Let the Dead Bury the Dead: A DC Madam account

by Matthew Janovic

DC Madam on National Security Priapicy

John Young, Cryptome

Pierre Charles L'Enfant, viewing the swamp to plop a nascent capital into, pronounced the aspect, Merde! So it has remained, a putrid concatenation of corruption, bribery, evil doing, warmaking, and above all a whore's nest peopled by buzzing nests of spies, chicanerers, preeners, liars, cheats, promoters, shills, shallow news fabricators, commingling juices of avarice, greed, ambition and lechery. Celebrating this grand tradition of screwing the American people, here's an account of the DC Madam, following a long history from servicing L'Enfant's crew of mudruckers to Bill Clinton's serial pantry unburdening of The Presidency boredom.

Nobody in DC knows the swamp better than the pleasure-giving exploiters of national security, the highest art in the national capitol and capitals worldwide. No pleasure giving exceeds the stupendous waste of public resources, the building of pleasuring palaces surrounding the bloated architecture of power concentrations avidly inflating gargantuan budgets for incomprehensibly harmful programs.

Let the Dead Bury the Dead lays out the obscene wretchedness of DC underlying its fools gold pretense of public service, grandiloquent illusory "public service" which becomes a sexual urge requiring satisfaction by those seeking government largesse who purchase DC Madam's attentive partners to assure vendors are well treated by contract officers.

National security contracting, the family jewels of nationalism, might be now called the Presidential priapic idiocy, the psychotic behavior of those believing themselves to be above ordinary citizens, imagine the offices they hold temporarily are their very own to use for their satisfction unaccountable to anyone, cloaked in topmost secrecy. So they inevitably pleasure themselves to inevitable failure where no amount of spin can save their asses, well, except for the graces of speaker bureaus, do-good for themselves foundations and service on boards of national security corporations they once granted secret contracts to.

Journalists, investigators, NGOs and a gaggle of muckracking mercenaries have become well to do digging into the thick midden of DC garbage, careful to avoid reporting what would cause a downturn in venality and opportunism they themselves enjoy, celebrated in vulgar excess in gatherings where DC Madam fingers, so to speak, most of her procurers and customers. Faux investigations by government, the press and NGOs, consulting one another on how to shape stories that will appeal to consumers but not repulse their obedience to pay cruel taxes, donate generously to specious causes, and buy lascivious news. DC sexual scandal reporting is measured to not overload pornographic capacities of citizens and readers (fortuitously skyrocketing thanks to the Internet). It is here that this account pushes the limit of what families can arouse themselves with to endure toiling for 1/3 of their income as taxes to support official extortion of siphoning the many to enrich the few.

Lobbyists and the press are prime procurers for DC Madam but not to be overlooked are the NGOs which provide tax write-offs for the customers of the lobbyists and media. They are in the DC Madem beds together, the perfect cliche for these sleazy cooperators and faciilitators of personal pleasuring for exqusite profit and even more forbiddenly undercovers, non-profit. Saint Augusting Confessions of capacious sinning before capitalizing on it by recanting, bragging, in private and public is the model for playing along to get along, the DC insider sado-masocbism propounded to be obligatory for success in Georgetown townhouses and outlying ambassadorial piles where pansexual, full spectrum dominance for all tastes, parties take place without end to sanitize secrets of killing and maiming with highest technology.

Nothing in this DC Madam sordidity surpasses the conceit that the press deserves constitutional protection in order to counter the power of government, not when media is seduced in private briefing sessions on national secrets, when the press consults officials on what is permissable to publish "without harming national security" as all too often confessed to assure the public government, business and NGOs syncopate their offerings. The Snowden releases publishers just the most recent to proclaim they play the national security insider game with relish and profits.

Best selling and career building of the list for pleasurably squalid transfer of citizen's hard-earned income to concentrated wealth is sacred bestiality, national security, and the greatest detumescent fear inside the Beltway is the cessation of war spying, planning, invention, manufacturing and making during which there are no limits to priapic greed in the isolated nationalistic deviancy interest. This account candidly and extensively peepholes what the DC press will not publish (in particular will not publish about its participation in orgies of diverse persuasion). Press boredom is no less priapic than that of The Presidency displayed brazenly in the odious White House Correspondents Dinner.

Pervading the DC Madam story, one of the few told among many untold, is the pleasurable largesse of national security so crucial to DC bed and toilet-rucking it cannot be allowed to fail, thus spake recently Barack Obama to West Point cadets of the unending threat to the war-bestiality economy, the terror of going cold turkey on sexual addiction to national security thrill of horrific warmaking from comfortable salons floating on the surface of DC cesspool.

Read this marvelous account of what no DC officeholder, bureaucrat or servicemember will neither confirm nor deny, the Glomar whisper of, yes, its all true but must be suppressed to protect the priapicy of sexually-obsessed national leadership aroused to Augustinian confessions of secrets to professional pillow talkers.