Premium Episode 45: Deep State Target George Papadopoulos (Sample)
The troubled son of a troubled nation, our sacred boy, the greek prince himself. George Papadopoulos and his ghostwriter have produced Deep State Target: How I Got Caught in the Crosshairs of the Plot to Bring Down President Trump. Now it's time to contend with it. Up to the task: Travis View & Jake Rockatansky. Julian Feeld observes in awe as the two fellas fall in love with Greece and its natural bounties. Then we dive into a freshly unearthed, unpublished chapter of George's novel.
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Here we have a reviewer on Amazon called Loves Labs, which I believe references the dogs.
This is just the second review that's sitting there on Amazon.
A real page-turner.
This book reads like a spy novel, but it isn't a novel!
Because she was listening to it through her headphones.
The setup is positively frightening.
Who thought this scheme up?
The deep state devised a plan to use this man to prove Trump colluded with Russia.
They took pictures, recorded him, and tried to get him to say things.
It takes place all over the world in luxury hotels with beautiful spies.
I think they're just talking about Simone.
There's, like, one other Israeli woman who's supposedly, like, beautiful.
I tell you, this should be a darned movie!
Read it!
Then be angry.
The Mueller investigation was BS from the start.
So, these are the kinds of people.
Love Labs.
Yeah, I see this in all of the, like, the Russiagate versus, like, Mueller people, like, in the Amazon reviews.
They've turned the Amazon reviews board into, like, a fucking, like, subreddit, basically, where they're all just fucking, like, arguing their own fucking bullshit.
Like, it gets to the point where it's, like, not even about the book.
They're just, like, fucking linking to articles and shit.
They're like, have you read this article from Politico?
You gotta read it, you'll see that you're wrong.
It's just the two top reviews, like, editing their review over and over to talk back and forth to each other.
We live in a splendid world of diarrhea.
It's just fucking... Goddamnit.
Okay, you guys want to hear this like lost chapter?
On the morning of October 16th, I woke up, sweating profusely, even though I'd gone to sleep in only my boxer shorts.
Simona was already gone.
She works earlier than I do, which, I'll admit, doesn't bother me at all.
What with everything that's gone on in the past year, the press, my prison sentence, a book tour, I was grateful for the extra sleep, and room to stretch out my toesies under the covers.
At the end of my bed, our cute Papillon is stretched out, his tiny sandpaper tongue hanging slightly out of his little mouth.
Good boy, I say, sitting up and reaching over to pet his belly.
But something catches my eye.
I lean in closer.
There's a small cord attached to the dog's belly with surgical tape.
What is this?
I thought to myself.
Some kind of wire?
Had someone actually come into my house while I was asleep and bugged my own little sweetie boy?
Who would- Who would do such a thing?
Mossad?
The FBI?
I wasn't sure.
What I was sure of, however, is I had had enough of this.
Hadn't I suffered enough already, serving jail time for a crime most people get a slap on the wrist for?
I couldn't believe it.
I sprang out of bed and began to get dressed.
I thought about removing the wire from my little pumpkin boy's soft belly, but decided against it.
I'd had just about enough of the FBI's games and tricks, and I certainly wasn't about to give them another reason to question me yet again over tampering with their surveillance equipment.
I decided to ignore it, but shouted loudly, What a beautiful morning!
To not be committing any crimes!
As I headed into the bathroom.
That should do it, I thought, as I sat down on the toilet for my morning dump.
It was a big one.
Simona and I Travis just has his face covered by his fist.
You've lost one reader.
It's not very well written.
I can see why this chapter got cut.
George is talentless, it seems.
Just an awful writer who should probably retire.
Simone and I had ordered McDonald's delivery last night.
And I had gotten a McFlurry.
And now, I was paying the price.
After about 45 minutes or so, I got up and turned to flush my own waste down the pipes.
But something was off.
buried deep in a large brown mass was something I didn't recognize.
I thought... what are you trying to say?
You can't possibly be going there.
I thought back to the night before.
What had I eaten that could have possibly come out this way?
Was it a tapeworm?
I was worried.
The object was long and cylindrical.
Then it dawned on me.
Someone's been tapping my turds.
They must be really desperate, digging into my intestines in the middle of the night and planting a wire on my slowly decomposing food.
How many times did I say it?
At no point during my time on the Trump campaign had I even come remotely close to aiding the GRU in their plot to release damaging info on Hillary Clinton.
I'm just a policy guy who cares about strengthening America's alliance with Israel and Cyprus.
Anything else is a flat-out lie.
I texted my boss.
What do you feel like doing for lunch?
I asked.
I work for a television producer up in Los Angeles' San Fernando Valley.
I'd gotten the job a couple of months ago, after Simona started getting a decent amount of acting work.
Of course she had.
She was smart, and beautiful, and an exotic accent.
The kind that drove men crazy.
Especially me.
Yeah.
This is George, right?
Because I'm seeing some small similarities with your life.
Travis, you read the book.
Doesn't it sound exactly like Deep State Target?
Right.
So he works as a PA for a Hollywood guy?
He must now.
He does now, I guess.
But the similarities are just... Yeah.
Who knows why?
He's got a papillon too, I guess.
He also eats McFlurries and then pays the price.
We had both decided I would transition out of politics and into producing film and television.
And having little experience in the field, I had lucked out and gotten a job with a total veteran.
I would bring him lunch every day, and he would tell me little to nothing about how the business worked.
This is incredible because it's like when a student turns in a report and it's very clear that it's about like all
the things that make them sad in life.
It's beautiful.
Like they say on TV, Hollywood is a tough business.
I'd like an egg salad sandwich and a cup of minestrone soup, the boss texted back.
Unbelievable.
Many of you readers might not know this about Los Angeles, but there are no restaurants that serve both an egg salad sandwich and minestrone soup.
I would have to go to two places, mix that with bad 405 traffic and me taking a little too long in the bathroom, and I was going to be late.
I hopped in my old beat-up Acura.
I had to get rid of the Mercedes to cover my lawyer's costs, but it was okay.
I didn't mind the musty old leather seats and empty 7-Eleven hot dog containers scattered throughout the vehicle.
I dialed an Italian restaurant up in the valley as I sped towards the freeway.
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