The Illuminati, the Trilateral Commission, and Ink 19

Carl F Gauze

I’ve been asked to describe a bit of what Ink 19 does, its procedures, and how it fits into the One World Government plan. Let’s start with a brief background on myself, which will give a snapshot into the motivations and goals of the typical Ink 19 operative. My career started as a remote assistant to one John Blume, social critic and stand-up comedian better known as Joe Bob Briggs. Although I’ve never met Mr. Blume face to face, several years were spent pre-screening and summarizing films for his movie review column. He specialized in covering the B-movies and straight-to-video material so many writers overlook. At various times, I covered animation, reality, and soft-core “foreign” films. My qualifications included a detailed knowledge of the sort of sci-fi flicks so often seen on Mystery Science Theater 3000 and the ability to fluently read subtitles of films produced in over six different languages. That includes Canadian, of course. After toiling in obscurity, I modestly may report receiving a commendation for watching the 12-hour, six-tape series, The Complete History of Golf, a video series so boring that people in houses down the street actually fell asleep while I watched. There were other rewards, balanced by other disasters. For every Volaré Volaré there was a Mirror Cracked, for every Akira a Photon Starship Warrior. And when The Movie Channel dropped his contract, I was ready to move on to the fertile fields of the Cultural Press.

And what exactly does Ink 19 do? With the untimely demise of the Soviet block and the specter of instant unprovoked nuclear annihilation a pleasant but fading memory, the work Ink 19 grows in importance. With the world threatened by little more than slowly rising tides, something a blind guy in a wheel chair could flee, Ink 19’s observation and subversion of popular culture keeps America and the Western Block from strangling on retro pooka shells and disco chains, from drowning under the flood of pointless and poorly sterilized cultural ephemera flowing from the flesh pots of Los Angeles and Milan. Yes, dear reader, we control your bass AND we control your treble. We observe, interpret, and ultimately control popular culture in the West. And since the third or fourth world produces little beyond bizarre drum solos from Uganda and Bollywood romance films, we are what stands between you and complete cultural annihilation. Not that we don’t like Ugandan drums and Ravij Rai films, mind you, we just don’t let them get out of hand.

How do we accomplish such a critical mission without compromising our personal safety? Incredibly tight security, and fanatical secrecy. When I left Mr. Blume’s staff, I was contacted via a singular and mysterious e-mail. Ink 19 had been successful in subverting the college and indie music scene, and was ready to move on to it next level of achieving One World Cultural Government. They we ready to conquer the film industry. It was a heroic struggle of the cultural proletariat overthrowing the domination of the bourgeois cultural elite, and I was proud to be on the point.

Now, like so many secret organizations, knowledge of who is actually doing what is strictly controlled. Secret identities, forged press accreditation, electronic mail drops, and stegographic messages are de rigueur. I’ve only met one other Ink staffer in my years of silent service, a meeting arranged with great difficulty and great secrecy. Many times, I have been standing within five feet of other _Ink_ers, not having a clue as to who they were or vice-versa. That’s how effective our security is. We keep a mailing address and a Web site, but these are only the heavily veiled public manifestation of our organization. Your mail may begin its journey by visiting a nondescript address in Melbourne, but that’s only the beginning of its tortuous journey to the true headquarters. I can’t say where it is, but to visit it, one drives to an anonymous parking structure in an obscure district of a not-too-fashionable metropolis. After parking on a specific level, you enter through a door that looks like an electrical closet, proceed down a concrete corridor lit by bare 60-watt bulbs to an armed guard station where one presents credentials, has thumb and retina prints scanned, and your butt gets sniffed by a friendly but ominous German Shepherd. That gets you into the reception area. Or so I’m told.

Do we interact with other organizations bent on world domination? Certainly, but not as you might expect. Ink 19’s mission is cultural control of this miserable planet. Other groups such as the Illuminati and Trilateral Commission focus on technology and finance. While formal interactions are limited, there is a convention every few years at the secret volcano headquarters of one hosting group or another, typically in a remote tropical paradise. While participants must maintain their secret identities, it’s still a time to let our hair down and have a Mai Tai or seven. There are always plenty of pulchritudinous women in bikinis and astonishing hairdos, ready to serve our every need. That’s what they tell me, since my editor is too cheap to pop for airfare.

Are we closer to our goal than when I began working for Ink 19? Unquestionably. We’ve abandoned the outmoded methods of just a few years ago. No longer do we use the crude subliminal images of the print edition, and psychotropic drugs in messy printer’s ink are a thing of the past. With large screen computer monitors, we now directly control subtle thought patterns through electromagnetic waves created by displaying our web page. People plunked in front of a computer terminal are all that’s need for us to mold the brave new cultural world. Neither threat nor menace, Ink 19 and its dedicated staff implement their crystal clear mission with maniacal zeal. Were it not for Ink 19, the wild and crazy Illuminati, and those dedicated Tri-Lat’s, we’d all be in a Taliban rehab center. Remember our motto: “We come in Peace.” “Kumbaya,” anyone? ◼