It was the summer of 1970, in between my junior and senior year of high school and I had been awarded a scholarship as a page at the Rand Corporation in Santa Monica. I was a National Honors Student. Oh, just fuck you! I'm 57 now and I can pretty much say anything I want and get away with it. You don't like that? OK, Google it. See what you come up with. SQUAT!!! You know why? I'm so undercover it hurts. National security, don't you know....
Anyway, I was appointed to help Danny. That's what I called him back then. He called me "Pookie" but that's a whole other blog. Which I can't go into do to his subsequent divorce. And National security. And the whole New York Times thing. He was so hot back then it made my shorts warm. Hell, it made them smoke. He was like an early 70's version of Russ Feingold. Only taller. And without all of those torrid divorces. Which by the way, kind of only makes me hotter as I think about it now.
So, me and Danny are sitting around one night, after hours, knocking back a few brewsky's and he opens his briefcase. I loved it when he opened his "briefcase" after hours. What can I say, I was young, impressionable and looking for a little guidance. Yes, I've been a man-whore for decades!!! And then he pulls it out. My God, it was huge! Totally enormous! Almost 7,000 pages!!! The next thing you know, he has me face down. Yes!!! Over the Xerox machine!!! And I'm making copies of the Pentagon Papers. For hours. He was in leather and I was just saying "make me do your bidding, Daddy". It was a bonding moment I will never forget. He was kind. And stern. I was obedient. And collating. The next thing I know, he's on the front page of every newspaper in the country and I'm in a safe house somewhere in Virginia.
Trying to avoid an indictment. Or at the very least a subpoena!
Danny, Danny, Danny.... what can I say? I hardly knew ya!
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