He was talking and talking, but none of it made much sense to me. Something about the will and his dead mother and probate and the estate and then he was off onto God and the desert and the funeral and the first miracle of water and wine and over head a helicopter said, “badadadada badadada badadada” as it chopped the air and he was yelling over it at me and I hadn’t even had my second cup of coffee yet and then I could see Willoughby shut his window on the second floor. Nobody could stand Clark’s noise, but Clark.
“The Military,” he said. “Has been taken over by the last remaining branch of the Hitler’s S.S., who are it this very moment in the desert building an arena for the Ascension, like in Close Encounters of the Third kind? You think that’s an accident? Hell no. Spielberg is one of them…”
“Spielberg is one of the last remaining members of Hitler’s S.S.?”
“No, of course not… One of THEM.”
“A Jew?”
“No. Boy are you ignorant. Religion is a code and smoke screen… NO, he’s an Alien. One of THEM. Raiders of the Lost Arc? E.T.? You think that’s a Coincidence?”
And the helicopter was louder now and it said,”BADADADA BADADADA BADADADA!” and It fealt like a hammer hitting my head.
“Don’t you ever breath,” I yelled over the noise when the helicopter zoomed off and I finished the “breath” in the insant of quiet.
“Breath? Of course I breath,” he said. “I don’t want to die….
…Not before the truth comes out. It’s going to be fascinating. You don’t believe me?…Listen.”
Then he was talking again and then the helicopter was back and it said,