In fact, though only referenced once by name in the book, the appointment of Cofer Black to the same board just weeks after Trump's inauguration, suggests more covert shenanigans afoot. Black, GW Bush's CIA Counterintelligence chief, who was famously ignored when he warned of an impending terrorist attack on the US, and, after a somehow well-deserved promotion, later said he would chase the 9/11 terrorists down until 'flies were ice-skating across eyeballs and heads were on pikes,' like at the Rockefeller Center at Christmas time, would seem to bring the Company to the company. Nobody says F*ck You, Putin, like Cofer Black. Why, with his associations with Blackwater (he helped found them), the soldiers of fortune guys, we can expect border clashes ahead. Burisma might just turn out to be another Air America. Who knows? Drew-channeling-Hunter doesn't say. There's no mention of any conversations between the two board members. You'd have thunk they'd have said Hello or something. (Was Cofer there at that Norwegian fjord "Hunter" mentions, when the board met under the midnight sun?) We're told Hunter was all about Ukrainian corruption, but what was Cofer doing? I'll bet he was no slouch on the way to Bethlehem either. The chapter begins with the self-referential nah-nah sentence, "It contains no clandestine, cloak-and-dagger, international hocus-pocus," but you've got to wonder. There's a lot of hocus-pocus going on right now.
Probably the goddamnest thing Drew the Hunter avers in the chapter, aside from how wistfully he repeatedly remembers his dead brother Beau (remember how well Ted Kennedy worked the empathy angle -- until Mary Jo went off the Tallahatchee Bridge and the character assassins came out of hiding? "Not another one!" some yelled), is how horrible, just horrible, the job was for his life. There was never a more horrible job than Burisma. Why did they go and give him at least $50,000 per month, after a steady diet of orts and bones? It was like the lines from that Dylan song, "You'll find out when you reach the top /You're on the bottom." Sweet Jesus he hit the dumps when he hit the jackpot. Listen to this drivel:
Burisma turned into a major enabler during my steepest skid into addiction. While its robust compensation initially gave me more time and resources to look after my brother, it played to the worst aspects of my addictive impulses after his death... But by that mad, bad end, the board fee had morphed into a wicked sort of funny money. It hounded me to spend recklessly, dangerously, destructively. Humiliatingly. So I did.
Someone just shoot me. Five fuckin years of boozing (5 years x $600,000 per annum). Ray Milland, you're dismissed; we've got a new shaky sheriff in the tavern.
Let Glenn Greenwald chase down this story. F*ck it: I've got sonnets to write. And besides the false narratives of government are Greenwald's bailiwick. He knows they're full of sh*t in ways I'll never understand. I reckon the last nah-nah will belong to him, and then they'll be sorry they teased and taunted the skeptical. Personally, I give the Bidens until August before the proverbial sh*t begins to hit the fan.
Overall, the memoir is, like so much going on with information these days, a false front, an attempt, in this case, to buffer Joe ahead of time for what he must know will be a Republican onslaught ahead. The fight for control of the means of production for the Truth or, as Turd Blossom put it, Reality-based Thinking, continues inexorably. Call it Ciaramella's Revenge.
By the way, an excellent short film production of Bukowski's "Nirvana" can be viewed at Vimeo. Check it out, snowflake.
(Article changed on Apr 15, 2021 at 9:14 PM EDT)
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