch, slurp, slobber, drool...” In 1987, | was a keynote speaker at the annual International Society for Humor Studies conference, held in Tempe, Arizona. | had dinner with a group of five staffers from the Russian humor magazine Krokodii/ at the Holiday Inn. They all ordered the specialty of the house—pork ribs—which came with huge bibs. The editor was given a bib with the words “Miss America” on it. The art director got a bib with a big iconic “S" for Superman. They were really getting a dose of our culture. As we walked along the salad bar, one of the Russians stopped at the corn chowder and asked me, “Is this typical American soup?” As the others gathered around, | didn’ t quite know how to answer. “I’ m sorry, | don’ t know," | said. “I’m sure it’ s typical somewherein the country.” And then | remembered that multi-tasking man at the airport urinal. “In America,” | told the Russian, “corn chowder comes with dental floss that has little pieces of corn embedded in it, so if you get hungry between meals you can floss and have a snack at the same time.” A few years before | met my wife, Nancy, she had gone to a dentist HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015454

who required all new patients to take a two-session course in flossing and oral health. Only when he was satisfied that patients would be capable of caring for their teeth properly would he then make their first cleaning appointment. Nancy learned the technique, and recently a friend named her “the Floss Queen.” We came across an ad stating that “If you follow a vegan diet, you may opt for Eco-Dent’ s GentleFloss, which uses beeswax instead of animal products.” Who knew? The irony behind all this is that Medicare doesn’ t cover any dental procedures, even though dentists emphasize how bad teeth can cause illness in other, internal parts of the body. For example, a research team from Columbia University’ s School of Public Health released the results of a three-year study of 420 men and women, concluding that the improvement of gum health can help slow the development of atherosclerosis, the build-up of cholesterol-rich plaque along artery walls, which can lead to heart attacks and strokes. | still regret that | would eat candy without flossing afterward. Especially a Clark Bar, which could cause a cavity andfill it simultaneously. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015455

6. | had taped an interview on an electric recorder-transcriber, plus a battery-operated cassette recorder as a back-up precaution, which turned out to be an absolute necessity when the electric recorder conked out right in the middle. Later on, | bought a new one to replace it, but first | had to get rid of the old one. My desk consisted of a wooden door supported by a couple of two-drawer filing cabinets. | was just too damn lazy to take all the equipment and books off the desk so that | could move the desk toward me and pull up the wire from behind it. So | simply cut the wire with a pair of scissors. Bzzzzzt///| was shocked, but not injured. Though the recorder had conked out, | had incredibly left the wire still plugged into a socket on the surge protector. Where the scissors had cut the wire, parts of the metal had melted away just a couple of inches from my hand. | might’ ve been electrocuted. Yikes/ | could’ ve been killed, and the cause would’ ve been a simple lack of the practice of mindfulness that | treasure so much. Instead, | had emptied my mind. Oops, wrong discipline. But | was still alive, and | thanked God for that. And then | heard a resplendent voice booming through the clouds: “SHUT UP, YOU SUPERSTITIOUS FOOL!“ HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015456

Alternative Facts Between the choice of a one-man-one-vote (Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia) and fake news of Weapons of Mass Destruction, invasion of Irag, and horror of ISIS, George Bush was elected president in the year 2000. It was due to the electoral college (a rigged system which originally intended to prevent slaves from voting and evolved to gerrymandering), even though Bush’ s opponent, Al Gore, won the national popular vote. Hillary Clinton was elected senator that year, and she announced that the first thing she would do was to get rid of the electoral college. A few years later, as a columnist for the New York Press, | sent her a letter asking about the status of that promise. She didn’ t reply. On November 8, 2016, a crooked businessman, liar extraordinaire, bragging pussy-grabber, make-America-white-again, anti-choice, anti- Semite, false Christian, climate-change hoaxer, Nobamacare, homophobic, apprentice politician, fascist tweets, and Vladimir Putin’ s “useful idiot,” namely Donald Trump, who was elected as an insanely narcissistic dictator based on the electoral college, whereas his opponent, Hillary Clinton, won the national popular vote by “more than three million” individuals. lrony lives. But an incredibly mean monster inadvertently awakened a sleeping HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015457

population to counteract the essence of evil with love, laughs, and law, fueled by the aid of true news. Incidentally, Putin had 88 journalists murdered. No wonder Trump told him, “It’ s an honor to be with you.” Now Putin wanted Obama’ s new sanctions on Russia to be reprieved. National Security Adviser Michael Flynn had discussed it with the Russian ambassador a month before Trump took office. Although General Flynn joined his campaign and shared criminal secrets, he denied them to the FBI. It was a felony offense. The Justice Department warned Trump that Flynn had misled Mike Pence, and that Flynn could be vulnerable to blackmail. Trump asked Flynn to resign, and yet he offered his job back when he got out of prison. Why? Because Flynn was the scapegoat, taking the fall for the president and vice-president. He preferred a trial with immunity since they knew all. Pence said Flynn lied and that was a lie. If Trump and Pence were both to be kicked out of the White House, the next in line would be the Speaker of the House, Paul Ryan. Steve Bannon described him as_ “a limp-dick motherfucker who was born in a petri dish at the Heritage Foundation.” In turn, Trunp’ s communicator Anthony Scaramucci boasted, “I’ m not Steve Bannon, |’ m not trying to suck my own cock.” Ah, but Bannon said he wanted to destroy Ryan. Hallelujah! HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015458

Trump once tried to patent “You’ re fired.” Professional hater Bannon resigned. Back to running his Breitbart News. He had taken over the original right-wing website, Breitbart.com, after the death of editor Andrew Breitbart, who ironically was adopted and raised as a proud Jew. Orson Bean is my oldest living friend. He became a Christian libertarian conservative, and we’ve had an ongoing email dialogue about religion, but he’s still a Christian and I’m still an atheist. Not a militant atheist, as I used to be, though. I changed when I realized that Martin Luther King was a Christian, yet I was inspired by his actions, and George Lincoln Rockwell, head of the American Nazi Party, was an agnostic, yet I abhorred what he stood for. It no longer mattered to me what anybody’s religious belief was, only how they treated others. Either kind or cruel. That simple. I decided to email Orson: “If you can arrange for me to interview Andrew Breitbart’--his son-in-law--“Ill believe in God.” Orson must’ve forwarded my email to Breitbart, because He sent me an email saying, “Apparently there is a God,” with his own phone number. I called, we spoke, and he agreed to do an interview. My only ground rule would be that neither of us would interrupt the other. I contacted Steve Randall, my editor at Playboy, and I got the assignment. I immediately sent an email to Orson with the good news. The Subject line was “Praise the fucking Lord.”” Amen. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015459

| Played Thomas Jefferson’ s Violin At a unique Heroes Convention, | met Lindsay Wagner, star of 7he Bionic Woman. She was unaware that the CIA served as technical adviser to her series, but she spoke poignantly of the positive influence that her TV alter-ego had on young amputees she visited in hospitals. | also met Tom Laughlin, of Bi//y Jack movie fame. A couple of years later, he and his wife Delores Taylor invited me to a large dinner party. They were Thomas Jefferson enthusiasts. In their home, there was Thomas Jefferson's furniture, Thomas Jefferson's silverware, Thomas Jefferson's recipes--we started with peanut soup--and even Thomas Jefferson's violin. | mentioned playing the violin as a child, and Laughlin invited me to play this one. | hadn't held a violin for twenty-five years, not since | had used it as a prop when | started doing stand-up comedy, and four decades had passed since that concert in Carnegie Hall. It felt like a previous incarnation. But now Billy Jack himself was handing me Thomas Jefferson's violin. How could | resist? “I'd like to dedicate this to Thomas Jefferson's slaves,” | said. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015460

And then | played the only thing | felt competent enough to perform-- “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” While | was playing, | stood and, as unobtrusively as possible, balancing on my left foot, | scratched my left leg with my right foot. It was a private joke between me and the god of Absurdity. HOUSE_OVERSIGHT_015461