Has Slats Grobnik Become a Jesuit Agent?
Or has he gone stark raving mad!
By Greg Szymanski, JD
Dec. 11, 2009
“Oh, the irony of it all. You write and criticize and then you become just like those you criticize the most.”
I sat listening to Slats Grobnik, waiting for more.
Slat’s is a staunch Jesuit and Vatican critic, a freedom fighter busy building a replica of the Roman coliseum in a Kansas corn field for only God knows what reason.
“Why a modern day coliseum?” I asked.
“I’ve told you a million times before but for those who never listen, I am building it in life-size fashion to one day watch with millions of people experience real live gladiator fights, not the reality fake garbage on TV.
“This will be the real thing, man! But the twist is the common-folk – the peasants as we are called – will be watching the elite fight it out. We will have the Jesuit hierarchy, for example, in the ring fighting the Clinton’s and the Obama’s. How wonderful to watch the real pigs squeal for a change!”
I must admit Mr. Grobnik’s idea appeals to the animalistic side of the human condition, but sometimes I really wonder if he doesn’t have a screw loose somewhere. But don’t we all for that matter and I found myself wanting to hear more even it was considered lunacy.
“Enough of the coliseum!”
“Thank you,” interrupted Slats.
“What do you mean you have become like the people you criticize the most?” I asked.
“I am now undercover – deep cover – but will tell you everything anyway.”
“How can you tell me everything if you are secretly going undercover?”
Slats looked at me with evil intentions but just as quickly his eyes turned to those of an angel.
“That’s the beauty of it my friend, the beauty of talking out both sides of your mouth like the Vatican and Jesuits. Always throwing opposites into the environment, creating confusion, confusion and more confusion.
“I am confused, Slats.”
“Good, my friend, now we can communicate like the Jesuits want us to, because now I can say anything and it won’t matter, will it?”
“I guess not.”
“So you are thinking why talk at all.”
“Yes I was.”
“Now your catching on.”
“To what?” I asked, really not even remembering why I asked it.
“Your catching on to talk, talk, talk! If you are so confused like my buddies in the Jesuit get us to think, then nothing gets done and all that is left is talk, talk talk and really, it is not important what is said. Of course, the Jesuits are sneaking around causing all kinds of mischief, revolutions and wars while – we the people – talk, talk and talk.”
“So what are we talking about, Slats?”
“Good question, I forgot. But does it really matter. Undercover, deep cover or whatever you like to call it I have bowed to the enemy and have become a Jesuit double agent.”
“Slats you have finally gone mad,” I said in a resounding manner while he buried his head in his insane architectural plans of the Roman Coliseum.
“I got these from Caesar himself, last night,” Slats said.
“You need a doctor.”
“Just joking,” he assured me and then went off on what happened since our last conversation six months ago when he was about half-way through his Roman Coliseum project.
“When we last talked, Greg, I was about half-way finished with construction. I lived alone in this hidden bunker for a long time without visitors besides the kind farmer and his wife who brought me food and visited every now and again.
“Then, like a thief in the night, I must have been taken from the bunker and found myself in a dungeon. I was later told it was beneath Georgetown University. I was briefed, debriefed and finally my underwear was given back to me, thank God. I heard a lot about Jesuit sexual propensities and was worried but they left me alone at least while I was conscious.
“From there the story only gets worse. I really don’t know how long I was there but I left a confirmed, card carrying Jesuit agent. I work for them now. They said they would take over construction of the Coliseum, writing a contract with me, written in invisible ink so to speak, that it will be finished in six months. They want to turn it into a national landmark and then use it for their own purposes.”
“For their own purposes! Slats do you know what that means?”
“A few dead bodies, I guess. But they told me what’s a few more when millions have died at their hands before because the ends justifies the means.”
“The ends justifies the means! My God, man, do you know what your saying! OK, so you sold out, right?”
“All I am at liberty to say at this time, Greg, is that I still will criticize the Jesuits like before and will still be building the Coliseum to fight the New World Order like always.
“So publicly you have one agenda and privately another? Sounds like double talk to me,” trying to pin Slats to the wall and wondering whether he really has fallen into the hands of the enemy.
We then sat strangely silent for several minutes, Slats fiddling with his drawings.
He then handed me a letter with the Georgetown logo on it, saying not to open it for six months for in it contained certain secrets which reveal the truth of the ancient NWO plan.
“If they know you have it or say a word, I am a dead man. They didn’t give me the letter or their secrets. Let’s just say they fell into my hands like welcome rain drops while at Georgetown,” said Slats in a whisper while quickly turning on loud music to drown out any bugging devices.
“Why six months and why me?” I asked.
Slats didn’t answer, showing me the door.
As I walked to the car, I wondered if I would open the letter on my trip back?
Questions popped into my perplexed mind like:
“Would I reveal this secret for the betterment of humanity? Would revealing it mean the life of my friend? Is Slats really a Jesuit agent or has he gone mad?”
So many unanswered questions, so much double talk!
I then slipped the envelop into my briefcase, wondering what to do during the next six months.