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Commentary Too - May 17, 2006 - Printable Version
- It's in the Mail
by Eustace P. McGargle, Ph.D., F.A.S.N.
(Editor's note: I can't believe that I have to say this, but after receiving a couple of emails and comments about this article, I actually feel the need to clarify something: THIS IS SATIRE. It's pointing out how far we sometimes go in pursuit of a good conspiracy theory, and how some people will believe anything that they read. Duh.) The other day, an emaciated, disheveled little man stumbled into my office, his clothes all rumpled as though he’d been sleeping in them, and with a frightened look in his eyes that struck terror into my heart. I recognized him as one of my colleagues, a well-respected historian who had recently taken a long sabbatical from the college to work on some important research. He collapsed into the easy chair in my office, not even bothering to brush aside the pile of student papers piled on the seat. He sat there panting and gasping for air for about 3 minutes, and I just sat behind my desk, watching. What, I thought, could possibly have happened to this poor fellow to get him into this state? Soon, he leaned forward, his face coming close to my ear, and whispered nearly inaudibly that he had been kidnapped and held hostage by his postman. I nearly fell out of my chair! This was not at all what I expected. This was a sane, serious and sober fellow, not the sort that goes out on binges or puts tinfoil on his head to protect him from alien rays. In fact, he had been busily and happily engaged in research designed to prove once and for all that there was no Masonic conspiracy, no Jewish conspiracy, and that J.F.K. was in reality shot by Lee Harvey Oswald acting as a lone gunman. No grassy knoll. So, what was this ludicrous story he was telling me now?
Looking around my office, I found a copy of the King James version of the Holy Bible. My colleague (I shall not give his name, lest it endanger his life) is a devout Christian, and I knew if he had his hand on the Bible while he told his story, he would be unable to tell me anything he didn’t believe was true. So, placing his hand solemnly on the Good Book, he spilled the incredible story he had been living for the past few days since he locked his office and left for sabbatical. Upon arriving home, he found his postman delivering the mail, as usual. Nothing too suspicious about that, or so he thought. Most of the mail was junk mail, and he discarded it without any further thought. Then, he began to think about it. Why do we get so much junk mail? Who benefits, anyway? It can’t be that all those organizations and businesses really send out all that stuff, when they know everybody immediately throws it in the trash. So, who could be sending all that stuff, and why? Now suspicious, he began digging in his trash for the junk mail he’d just thrown away, but before he could get back to his desk with it, he heard a noise behind him, and felt something hard conk him on the head. That was the last thing he knew before he awoke, bound and gagged, in the back of a mail truck. He soon found himself hostage at the local Post Office, waiting for transport across the country to the Postmaster General’s office, where he would be grilled and tortured until he told them everything he knew about their operation. But what did he know? He didn’t know anything! He just wanted to know who was sending out all that ridiculous junk mail. Miraculously, he managed to escape from the back of one of the relay mail trucks as it stopped in Atlanta to deliver a whole armload of Sears catalogs to an old folks home. He ran as fast as he could to Avis, rented a car, and drove back home quickly. He was obviously frightened, and begged me not to tell anyone where they could find him. I helped him get a room at a local hotel under an assumed name, and left him cowering behind locked doors, afraid to even consider calling Room Service.
I couldn’t believe it, of course. He’d fallen asleep on his sofa (he was accustomed to doing that when he was involved in an interesting project), had a bad dream, and taken it seriously. In a couple of days, he’d be all right, and we’d laugh about his fright. I wasn’t going to tell anyone, of course. I had way too much respect for my friend to expose him to the ridicule such a thing would undoubtedly lead to. A conspiracy of postmen - nobody could see that as anything but ridiculous. The postmen were hard working, dedicated and faithful civil servants. I went home and thumbed through my own mail delivery - mostly junk, of course. I dumped it into the trash, and thought no more about it, until late that night. In the middle of the night, I had a strange dream in which postmen were chasing me in silly little cars. The postmen were wearing fezzes, and had clown noses on! I woke in a cold sweat. What a weird dream. I went downstairs to get some warm milk to help me sleep (well, the bourbon I put in it would probably help more, but we won’t talk much about that, will we?). The junk mail was still in my trash, and I dug it out and stared at it. There didn’t seem to be anything sinister - only a bunch of catalogs and solicitations for donations - the usual stuff. I started to throw it away, but then something told me not to. I held onto it for a few days. In fact, for the next few days, I didn’t throw any of my junk mail away, but started looking at it with every technique I could think of. I talked to some of the scientists at the school, and they helped me look at it with ultraviolet and infrared light, and to examine it with an electron microscope. Imagine our surprise the first time we found something - a cryptic message in invisible ink on the back of a Greenpeace mailer. It didn’t make any sense, in fact, it was gibberish. But that made it even more scary - it must be code for something truly sinister.
Over the next couple of weeks, I kept examining my junk mail. I soon found a lot of secret messages. There didn’t seem to be any pattern. Sometimes it would be a campaign mailer from the local Republican Party, sometimes it would be on the envelope telling me I was pre-approved for a new credit card. One time, it was even on the mailing label of my wife’s Frederick’s of Hollywood catalog! Those animals - is nothing sacred to them? I began to have trouble sleeping at nights. I broke out in a cold sweat for no reason at all. I found myself stammering through my lectures, and saw the letters on the page swimming as I tried to grade students’ papers. I visited my colleague in the hotel every day - he still kept the door locked, and we had a secret password so he’d know it was me. He wouldn’t eat anything except what I brought him, and only if I tasted it first. He was slowly wasting away to nothing. I wasn’t eating much either. He kept babbling about the Masons, sure this was all because of his interest in the Masonic conspiracy, but I couldn’t see anything that the Masons had in common with the post office.
I visited the county courthouse, and checked out all the public records. My postman wasn’t a Mason. I asked questions at the Post Office. They assured me that none of their employees were Masons, though, of course, they did sometimes deliver mail to Masons. After all, they said, Masons are taxpaying citizens of the country, and are entitled to the same mail services as everyone else. I began to wonder. There didn’t seem any real connection between the post office and the Masons, but my friend assured me it was the Masons, and that the postman was in league with them. Then it suddenly hit me! Of course! Benjamin Franklin! Benjamin Franklin was the first Postmaster General! Benjamin Franklin was a Mason! It was all perfectly clear now. The Post Office was in league with the Masonic Lodge.
Once I figured it out, I began to understand a lot more things that had always puzzled me. Like why dogs always bark at the postman. Not just growl, but bark, loudly, show their teeth, and even bite them if they get a chance. There really didn’t seem any reason for the dogs to threaten the postman, but I just always wrote it off as something dogs do. But now I began to ask the hard questions - why is that something that dogs do? Is there really some reason for dogs to challenge the postman? They’re trying to tell us something, and for two centuries, we’ve been ignoring them. Then I started to wonder who else might be involved. It occurred to me that there was someone else that my dog always barked at - the garbage man! Of course! The garbage man, seemingly innocuous, seemingly a hard-working public servant, was deeply involved. After all, didn’t my colleague tell me the first thing he did with his junk mail was put it in the garbage? Of course! The messages were obviously for the garbage man. Masons put the messages on the junk mail, passed them onto the postman, and then he got them to the garbage man by delivering them to our houses, knowing we’d dump them into the trash without even looking at them. Then, the garbage man delivered them - where?
To my surprise, when I got home, the garbage man was waiting for me. He had a sinister look on his face, glowering at me threateningly. He demanded to know why I hadn’t put any trash out that week. Where was all the junk mail? He accused me of being un-American by not throwing my junk mail away. He told me he was going to report me to the House Un-American Activities Committee! I laughed in his face. I pretended it was a joke. I acted like I didn’t know anything. I don’t think I really fooled him, but he sulked away telling me I’d better start throwing my mail away like everyone else, or he‚d report me to the Federal Government as a subversive. I broke out in a cold sweat, and as soon as he was gone, I leaned against the railing, my knees weak.
My friends, I know you will laugh at this story. I know you will think I’m a kook, and should be committed. I know you will think I made it all up to get attention. But I swear, I swear by everything I love, that it is the God’s honest truth. This conspiracy is real. The trail is hot, leading from the United States Post Office to the Masonic Lodge to the Waste Management services all over the country. The whole country has been too trusting, allowing the Masons to get their hands on our trash, finding out our most intimate secrets. They’ve had their hands on our mail. Where else have they been? Where else will we find them, once we start looking? Benjamin Franklin established the concept of the library - is your local librarian a Mason? Be very careful what you read! Benjamin Franklin, a Mason, invented the bifocal - is your optometrist a Mason? He probably is turning your prescription over to the Masons, at the very least! Benjamin Franklin, a Mason, helped bring us electricity. You should beware of your local electric company - they are almost certainly trying to take over the country!
As for my friend, I hope we can get this resolved quickly so he can come out of hiding. I truly fear for his life. I hope you will all be moved by the story of his plight, and will join with me in trying to save him, and save us all. In fact, he is in a really bad way, since it is costing him a small fortune to remain in hiding. I hope that I can get a fund started to help support my friend as he continues his work, tirelessly chronicling the devious history of the Masonic Lodge, and their insidious plots and plans. Only through the constant dissemination of information can we hope to stop them. Only through wisdom will we gain strength. Join me, friends. Fight your local Masons everywhere you can. Keep an eye on them. Let them know you’re wise to them. Disrupt their pancake breakfasts. Don’t let anything stop you. Oh, and be sure to send in a donation to help my friend meet his obligations so he can continue the fight, okay? Thanks for listening.
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