I’m happier than a pig still wearing his bacon this week. It looks like, at last, all the years of persistent digging have finally gotten me in the exact hole I’ve been looking for. I’m now on the trail of a conspiracy so big, so deep, so all-encompassing, that I’m surprised it hasn’t been made into a major motion picture yet. When they do, now they’ll have to cast the Red Bagel part—I’m in that deep.

It’s okay to talk about it, and not only because nobody in the government reads the commune. I am using a pseudonym so clever and ingenious, not only will they never connect it with the Red Bagel you know and love, but I’m also thinking of making it my legal name when I’m done with all this conspiracy unraveling.

Seriously, readers, this conspiracy has it all. The close-knit group of international corporations, aliens, copyright infringement, and the genocide of a species that doesn’t even exist yet, but will in the future. This is a crunchy conspiracy, sir. And I’m in it up to my neck. Lucky me!

My efforts in disguise have been commendable, if I may say so myself. Instead of my white riverboat gambler attire, I’ve been wearing a black suit that fits like it’s been tailor-made—all part of the disguise, I assure you, I haven’t gone over to the black suit-wearing side. I also shaved my beard, and have put a fake beard on in its place. Going around beardless was quite like going around naked. I have also created a character—name withheld, for now—and made up a backstory for him. My guy is a divorced father of three, who pays child support, but receives alimony from his ex-wife, Paulina Porizkova. I had to look it up how to spell it, just in case anyone asks me. I also had an affair with Tawny Kitaen that ended badly, but my character doesn’t like to talk about that unless he’s drunk.

It’s real exciting. This conspiracy puts all the others to shame. This one involves a leather-clad assassin—a female leather-clad assassin. Can you boast that, Watergate scandal? How about you, Vince Foster cover-up? I didn’t think so.

I think what I like best about this conspiracy is how damned exciting it is. Too many of these conspiracies I’ve been involved with have been pretty humdrum. A few loose pages signed over a table, or soft-spoken agreements between the heads of world powers and the corporate oligarchy. Sure, it sounds exciting when you’re reading documents, but when you’re actively involved, all you can think about is when are you going to be able to get home and play some video games. Not this conspiracy! I’ve been shot at twice already! It kicks major ass. People finally want me dead, and I don’t think it’s because I was wearing the wrong colors in gang territory, like Rascal suggested. He also suggested that’s why my lemonade stand empire failed.

I worry sometimes this conspiracy is way too big for me to unravel all by my lonesome, especially since my informant, Deep Cock (never let your informants pick their own nicknames, I remind you), is still on the fence about whether he wants to stop it or would rather write a comic book graphic novel about it. I may end up tapping the commune Conspiracy-Busters reserve, which is mostly just Ivan Nacutchacokov, Ted Ted, and photographer Junior Bacon. Still, right now, it’s kind of like “my little conspiracy,” and I’d hate to lose that, for the whole thing to become a full-blown web of intrigue, something where everybody and his mother’s involved. I mean, it is that way, but only on their side right now. I’m not sure I want to share the conspiracy-busting glory just yet.

Ah, what the hell am I groaning about? I should just enjoy it while it lasts.

A Blemished Reputation
But Raoul’s legacy was not the solid reporting I seemed to once think. At the urging of all the other reporters, I reviewed some of his past articles at random and checked them against his notes. I even tracked down the political figures and quote-donators, what they call “fact-checking” at other papers.

Future Imperfect
It’s quite depressing, to realize you’re as old as I am (let’s not deal in numbers here) and have inadvertently doomed your name to extinction. Who’s supposed to carry on the Bagel legacy? My brother Gay? He will never have children, for quite obvious reasons—he despises them. So is this truly the end of the Bagels? Once and for all, the gene pool dries up here?

Ratings Bonanza
You probably know full and well I’m not really in the “readership” business, sir—I do the commune just to get the truth out to as many people as possible, even if nobody reads it. But Gay has been chomping at the bit (the dentist says he has to wear it) to define our readership, and Perry has brought us the numbers we need to stay in business and keep Gay happy.

The New Government Ninjas
On Sunday, January 23, the Washington Post broke the mainstream news about the existence of the SSB, while the rest of us who read the commune or report the alternative news just sat back and yawned in a patronizing fashion. Nobody needed to tell me about the super-secret Pentagon anti-terrorism unit—and by nobody, of course, I mean my super-secret embedded Pentagon source, who I’ll call Doggie Style.