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Contact A Dark Roasted Blen... By Ken D. Webber
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 I know...
You've flipped a few pages already and you're back here in chapter One because you're lost and looking for the coffee. Gourmet dark roast? Mocha java? Hazelnut creme? Where's all the coffee recipes? The history of roasting? The beans? "What kind of coffee book is this dude?!" You're not too sure about the B.O.H.I.C.A. label but as long as the coffee's brought into America on the tiny backs of poverty ridden Central American slave labor then serve that shit man! Pour the joe.
Nope.
No can do. No joe. More like mojo; bad mojo. Maybe if I explained the label. "B.O.H.I.C.A." Shit sounds exotic don't it, like it could be a foreign travel agency with a motto like, "Fly B.O.H.I.C.A. Brother." I wanted to name my book Coffee Cup, not for the drink, but for what it means to anyone who's studied military psyops.
COFFEE CUP: "A military psyops term that means - the act of driving a chosen target to the point of complete insanity with a series of ever-escalating conspiratorial actions that begin with the movement of a single coffee cup, to 'coffee cup' someone."
That's some strong shit man! And the label's the kicker. B.O.H.I.C.A. is again, a military term, in this case an acronym that's short for "Bend Over, Here It Comes Again." And that's the flavor for this entire book.
U Signed the Motherfucking Contract: U.S.M.C.
Sometime around 1988 I find myself on the U.S.S. Coral Sea; an aircraft carrier sent to the Mediterranean on a six-month cruise. I walk into the avionics shop and Gunnery Sergeant ***Barker is sitting on a cruise box with a crowd of younger Marines around him and they're all shooting the shit.
At least I think he's a Gunny at this point. The memory's a bit fuzzy as to when he was promoted to Gunny from Staff Sergeant but I seem to remember that it was on the boat.
Now this is old Corps where a Gunny can get a little fat, is rarely seen doing any work, and when a Gunny does attempt the act of work you can be sure of one thing; the coffee cup's going to be there somewhere. They've earned that cup. Caffeine has by this point, written itself into their very DNA. Barker is no exception to the rule. Someone attempts to pump up their own self-image by cracking a joke on Barker about how fat and slow he is.
"Oh but I can still kick your ass Scoey," he says jokingly to Corporal Scoman. "Come on over here and take a shot. I'll give you a freebie. Let you have the first swing."
"Hell no Gunny. I've already heard your reputation."
Scoey's out but I'm thinking, A free pop in this assholes mouth. Fuck Yeah! This may be my only chance ever to give the higher ranks a taste of what they've been giving me. I step up and take the challenge.
"Hey Gunny, let me take a swing. I'll pop you back to last Tuesday!"
"All right. Take a swing. I promise not to hurt you too bad."
Somebody in the room complains about horseplay, it may have been an officer, but there's no shortage of whiners in the Marine Corps so we take it to the next room where a crowd develops to see me pop the Gunny in the mouth. I get into position and he squares off as well.
"Ok, Gunny, You ready to see the floor?"
He's grinning and just casually standing there, wide open for a shot.
"Give me what you got. I know you got something besides that big mouth of yours."
I try for the fake-out to the body. A classic move. Then I arc a fist at lightning speed towards his mouth. Shut that bastard…
First there's pain. Then I'm a pretzel. I didn't know humans could be pretzels but that's what I feel like. And the next thing I know I find myself staring at Gunny's nuts. I reach out to grab them and the pain on my elbow increases tenfold and I can't do anything but call uncle like a punk bitch. The laughter in the room doesn't help my damaged ego either.
"Who's the master boot?"
"You are Gunny."
"I am what?"
"The master Gunny. You're the Master! Let me go. You win." And on that day I realized that people are not what they appear to be. People, as you see them, are masks and all masks hide secrets.
After letting me up the Gunny shows me the arm and wrist lock maneuver.
"Most people, when they fight, aim for faces. Long before your fist flies you telegraph your movements. You have to train yourself to respond appropriately. But all that stuff's physical. The best way to destroy an opponent is mentally."
"What?" I say, "Like E.S.P? Telepathy?"
"Boot… If I really wanted to fuck you up I could do it with a coffee cup." Gunny grins, yells at one of the guys to get out of his fucking seat, and takes a sip from the coffee cup that rests undisturbed on his desk. Sitting there as if it's all a grand setup.
"What? You mean hit me in the head with it?"
"No. That's physical. I'm talking about psyops. Ever taken any Marine Corps training courses on psychological warfare?"
"No. I've taken an anti-terrorist course."
"Well some of the things they do come close but most terrorists attack the physical. That's the easy stuff. You break a person's bone it can heal but when a person's mind is broken down then you own that person.
"Tell me more," I say.
The Gunny eyeballs a captain who's in the room talking about a gripe on one of the aircraft and whose back is to us.
"Later. You can't learn everything in one day boot. You'd fry your mind and it already goes into brain fart mode enough as it is!"
So we wait for the Captain to leave and Gunny goes into one of those long, but very amazing, stories that all Gunny's come equipped with.
It is a sad fact that the young have no stories. They just don't. They're complete blank slates. Sometimes even the old have no stories. They get locked into dead end jobs and boring wives and they're riding a plateau at high speed towards the wall of death. But Gunny's have stories. They've gone everywhere, they've seen it all, climbed every mountain, fucked a million women, and they OWN the world! You might say that in the Marine Corps, Gunny's are known as "Men of Knowledge." And Barker could drop some impressive knowledge on you as easily as he could drop you to the floor.
"Ok, I'm going to give you instructions on how to Coffee Cup someone but you have to promise me that you'll never ever use it on someone else."
Before I can answer one of the Staff Sergeants interrupts with his two cents.
"Barker's right. I've seen that shit myself in Nam and it's no game. You only want to use it when it's absolutely necessary for the benefit of the platoon."
"What do you mean by benefit?" I ask." How would destroying someone's mind benefit the platoon?"
"Wartime, boot!" says the Gunny, once again taking control of the conversation. "When you're in war you sometimes get these assholes who have no business running their mouths, giving bad orders that get a lot of people killed unnecessarily. Mostly inexperienced young officers, which is why I didn't want to say anything in front of the Captain."
"You ever use this stuff yourself Gunny?"
"I'll never tell…" he says and proceeds to wrestle the conversation back to the specifics of coffee cupping someone. "…but anyway, the guy ended up in the hospital for a long time. Hell, he may still be there! And this guy was a great guy but when you coffee cup someone being a nice guy doesn't count. A lot of good guys get coffee cupped because you don't feel right putting a bullet in their heads. A bad guy gets fragged without a second thought in war. Nobody gives a fuck about bad guys. All the others though… you'd have to coffee cup em. Otherwise their lack of battlefield knowledge would get a lot of innocent men killed in combat."
And now it's your turn to learn about the nifty little trick that war created and I also will warn you beforehand. Don't play with this stuff! When Pandora's little box of evil was opened I can't tell you what all was in there but I can guarantee that if you leaned in and gave the box a little sniff you'd notice that over the smell of sulphur and brimstone would be the unmistakable odor of freshly ground coffee!
"When everybody is on board the trick then the coffee cup moves. Don't start coffee cupping until you have the cooperation and a sworn oath of secrecy from everyone. The reason the trick works is that it is a conspiracy and the average mind cannot deal with conspiracies. The first week the target's coffee cup moves one inch. That's it. And the whole platoon moves the cup whenever the target turns their back."
"What if someone gets caught moving the cup?"
"Then they make up a story on the spot. 'Oh sorry Sir. I was just looking at the picture you've got on your cup.' Whatever. Always, always, always you have to claim innocence. If the target ever gets a whiff that there's a conspiracy afoot they become a loose cannon. They'll grab a rifle, load up and go hunting for humans. They'll strap bombs on themselves and walk into headquarters. They have no other choice."
Barker continued with his story as I listened in absolute awe.
"In week two: The coffee cup moves a whole foot. In addition to the coffee cup, you're also moving the target's tools, their keys, their radio, whatever you can grab that they've set down. But only one foot. You want to see the target reach for their coffee cup and be amazed to come up empty air. This happens once then the mind forgets it but day after day, week after week, the mind's sense of what's real and what's not is slowly being pulled apart. Things become fuzzy. This is the type of game that works best in high-stress situations like war, or working on aircraft, or any place where lives are on the line."
"And this tactic can destroy a person?"
"Hell yes boot! When you put an object down somewhere your subconscious mind keeps an exact record of where it's located. The conscious mind reaches for the coffee cup based upon the instructions given to it by the subconscious mind. So when the hand reaches and grabs air it sends an error message to the subconscious mind to pay attention. When this happens hundreds of times per day then the subconscious mind gets tired of taking the blame and a mental war begins. The target begins to question. First they question other people. 'Hey! Did you move my coffee cup somewhere?' 'No Sir. I haven't seen your coffee cup but I'll keep an eye out for it.' And that answer doesn't work for the subconscious mind so the target gets angrier and angrier because they begin to believe that their own mind can no longer be trusted. When you coffee cup someone you're tricking them into arguing against their own soul."
"Wow!" I say. "What's coffee cup like in the end?"
"By the time you get to the end game you're not only moving things huge distances but you're screwing with them so they can't get any sleep. The target's anxieties are running rampant and they're keeping notes to remind themselves to keep notes. You're adding unbelievable duties to their responsibilities. You're writing forged letters to them from their wives with bad news from home, letters that disappear after being read. You're using every outburst of their anger to destroy them and take away their stripes. You're suggesting to the target that maybe he's not just losing his memory; maybe it's even worse. Maybe it's a brain tumor or cancer! You're telling the guy all the crazy stuff he did when he was sleepwalking and how he almost went into the minefields. The target could smell like a fresh shower but everyone around him is telling him that his body odor is hugely offensive.
Your target is a dot within a circle. He is a whipping boy left all alone in the world, talking to himself as all crazy people do. And when the target's sense of sanity is completely broken, when he's a blubbering crybaby mess on the floor, then that's when you really turn up the heat! All the while watching out so that he can't commit suicide and suggesting, as a friend, that he get some serious mental help. So in the end the guy walks willingly into the shrink's office and talks about every crazy thing that's been happening and every bad childhood experience that they can remember from the age of three. The shrink stamps him section eight and bam… off to a stateside nut hut and the problem for the platoon is solved."
This very moment, as I type this story, I remember the past and I taste coffee. Really. Not a literary analogy. Doublespeak or no? You decide. I'm actually sitting here listening to K.D. Lang (you can probably guess what song) and drinking coffee. In fact, it's a delicious deep roast flavor. I highly suggest you try some.
But for a brief second I had you thinking and wondering to yourself about the hidden meanings of things. Why this book? What could it really mean? After all, you don't know me. Exactly who is Ken D. Webber? Is Ken D. Webber the 'Crazy Man' as depicted in one of his drawings? Is Ken D. Webber the target of a vast conspiracy that you yourself play a role in? FNORD. Has Ken found out yet? Is Ken going to wrap himself in dynamite, take a final sip from his custom coffee cup, and go off to meet the President to explosively express all the reasons why 911 was an inside job?
"What do you think Pandora?"
"What's that you say? Bush carved his initials on your box? Bush's fingerprints all over Pandora's box. Really? And you…"
"...Pink you say! I did not know that about Bush. An American Reichstag! Well what will the people do now?"
So powerful the hypnotic use of suggestion through words, doublespeak, music, and of course, art. Good, right?
Of course it is.
Of course it is.
What motive for writing this book? Is the person reading this now the Master or the boot? Do I bring light to a dark mind as the Master or do I speak to you in arrogant words like a boot trying to take a shot? And when you read this book, which is actually like 'playing in dark boxes,' are you aware that that I am opening boxes within your mind! Powerful hypnotic suggestions, right under your nose.
Smell the coffee.
Smell the coffee.
Here's a suggestion I want you to keep secret so… don't tell people about this book. It's much more fun to show them in this manner: Take this coffee table book home and place it on your coffee table.
When a guest comes over, be nice and serve them some coffee, placing the coffee down in such a way that your guest will probably see this book and maybe pick it up. It may be cute to also have pretzels within reaching distance on the table. You should also suggest to them to pick up the book (if it's not already in their hands) and read the amazing first chapter.
If for any reason, your guest leaves the room during the reading of this (maybe they've gotta go to the bathroom? I don't know?) you will find yourself staring at their coffee cup and wanting to just reach on over and maybe… move that coffee cup an inch or so from its current position. But then you'll remember that I told you not to do that. Then again… it's so tempting isn't it!
Okay, just for shits and giggles watch the eyes of your guest to telegraph to you when it's time to deliver the big punch. As they're reading this section, or slightly before, whisper this line loud enough for them to hear, "What's burundanga flavored coffee taste like?" If they attempt to answer the question interrupt their reply and tell them to keep reading.
And of course, if you're reading this now and someone just whispered something in your ear then you're already asking yourself the question, 'What the hell is burundanga?' C'mon people, get with the program! Wake up and SMELL THE COFFEE! And by now you must fully understand that we know - that you know - that we know that the question popped up in your mind because all of this has been cleverly thought out well in advance for someone's "benefit." Hasn't it? The book, left out on the table. Coincidence? The coffee served. The gracious host pointing out that amazing first chapter that you have to read. The giggling madness of laughter or is it the giggling laughter of madness? Two or more people waking up to conspiracies through simple little tricks that smell like…
(Tell the truth, you were just thinking the word coffee right? Simple N.L.P. But what's that? Isn't it time you learned how those in power are manipulating you?)
Hey!
What about the burundanga that may or may not be in your coffee?
Do you even know what burundanga is or what it tastes like? Why should every American know what burundanga is? Why is that so important? What is the truth about 9/11? Who doesn't want you knowing these things and why? Is someone fucking with your mind?
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Boot!
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