The other day I posted a rather innocuous message on Face Book. The message read, “Jeffery Epstein didn’t hang himself.” (I can’t help myself.)
These five words must have made its way past the so-called algorithms at Face Book headquarters as the message appeared normally. I got five “likes,” one comment, and two shares before it mysteriously disappeared.
Evidently, the message upset the gnomes at Face Book headquarters, as those types of Free Speech messages are no longer fit for public view, and are not tolerated in today’s society.
The head gnome, a nasty little unit who identifies by Henrietta, sent my message straight to Mark Zuckerberg. “Z” went berserk when he read it, tearing his best T-shirt in the process. He immediately sent it to Congressman Adam “Pencil-neck” Schiff.
And that is how I came to be called before the United States House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence.
I found myself seated at this table staring up over a high bench at bug-eyed, pencil-necked chairman, Schiff, who’s bully pulpit towers over me. Everyone to his left scowls at me; anger and derision in their eyes. Everyone to his right looks bored out of their skulls.
I looked down and noticed “What difference does it make” etched into the table.
A rough transcript of our dialogue follows:
Pencil – Neck (PN): “Mr. Webber, do you know why we called you here today?”
Me: “No clue.”
PN: “It has come to our attention you stated publicly, Mr. Epstein didn’t hang himself, which we find disconcerting.”
Me: “OK. Who’s ‘we?’”
PN: Ignoring my question, “Well, what have you got to say for yourself, Mr. Webber?”
Me: “Call me, Alan.” (I smiled to break the ice.)
PN: “OK, Alan, I will repeat the question and I would ask you to only answer to what you’re asked.” (Three people to his left hissed) “What information have you got on the Epstein matter?”
Me: “Excuse me, but that’s not what you asked me originally.”
PN: (Eyes bulging) “Sarcasm is not flattering on you, Mr. Webber!”
Me: “You know, there are a few people that have told me that when rebutting my commentaries.” (Representative Nunes laughed out loud.)
PN: “Nonetheless, what information have you got on how Mr. Epstein came to his untimely demise?”
Me: “None, I was stating an opinion. That used to be legal in this country before you snowflakes took over.”
PN: (Scowling) “When you made the statement, “Jeffery Epstein didn’t hang himself,” are you talking about the financier who recently was tragically and mysteriously discovered deceased in his prison cell in Manhattan?”
Me: “Why was there another?”
PN: “We’ll ask the questions, Webber!” (I thought the eyeballs were going to come out of their sockets.)
Me: “Hey, I’m asking for a friend, did those two guards commit suicide yet?”
With this comment, the gavel slammed with all the force Schiff could muster while calling for a ten-minute break. Everyone on the right took out pillows for a nap. Everybody to the left headed off to a little office with Schiff, me in tow.
Once inside a dark room I was beaten, kicked, and spit upon, evidently for my insolence. I swear I heard Hillary’s laugh. Glad I didn’t ask about the whistleblower.
Ten minutes later I took my seat again at the table with all the hotshots staring down at me. Congressman Jim Jordan of Ohio took one look at me and demanded to know who beat on me.
PN: “Mr. Jordan, we have no idea how that happened, but it is not your turn yet, so we will continue our questioning.” (While talking he never took his eyes off me in case I was going to talk out of turn in his proceedings. I just sat there, wiping spit off.)
PN: “Now, Webber, are you sure, Mr. Epstein is dead?”
Me: “Not really.”
PN: “Then why did you say he was?”
Me: “I didn’t. I said he didn’t hang himself.”
PN: “Who didn’t hang himself?”
Me: (perplexed) “Epstein!”
PN: “If he didn’t hang himself, why did you say he did?”
Me: (Head shaking) “I didn’t…, er ...my point was he was hung, but didn’t do it himself.”
PN: “And how do you know that?” (He leaned over his high bench; lips pursed.)
This grilling went on for twelve more hours. The people on the right side of Schiff had all snuck out some time during the proceedings. Those on the left continued to scowl and hiss me, never blinking.
Schiff did all the talking, dissecting every word of my post, turning them every which way.
Finding nothing to be gained with that path, he started dissecting each letter of the words…right up until it was time to wake up.
I might have to go back tomorrow.