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BY COLUMNISTS

| Joe Charlebois | Guest Columnist | Harry M. Covert | Norman M. Covert | Hayden Duke | Jason Miller | Ken Kellar | Patricia A. Kelly | Edward Lulie III | Tom McLaughlin | Patricia Price | Cindy A. Rose | Richard B. Weldon Jr. | Brooke Winn |

DOCUMENTS


The Tentacle


October 18, 2017

An International Spectacle

Tom McLaughlin

Kuching, Malaysian Borneo – I honestly did not know who he was. I honestly had never heard of him unless it slipped my mind. I am talking about Harvey Weinstein.

 

The international and Borneo press literally exploded with information about him. From what I could gather, he was the devil incarnate complete with flaming red beard, goat horns, beady eyes, holding a pitchfork and had long red tail. As he spoke, vomit was thrown forth much like Linda Blair’s character in the movie The Exorcist. As he slid into his devil mobile, he vanished only to turn up some place later.

 

His victims were white virginal girls who visited him, and like a voice of Oliver in Oliver Twist, they plead with him: "Please, sir, I want to be in the movies."

 

They had innocent fantasies in which they thought if they were only seen walking across the street in one of his movies they would be promoted to instant stardom with raving fans, huge cars and a star studded boyfriend at their side. They lived alone, going to church everyday praying for a break in the movies and pined, if they succeeded, to spread the gospel near and far.

 

When the two worlds collided, which they did, the devil retreated to his mansion claiming to be sick, for 30 years, and was seeking help from the saints of Lucifer to help him overcome his predilections while laughing all the way to the bank with the dead bodies of the virginal white women thrown over his shoulder.

 

Outraged, the people gathered at his castle door with torches burning, looking for whatever green blood flowed through his veins. The fallen ladies, along with their muses, sang in a loft the hymns of our forefathers as the cry of "no more movies" hung in the smoke filled air. The horrible details were spread throughout the airwaves, newsprint and social media in such a frenzy that the beings on the planet Neptune could not help but hear.

 

The retribution came fast and swift. Angels, in the form of lawyers, came forth and flooded the home with briefs, lawsuits and motions. They came out of a fire hydrant turned on full force, burying the once picturesque mansion. With cries of" rape, harassment, and "I saw him naked,” filling the pages, dripping of martinis and steak sauce. Everybody wanted a piece of that action.

 

Politics was not immune. Hillary Clinton, after spending three days trying to figure out who he was, if she was one of the victims and realizing he snowed Democrats with money: "Isn't that awful! Just awful! Isn't that awful, Bill?” “Yea, just awful,” he replied with a snicker in his voice.

 

Meanwhile, Harvey Weinstein checked into a rehab center known as "The Meadows," wondering what he had done wrong, why everybody was so upset and how he could turn off that damn hydrant.

 

Totally perplexed, he was convinced that the devil made him do it...do what he wasn't sure, but the devil still made him do it. He figured giving Hillary all that money would protect him from whatever they were so angry about. He would lay low for 30 days and hoped everyone would come to their senses, understanding that trading sex for favors or money was not such a bad thing.

 

...Life is good. . . . .

 



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