The Agonist Journal

Well, finally my cover has been blown! You see, for several years I’ve been writing articles giving a more nuanced, even somewhat favorable, view of Russia and, in particular, its current leader Vladimir Putin, than what we get from the mainstream media, though the fact that I’ve based my articles on serious and heavily researched sources (which I’ve vetted and cross-examined before using) has made no difference to the woke reporters and journalists.

“Considering Trump’s victory, I wish to thank Representative Adam Schiff, the journalists at CNN—especially Don Lemmon and Chris Cuomo—and Rachel Maddow and other persons too numerous to mention at MSNBC and in the major media, for through their hysterical Russophobia and hatred for President Trump, they diverted all attention from my efforts to change history.”

Since I also “came out” as a Trump supporter back in 2015, publicly and in print, have kept both a Trump bumper sticker and a “Putin for President” sticker on the back of my car, and have attempted to raise serious doubts about “the Russians did it!” narrative concerning the outcome of the 2016 Presidential Election, the one “progressive” friend I had left won’t have anything to do with me.

“Boyd, you must be an agent of the Russians!” she exclaimed recently when I encountered her at the local Walmart. (Frankly, I was surprised to see her there, it being a hangout for “deplorables,” but there was a sale on Amy Schumer CDs).

Yes, that’s what this so-called friend told me this past weekend. So, now I feel that I must finally come clean and reveal all—that’s right, all—about how my pal Vladimir and I stole the election from poor Hillary and gave it to the Donald.

It was in early August 2016, after the Republican National Convention. I flew over secretly on one of those luxurious Ilyushin jets to a secret former KGB air base outside Moscow. Happily, I’ve kept transcripts of the conversations I had. All they had to drink in-flight was rot-gut Vodka, so when I asked for some Jack Daniels, I got an uncomprehending reply:

“Ve don’t got dat; ve got wodka. You like wodka?” the hard-faced attendant said curtly.

Well, after my ten-hour flight and fifteen shots of rot-gut “wodka,” unrelieved by any mixer, I was ready to meet Vladimir Putin, my ultimate spymaster. Here’s how it went (I was a bit tipsy at the beginning, so excuse the informality of my transcript):

“Hello, Blad…I mean Vlad! I’m Boyd…you know, from North Carolina. Long live the Confederate States of America! You got any Jack Daniels ‘round here?”

President Putin responded: “Dr. Cathey, we are delighted to have you visit Russia, and we are deeply appreciative of your work on our behalf.” (Of course, this was via a translator, although I have been told that Putin does speak English.)

“We want to talk to you about a possible operation to influence the election. You see, we have had a couple of top agents assisting our efforts—Boris Badinoff and Natasha Popitoff. But they have increasingly demonstrated that their intelligence gathering efforts are rather weak, almost, as we say here in Russia, cartoonish.”

I piped up: “So, Plad—I mean Vlad—how can I be of service? You just let me know and, you know, given my millions of contacts and tremendous influence, I will make sure that Trump wins and defeats Hillary. You got it?”

Putin looked at me quizzically. “But, Dr. Cathey, how can you possibly do that? I mean both the US and Russia engage in deep hacking and have done so for many years. All major powers do. Sometimes it is successful, and sometimes it is not. But how can you possibly affect the election? The voting machines in the states are not connected to the internet, and each state has its own voting system. Many still use paper ballots. It seems to me that what you are talking about is an impossibility. Besides, Hillary is an awful candidate—our foreign policy forecasters think that she will lose, despite all of her prostituted pollsters and favorable media coverage in America.”

Beginning to come out from under my wodka-induced stupor, I answered, “Well, you see, I have developed a plan; it is very detailed and sure to succeed. All you have to do is be honest. Just hack into the Democratic National Committee and get the e-mails of John Podesta, Donna Brazile, and others, released out to the press. That will help convince voters that Hillary shouldn’t be elected.

“Plus, I have a network of 150,000 faithful, clandestine sub-agents who will travel to every state and get on local election committees, and then, while the other committee members aren’t looking, they will alter the vote totals. It’s perfect.

“The final piece de resistance [that’s French for the icing on the cake, for the folks down in rural Johnston County, NC] is that I will encourage 10,000 other sub-agents who, while pretending to be Clintonista Leftists, will go up and down California, Oregon, Washington, and all around New York City and Chicago to gin up the Clinton votes in those states and cities. They’ll make sure Hillary gets well over two million votes more than Trump.

“After all that, how could any intelligent observer charge you with deciding the election when two-million more voters vote for Hillary?

“Don’t worry, Vlad—I got it covered.”

Putin smiled broadly and stated in measured tones: “Dr. Cathey, I like what I am hearing. But let me ask: If this plan, as you call it, is to succeed, what will it cost me? I mean you are talking about at least 160,000 trained, secret operatives to effect this plan. Is this at all possible?”

“Well,” I said, “I’ve got some great connections. In the military, I know General Billy Jack Ripper—you know, the grandson of the late General Jack Ripper—who was made famous by that film Dr. Strangelove many years ago in the darkest days of the Cold War. He’s got thousands of contacts who will do our bidding. And I know of lots of unprincipled, amoral liberals who will help in California and New York. I will promise them all transgender operations and lifetime supplies of vegan quiche and lattes at Starbucks. Oh, could you foot the bill for those things?”

“I will refer those requests to my adjutant, Dmitri Upchuk,” Putin replied, gesturing toward a nearby aide. “Dmitri can handle those arrangements.”

At this point I was more than satisfied that my superior negotiating skills were paying off. Indeed, I began to think of myself as a kind of second John Kerry! Well, perhaps not on the same august level, but certainly formidable.

“One more question, Dr. Cathey,” Putin interjected. “Julian Assange and Wikileaks have already got thousands of DNC e-mail messages and tried, unsuccessfully, to hack the RNC. Wikileaks already has enough data to reveal the dishonesty and crass disdain of the Hillary campaign. Wikileaks has a mole, in fact, several moles, within the DNC. I believe the one who gave them those messages is a 400-pound former Bernie Sanders supporter who remains very embittered by what the DNC and Hillary did to him.”

“The Mainstream Media, Hillary, and even some Republican elites will probably end up blaming you if Hillary should lose,” I responded, “even though the data released is incontrovertible and beyond doubt. It all reminds me of a true story that took place down in Harnett County—that’s down in rural North Carolina, in case you don’t know. [At that point, Putin ordered an aide to bring him a map of North Carolina.] There was a man who was walking by his neighbor’s house, and he happened to look in the window. There he saw his neighbor beating his wife to a pulp, so he reported him to the sheriff. Well, when the case came to trial, the neighbor blamed the man who looked through the window for his own act of abuse. In other words, he blamed the messenger.

“That, it seems to me, is what you’ll need to prepare for, even if Assange is the one who did the research and released the adverse data. The media and the Clintonistas, with their political appointees in the US intelligence agencies, will want to cast you as the boogieman. You’re an easy target—former KGB, anti-gay rights, pro-traditional marriage, and now a returnee to the Christian faith which you strongly support: all those things that our fashionable elites, not just on the Left but also on the so-called Neoconservative Right, despise.”

“Dr. Cathey,” Putin then declared, “if they do that, we will demand in the strongest language that they produce the proof that it was us who revealed the e-mails.”

“They won’t do that,” I said. “They will say that such details are top secret. So all they will do is leak to the mainstream media and have Obama and Hillary blame you and your country for Clinton’s loss, if she should lose.”

Putin quickly added: “But all superpowers engage in hacking. Wikileaks already has the e-mails, so anything we do now is superfluous. Anyway, if Obama and Hillary use this ploy, I will, indeed, demand to see their proof, and not just some anonymous and unnamed reports.”

Here I inquired delicately about what amount of remuneration I might receive for my services to world peace, truth and justice, and the bringing on of the Eschaton. Putin, with nonchalance, told me to go back to North Carolina, and that after the success of my plan I would receive a handsome payment (in rubles) in my Credit Union checking account. As of this writing, I am still waiting for that, though I am more than satisfied that my complicated work in engineering the 2016 election for Donald Trump, and ensuring that Hillary got over two million more votes than the Donald, was a major blow for American liberty and our future.

Considering Trump’s victory, I wish to thank Representative Adam Schiff, the journalists at CNN—especially Don Lemmon and Chris Cuomo—and Rachel Maddow and other persons too numerous to mention at MSNBC and in the major media, for through their hysterical Russophobia and hatred for President Trump, they diverted all attention from my efforts to change history.

My only complaint in the whole affair came on the way back from Moscow on that same Ilyushin jet: the rot-gut wodka was even worse, so much so that instead of fifteen shots, I had twenty-five. I might as well get so drunk that I can’t taste the stuff, I reasoned. Yet when I landed at a top-secret airfield out here in the wilds of rural eastern Wake County, NC, I was so tipsy that I couldn’t drive or even manipulate my way to my parked and camouflaged 2006 Kia Spectra (which I mistook for an overweight blue elephant, with Trump and Putin stickers affixed to it). I had to hitch hike my way back home.