And now, when America feels depleted—like Kennedy, with the Addisons—we supplement with chemicals what we can not do organically. We self-Morellify. And—you know what’s cute—thirty-two percent of American schoolchildren and adolescents are now on Adderall. Junior Speedsters! No more money for education but plenty to stay awake and be stupid. This is Amphetamerica!

You never actually saw the Professor use. He just seemed to be on it. Later, I learned about liquid meth, and figured him for a hanky-dipper. You had to use in quantity, harsh stuff—the scabs is the sulphur coming out of your skin. He had notecards, in different colored ink, tacked up into his walls, doors, the spines of books on his shelves, arranged on the carpet, inside the fridge. Wherever you looked in his apartment, hints. Pieces of the master puzzle. Of something. Mickey Mouse x Jew-HATER + White Gloves = Genocide? I could turn back any time. Or I could just ride the weird pain in my heart. It hurt to breathe but breathing out was armhair-shimmery. The kind of high you don’t want. Like if somebody told you, drink this dirty water and you’ll feel really happy. “Happy enough to forget I just drank water with floaters in it?” I look happy, don’t I? You couldn’t argue with a professor. He knew his own IQ and showed you his MENSA card. He sold meth to other geniuses. Crystal MENSA.

But it was not just speed. Not just narcotics. Hitler’s doctor, Morell, gave him Bulgarian peasant feces and laxatives and Vitamin B-12. Every great leader needs a pharmacist. Kennedy came to Max before the 1960 television debates. The ones where he annihilated Richard Nixon. Because Nixon sweat. But he came to Jacobsen desperate. His Addison’s Disease left him too weak to make a fist. Kennedy had to look strong. CONNECTIONS. Hidden Connections. Jacobsen had family who died in Van Braun’s V-2 factories—he didn’t care, he didn’t like them anyway. CONNECTIONS. Van Braun and Kennedy were both playboys. Van Braun became American, like Jacobsen became American. Both linked to Kennedy. Like JFK and Sam Giancana and Judith Campbell Exner—except Sam and JFK were doing the same woman. JFK and Van Braun were doing the same drugs. Crank-Tastic! Here’s another one. Sidney Gottleib—another Jew, if you want to go that way—and another giant. Ran MK Ultra’s drug experiments. Gave meth and LSD to prisoners. “Subjects experienced violent paranoia.” You see the thread here? Germans—or German descendants—giving drugs to Americans. High and Low. Experimenting on the low to know how to properly administer to the High… Are you Jewish? It’s fine with me. I happen to find intelligence sexy. And I like a big bush. Conceptually… The Europeans aren’t afraid to hate Jews. I’ll give them that. Jim Jones. Think it was a coincidence? When he started making the Dexamyl smoothies his paranoia slipped off the leash. Did you know he was cornholing all the People’s Temple Guys? All they wanted for Christmas was Vaseline in their stockings. He said Jesus went in dry. That was penance. Rev. Jim, he went to Guyana to get away from the CIA. He thought they were after him, for what he knew. Think it was all the Dexamyl made him think that? Or was it speed that let him know it? Or maybe—his name was Jonestein. See, they hired local Guyanese to make the sign. And he was going to call the place—Jonestein. “Keep up with me!” He touched his head. Like he was so impressed with his own surmising, he wanted to touch the surmise machine. Such a beautiful voice. Like an old-school FM DJ. “You want the secret history of America, Jacobsen let Kennedy be great. He was in the entourage. Speaking of, let’s play the game.” “No, Professor.” “Call me Sven.” “But your name’s Ed.” “Sven is my Power name.”