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David John Taylor

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B3 Summit Conspiracy
by David John Taylor   
Not "rated" by the Author.
Last edited: Sunday, August 02, 2009
Posted: Saturday, August 01, 2009

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Everything you saw was a lie!

The B3 ‘Beer Fest’ Summit footage, shown on all American networks and cable networks was, in fact, a complete fabrication with everything from computer animation to green screen technology employed. Vice President Biden was not even there. He thinks he was, but this is the man who goes to a diner that’s been closed for years to get feedback from his constituency.  The actual B3 was not even in the Rose Garden, but in the White House kitchen. No cameras were present, but there was a recorder, and here is the only transcript of the event.

President Obama: Well guys, gentlemen, thank you for finding time in your busy schedules to come together, with me here today, with no more of an agenda but to kill a few soldiers and let bygones be bygones.

Professor Gates: Soldier killing!?!? Finally something I can get behind!

PO: (Coughing a laugh) I am of course referring to the old college allusion to drinking beer from the bottle, and stacking them up.


GATES: I knew that.

PO: So please gentlemen, take a seat. What say you, Sergeant Crowley?

CROWLEY: (grunt) Beer.

PO: Yes! Beer! As you can see, there is a cooler brimming with ice and a six-pack of you favorite beverage strategically positioned next to your chair.

GATES: A six pack? I thought you said a beer.

PO: Well, yes, Henry, but you buy beer by the six pack, or the case …

GATES:  I was just thinking, you know, a beer.

PO: … or keg, half-keg, quarter -- Well, ha-ha, professor, make it one beer, by all means. This isn’t a drinking competition, after all. So, I’m just gonna pop my brewski here …


PO: …I did preface my comment by saying that I did not have all the facts.

GATES: Precisely my point. What better time to express your opinion than before you’re side-tracked.

PO: So, ah, James, how’s that Blue Moon?

CROWLEY: (grunt) Good beer.

PO: Y’know, I don’t believe I’ve ever had a Blue Moon, or if I have – Oh.


PO: Why, don’t mind if I do. Here, take one of my Bud Lights, just t’keep the balance of nature and justice on our side. Don’t wanna tilt the table too much my way (Hahaha).  I did take pause when I realized we’d each be sitting here, each consuming our own beer, potentially perceived, symbolically-wise, alienated from one another even as we shared the same table. Professor, would you like to try a Blue Moon?

GATES: And trade off one of my Red Stripes? I think not.”

PO: Yes, but like I just said …

GATES: Red Stripe is from Jamaica, did you know that, Sergeant Crowley? That’s islands, populated by people of color, black people. Black people make this beer, and black people drink this beer. This is a People’s Beer. Blue Moon, what the hell is that, Blue Moon. Craft Beer. A bunch of pretentious cracker bourgeois making some pompous motions as if they were creating fine French wine. Probably wearing lederhose listening to Rush Limbaugh and Glenn Beck sing ‘Deutschland Uber Alles’.

PO: (Laughing gaily) Well, that paints a picture.

CROWLEY: Thought you switched t’Sam Adams Light.

GATES: Damn Boston press, like I’m gonna drink some honky revolutionary wanna-be. Tell ‘em what they wanna hear, do what y’damn well please. Right Barry?

                                    AFTER 2ND BEER

GATES: That’s right, Sergeant. ZOG. Zionist Occupational Government. Police Centurions, KKK in blue, oppressing the peoples in the name of their Jew masters, serving the Man and inflicting White America’s law, from the president on down, upon the working people struggling for the Revolution.

PO: Y’Know, Henry, while I empathize with your spirit, I have to point out that the People, white as well as everyone else, elected a Black man president. I’m the president now, so Sergeant Crowley here now enforces my law, our law.”

GATES: That’s right, Barry, or should I start calling you ‘Tom’?

PO: Sooo, James, this Blue Moon is tasty, tasty beer. Full bodied, spicy as well as bitter.

CROWLEY: Grunt. Taste the orange? I guess I’d forgotten how good Bud Light is, though. Better’n Bud regular, if y’ask me.

PO: Where’s Blue Moon from?

CROWLEY: Colorado, I guess. Coors makes it.

PO: Sh, not so loud. Non-Union. Damn.

                                     AFTER 3RD BEER

GATES: You white cracker peckerwoods, you try to dominate, you try your deceits, but you can’t dominate, you’ll always come up short. you wanna see why?

Grinding sliding noises.

PO: Professor, don’t.

Zipping noise.

PO: Oh, Dear God.

GATES: That’s right, Honky. It’s true . See it and weep, you can’t compete. What say you now, Crowley?


CROWLEY: (sigh) Oh please mighty Black man, don’t take my women from me.

GATES: That’s right, beg, honky, and when we’re done with your women, we might just come back for you!

PO: Dear Lord God, The Prophet Mohammed and Elija Moses, let this moment pass.

GATES: C’mon Barry, drop trou and show this cracker I’m not a fluke of nature!

                                AFTER 4TH BEER

PO&GATES singing ‘We Shall Overcome’

PO: C’mon, Sarge, you know the words.


GATES: Oh, now, Barry. Why you wanna embarrass th’ poor cracker. You know white people can’t sing. (Voice becoming blubbery) Poor dumb hybrids, bred f’r nothin’ but rowing Egyptian royalty up th’Nile. Good f’nothin’ now.  But, y’know, Crowley, there’s good crackers, and there’s bad crackers, and I think you’re a good cracker, y’know that? Y’know what I mean?”


Grinding chair legs


GATES: I love you, man!

PO: Now, isn’t that heart-warming. The races coming together, in peace and harmony.

GATES: (bordering on tears) An’ I’m gonna make sure that when th’time comes, Barry’ll put you on a reservation where you can live out th’rest of your life, an’ never bring harm t’others again, an’ no harm come t’you, much as you might deserve it.”


PO: What I’m sure the professor means is that the races can and will, find the common ground where we can all celebrate the birth and growth of social justice, even in America. Isn’t that right, Henry.

GATES: (speech slurred) No sir, no Kool-Aid f’you. Sterilization, but not just whacked off…

PO: This is a critical moment, Henry. I need you to step up, and bridge over without loss of your dignity and pride, and recognize Crowley as a fellow human being, hybrid abstract aside, and see that collective foundation, which we all share.

GATES:  Inaudible

CROWLEY: Um, Mister President?

PO: Ah – Oh! Ease him to the – yes. Is he breathing?

CROWLEY:  – Yes. Pulse, breath. Yeah, he’s fine, but I think we better get him over on his stomach. (Grunt) Throws up, we don’t want him choking on his vomit.

PO: Yes, good thinking! Guess you have some practice with this, in the field and (laugh) Christmas parties, Irish cop-wise and all.


PO: I guess its true what they say.


PO: Well that academians are light-weights, alcohol consumption-wise.


PO: Good to have a cop around, especially when you’ve ordered the Secret Service out of the room for the duration. Yes, crisis averted, or addressed. But you know what my man Rom Emanuel says about a crisis.”


PO: Never let a good crisis go to waste. Case in point: The good professor drank four of his six Red Stripes, Leaving two. Indeed we have all consumed four beers, which means each of us would then be down to two beers, but clearly Henry will not be drinking any more of his two remaining Red Stripes, which means, each of us could potentially have three, not two, beers yet to consume if we so chose, and one of them would be this Red Stripe that the professor bogarted.

Pause. The sound of a bottle popping.

PO: Why, don’t mind if I do.

The sound of another bottle popping, glass clinking. Glugging noises.

PO: Man, that’s boring.


PO: I mean, first blush, after four other beers, this is bland, tasteless water.

CROWLEY: Grunt. Beer.

PO: I’m not arguing that, I’m gonna finish it, but I’ll be glad t’get back to the Bud. Hey, if we polish these off, I can get one of the Secret Service guys t’sneak into the living quarters and score this great Irish whiskey Ted Kennedy gave me.

CROWLEY: Grunt. Not much for the hard stuff.

PO: Aw come on, Jim, don’t be difficult. Conform to stereotype.




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