FICTION OF THE CELESTE BEALE AND THOMAS BEALE DIARY

[bigscoop]

From the book of American Lore and Romance;

Buffalo, they were everywhere, a huge herd stretching from one horizon to the other, the entire landscape a blanket of steaming nostrils and dark fur, the air churning with towers of rising dust and the exhilarating aroma of fresh poop, or, Thunder Dung, as the Indians called it. Legend claimed that wherever Thunder Dung was found gold would soon materialize, and so the party proceeded to head northwest into the mountains where it was told of the largest buffalo of them all, Constipation, a buffalo so large that his poop had created the great mountains. The remnants of this great saga and adventure can still be found in our present day use of the abbreviated expression, BS.


It is said that this party traveled some great distance to the northwest, right into the very den of Constipation, and that while there they discovered a endless streak of cast iron pots filled with gold and silver, this streak, as informed by the Indians, was called, Diarrhea. The remnants of thisgreat discovery still being found in our present use and application of this very word.


In time, and over the course of numerous trips, the party managed to secretly smuggle a number of these heavy cast iron pots back to the east where it is said that they had buried them with the hope that these large seeds would promote the additional growth of wealth. However, the event of continued drought in the following years had refused to fertilize these prospects. During their last trip into the region of Diarrhea all of the party was eventually overtaken by a fuming and angry Constipation that eventually resulted in the entire party's demise. Today's use of the word, Dehydration, survives as remnant of this once great American enterprise.


But what about those heavy seeds that have never since taken root, are they still out there somewhere? Or, is this just another in a long line of BS stories? Strange that the decline of the buffalo also coincides with the decline of new gold and silver discoveries.

 

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[Rebel - KGC]

MEANWHILE, in a parallel universe... PV, WF, EF, REL, TJ, RM, TJB, & OTHERS are laffing their butts off at the MANY "theories" being proposed; MANY, "most EXCELLENCE"... then muttering in FRENCH... the SAME. BUT! The REAL Truth will be revealed in Nov., 2017... at the Virginian Hotel, being up-graded into a SWANKY hotel near 5th Street in Lynchburg, Va., where BUZZARD ROOST once was. Rooms will be $ 1,000.00 an night, and VARIOUS "Speakers" will "do their thing". TJB to RM, "Don't they know that 'Hunting Buffalo' meant looking for run-a-way slaves...? WE were BOUNTY HUNTERS!" "HA!" said, RM, sans peur et sans reproache. "Well, TJB, you got it correct, in your letter of May 9th, 1822 from St. Louis... 'Robt MORRIS, Esq: MY ESTEEMED Friend:- Ever since leaving my comfortable quarters AT YOUR HOUSE" (VERY NICE, BIG OLD HOUSE)... but why the 'Esq'...?" "HA!" (from TJB)..."So THEY, 'left behind', will go on a-pondering... HA!"

 

[ECS]

Back in Baltimore, Patterson was in deep conversation with his dinner guest.
"You know, Joseph, I hate to pick this bone apart, but with Girard it is always quid pro quo, tit for tat".
"I have heard of this Tat. It has been said that he provided the intelligence behind Operation Bigscoop".
Patterson nodded his head in knowing agreement, then looked up as a man wearing a sombrero approached their table. "Have a seat, Skeebo".
"Some call me Skeebo, others say my name Mr Earl, but from now on , I am Mexico", he announced.
"Well pull up a chair, Skee-Mexico, and tell us of the preparations being made for the distribution on the Torpedo.

 

[bigscoop]

Six days and some 194 rounds later Risque and Beale still hadn't managed to hit their opponent. Finally, with eyes completely closed and in the midst of nap, Beale eventually delivers a stray discharge that strikes grandpa Risque. The crowd, which by now had swelled to several thousand, the sale of popcorn alone making some residents rich, determined to take measure of the damage. First a dime, then a nickel, a handkerchief, a hen's egg, until finally these efforts could make no more progress beyond the head of a newborn infant. Grandpa Risque, having always taken interest in children, allowed them to take turns tossing stones through his newly acquired wound, a shiny new penny to all of those who proved to be accurate. Beale, having been suddenly struck with a brilliant idea, flees to New Orleans where he eventually introduces the first dart board for parlor entertainment. From this day forward the duel between he and Risque would become legendary and forever etched in the local lore.

 

[ECS]

"Before we discuss the TORPEDO" Mexico said," I have a ground floor opportunity for you".
"Well speak up man".
"Mr Hall and Mr Campbell are offering exclusive territory locations and shares in a start up taco stand business. I have already secured Bedford county for my franchise. There's real gold to be made in tacos. That is why I changed by name to Mexico.
"Is Lafitte a part of this?"
"No French connexion on this, Lafitte wants to start a Muffaletto sandwich shop on Canal Street."

 

[bigscoop]

"Before we discuss the TORPEDO" Mexico said," I have a ground floor opportunity for you".
"Well speak up man".
"Mr Hall and Mr Campbell are offering exclusive territory locations and shares in a start up taco stand business. I have already secured Bedford county for my franchise. There's real gold to be made in tacos. That is why I changed by name to Mexico.
"Is Lafitte a part of this?"
"No French connexion on this, Lafitte wants to start a Muffaletto sandwich shop on Canal Street."

"And Morriss, he is keeping the secret recipe locked in the iron box?"
"Yes. Well sort of. I only gave him part of it in secret code and also an encrypted list of 30 chefs capable of making them, a recipe of Betty Crocker to be used as key. Our home office will be in Richmond. Risque will be handling our legal affairs."
"I see. Sounds good. Not the plan, but the taco's, I mean."
"Personally, great flavor but they give me gas."

 

[ECS]

"HAH!, exclaimed Mexico, "Don't be near Kingsley, Peabody or Ward after one of Lafitte's muffalettos!"

 

[bigscoop]

They appear everywhere, upon every landscape, upon every object and structure, they are even found in the stars and upon the beds of the deepest oceans, the initials, “TJB.” They are truly one of the greatest wonders of the world.


In this very white space, within these black letters, under the cast of ultraviolet black light, and somewhere within all of the pixels and screen dust, if one looks hard enough through x-ray spy glasses they will find, “TJB.”


It is said that men of great cunning initiated this practice to insure that their secret would never be noticed, that not a single trace of their super secret enterprise would ever bear the light of day in the unsuspecting public eye. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty five days a year, these millions of unknown men worked endlessly in secret so that TJB could be secretly inscribed or arranged on just about everything in existence, all of this effort to further insure that their super secret enterprise would remain a completely unnoticed secret. What cunning. What brilliance.


However, today, and thanks largely due to a fictional writing of a young Mr. Ward, we know that the first letter of this great mystery likely stands for, “Taco.”

 

[bigscoop]

"Grandpa!" young Mr. Ward excitedly announces. "I've figured it all out! It's a secret formula! TJB = Taco + Jalapeno + Buffalo = gold, silver, and jewels after a curing period of ten-years!"

 

[ECS]

Young Andrew made his way down the cobblestone streets of French Market to an alley he had been down many times before. Thinking of his good fortune since Lafitte had taken him in under his wing , changing his life from wharf rat urchin to cabin boy and powder monkey. As pirate , he received his share, though small, from countless adventures, but he also found another source of income.
At the end of the , Andrew read the brass plaque on the brick wall next to the door-JOHN ANDRECHYNE, SCRIVENER.
"Come in, Andre, my lad", Andrechyne beckoned, "Let me ready my pen and paper".
Andrew had convinced this writer that he was Andre Lafitte, son of the famous pirate, and the man stories of conversations and many happenings and business conducted by his "father", most made up on the spot, but was always received as truth and provided a pretty penny.
"What have you for me today, Andre?"
"There a food distribution of golden cheddar cheese discussion between my father, Mr Hall, Mr Campell, and Mr Sherman for the poor of Bolivar".

 

[bigscoop]

Young Mr. Ward is taking writing classes from his uncles Max G and Robert M., just two more little realized decedents of the Risque bloodline, just like Clay, Coles, Jackson, Witcher, and Chief Justice Marshall, all just one big happy bloodline nestled in just one cozy little portion of cozy old Virginia. Uncle Max and Uncle Robert learned their writing skills from uncle Thomas B. and uncle J. Sherman, just two more decedents of this same bloodline, uncle J. Sherman at least, for sure. Ahhhh.....the romance and nostalgia of it all, just thinking of it all literally stirs one's own senses somewhere far beyond practical imagination.

The lore in these parts runs so deep that one dare not cut through it with even the sharpest of blades for fear of instant release of all damnation and hell-fire. And so young Mr. Ward continues with his writing lessons, his goal to one day to be able to pen a dime novel including only tales of adventure and the Risque bloodline in his completely fictional dime novel for parlor entertainment. Maybe someday he'll actually arrive at those skills. He certainly has all of his Risque character props already in order.

PS: this post may actually be bordering on plagiarism?

 

[ECS]

Andrew, spent a long time with the writer, providing authentic statement attributed to Jean Lafitte, so long that the sun had gone down. As he walked the cobblestones in the dark New Orleans dark, with pockets full of the writers coin, Andrew realized he had reached Canal Street.
Suddenly he was confronted by what the ARGUS newspaper called the zombie, that had attacked many of the city's citizens. Andrew froze with fear, as the zombi reached out, grabbing his coat.
"No more, Jr", rang out a voice behind Andrew. It was Lafitte, raising his pistol, firing both barrels into the Zombi's face.
"Hurry on now to the ship,lad, I will handle this matter".
Andrew never met again with the scrivener after that night, this was a tale not to be told.

 

[Rebel - KGC]

Until now; T. Z. Theme song playing, Rod is your Host...

 

[bigscoop]

Andrew, spent a long time with the writer, providing authentic statement attributed to Jean Lafitte, so long that the sun had gone down. As he walked the cobblestones in the dark New Orleans dark, with pockets full of the writers coin, Andrew realized he had reached Canal Street.
Suddenly he was confronted by what the ARGUS newspaper called the zombie, that had attacked many of the city's citizens. Andrew froze with fear, as the zombi reached out, grabbing his coat.
"No more, Jr", rang out a voice behind Andrew. It was Lafitte, raising his pistol, firing both barrels into the Zombi's face.
"Hurry on now to the ship,lad, I will handle this matter".
Andrew never met again with the scrivener after that night, this was a tale not to be told.

OK, now you have my attention, and I'm probably going to regret asking this, but how is New Orleans dark different then other darks? Nice touch, by the way.

 

[ECS]

...because it is an "authentic" statement on dark.

 

[bigscoop]

...because it is an "authentic" statement on dark.

I thought maybe New Orleans dark was, perhaps, somehow different then say, Virgina dark. Maybe one of them being somehow darker, or gloomier, or being more eerie then the other. I was relating it to say, a full moon and a half, or perhaps a steadier firm breeze, a heavier torrential rain, etc., something containing a measure of extremes with no possible interpretation of middle.

 

[bigscoop]

It was a mysterious bloodline, indeed, the product of undocumented breeding and marriage under that strangest of darks that can only be found and experienced in New Orleans. Thomas J. Beale, and others no less distinguished, were walkers of this mysterious dark, the roots of this dark and misunderstood empire sprawling all the way into old Virginia. A cut across the palm of each hand followed by a secret handshake and the sacred bloodline's enduring transfusion had been forever welded. Clay, Coles, Jackson, Witcher, Chief Justice Marshall, Morriss, uncle Max, Hutter and young Mr. Ward, all of them forever bound by the bloody transfusion of sacred ritual.


But our story does not begin here, instead it begins with a man named Risque and the secret rituals held in his fabulous library, the smell of opium permeating the air. It is here that the cult was given birth, the endless manuscripts of romantic fiction and local lore incorporated into this cult's very culture. From these writings secret codes would soon arrive, encrypted messages and rumors of hidden wealth, a single work of fiction by their own design being both key and secret code to it all with only a handful of locals high in the order knowing how to interpret every letter, every number, every word. Legend claims that each of these men carried the branding mark of the great western buffalo, below it the single word, “Mother.”


Back in New Orleans Thomas J. Beale casually strolls about in that darkest then darks, his reason for being here the result of a duel with the head buffalo over the organization's opium induced solicitations of a young and innocent girl. The head buffalo was shot clean through but due to the opium in his system he managed to survive. Fearing reprisal Beale made exodus to this darkest of cities, his allusive talents and nature still serving him even long after his reported “deaths.” Just another one of those tricks he has learned from the master himself, Mr. Laffite, or is it Laffitte, or Lafitte? Who can really say these days.

 

[Cryptography]

Well this looks like fun. But what dose ECS stand for?

Something comes to mind but i'm sure thats not it!

E C S

 

[bigscoop]

"Peralta stone, hence dropped in my pocket by the pesky bloodline gang, no doubt." A few moments later the stone is discarded and shattered upon cobble street. "Kids play," he mutters as he goes about his business with laughter under his breath. "Something else for them to romance, I suppose." Many years later a movie would be made titled, Romancing The Stone. No doubt this fictional tale having been penned by one of their sacred buffalo bloodline decedents.

 

[Rebel - KGC]

New movie, in-the-works... TJB! Directed by the "famed one", Oliver Stone! SIMILAR to JFK, with "DEEP THROAT" providing confusing, USELESS information. A cast of weirdness abounds, "military ranks" to battle the Spanish, FRENCH, Mexicans, Cubans, Pirates, Indians, abandoned wives & children...