WRITING: Words of Whizdumb (An Index Card Novel)

Words of Whizdumb (An Index Card Novel)

The fat old white guy injineer was a real tin foil hat to the end of his days.

He’d become one in high school, after reading about the “Winds Code”. It had been introduced in the Congressional Investigation of 1945. Even to a rank novice, a mere babe, he’d blown right through that deception. After that, he was a nonbeliever. He later absorbed Stinnett’s work.

Along the way, President Kennedy was assassinated. It wasn’t until much later that he dabbled in guns. It was then he learned first hand about how unreliable a Carcano was.

After that, he was a Truther, a Birther, or whatever -er was ever offered for consideration. He believed nothing. Except maybe the fact that no one ever spoke the “truth”. And certainly, no politician or bureaucrat.


He wasn’t looking for his own conspiracy theory. He was just the below-average fat old white guy drifting through life. And, as an engineering student, he muddled through all the courses — math, physics, chemistry, strength of materials — to name a few. He drifted through the military with a stop at both NASA and NSA. He had a few jobs on Wall Street. He few jobs around NYC and the suburbs.

Along the way he collected souvenirs. And, he even wrote an obscure novel that he self-published. All his friends rolled their eyes at “a future alternative history”.


The fat old white guy injineer was in a frenzy. It had struck him like Saint Paul on the road from Tarsus. A few chemical tests of his brick from 9/11. An photo identification analysis of a picture he’d taken in Princeton. Water analysis of some stored bottles on the porch of his Mom’s downtown apartment. Several late lights surfing the net.


He put it all on a web page. He’d emailed it to every email address he had.

Then he sat back to wait.


“Is it done?”



“Neat and clean!!”

“And, the material?”

“All the primary evidence!!!”


“No, sir.”

“No? Explain!”

Now sweating, “Sir, it was the encrypted page that alerted us. Ever since the Patriot Act 1, we have been scanning the net with our allies in the various ISPs. The code was unbreakable. That’s what brought it to our attention.” Now really sweating. “It was obviously a book code. And, it didn’t match any of the Library of Congress books. That was the key that put the investigation in overdrive.”

Grimacing, the sweaty man knew this wasn’t going to be taken well. “The ISP gave us the identity. It didn’t take long to track him down. He didn’t use any attempt to hide like the Onion Router. Or post from a hacked account. It was really quite easy to find him. Amazon’s sample look gave us enough text from his pathetic story to decrypt enough. That’s the story. The ISPs recalled many of the messages. We nuked the web page. Google cleaned its caches. Lulu and Amazon nuked the book for sale. So while secondary evidence is not totally clean, it’s clean enough.”



The mail that day delivered a printed copy of the webpage to several people.

The thin old Luddite friend of the fat old white guy injineer looked at the page of gobbledygook. Sad about the untimely demise. It was another crypto challenge from his old friend. the last one. He was enough of a crypto nerd to know it was a book code and he knew what book his old friend had used. Now if he could just find it.

The mail was also delivered in Iowa; two letters addressed to each of the two twin children — just babies — who were heroes and heroines in the fat old white guy injineer’s book. The babies’ dad put each letter with each twin’s autographed and dedicated book in their memory chests. Like a hope chest for when they grow up.


The nation’s sheeple slumbered. Never knowing that another disturbing -er had been avoided. Suppressed.

Or had it?

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