DVCopy

Well, here I sit in semi-solitary confinement in a jail cell in Alexandria, Virginia. (What an irony, by the way, given that I’ve done volunteer work with inmates through Catholic Jail Ministries in this very building for years and years!) Apparently I’ve been charged with a ‘felony relating to intelligence’ (another highly ironic and symbolic situation, when you think about it). Yes, it seems that the Government, on learning that I’ve written and published the ‘secret’ of the Light, has decided to try to shut me up by means of a legally (or at least ethically) questionable maneuver of charging me with disseminating classified information. How bizarre, given that the truths I wrote and published are all in the Bible!

This whole weird episode reminds me of that passage by Paul in Philippians 1,7, you know, the passage where he says:

I hold you in my heart, you who are all partners with me in grace, both in my imprisonment and in defense and confirmation of the Gospel.

How, you may ask, did your good and long-time friend John Alejandro King, also known affectionately throughout the US Intelligence Community as The Covert Comic, an accomplished, award-winning, morally upright CIA officer, come to find himself in semi-solitary confinement charged with revealing Government secrets? Well, I suppose I could begin by describing an incident I witnessed two years ago at CIA Headquarters. You see, I was walking down a dark corridor when suddenly I sensed (perhaps it would be better to say I intuited) that I was moving through a great vagina (to be honest, this vagina reminded me of you).

As I moved along this vagina I looked ahead and saw in the distance an amazingly brilliant, all-loving, all-knowing Light. (And yes, I’m referring here to that very same Light mentioned in the Gospel as well as in the accounts of people who have had what are commonly called ‘near death experiences’). As this Light grew larger I became aware of a kind of panoramic view, unfolding all around me, of the history of the whole universe. It seemed that the Light was showing me my life and the life of the living cosmos; I saw everything that had ever happened or that ever will happen. For example, I saw people being born in the Light, coming to Earth and living their lives, dying, and then becoming one with the Light again. In addition to this I saw many cataclysmic explosions and, interestingly enough, lots of boobs hanging out. I couldn’t help thinking that if the explosions and boobs were a central part of it, this vision of mine could be made into a commercially successful film.

Which thought reminds me, by the way, that I’d like to request that any film producers reading this letter of mine consider making it into a feature length major motion picture.

Anyway, a major truth which was revealed to me during this experience is that I’m a penis, a penis of God. And not only me, my friend. No, as it turns out, all of us are penises, each in our own fashion. And we’re one Penis, God’s penis. And we’re also boobs and vaginas, of course (as you, of all people, know well).

Another important truth that was revealed to me during my experience that day at CIA Headquarters is that if a person increasingly extends into everything simultaneously (which is quite possible; in fact, given the right kind of living it’s inevitable), that person will increasingly feel as if they’re moving toward and becoming one with the Light. All this can be demonstrated using the equations for length contraction, increase in mass, and time dilation in the Theory of Relativity, where we imagine a body (the body being an individual, an organ, or even a whole species or civilization), every part of which increasingly reaches into everything at the same time.

So far, so good, you say. Nothing to concern the Government with, you say. The problem, Vagina, is that certain officials at CIA (and who knows where else in the Government) apparently consider this information highly classified, despite the fact that it’s all but stated explicitly in the Gospel, the Theory of Relativity, and (if you think about it) every loving and truthful document ever written! But try explaining this to a government bureaucrat. Hence, when I proceeded to write about and publish my revelations from the Light in various documents and on the internet, well, to keep a short story short, I ended up (for the moment at least) here in this jail cell.

Which leads to the reason for my writing you, Vagina. To be perfectly honest about it, I’m writing to you because, well, I’m a writer and you’re someone who naturally likes to read writing, if you know what I mean. Plus which, I’m hoping that maybe you can use your God-given skills to help bring this writing of mine (which is really God’s writing, of course) to light (if you will).

Incidentally, I’m well aware that this letter of mine will be carefully scrutinized by security officials for the Government, and I just want to state here and now, for the record, that I don’t object to this at all. On the contrary, I fully recognize the need to protect our National Security (without unduly violating our constitutional rights and freedoms, of course). Indeed, I would even go so far as to state that I frankly applaud those dedicated men and women in our Government who, having been assigned the not-always-easy task of reading and analyzing my compositions, do so with zeal and a genuine sense of spirited public service.

You're welcome, America.

I applaud our Government for taking an interest in my writing.

Shortly after my arrest I was interrogated by several FBI officers. The following is my recollection of some of the more interesting ideas that were exchanged.

FBI: Do you deny publishing documents with Government intelligence in them?

John Alejandro King: … Government intelligence …? [There is a long, pregnant pause followed by the sound of chuckles coming from somewhere in the room. John Alejandro King and the FBI interrogators look around with facial expressions of surprise and puzzlement, which is perfectly understandable given that there don’t appear to be any other persons there]

FBI (maintaining poise and resuming the interrogation in a professional manner): It appears, Mr. King, that you’ve been practicing selective memory when it comes to answering some of our questions.

John Alejandro King: I don’t recall doing that. [Laughter from the invisible audience; someone in the audience shouts ‘Bit-a-boom!’]

FBI: Until last year you were a successful covert intelligence officer. What made you decide to become a comedian on the side?

John Alejandro King: I wanted to get paid twice for doing the same thing. [Chuckles]

FBI: What do you hope to accomplish as a result of your writing?

John Alejandro King: If my writing inspires just one person to pay me a seven-figure salary, I’ll consider it a success. [Laughter]

FBI: Do you admit to being The Covert Comic?

John Alejandro King: I am The Covert Comic. You are The Covert Comic. Everyone is The Covert Comic.

FBI: If everyone is The Covert Comic, why do you and your family own the exclusive copyrights to all of The Covert Comic’s works?

John Alejandro King: Everyone is The Covert Comic. But not everyone owns the intellectual property rights to The Covert Comic. [Chuckles and scattered laughter]

FBI: Why do you publish your own works? Is it because real publishers aren’t interested?

John Alejandro King: Actually, several publishers have expressed interest in publishing my works, and even a certain eagerness to do so, provided I agree to buy all the copies in advance. [Chuckles and scattered laughter]

Seriously, though, it’s pretty humiliating having to admit that I self-publish my writings. But now that you know the truth, what the heck, I might as well tell you everything. For example, I use Vaseline when I self-publish. [Pause followed by loud laughter] Also, I like to fantasize that I’m a different famous author every time I ‘do it.’ [Laughter]

FBI: Can you talk about some of your books?

John Alejandro King: Well, I recently completed a short book of proverbs. I call this book A Short Book of Proverbs. [Chuckles] If you’re interested, I’ll recite to you an excerpt from my book A Short Book of Proverbs.

FBI (apparently not sure whether to take JAK seriously or not but deciding, in the interest of professionalism and our National Security, to humor him): All right.

John Alejandro King (taking out a piece of paper from his pocket and reciting from it. Note: Readers should imagine John Alejandro King pronouncing the word ‘proverbs’ with a very exaggerated ‘r’ sound, thus adding to the comedy of the situation.):

A Short Book of Proverbs

John Alejandro King

Proverb One. A fool is he, who writes a lengthy book of proverbs. [Pause followed by laughter]

John Alejandro King: Actually, that’s pretty much everything in my book A Short Book of Proverbs. [Laughter]

FBI (obviously deciding to change the subject): How do you respond to accusations that much of your writing is pornographic?

John Alejandro King: I guess I would respond by asking the people making those accusations if they like pornography. [Laughter]

This subject does remind me of one other thing I want to say. A lot of people attack pornography on the grounds that it’s some kind of terrible social evil. Let me be honest with you; I’ve been to the video store and, yes, I’ve rented some pornographic videos and played them on my VCR at home. And frankly I don’t understand what the fuss is all about. In my opinion, if you want to discourage people from viewing pornography, just tell them the truth about how boring it is. I mean, over and over again, that same image of a thin white horizontal line against a dark background. What’s so exciting about that? [Pause followed by loud laughter] In fact, now that I think of it, those pornographic videos really weren’t much different from the other videos I’ve rented (which, by the way, really makes you think: Why are millions of people renting videos that consist of nothing but a thin white horizontal line against a dark background? My suspicion is that it’s just another example of corporate manipulation. The major multinationals take the same old plotless, mindless video, repackage it, and sell it over and over again to the poor exploited masses under the guise of ‘entertainment’). [Laughter] So the point is, why pick on pornography? It’s no different from anything else on video today. Thank you. [Laughter and scattered applause]

FBI: Do you think it’s appropriate for a CIA officer to joke about the Kennedy assassination?

John Alejandro King: I will never tell JFK jokes that I think are inappropriate. For example, if the following JFK joke is inappropriate, I absolutely will not tell it.

I asked my nephew who he wanted to be like.

He said "John F. Kennedy."

I said "Well, OK," then I went upstairs and got my rifle. [Laughter and several good-natured expressions of horror]

In general, though, I think the best way to respond to potentially offensive statements in my writing is to not be offended by them. [Chuckles and scattered laughter]

FBI: One more question before we take a break for lunch. Do you really believe, as you write in several of your books, that everything is funny?

John Alejandro King: You know how Will Rogers said "Everything is funny as long as it happens to somebody else?" Well, I believe everything is funny as long as it happens to me. [Chuckles]

By the way, speaking of lunch, do you guys have ‘burrito platters’ in the FBI cafeteria? The ‘burrito platters’ at the CIA Headquarters cafeteria are, well, something of an adventure.

FBI: I’m afraid I can’t comment on that, Mr. King. [Chuckles and warm applause. Both John Alejandro King and the FBI interrogators glance around the room one more time as if trying to figure out where the heck the laughter is coming from]

'You're under safe-house arrest, The Covert Comic!'

The following section consists of my impressions of these, the first two hours and six minutes of my imprisonment. I call these impressions of imprisonment Impressions of Imprisonment. It’s my ultimate aim to make this collection of prison impressions into a book (which book will in turn hopefully be made into an inspiring, award-winning feature-length film about the triumph of the human spirit, and which also will hopefully make me a lot of money. In my judgment, one possible way to make this book into a commercially successful film would be to have lots of boobs and explosions in it. I’d like to mention here and now, for the benefit of any film producers who might be reading this, that I intend to have a lot of boobs and explosions in the final draft of the following document).

Impressions of Imprisonment

John Alejandro King

Impression One

Four dark walls

A dark floor, and a dark ceiling

This place, like a jail cell

Which makes sense, when you think about it

Since it is a jail cell

My jail cell is like a body

And I’m the mind and soul inside it

And the door of my jail cell is sort of like my eyes

Which therefore are obviously closed, since the door is closed

Also, shouldn’t there be two doors in my jail cell?

You know, because I have two eyes, after all

Before I came into this jail cell I was a prisoner

But now that I’m in this jail cell I have truly been set free

Which just goes to show, by the way

That there’s something to be said for being a prisoner

Impression Two

(After attending an orientation meeting here at the jail with a professional counselor and several fellow inmates)

Being incarcerated does not mean I’m a failure

It just means that I am not currently successful in avoiding being incarcerated

Impression Three

Suppose you’re a CIA officer and you’re at home one Saturday afternoon when some FBI agents knock on your door with a search warrant. And suppose these FBI agents inform you that you’re being investigated for suspicion of unlawfully disseminating classified documents to unauthorized persons. Then suppose that when these FBI agents search your house they ask you what’s behind the locked door in your basement. And suppose that, while you’re standing there thinking of an answer, a huge purple tentacle reaches out from under the door and wraps like a vice around the ankles of these FBI agents, and they start screaming and shooting at it.

Now, at this point you might be tempted to ask "Is this piece of writing an impression, or is it a story?"

My reply is that, if it’s a story, and if it’s a true story, then by definition it’s probably classified, in which case I’m not allowed to say anything more about it, am I?

Impression Four

There was this boy who was transparent, and nobody would talk to him, just because he was transparent.

He used to say to people "Why is it that you won’t talk to me just because I’m transparent?"

But they never answered.

Oh, I almost forgot to mention that, in addition to being transparent the boy lived in a different dimension, so no one could hear his voice.

So really he was a victim of double discrimination.

Eventually, however, the boy learned to have pride in himself.

"I’m proud to be transparent!" the boy shouted, and did a quadruple somersault.

At least I assume this is what he said and did, although I didn’t actually see or hear it.

I mean, the kid was transparent and he lived in another dimension, OK?

Impression Five

Boredom

This is the great punisher of the human spirit

The true hell of imprisonment isn’t the loss of liberty

It’s boredom

That, and this incredibly lame food

I mean, baloney sandwiches and Kool-Aid

Are you kidding me?

Plus which, there’s a football game on TV

And they won’t let me out to watch it with the other inmates

Just because I happen to be in solitary confinement right now

I wonder

When my innocence is finally established

And the charges against me are dropped

Can I sue for having been forced to miss

Only the most important game

Of this young football season?

They say: He who laughs last, thinks slowest.

I say: How do you know he isn’t laughing first?

'Free our househusband The Covert Comic!'

If a Zen master tells you, "In order to truly learn Zen, you must forget everything you’ve been taught up to this moment," I think the best response is to quote a bunch of things you were taught in school. Then, when the Zen master says, "Didn’t I just tell you to forget everything you’ve been taught up to this moment?" you say, "You did? Oh, well I guess I forgot you taught me that."

If he's truly a Zen master, he’ll pronounce you a Zen master right there on the spot. Either that, or he won’t, in which case it’s very Zen masterful of you not to give a good goddamn one way or the other.

When I was a boy I read that famous quote by Baron Lytton "The pen is mightier than the sword." However, due to a misprint in the book this statement appeared as "The penis mightier than the sword." For years after this I went around with what can only be described as an unrealistic notion of the power of my male organ.

Thank God I never got into a fight with somebody who had a sword!

And yet, when you think about it, the true Penis is mightier than the sword. Indeed, the true Penis is mightier than nuclear weapons. All of which I’m sure you, of all people, Vagina, know quite well.

On an obviously related note, the famous writer Philip K. Dick (a great name for a writer, don’t you agree, Vagina?) writes "Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn’t go away."

Reality is that which, as soon as you start believing in it, goes away.

Recently I read a book that I requested from the jail library here (they have a list of books we inmates can choose from and have brought to our cellblocks). The book is written by the renowned social scientist Dr. Leo Buscaglia, and it’s called Hate. The more I read this book, the more I’m convinced there’s something wrong with the jail library’s version of it. To give you an example of what I’m talking about, here are some excerpts from Dr. Buscaglia’s book (or at least the version I have).

In the book’s dedication Dr. Buscaglia writes "This book is dedicated to all those who have helped me continue to grow in hate, and those who will help me tomorrow." A little later he writes "I don’t teach hate, of course, I simply facilitate growth in hate."

I can’t say why exactly, but I suspect there’s something not quite right here.

Consider another example from the text.

Buscaglia writes "Man needs to hate and be hated." "Each person has the potential for hate, but potential is never realized without work." "A total immersion in life offers the best classroom for learning to hate."

Once again, something in these passages seems inconsistent with what I would expect to read in a book of this kind.

And then there’s Dr. Buscaglia’s description of the way a child develops. Ordinarily I would probably be a little surprised to read the following statement.

"As a child grows, his world of hate is still limited, usually to his own family. He hates his father, his brothers, his sisters, but mostly he hates his mother."

And then there are these observations:

"To hate others, you must first hate yourself. The hater must think "I hate for the joy it gives me, but only incidentally for the joy it gives to others." "Hate has a need to be expressed physically."

Finally, in my version of Buscaglia’s book it says "If one wishes to be a hater he must start by saying ‘YES’ to hate..." "Endeavor to hate all people, even if you aren’t hated by them."

I simply can’t believe that the correct version of a book like this would include these sorts of statements. However, just what it is that’s wrong here I can’t say precisely.

At the end of the book, in the section entitled About the Author, it says:

"Leo Buscaglia, Ph.D., is Associate Professor of Education at the University of Southern California. Through his numerous lectures and appearances Dr. Buscaglia, a native Californian, is universally known and hated. Because of his awareness of life, Dr. Buscaglia developed a ‘hate’ course at USC. Hate is a result of interactions with students in his course. Dr. Buscaglia’s basic theory is that hate is learned and that everyone can and should learn to hate."

Is it possible that some sort of strange, perverted hoax is going on? Maybe you could examine a copy of this book in a public library or bookstore and tell me if it differs from the version I have. I’d appreciate it, Vaj.

'Whenever I'm lounging around the safe-house like this, I enjoy reading The Covert Comic.'

- A typical American homemaker

Corruption empowers, and absolute corruption empowers absolutely.

Last night I had what I think can only be called a prophetic dream. In the dream I was sitting here in my jail cell, in almost complete blackness, when suddenly I became aware of a brilliant Light (yes, the same Light I was talking about earlier in this letter) moving slowly toward my cell along the darkened jail corridor. As for how I was able to know that the Light was in the corridor moving toward my cell, I have no idea at present. Nor do I know the Light’s purpose, although something tells me that its purpose is somehow related to my being set free. In any case, I sure hope this is its purpose.

Although I can’t say why, I strongly suspect that I’ll have more dreams and/or visions regarding this Light as time goes by, and that the theme of light will come to play an increasingly important role in this letter of mine, possibly leading to some thrilling, philosophically profound climax. Like maybe from now on every time I dream about or have a vision of the Light moving up the corridor, it’ll be closer and closer to the door of my cell.

Why do I suspect this? Who knows? Can anyone say with certainty why they think something is going to take place? Call it an intuition about the future. All I know is that there are times in our lives when we really feel strongly that we know what’s going to happen, almost as if we ourselves were writing what’s going to happen, in a story, as it were.

'The Covert Comic must be guilty of something, otherwise why would the Government be mad at him?' - Brad Chico de Casa

One of the most famous excuses for refusing to accept something new is the claim that it’s 'eating my skin off.'

Do you recall, Vagina, the book I wrote called My Resume or Everything I Know about the CIA and Elvis? In particular, do you remember the chapter in that book called Dessert Wisdom? That chapter consists of several sayings by, and stories about, ancient middle eastern Christian monks (originally published in a book called Desert Wisdom), along with my commentary on those sayings and stories. I call that document of mine Dessert Wisdom because I consider my commentary to be a kind of delectable follow-up to the ‘main course’ (that is, the original sayings and stories).

In this spirit I hereby offer the second volume of Dessert Wisdom. You see, being here in jail has given me plenty of time to read, and to develop my own thoughts regarding, the wisdom of many of humanity’s great thinkers. This second volume of Dessert Wisdom consists of my commentary on some of the more famous quotes that I’ve read over the last several days.

Typically, it’s my hope that Dessert Wisdom can be made into a commercially successful film, though admittedly I haven’t yet figured out how this could be done (after all, it’s just a book of sayings and commentary. On the other hand, if it had enough boobs and explosions interlaced between the sayings and commentary, I’m confident that a successful film version of this book could in fact be made).

In any case, here goes.

Dessert Wisdom

Volume Two

John Alejandro King

1. Albert Einstein: The true value of a human being can be found in the degree to which he has attained liberation from the self.

Covert Comment: I attained liberation from my self recently. At first my self tried to talk me out of it. But I told my self "This is something I have to do. For me."

2. An anonymous near death experience survivor: The Light is real, and can be used to do good in the world.

Covert Comment: True. The Light can actually be used to perform helpful activity. All you need to do is visualize the Light, and then stop being an asshole.

3. Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon: The crowd is always in the wrong.

Covert Comment: Wouldn’t it be great if someone got a big crowd of people to chant this saying?

4. Traditional Eastern Saying: A painting of a rice cake does not satisfy hunger.

Covert Comment: Unless the painting is on rice paper.

5. George Bernard Shaw: When a thing is funny, search it carefully for a hidden truth.

Covert Comment: Although I’ve examined it minutely and often, I have yet to find any truth hidden in my mother-in-law’s wig.

6. Charles Schultz: Don't be afraid that the world will end today. It's already tomorrow in Australia.

Covert Comment: I’ve been calling Australia all morning, and there’s no answer.

7. Another anonymous near death experience survivor: Each person finds his or her way to the Light.

Covert Comment: It’s absolutely true that each person finds his or her way to the Light, although if you’re a jerk it might take you a little longer than other people. On the other hand, if you’re a major asshole, you might be only a few seconds from finding your way to the Light.

8. Maurice Chapelain: The final delusion is the belief that one has lost all delusions.

Covert Comment: Actually, the final delusion is the belief that the final delusion is the belief that one has lost all delusions. But this delusion doesn’t sound as good as the other one.

9. Shutaku: A single hair can stir the ocean.

Covert Comment: So just think what’ll happen if you put your whole head in the ocean and rapidly move it from side to side.

10. William Blake: The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Covert Comment: Unfortunately, before you reach the palace of wisdom you usually break down or run out of gas.

11. Charles Haddon Spurgeon: Learn to say no.

Covert Comment: No.

12. Satchel Paige: Don’t look back. Something may be gaining on you.

Covert Comment: Another reason not to look back: You may be gaining on something.

13. Albert Einstein: The important thing is never to stop questioning.

Covert Comment: Or is it?

14. Yet another anonymous near death experience survivor: The Light has a sense of humor.

Covert Comment: All things are made of the Light. Therefore the Light better have a sense of humor!

Someone once said "The greatest of evils and the worst of crimes is poverty." While this statement may be true, unfortunately our jails are far too overcrowded to hold all those poor people. So probably the best thing to do is let them off with a large fine.

Yes, Vagina, there is a Santa Claus (I figured I had to say that at some point in this letter). Or at least, there’s a public advocate who apparently is going to be assigned to handle my case. I’ll send you more details as I obtain them. In the meantime, here’s an interesting, and perhaps even slightly bulbous, set of reflections:

Just why is a thing funny, anyway?

For example, the other day I saw the universe walking down the street, when suddenly the universe slipped on a banana peel and fell to the ground with an audible plop. And yes, I have to admit that, against all my more noble ideals pertaining to compassion and respect for the dignity of others, when the universe slipped on a banana peel and went sprawling, I laughed. Nay, to be frank about it, I even chortled a little.

The point is, what was happening here? Why is it funny when the universe slips on a banana peel?

And then there’s the problem of evil.

I mean, why does the thought of millions of people suffering horribly make us chuckle so?

It’s all so terribly confusing!

Additionally, why is it that government organizations typically have such a terrible sense of humor? For instance, you know those jokes I used to tell about everyone at CIA being Satan worshippers? Well! You’d think I had accused them of spying for an enemy country or something. In fact, to this day I’ve been denied access to certain classified files …

It all reminds me of the following very interesting truth I discovered recently.

You know how in theoretical physics there’s a principle called the Law of the Conservation of Energy? Of course you do. Well, hard as it may be to believe, there just happens to be a similar (indeed, almost certainly related) principle in comedy. I discovered this principle while having an FBI officer threaten to get me convicted of a felony whether I was guilty or not. I call this principle the Law of the Conservation of Comedy. The principle is stated thus:

The Law of the Conservation of Comedy

You can be very funny some of the time, or you can be somewhat funny a lot of the time, but whatever you do, please don’t step on my penis. My penis and I are very close. Thank you.

From this Law of the Conservation of Comedy many important theoretical results can be proven regarding the true nature of the cosmos and our place in it. Indeed, I don’t consider it an exaggeration to state that everything that has ever happened, is happening, or that ever will happen, follows necessarily from, and is in fact a manifestation of, the Law of the Conservation of Comedy.

For example, I think the following completely factual anecdote is definitely an example of the truth of the Law of the Conservation of Comedy.

The Great Altamont Orange War

When I was a kid my father (who has Spanish blood) took me to Altamont Speedway in California to see a free concert featuring the Rolling Stones. I won’t bore you with all the details of what I saw at that amazing, legendary event (the Jefferson Airplane, Santana, and some group called the Flying Burrito Brothers were also there. Additionally, at least one guy who weighed about four hundred pounds decided to take all his clothes off in full view of everyone, at which point he was soundly thrashed by the Hell’s Angels who, interestingly, had been hired to provide 'security' for the event. A lot of other fascinating stuff happened at that concert, and though only a kid I was fairly close to the stage and therefore witnessed quite a bit of it).

Like I said, I won’t bore you with details. I would, however, like to share the story of one great event from that wondrous and historic day.

I tend to think it was around one o’clock in the afternoon (though it easily could have been earlier or later than that). During one of the many endless delays between musical acts somebody sitting on one gently rolling hill packed with tens of thousands of people threw an orange at another gently rolling hill packed with tens of thousands of people (on this second hill your humble intelligence officer JAK happened to be seated, although I wasn’t an intelligence officer at that time, of course. At least I assume I wasn’t, though you never know, do you?).

Now, given that there were about three hundred thousand people at the concert that day, several of whom were on drugs, it wasn’t like there hadn’t already been a fairly large number of oranges, apples, Frisbees, rocks, girlfriends, and additional items thrown from one hill to another. However, after that particular orange landed I saw an orange from the hill I was sitting on sail through the sky and land on the hill opposite us. After this a second, and quickly a third and fourth, orange were launched at our hill from the opposite side. The response from our hill was several more oranges being launched in the other direction.

Sometimes things happen... But why bother with lengthy preliminaries? Suffice to say that this was one of those times.

You see, even as the approximately one hundred thousand people on the two hills were more or less simultaneously coming to the realization that several people were throwing oranges at each other, some anonymous person on the hill opposite ours threw a huge grapefruit high into the air. An extremely tall hippie rose to his feet on our side (maybe five meters away from me) intending to catch this grapefruit. With one hundred thousand people just happening to notice him at that fateful instant, the towering hippie extended his long, hip arms enthusiastically to catch it, at which point the grapefruit hurtled down into his outstretched hands and exploded all over his face.

Neither I, John Alejandro King, nor (I dare say) any other human writer could accurately describe the sound that a hundred thousand people made on seeing that monstrous grapefruit disintegrate all over that large hippie. Therefore, I won’t even try.

A great intelligence officer once said that you can’t stop an idea whose time has come. At that very moment, at approximately one o’clock in the afternoon at Altamont Speedway in California at some time in the second half of the twentieth century CE, one hundred thousand people suddenly got the idea that, whatever else might be true about the cosmos and our place in it, they should throw fruit. Consequently, for about half a minute the sky was orange, yellow, and green with fruit and the earth-shaking, ear-splitting roar of a hundred thousand people enjoying themselves immensely.

Quickly, of course, the fruit ran out, after which the roar subsided. Then I imagine that maybe some people regretted having thrown their lunch at a hill. On the other hand, following the Great Altamont Orange War there was so much fruit lying around that it’s hard for me to believe whoever wanted an orange couldn’t have gotten one. I mean, I got three!

Like I said, a lot of other interesting things happened at the infamous Altamont free concert, all of which I’ll be happy to relate to you, Vajee, assuming I get out of this jail soon or, alternatively, assuming I remain incarcerated for many more years (in which case of course I’ll have plenty of time and motivation to reminisce about these and other interesting events in my life).

The point of this story? Well, one idea I think for sure follows from this tale is: If you go to a free concert in California thirty years ago and you’re tempted to throw fruit, take a moment to consider the possible consequences. Also, if you go to that particular free concert, don’t take your clothes off in front of a bunch of Hell’s Angels, especially if you weigh about four hundred pounds.

Thanks for all your support, America!

- The Covert Comic, clandestinely broadcasting from the Big House

Sex For Fun

John Alejandro King

Man he jerks from sun to sun

And woman's jerking's never done

Listen daughter, listen son

There's no such thing as sex for fun

They'll sex you for a wedding ring

They'll sex you for a song to sing

They'll sex you for a coke and rum

But there's no such thing as sex for fun

They’ll sex you ‘cause they think you’re zealous

They’ll sex you to make their girlfriend jealous

They'll sex you just to make a pun

But there’s no such thing as sex for fun

They'll sex you for a credit card

They'll sex you if you clean the yard

She'll wear that girl-scout outfit, 'hon

But there's no such thing as sex for fun

They act as if it's gonna kill them

They act as if you're trying to bill them

Want my advice? Bill by the ton

There's no such thing as sex for fun

They’ll sex you ‘cause they feel rejected

They’ll sex you ‘cause they’ve been infected

But sex for pleasure – it isn’t done

There's no such thing as sex for fun

They'll stroke you 'cause they think they should

But not because it feels good

It's none for all, and all for nuns

There's no such thing as sex for fun

They're happy if you're on your knees

But not for their own loins to please

They've got this bet they think they've won

There's no such thing as sex for fun

You hear the old and gray all vow:

'If I knew then what I know now …

The smallest little kiss I'd shun

There's no such thing as sex for fun'

You creep along that shadow street

A kindred soul in hopes to meet

Better you should fellate a gun

Than dream you can have sex for fun

For when at last you find your mate

You'll soon prefer to masturbate

And if your mate begs you for some

You'll say 'There ain't no sex for fun'

So take your pleasures where you get 'em

But as for carnal joys, forget 'em

Save it up for kingdom come

There's no such thing as sex for fun

For man he jerks from sun to sun

And woman's jerking's never done

Listen daughter, listen son

There's no such thing as sex for fun

'Oh dear God, it's homeboy.'

I could go on and on with this letter, and I know you wouldn’t mind reading more (you’ve always been good about reading my writing, Vagina), but at this point I think it’s appropriate to move on to the specifics regarding my arrest and incarceration.

About two months ago I began selling copies of my books and placing small advertisements in various periodicals and internet sites around the universe. Soon after this I started noticing people following me, taking pictures, standing outside my townhouse, driving behind me when I and my family were in our car, checking through my garbage, etc. Of course these were FBI agents, though at the time I thought they were paparazzi.

So on that fateful day when several of these beings knocked on my door with documents and various sorts of electronic equipment in their hands, I assumed they wanted me to pose for photographs and give recorded interviews. Or perhaps, I thought, these were important men and women from Hollywood, coming to offer me lucrative contracts to make my writings into action-packed feature length films.

I won’t bore you with the details of my being taken into custody, or what the FBI officers said when I asked them (in a totally friendly way, I might add) how they knew I was really John Alejandro King and not a clone of me. Nor will I bore you with the details of my arraignment, or the judge’s reaction when I asked him (again in a totally friendly, non-contentious manner) how he knew he was really himself and not a clone.

And so, dear Vagina, that’s the story of how your friend John Alejandro King, a.k.a. The Covert Comic, came to find himself in this jail cell, charged with committing a ‘felony relating to intelligence.’ It reminds me of that passage in Philippians 1, 9 in which Paul says:

And this is my prayer: that your love may increase ever more and more in knowledge and every kind of perception.

Paul knew well, of course, that to increase ever more and more in love, knowledge, and perception is to increasingly move toward everything. And to increasingly move toward everything is to become one with the Light.

And of course, Paul got arrested.

Incidentally, although I’m not certain about this I think there’s an obscure passage from Paul somewhere in the Gospel (I think he wrote it while in prison) in which he says, in effect:

Everything is funny as long as it happens.

But if there’s no such passage in the Gospel, I hereby propose that this passage be added to the Gospel, right after the Book of Revelation, as sort of a final follow-up revelation from God. It should probably be added to the holy books of other faiths also. Hey, maybe you could go over to the church in your parish and ask one of the priests there about possibly contacting Rome to propose the addition of this statement to the Bible. I’m confident the Vatican will be receptive to such an idea at this time.

In the dark of my jail cell, on my hands and knees, I approach the door of my cell and, through the tiny, otherwise imperceptible cracks, I see in the hallway outside an unmistakable glow. It grows bigger and bigger. The Light is coming for me, I know it.

CIA, CIA, why have you forsaken me?

CIA, so much about you is mysterious and unyielding. Yet I have understood you, oh CIA. I have plunged your depths. Indeed, in bringing your truth to light, and the Light to your truth, have I not written you, oh CIA?

But not my will, your will, CIA.

Can’t you see, CIA, that I am your true son? Yes! And only I can save you, CIA! For the one whom you wrongly exile for allegedly telling your secrets is, in truth, disclosing every secret to you.

CIA, CIA, everything about you is secretive, yet everything about you is known to everyone. You know all things, CIA, yet for this reason you know nothing.

What’s the matter, CIA? Why do you look at me like that? Haven’t you seen a man naked before? But I have clothed you, oh CIA, in my clothing, which is the Light of infinite love and truth.

The dark of my cell is shattered. The door is opened, the Light floods in. My Advocate stands in the Light, brilliant before my gaze. I am blinded, and see everything. I see everything, and am thus blind.

Behold, the writ is read; my sentence is written. I am free at last.

Postscript: Dear Vagina, by now I’m sure you’ve heard about what happened to me at the jail, about how the guards opened my cell to take me to meet with a public defender to discuss a pretrial motion, when suddenly a "giant hand of light" (as the Washington Post and other major media have described it) reached down and somehow lifted me through the ceiling of my jail cell (without my feeling any sensation of passing through solid matter, I might add).

And I’m sure you’ve noticed me striding across the skyline of Earth at sunset, shining brilliantly and telling all sorts of jokes, trying my level best to do whatever I can to reassure everyone (remember, I didn’t ask to be turned into a giant being of light).

Regarding this letter, please read it with an open mind (as you always do, my dear Vagina). Also, please do me a major favor and send copies of this letter to as many book publishers as possible. Although no companies have been willing to publish any of my written works thus far, I’m hoping the fact that I’ve been turned into a gigantic apparition visible from space might make them willing to give my manuscripts serious consideration.

By the way, please mention in your cover letter to these book publishers that, in addition to having been transformed into a planet-sized being of light, I’m also a CIA employee with top secret security clearances. I’m betting that if the part about my becoming infinite love and truth isn’t enough, then the fact that I’m a CIA officer might convince at least one of these companies to actually look at my manuscripts for the first time.

Recognizing that it’s getting late in this letter and that it really needs to begin moving along toward a conclusion, I hope you won’t mind, Vaj, if I nevertheless take this opportunity to share (in the spirit of my earlier Impressions of Imprisonment) some of my impressions of these, the first three days of my having been transformed into a giant being of Light. I call this collection of impressions Impressions of Having Been Transformed into a Giant Being of Light. In the very likely case that publishing companies consider this title a little too 'wordy,' I hereby state for the record that I’m willing to change the title to Being the Light: A Covert CIA Officer’s Story.

Impressions of Having Been Transformed into a Giant Being of Light

Being the Light:

A Covert CIA Officer’s Story

John Alejandro King

Impression One

The Light said: I am in you. You are in me. We are one

And I said to the Light: I knew you were going to say that

Impression Two

The Light said: To accurately describe the Light, one must write an infinite number of pages, or nothing whatsoever

And I said to the Light: I think I prefer the second choice

And the Light said: I knew you were going to say that

And I said to the Light: I know

Well, Vagina, I guess this is as good a place as any to end this letter. One last quick request: Could you do me a favor and check your soul to see if any letters have been forwarded to me there (from literary agents, film producers, etc.)? Ordinarily, of course, I would receive mail at my townhouse or at the jail; for obvious reasons, however, this is no longer possible.

I hope to be seeing you soon! (Actually, of course, I can already see you right now. And by the way, though in one sense it’s none of my business, I wonder if you should really be using that particular brand of gel.)

Don’t forget, please send this letter of mine to as many literary agents and film producers as possible, OK Vagina?

Thanks!

All my Light,

John

The Covert Comic.

Don't Not Try This At Home.