Reader Post | By GK
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Chapter One: Dear Jeff, I Am Not in the Back of the Truck…
As I think about my predicament at the truck stop with no money hoping Jeff might call his mom … Can you imagine that call?
Hi Mom, it’s Jeff. Me and this guy named Geno took off for Hollywood and I lost him somewhere in New Mexico. He didn’t by chance call, did he? He did? Well … He’s an idiot too.
“That’s what I said.” His mother would interject.
However, he didn’t call his mother. I never met his mother. I don’t even know how the hell I figured out his last name because he wasn’t so much a comedian as a comedy groupie. He was buds with Doug Stanhope and Doug said visit him in Hollywood some time. In fact, there is a story behind Jeff and I hatching this half-assed dumb and dumber excursion.
I first met Jeff when I was performing.
The place was packed. I was introduced and approaching the microphone. I was wearing a Chicago Bulls hat. Five feet from the microphone someone screamed.
“Fuck the Bulls!”
I stepped in front of the microphone and answered the heckler.
“I don’t care what you do on your own time Sir.”
The place went nuts. Half of the audience gave my comeback a standing ovation. A proud moment in my brief career.
Jeff was lying in a chair across from me at the plasma donation center. He said, “I have $400, do you have a car?”
One of the more interesting conversation starters I must admit. Most people would not take the bait, but I just spent 3 months hosting the seed of a terrorist cell in the form of a woman in a witness relocation program. It couldn’t be worse than that? Could it?
“Uhh a pick-up truck with a leaky topper on the back. Sleeping in wet sleeping bags in the back. All my screenplays are gobs of wet paper…. Why do you ask?”
He had a plan.
I traded all my civil war guns and wardrobe to one of the reenactors after finishing my epic period piece mockumentary. His pale blue shitty Chevy S10 with a leaky topper was now my shitty S10. Home is where you hang your Chicago Bulls hat.
We got a speeding ticket in Oklahoma which isn’t easy to do in a shitty S10 but if you think about it we were actually doing really well. We passed through 3 states without incident. By the way the truck wasn’t furry like a dog. In case you were wondering just how dumb and dumberer we were.
Well … Let me finish before you vote on that.
I had been loitering annoyingly at the ACME truck stop for at least 11 hours with zero idea how to rectify this pathetic predicament. While speeding to catch Jeff in the cab of the second semi-truck we radioed the state police. I asked them to please pull him over and to feel free to strike him in the head with their night sticks as many times as they deemed necessary to practice their clubbing skills.
I was watching TV in the trucker’s area and pretty damn hungry. I walked back into the store area toward the cashier. OMG could it be?
Jeff had luckily stopped here to see about internet access hoping I might have emailed him… Hey dumbass I’m not sleeping in the back.
I walked up behind him.
Jeff? I said.
We needed gas… So I continued telling him what a moron he was while we pumped gas. I said you looked right at me in the rest stop bathroom. I thought you knew I was not sleeping in the truck.
When I walked out of the rest stop and saw my shitty pale blue S10 leaving without me I gave chase. Two semi-truck high speed chases later I landed here.
He told me he had actually stopped for gas and continued on into Arizona. He swore he saw me moving. He traveled 300 plus miles before he looked in the back to discover I wasn’t there.
No wait. I have to use my literary fiction name.
“Sean, Sean are you okay? Sean?”
Was my fellow travelers—not a freemason reference—in the rest stop bathroom? 300 plus miles beyond where I had no clue I left him? Jeff started his search for the passenger he left near Albuquerque right there in Arizona. Woah… This just may be a nightmare. Jeff was clueless as to what had transpired. Did I bounce out of the pickup on the highway?
What choice did he have to find me? Turning East on 40 to backtrack had to be the answer, right?
Jeff let me insult him until the tank was full and then he indicated with disdain he had his fill of the word dumbass… He growled back.
On the road again…
We stopped for Denny’s and gas right before the California desert. We ate but forgot to get gas. It was around midnight when dumbass number one… me… Looked at the gas gage hovering in the red… In the darkness of the desert.
We came upon a gas station. We slept by the pump because it was closed. When the gas station proprietors opened in the morning we were ready. We even pulled up to the right side of the pump unlike typical dumbasses.
The next morning we could see quite clearly that the desert “stop and rob” had been closed since Bugsy Siegel opened the Flamingo..
We proceeded on vapors and stalled out next to a dead coyote that must have also forgotten to get gas.
I know what you are all thinking.
Dear United States Treasury do NOT give this guy a trillion dollars.
To be continued… More proof of incredible stupidity coming. I wouldn’t say it got worse than that but we definitely deserve Darwin awards.
By the way, please forward this to literary agents and publishers … tell them I will give them 20%… And some dong. Vietnamese dong not a twisted dick joke.
I am poking this out with one finger on my phone. Impressive.
We arrived in Burbank at 3pm and found yellow pages. Yellow pages and phone booths still existed in the year 2000. We went to a temp agency because we were broke. They sent us to be audience members for the taping of the Norm McDonald Show. $35 to laugh when the sign said to laugh. Norm McDonald, being Norm McDonald, no doubt saw the irony. The funniest man in comedy gets his own show that would not have a Ray Ramano happy ending but rather a Norm McDonald ending of funniest but overlooked genius to other comedians who all made good money by signing blood oaths with the devil. Norm was too funny to trade his soul that cheap.
I left out the cross-country road trip that inspired dumb and dumber … Jeff accidentally left me at a New Mexico rest stop thinking I was sleeping in the back of the truck. I jumped into a semi-truck and the trucker tried to catch Jeff but failed. He had to stop at a weigh station and I ran after another semi-truck and jumped in. This also failed. Both truckers gave me a valiant effort though.
Jeff drove 400 miles (rounding up now) before he checked on me in the back of the truck. He turned around but had no idea where he lost me. Even if he returned to the New Mexico rest stop— I was at a different truck stop. Would he check every truck stop in 400 miles? Sure hope so otherwise I am pretty screwed.
Jeff had my phone, my wallet and everything else… Including my truck. I drank a cup of coffee for 12 hours calling Jeff every foul name ever invented. Just ask anyone at that truck stop. “Well good luck Geno, hope that dumbass Jeff finds you. My morning shift in 12 hours if you are still here. I’ll buy you some Danish.
I have to remember to use my character name Sean, otherwise people will know how dumb I really am.
I somehow called his mother collect.
I said what kind of an idiot…
She said… Well, you’re an idiot too
She had a very valid point.
By the way, Nicky took me with her to exchange euros and pounds for dollars… My first currency exchange. Nicky was the Turkish terrorist cell, possibly in reality Iranian, Iraqi or Saudi Arabian or Mossad who suckered me via internet AOL chat into agreeing to marry her so she could get a green card and escape the heroin dealers who wanted her dead. What can I say, I am a romantic. A dumb one. But she was in the Swansea England witness relocation program. Her father had been nailed with 14 pounds of heroin and she worked as an informant to nail Turkish smack dealers to help her father.
She called herself Nicky McClain but her real name was Nila Hussein and when I picked her up in January 2000 at the O’Hare Airport I am 100% sure one of the agents watching us closely was Muhammad Atta, and the reason I know this is I have a keen MK-Ultra type facial recognition skill, even when I meet people years before I know who they are. I am Truman and Gump and my stories of famous brushes with the notorious cannot be accidental. Somehow along the way, the elite spy agencies started watching my incredibly stupid misguided adventures as an adult. My guess is they traded stories, pictures and video of me doing dumb things for 40 years which included getting hit by a train at 14. That incident may not have been part of their radar but the culmination of Mr. Magoo like approaches to haphazardry eventually crossed their path as in, look at this moron. He has no idea he is sleeping with a serial killer. I’ll eventually explain some of this further.
(And the year 2000 was not over yet and I still had a few more insane adventures.)
Okay so most of you guessed it. My stupidity was induced by marijuana. Jeff did not smoke marijuana so I don’t know what his excuse was but there we were walking to civilization in the desert. Kids, always remember to get gas before you cross a desert.
Spacing out gas before driving through the desert is like forgetting to put pants on and going to your job as a school crossing guard.
A dude swung his car over and picked up our sorry asses. I guess the Bible is true. God looks out for children and fools. This is in actuality part of a pattern that has a deeper meaning. Every time I do something stupid and get stranded on a roadside, some savior swoops to my rescue within a minute. This is why I think I have some sort of guardian collective. Okay, not every time, sometimes they just watch how I pull a survival miracle from my ass but they have assisted me many times. Most recently I slid into a cornfield on a 30 below Wisconsin night and two pickup trucks in the middle of nowhere, appeared and winched me out. They saved my life. It was deadly cold. How do I explain to you, my readers, how bizarro world my life has always been. Life on Earth has always had extraordinary detours for me and assists from people who are seemingly just there to help me. Whoever these people are, they seem to know more about me than I do. They have seen me stop in the middle of nowhere to help people too. Danger chooses us and often bypasses us for reasons undetermined but where was I?
Can you imagine not one but two different semi-truck drivers saw me running beside them on the on ramp to interstate 40 and they both stopped, let me into their cab and attempted to help me chase down Jeff. One might think one trucker maybe, but two? Both attempts failed in that Jeff was driving 80 miles an hour and we around 65. We also had to stop at weigh stations. The helpful trucker had no choice but to leave me at a truck stop along the way thus sealing the fate of an extreme unlikelihood of Jeff snapping out of his 9 brain cell day dream and realizing I was not sleeping in the back of the truck.
Cut to Norm McDonald taping. Jeff is sitting next to a woman who is a talent agent. Their conversation is going very well. I interrupt.
Tell her about how you left me at the New Mexico rest stop and drove 400 miles before you noticed…
The look he gave me wasn’t quite as incredulous as the look on her face…
The next day we got paid and stumbled upon the Hollywood hostel. Jeff loved sharing bunk beds with 12 other people. Me, I just relished the parking space. I slept in the truck. Sidenote, I didn’t know it yet but I had been bitten by a tic during the Wisconsin filming of my Civil War mockumentary and Lyme disease was taking over my blood vessels. Therefore I was developing a need to sleep long naps several times a day and would pull over at rest stops and couches regularly. Eventually I figured out I had lyme disease and employed a sea salt and vitamin C protocol that seemingly helped… Eight years later in 2008.
Meanwhile back in the year 2000 at the Hollywood youth hostel, Jeff got a job in the kitchen and I got a job on the night desk. During the day I found a bar in Studio City where I quickly became part of the gang. Right wing conspiracy theories were rampant, and this is where I was first told about Rothschild/Rockefeller and The Federal Reserve. Of course, there were liberals too one of which was an Englishman named David.
I was invited for Thanksgiving dinner. He lived with the single mother bartender. He had made some very bad movies and ran a theater. He read a script of mine and decided to help me get it made.
Keeping with my uncanny ability to cross paths with some of the most notorious people in modern history, guess who joined us for dinner?
I got very bad vibes from him but had no idea who he was. He was very thin with dark rimmed glasses and another man was with him. There was nothing nice and friendly about him and I tried to make them laugh to no avail.
Believe it or not it was John Podesta.
(I have questions about the situation)
Was I already on the radar for my internet sarcasm directed at such people as Hillary Clinton. Was David clearing permission to work with me?
Shortly after this my grammar school buddy Clayton hired me as a production assistant on a Sean Penn film. Things were getting interesting.
Remember this is early December 2000. Remember what was happening? Yep, the hanging chads. Nope not a naked ivy league rock band.
Nicky sent me a long email full of hate. I guess she would not qualify for the sleeper cell Christmas bonus. I had bailed on the marriage thing and sent her back via a $500 ticket to Swansea around April 2000. Her plans of her very own terrorist cell and 2.5 kids in Wisconsin had been trampled into dust. I played the hero until my brain caught up with my gnawing sense I was aiding and abetting a huge terrorist event in America.
A man approached me in a restaurant before work on the film set. He told me all about the pedophile scandal of the Franklin cover-up. He told me about a father and a son whose plane crashed. They were flying into Chicago to do a deposition about Bush senior’s peculiar tastes in amorous behavior. This is all about the Franklin coverup, Boys Town prostitution and a pedophile mafia that has its best weekend in Bohemian Grove. Or second best to Superb Owl weekend. It is hard to fathom there are millions of creepy people, both men and women who prey upon kids for sex but it is real. But sex is not accurate, the rape, hurt, torture, maim and eventually sell the body parts and eat the remains. The nightmare is just outside of the sunlight that fills a day.
I got my second weird phone call … The voice said, “I would like to order a bag of Eugene.”
You tell me.
My guess, I had websites that I tried to package myself as a music and entertainment celeb and someone who knew me, was saying hey asshole, no one wants what you are selling.
Jeff was hanging out with Doug Stanhope and various hostel characters. A few of which smelled worse than an outhouse. The worst of the lot looked just like Osama Bin Laden. He said his name was Tim. He was Arabic
He asked me to take him to the airport. I tried to keep my head out the window. I felt sorry for the passengers on that flight. He was going to Hawaii. Whoever sat next to him was going to vomit their face off.
Yes, I know this little essay isn’t all that funny anymore is it. This is where I really began to feel vibrational warnings all around me. The Hostel told me I couldn’t park there anymore. I had no choice but to move into a weekly motel near Sony in Culver City where I spent Christmas alone watching channel XXX-Mas. Then my friend Clayton quit the Sean Penn film and the new production designer brought in his own people. I was laid off after 3 weeks. I spent New Years Eve on the beach in Carpinteria, writing a spec script for the sitcom Clayton was now working on. I can turn a spec script over pretty fast, and I catch on to the characters personalities quite quickly. I should have been highly paid in the industry, but I pissed someone off along the way.
I then drove to Capital records and got someone in the A&R department to listen to my brother’s music. I suppose I should add the part about bumping the music from cassette to cassette in a Best Buy using their recorder. I am resourceful. Very few setbacks in Sean’s road to Perdition.
I went to see David the Englishman at the tavern. He hired me as a utility man for the XFL new football league. I started with the Orlando team then transferred to the Chicago team. I ran an audio catcher on top of soldier’s field in January and February 2001. I had to climb a metal ladder with heavy equipment 5 stories to the windy snowy frigid roof and be part of national broadcasts. Soldiers Field was falling apart, and live sparking wires slapped across metal rusty doors.
But it paid pretty well. I met Vince McMahon the day Clinton pardoned every crook he knew. I drew a sign. Clinton pardons the XFL and got a kid to hold it up for the camera.
Probably a bad idea. I had picked up a hat that had CIA on it, in Venice Beach. Vince McMahon and his wife chuckled at the hat.
I headed back to Wisconsin. I still could get work there at the video studio. I slept in the truck in subzero temps. An acquaintance from Texas said he needed a roommate. So I moved in.
The apartment was only a couple blocks from my 12-year-old son and his mother. Madison Wisconsin has always been fairly good to me but something was not right. It was as if I had stepped into something that wasn’t done with me. I noticed what seemed like surveillance.
Hmmm. Nicky? Podesta? David? Was it the accidental association? Maybe it dated back to 1992 and my cartoon show on public access where I poked fun of Bush and the New World Order.
Maybe it dated back to childhood and my grandfather’s association with freemasonry or this German Jewish lady who seemed to be my mother’s handler.
Constantly around extraordinary events and was I in a trance when I got hit by the Amtrak train?
My roommate’s cousin who looked and sounded just like Jeff Foxworthy came to sleep on the couch. He had just spent years on a nuclear submarine and was glad to be on land. He had all these WACO type conspiracy magazines … My education in conspiracy continued.
When we watched the endless playback of the twin towers — Jeff… Um not the first Jeff. The Jeff who was cousin Jeff that looked and sounded so much like Jeff Foxworthy I would not be surprised if they were clones. Or it was Jeff Foxworthy .
GAAWWD he would exclaim each new 911 revelation from anthrax to that French documentary.
After 911 hit and things got even weirder. I discovered Alex Jones, Bill Cooper, Jeff Rense, Henry Makow, Daryl Bradford Smith and many others. I joined the truther war and the gangstalking amped up. I was drugged, shot at, run off the road …
Now here is my basic theory…the cabal is so delusional and paranoid that Forest Gump’s like myself are seen as something threatening… Even given entirely too much credit.
I have come to believe we are part of a Truman show, and the puppeteers are too mentally ill to make conclusions that actually understand the overload of information they have gathered through their total information spy grid.
They use tanks to kill flies.
These past 20 years have been the twilight zone for me.
I wish this last chapter was funny but they even targeted my son and others in my family.
The good news is we are all wiser.
And we are winning. I think . I hope. Well, maybe not.
Imagine if Jeff had lost me for good. I might be a short order cook in a truck stop near Albuquerque New Mexico.
Or had I married into the Turkish drug cartel. I might be laundering money through a Persian rug store.
I was in a jail cell in 2010. I had put in a request for two aspirin 48 hours previously. You have to fill out a form for aspirin. They asked, when did your headache start?
I answered, “when Officer Kestler called for the canine unit.”
The guard laughed as I had hoped.
Humor opens doors.
I quit smoking pot the day Officer Kestler pulled me over in 2010. That story is pretty good too. It led to my association with the Reno white hats and this investment. Follow the yellow brick road.
RV Tuesday for sure
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