"That sumbitch."

April, 1968. Johnson is briefed by Rusk and Defense Secretary Robert McNamara on "that sumbitch" Nash. Richard Helms is sent out for tacos. Johnson makes a number of sadistic jokes at Helms' expense as he leaves the White House briefing room, warning him not to spill mild sauce on "his naws suit."


Helms exits the White House and stops in at his favorite taco stand: Karina's, on L Street. In a fit of wounded dandy-ish pride, he contemplates lacing Johnson's fajita with leftover LSD from MKULTRA.


Helms stops off for a haircut on the way back to the White House. Johnson is growing furious. His status is upgraded from "hongry" to "damn hongry." Rusk suspects the fajitas are growing cold sitting in Helms' car.


Back in the safe house, Nash has a vivid dream about a walk-in freezer filled with fajitas. He has been keeping a fantastic dream journal for the benefit of his psychiatrist, a kindly ex-Nazi that, unbeknowest to Nash, had treated Frank Olson. He is eager to see what the doctor will make of this dream of cold Mexican food.

Powerful damn hongry. Plus: our man in Red Hook.

Above: Mimeos today, Ruskian origami tomorrow.

Meanwhile, back in the Johnson White House, April 1968.

Hours have passed. Rusk is sitting in a corner, creating origami cranes from mimeopgraphed copies of the Gulf of Tonkin resolution. President Johnson's status re: the tacos is upgraded from "damn hongry" to "powerful damn hongry." He makes a number of colorful references to a "summit meeting with mah foot and [Helms's] ass."


Above: "It don't look like no damn taco I ever seen."

Johnson is furious that he is being made a fool of. After six hours with nary a phone call from Helms, Johnson impulsively bars Mexican food from ever being served in the White House in perpetuity, and demands that master pierogie chefs be smuggled in by the CIA from behind the Iron Curtain, and appointed to Official White House Chef (Non-Barbeque Division) on an ad-hoc basis. The resulting termination of Chef Don Pancho, as history has well-recorded, will have calamitous results just a few years later.


Above: ¿Dónde está usted, Don Pablo?

Meanwhile, in an unheated steel mesh warehouse in Red Hook, Brooklyn, W.J. Dickgraber, long since removed from CIA's payrolls, works furiously on his latest set of unauthorized Eva Hesse forgeries, which he sells on the contemporart arts black market to fatuous California millionaires with lapsed subscriptions to Artforum magazine. Dickgraber, in an ill-timed burst of conscious, split from the CIA during the Kennedy Administration, furious that newly-appointed Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara downgraded his black-ops role in the Nash blackmail project from creating mock-ups of the naked sobbing man, to merely handling the interior decorating details used in the couches Nash would be photographed on (to add insult to injury, President Kennedy also used these couches as rendevous locations for several of the less-noteworthy trysts in his administration).


Above: Dickgraber's post-Eisenhower handiwork. CIA focus groups found Nash's Kennedy-era blackmailings to be "free-spirited," "modish" and "now."

The funds from the Hesse forgeries will be used to purchase back any extant blackmail photos from various collectors of the perverse, and begin to unsully the name of "Dickgraber."

Meanwhile, Nash has joined noted anarchist rock band the Fugs as a flautist. His further association with New Left is noted by higher-ups at Foggy Bottom.

Nash's kindly ex-Nazi doctor is hired as a technical advisor on "Hogan's Heroes," and will later be singled out as a "person of interest" in Bob Crane's death in 1978.


Above: Kill for peace?