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Has there been an unseemly upsurge of allegations, anomalous findings reported in a few too many journals and testimonies of uncomfortable character from experimental subjects re the existence of covert mind—manipulation programs, electronic brain—modification research conducted by intelligence agencies on an unsuspecting civilian populace or in a "Jacob's Ladder" syndrome with control subjects serving tours of patriotic duty? Is there a chance the acronymic keywords of the Club could become casual household currency even before an inkling of their real implication disturbs the—apparently boundless—accommodation of consumer consciousness? so that Ban and Homer Simpson wind up bandying incidental reference to EDOM and MCULTRA like so much cartoon pingpong, the Agency only able to watch the dream—trawled terms of cultural kitsch go floating over the electron net in the embarrassing open of the public domain, exasperatingly beyond unobtrusive retrieval...like a reactor rod that's somehow got loose and is being tossed around on the company baseball diamond? No need to sweat what might happen if, in the unlikely event couch—potato Simpson took sufficient interest to inquire, the public found that EDOM was operational reference of certain procedures to which it was perilously subject, i.e. Electronic Dissolution of Memory or selective editing of mind-patterns (particularly fashionable as part of the whole ensemble which includes the popular RHIC, Radio—Hypnotic Intracerebral Control or multi-level trance—induction triggered with verbal or tonal codes through implanted brain transceivers). Spy stuff. Just futuristic, James Bond high-tech spy stuff, easily muddled in the popular imagination so that the most potentiallyvolatile coverage of the occasional vet or ex—mental patient who happens to hit the street with a carbine (and thus hits the headlines as well) claiming he's been victimized by "CI A experiment", will be immediately classified as a cortical AWOL, regretably influenced by pure fiction in a disturbed state. The actual procedure of nasal electrode—implantation, for instance, can be humorously portrayed and fantastically dispatched as an obvious exaggeration of the special—effects department, by having our filmic hero pull an ORB the size of his adenoids straight out of 49 his face with a pair of techno—tweezers! Such outrageously camp and calculatedly—revolting portrayal is sure to leave an indelible impression of the desired type, i.e. the whole subject will stick in the mind as a physically—preposterous, hallucinatorily—squeamish figment of some screenwriter's secret agent send—up that only the gullible could take seriously. As a piéce de résistance, to burnish the buffoon—like impression the more brightly, we add the classic comic touch in the image of Arnie, the a—conerial Conan ("without a functioning pineal", let's save you the trouble of dictionary—searching in the midst of the punchline) looking like nothing so much as a drag—queen homage to Sophia Emerging from the Bath. Withal, we feel this white—paper briefing of the Policy Commit- tee in regard to the containment and pacification strategies of our field officers shows sufficient psychic keys to have been accessed, and inbuilt mind—warps of the playing screen charted, to warrant every con fidence Cohaagen will accord us co—chairmanship of the Nintendo version... So you've saved the day for the power elite. You've successfully provided the mind of the mass with a camouflage rationale for the little anomalies it nearly perceives at the twilight margins of perception, carefully containing those maverick thoughts and aberrative ideas stimulated (by who—knows—what subliminal cues) while the covert activity of the "parallel" order takes place in necessary, nocturnal contiguity with the slumbering brain of the Statistical Cross— section. 104 T-Bird_Vs_The_Flying_saucers.htm The bug's in your skull.Don 't forget, wrap a wet towel 'round your head to muffle the signal...