Creative Writing Paper: Strom Thurmond's Body Must Be Destroyed

 Back in 2001 I took a college creative writing class.  I was in my Dr. Hunter S. Thompson phase at the time, and wrote this short story in the vein of Dr. Thompson.  I was quite happy with my writing.  I was thinking about it the other day, and realized that I never got around to posting it.

I've had my blog for coming up on twelve years now, and I can't believe that I never even thought of posting it until now.  My blog is for all things that come in and out of my head, and this story is directly from my head.  But the good news, is that, I am now posting this.  I hope you enjoy.

And for those high school/college students who are thinking of ripping off my story for their creative writing class... Don't do it.  This will easily show up in Google search.  Besides, this story is about 20 years out of date.


Strom Thurmond's Body Must be Destroyed


"Break out the guns and neutron bombs!" I declared as I broke into my lawyer's office. "It's an emergency!" I made a mad dash for the secretary's desk, and grabbed a hold of Jean. "Jean, didn't you hear me? I need to see Jack right away. It's an emergency I tell you!"

"Mr. Steele, please, you're going to have to calm down," she said. "Besides you know you need an appointment. We've been through this before."

Damn secretaries, they always think they know everything. I never met one I liked. Especially Jean, she was the ultimate bitch. She looked and acted like an angry librarian gone dyke. I knew I needed an appointment, and she knew I needed an appointment. Why then, did she even bother telling me something that we both knew anyway? I wish I knew what her problem was. However, since I knew, that me knowing what her problem was wouldn't help either of us, I decided to drop it.

"Damn it woman! I need to see Jack pronto! Our very lives are at risk!" I shouted. Looking very perturbed in her wire rimmed glasses, she said,

"Mr. Bourgois is busy right now, you just can't barge in here and demand to see him without an appointment."

Obviously this woman didn't realize, or didn't care about the danger we all were in. I had to put up with this type of attitude all the time, she was no different.

"Jean, if you don't let me in to see Jack right now, you leave me no choice but to strip naked and run through the lobby. Come on woman, what's the point of having a lawyer on retainer if I can't barge in and talk to him?" I asked.

"You know that's not the issue Mr. Steele," she replied. "You are in here three or four times a week, and twice on Tuesdays. You know Mr. Bourgois has other clients he has to meet with."

I think she was trying to use some sort of reverse logic on me. Too bad for her it wasn't going to work.

"Ok," I casually replied. "I understand." I was down to my boxers before she finally broke down and called Jack on the speaker phone. She was unhappy, but she'd get over it.

"Mr. Bourgois, I am sorry to interrupt your meeting, but Mr. Steele is here, and he is in one of his moods... again."

Out of the speaker phone I heard Jack's voice.

"No problem Jean. Mr. Martinez and I have finished. Send Raymond up." Jean glanced up looking slightly afflicted,

"Mr. Bourgois will see you now. I'm sure you know the way."

After putting my clothes back in order, I raced up the stairs into Jack's office only to find Jack, and some well dressed Cuban guy speaking to one another. If this was "Mr. Martinez," why was he still here? More importantly, what did he want?

"Ray, come on in," said Jack. "I want you to meet a friend of mine, Mr. Robert Martinez of the Law Firm Martinez and Fernandez. He works in this building as well, on the seventeenth floor."

At this point I had bigger things to worry about, than Jack trying to get in good with one of the cites most powerful lawyers. The fate of the world was at stake.

"Yes, hello Bob, have we met? Oh, you were just leaving right. Ok, see you soon, bye." This was no time for niceties. Sometimes you have to help people help themselves by giving them a shift kick in the shins. I used to play rugby, and I can kick hard.

"We'll talk tomorrow around ten," Jack said to Bob as he quickly walked him to the door. Bob looked as if he were stuck in a black hole and didn't realize it yet, but Jack knew what was important.

Jack closed and locked the door behind him to make sure our private conversation would stay between me, him, and the goldfish. It took me a while to break him into the habit of locking all three locks on the door, in fact, I'm the one who put them there. I consider it a good investment. We didn't need any anyone on the outside meddling in our conversation.

"Ray, have a seat," he said shaking my hand. "What can I do for you today?" he said as he leaned back in his huge leather cow skin chair smiling a wide grin.

He was in one of his "smiley" moods. I hated it when he was like this. He was always so much more ineffective like this.

"Damn it Jack, there's no time for niceties!" I yelled, as I never even bothered to sit down. "We have a crisis on our hands!"

"Actually Ray," he said, as he put his feet up on his mahogany desk. "I need to know before we start if you are on any type of drugs."

I couldn't believe he said that to me.

"Hey, you know I don't do illegal drugs anymore. I've found the legal ones are much better," I replied.

"Honestly, please tell me what you are on right now so I know how serious to take this," sighed Jack.

Jack was a good lawyer, but I found his lack of faith most discouraging. However, Jack was always honest with me, so I tried to be honest with him, or at least as honest as one could be with a lawyer.

"I had two Xanax, one hallicon, a shot of blackjack, and some herbal tea. Overall, a light morning. You know, you really should have a full body cavity search performed on your secretary," I informed him.

"If any man other than you would have said that, I'd take that a lot differently. Also, please don't crawl under my desk and start looking for listening devices again. I had the place swept this morning," he said as he got comfy in that monster of a chair.

"Really?" I replied.

"Really" he said with that smiley sort of smile.

"Well, you can never be too careful." I said with a crook in my brow.

I could trust Jack. He was a good Catholic man. Not necessarily a good Catholic though. A good Catholic would have turned me over to the Pope's goon squad years ago for all the meddling I've caused them.

"Anyway, I came here to tell you something drastically urgent, and I don't think you're going to like it."

"Tell it to me straight, and I'll help you out the best I can," he replied, again with that smiley sort of smile. Looking him straight in the eye, I told him,

"Strom Thurmond's body must be destroyed."

At that point it took me a few minutes to calm him down. Some people cry when faced with adversity, but Jack tends to laugh. He laughs hard. The kind of laugh that sends one sinking into the extravagant carpet of their glamorous eleventh floor downtown office complete with big chair, and a desk the size of a Volvo. Jack was definitely taking this one hard. Being the compassionate soul that I am, I helped Jack back to his chair, and poured him some ice water. After he finally regained his composure he said to me,

"I'm not a fan of the GOP, but why does Strom Thurmond need to be destroyed?"

"No!" I shouted from across the desk. "Strom Thurmond does not need to be destroyed, Strom Thurmond's body needs to be destroyed!"

He put his hand to his forehead. Suddenly, the smile was gone. I knew he was not taking this well. Jack started to raise his voice.

"What's the difference? Ok Ray, just stop right there. This is where you need to start at the beginning, and work your way forward."

This was the hard part. This was always the hard part.

"Forty-six years ago Strom Thurmond was elected to the United States Senate representing the state of South Carolina. During the 1950's and 60's Thurmond was best known for being the main leader for the pro-segregation forces in the Senate. Because of his hard line stance, he has become a symbol of hatred and intolerance for the rest of the U.S. since the 70's." Jack interrupted,

"I know this, but that isn't a reason to kill the man. As your lawyer I am extremely concerned about you. You've never wanted to go this far before," he said with a storied look on his face.

"You have to let me finish man!" I screamed, as I stood up once again. "Do you know how old Strom Thurmond is?" I asked while sitting back down.

Jack thought for a bit,

"He's pretty old. I know that."

"Strom Thurmond is ninety-eight years old," I replied, as my knuckles turned white as I gripped the edge of the desk. "You see, it's not that the man should be dead. The man is dead! He died!" I found I was standing yet again. "His corpse was then taken over by aliens trying to infiltrate the government!"

Jack suddenly turned very white. He did however manage to croak out a few words.

"What the hell do you mean aliens?"

He looked like I hit him with a giant tuna. It was time to let him in all the way. There was no backing out now. I walked over to pour a drink of ice water from his mini-fridge.

"You see, nobody likes Thurmond except those damned racist rednecks in South Carolina. He's always a sure bet. If you were an alien race trying to infiltrate the Senate, there would be no better person to take over. Your re-election is guaranteed."

Jack sat there for a while as I poured two glasses. I didn't want any water, but he looked like he could use some. We sat there quietly for a few seconds while Jack regained his composure. This kind of info is always hard to swallow at first, but like bourbon whiskey you get used to it.

"Ok," he started out. "Let's say I actually take you serious this time, besides the age factor, what leads you to believe that Strom Thurmond's body has been taken over by aliens?"

I knew for Jack to believe me, I had to let him in slowly.

"It started when I was websurfing. I found a conspiracy site, or should I say, an enlightenment site that taught me the true nature of the world's affairs."

"Wait!" he interrupted as he threw his hands up. "You don't mean to tell me that all this commotion you've brought in here is based on some degenerate website?"

"Can I finish, please? Can I?" I asked as we both leaned into each other across that huge desk. I had to keep Jack under control to some extreme or else he might never let me finish.

"Go ahead, my time, your money." Jack said as he leaned back in his chair while throwing his hands up in defeat. He was no longer smiling. I continued.

"This webmaster who goes by the name Placebo dug up information going back to over a decade. It seems that in 1989 Strom Thurmond went on a business trip to California. On his way there he was suddenly struck ill, and hospitalized in Las Vegas, Nevada. This brings up the question, what was he doing traveling by car, and not plane, to California? Anyway, before he got sick, his route took him close to Area 51, the secret Air Force base where human/alien hybrid spacecraft are tested out. You see, if his destination was California, he would have traveled by plane."

"Again," he interrupted. "I have to interrupt."

He turned his chair to look me dead on.

"Many older persons travel by ground, because they can't travel by plane. Their bodies can't handle the pressures that are exerted on them during flight. And if he did get sick in a plane, how would he get help? More than likely he is medically required to travel by ground."

I looked at Jack. I almost looked through him, but I thought better of it. I was going to start yelling again, but I thought better of that too. I just kept sitting and continued.

"The true destination for Senator Thurmond was Area 51. A project that he helped create in the 1950's. However, while he was there, something happened. Whether by accident or purpose, his body was taken over. Then, he spent the night at a Nevada hospital, but not just any hospital, but a U.S. military hospital, and here's the kicker. He never completed the trip to California.

Since then, his behavior has been erratic, even when dealing with his own political party. As of late, he has not been acting normal at all. He has misspoke at times, can't remember at others. In addition, he has been hospitalized repeatedly in the last year for a variety of illnesses. He has taken to having two "aides" at his side at all times. Two guesses as to who, or should I say what, they really are. You see Jack, the body is dying. The alien implant inside the body is spending as much energy as possible in an attempt to keep it going, but eventually it will lose it's fight with mortality.

The two aides have been sent to collect the alien parasite once Strom Thurmond's body has finally died. They want to do this quietly so that the alien can be implanted into another U.S. Senator, like Jesse Helms. This is only scratching the surface however, the real question is, why are the aliens are here. What is their purpose?"

Jack just looked at me for what seemed an eternity. He took a long drink of water, and thought for a bit. I could hear the mouse in his brain turning the gears. Taking a deep breath, and looking me in the eye he said,

"Well I can see why you wanted to see me. The way you put it, it sounds very serious... to you. Tell me Ray, has it occurred to you that this sounds like an X-Files episode?"

"Actually, it's more Invasion of the Body Snatchers." I hated to correct Jack cause he immediately got that pissy look in his eyes, but it had to be done.

"I mean," he said harshly, "that this is over the top. This is TV science fiction. It's some asshole on the internet twisting the truth and jerking people off. Tell me, do you actually know what Placebo means?"

I stretched out in my chair and thought for a minute. Then I just half assed guessed.

"Isn't it a medication of some kind?" I said with a look of perfect innocence on my face.

"Well, it's a type of pill. It's a fake. A fraud. It's a pill that they give to hypochondriacs that demand medication. It's a sugar pill that is harmless, and causes no effects, but hypochondriacs think it magically cures all their problems." he stated as he set his hands in his lap, and leaned back in that wonderful chair.

I was wondering what Jack was getting at.

"Jack, what are you getting at?" I asked.

He again came forward in his chair, this time speaking a bit slower, and a lot softer.

"Ray, you've been a great client a long time, and you know that I have always tried to help you with advise, whether it's legal, financial, or personal. Trust me on this, and please don't do anything stupid, this Placebo guy is just messing with you and others on the net."

I couldn't believe Jack was saying this. The evidence was so clear. With a startled look I asked him,

"Are you telling me that you think all the evidence is fake, and just like that, you're going to dismiss this entire conversation?"

He calmly got up from his chair, and came around his desk. He pulled up one of the smaller chairs so we were looking face to face, just inches apart.

"No, no listen to me," he said quickly, effectively, but softly. "I heard everything you said, and yes, at first I thought it was hilarious, but now I'm concerned because you seem to be taking this too far. This theory, if you can call it that, has more holes in it than Swiss cheese."

According to your logic, why would aliens want a dead body to implant a parasite in, if Thurmond was dead at the time of implantation? This Placebo guy said that the parasite needs a live body to survive, but he contradicted himself by saying that Thurmond had already died while in Area 51."

"O' Lord I can't believe I just said that," he mumbled under his breath quickly. However, he quickly regained his thoughts."

"Not only is this guy a liar, but he's a bad liar at that."

"Another thing," he exclaimed while still sitting only inches from me. "Why control the GOP? Sure, they have the money, but their conservative philosophies might make it hard for them to accomplish an "alien agenda."

He was starting to get on a roll, speaking louder and louder.

"Why come to America at all? Trying to climb up our political ranks is impossible, trust me I know. Why not go to Iran, Iraq, or one of the former Soviet republics? They could climb the political ladder a lot faster over there.

He kept getting a little closer. I could start to feel his breathe on my neck.

You know," he started to shout. "I can't believe I'm even arguing with you about this! I don't even believe in aliens! The other stuff you bring me week in and week out I can deal with. Drugs, yeah so what. Explosives, sure why not. But, aliens in D.C. Come on! You don't need a lawyer, you need a psychologist and a padded cell."

He was almost standing with his hands resting on the arms of my chair by the time he finished.

"Uh Jack," I interrupted. "Do you need a Nardol and Vicodin? See, I'm just trying to save the world man, and I just thought you might want to come along for the ride. I didn't expect you to go Tony Soprano all over me."

I knew he was upset. Whether it was because of his straight edge moral beliefs that left him unprepared for the event of an alien invasion, or because he hadn't been getting any lately, I suspected that he just wasn't ready for this.

"Ok, let me calm down," Jack said.

He stood all the way up, and walked back over to his big comfy cow chair. After taking a drink of water, and rubbing his temples he said to me,

"To tell you the truth, I just wasn't ready for this. When you came in here, I thought you were going to take me dynamite fishing with you this weekend."

I thought that wasn't a bad idea, but I had other things to do.

"Listen, we can go fishing when the earth isn't being invaded. Although, I did just get a full case of dynamite from one of my friends in Madagascar. Traded him a few cartons of Marlboros. I think we both came out ahead."

"If I could get us back on track here," Jack interrupted... again. "As your lawyer how about if I suggest a compromise."

That's what I liked about Jack, he was quick on his toes, however, he danced like shit, but that's another story.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked.

I was anxious to see what he had thought up in just ten minutes. Like I said, he was fast off the cuff.

"First off, do not kill or harm anybody. Ok. That's a must. If you want answers about Senator Thurmond, look up things on public record. Then contact this webmaster about things you know are true, and see if he falters. I guarantee he will. Again, this guy is a fake who either has way too much free time on his hands, or gets his rocks off by jerking people around. Don't waste your time with this stuff. That's the best advice I could give you. That, and don't kill anyone," he said as he leaned back in his chair, proud of himself.

"So what you're saying is that, this is just some guy who enjoys messing with people in his spare time?" I asked.

"Exactly," Jack said with a strong look in his eyes.

"One man who messes with another just for the fun of it? Why? Why would he do that?" I asked while shaking my head in wonderment.

"Maybe he's ill rational. Maybe he's lonely, or has nothing better to do. I don't claim to know or understand those types. All I know is that they are out there, and sometimes we have to look out for them," Jack said with a look of satisfaction in his eyes.

That's the look he gets whenever he feels he's won an argument, or any verbal battle. That was my Jack. I knew the alien business would get him at first, but he never fails me. Like a true high powered attorney, he comes across great. Everyone should have their own personal lawyer. It's sad that some people don't. It's even sadder that some people actually believe in aliens.