The Goldenstein Dossier
The following takes place following: Daddy's Home
The next day, Wally burst into the Chronicle office, waving his latest report.
wF: “We got the dirts you requested, Pizza man!”
Master Devlin: “Excellent.”
The Master eagerly snatched the stack of papers and slipped on his reading glasses.
The document was a lengthy conspiracy dossier on David Rubin Goldenstein, portraying him as a shadowy, powerful figure with deep roots in both alien and Jewish heritage. The article suggested that DRG was over 100 years old, possibly a shapeshifting alien, and that his family, the Goldensteins, had played a key role in manipulating historical events for centuries. From orchestrating World War II to influencing the assassination of President Kennedy, the USS Liberty incident, and even the 9/11 attacks, DRG’s family was depicted as having orchestrated major global events to advance their own interests. DRG himself was said to control vast sectors of the media and entertainment industries, using them to push a global agenda for a New World Order, with Israel at its center.
Beyond his control of media, DRG had allegedly built his wealth through a web of illicit businesses, including rare metals mining, mind-control technologies, and occult dealings. His influence extended into geopolitics, with accusations of funding genocidal campaigns in Gaza and Lebanon while simultaneously orchestrating mass migration to Europe to destabilize national identities. DRG was said to have connections with some of the world’s most powerful figures, including John Bolton, Jeffrey Epstein, and Hillary Clinton, all of whom allegedly helped further his agenda. The article also claimed that DRG and his allies had engaged in occult practices and secretive rituals in their pursuit of power, ultimately aiming to establish a superstate under Israel’s dominion, with DRG at the helm.
Master Devlin finished reading, calmly folded the papers, placed them on Travers’ desk, and dabbed a small tear from his eye.
Master Devlin: “Widdle Frunkut… this is solid gold, my friend. I mean that — solid gold.”
wF: “Thanks very much, sir!” 😊
Master Devlin: “I don’t think we should waste any time. This needs to go out as a Chronicle exclusive magazine issue. That means — and I’m sorry, Travers — we’ll have to part with the tits for this issue.”
Travers: “Now wait just an Ed-damned minute! Let’s not lose sight of the primary function of this newsp—”
Master Devlin: “Which is what, Travers?”
Travers: “Well… the boobs! The news is important as well, but I’m not happy about my precious Chronicle Girl pages being replaced. And our readers certainly won’t be happy about this.”
Master Devlin: “Waldo, do you have any evidence or records of these claims that we can use in the article?”
wF: “We sure do!”
Waldo reached into his deep pockets and hauled out a stack of crumpled documents, forged photographs, and printouts of incriminating “WallyLeaks,” dumping them across Travers’ already cluttered desk. He proudly held up a USB stick.
wF: “We has all kinds of secret videos and recordings on here too!”
Master Devlin: “Excellent. We’ll just need to edit this into a proper feature. And we’ll need to emphasise more of the evils of DRG. Despite the name, Travers doesn’t really edit anything, do you, Travers? We’ll get Brian to do that.”
Travers picked up a photo of what appeared to be DRG arm-in-arm with Churchill, then another depicting something obscene with LBJ. He tossed them aside in disgust.
Travers: “That’s it. I’m out! Get this crap off my desk immediately, Master Devlin. Sort it out on your own. It’s disgusting.”
Master Devlin: “Of course it’s disgusting, Mr Travers, but this is news — actual news. What this newspaper is supposed to be about. It’s not meant to be pretty. You’ll be finding things out about your heroes. We have a duty to report, regardless of how ugly it is. Pull yourself together, man.”
Travers: “Hmph. Churchill and LBJ were not my heroes, Master Devlin… To be honest, I always suspected the latter had a hand in my friend Jack Kennedy’s assassination. I just don’t have the stomach for this kind of news.” 🤢
Travers holds up a photo of DRG and Jeffrey Epstein in a compromising pose — one so obscene the Editor doesn’t even want to describe it.
wF: “How about some newspaper clippings instead, bossman? The Goldensteins used to own the New York Times back in the day. Here’s some of the propagandas!”
Travers picks up the yellowed clippings and squints at the tiny font. He instinctively hands them to the Master to read, but notices Devlin isn’t even looking — he’s already buried deep in a folder of “incriminating” documents, eyes wide with excitement. Travers sighs and looks to Waldo for an explanation.
wF: “We tracked down all the times the New York Times mentioned six million Jews before World War Two. It happens loads of times, going back to the early 1900s! Uh huh. That’s right.”
Travers: “Huh… and what exactly does this mean?”
Waldo shrugs.
wF: “Maybe they really love that number. Also, look at this! DRG’s uncle was one of the leaders of the failed Bolshevik revolution in Germany, 1918. They was mostly Jewses too! Just like the Russian revolution — only that one worked, and they mades the Soviet Unionisms.”
Travers: “Hmm. Well, uh… good work, Wally. I guess. I don’t really understand most of this, so I’ll leave it to you and Master Devlin to sort through. Also, you might want to get a lawyer to look at that before you go to print.”
Master Devlin: “A lawyer? Like Harris Travers??”
Travers: “Not my area.”
Master Devlin: “Of course it isn’t.” 😒
He leans back, arms crossed. “This is so typical of you, Travers. You boast about being this big-shot lawyer — ‘Why hire a legal team when we’ve got the famous Harris Travers on board?’ — and now, when it’s time to actually read something, suddenly you’re not qualified. No problem. I guess you just aren’t the big shark you claimed to be.”
Travers: “Now just a minute, Master Devlin — you’re speaking out of turn!”
Master Devlin: “Oh, am I? Prove me wrong, Mr National Treasure.”
Travers: “I just thought, seeing as our friends at the council already have a team of lawyers on retainer, they could do the work. But no! Fine! I’ll look.”
Master Devlin: “They work for the council, Travers. Not the Chronicle.”
Travers: “We’re allies, are we not? Now… let’s see here…”
He scans a few lines, pretending to understand. “Hmm. Uh huh. Yes, yes… this all looks in order. Good job, Wally! Now will you kindly do your jobs, or do I have to do that myself too? I want this story to run in the morning, and I’ll thank you to remember your station, Master Devlin. The Travers man is indeed the biggest, baddest shark in the realm!”
The Master rolls his eyes, rummages in his drawer, and finds some cookies. He hands one to Waldo.
Master Devlin: “There you are, Wally. Well done.”
wF: “Hey, thanks! 😀”
Hilda and Greta enter the office, dressed for their month late Oktoberfest photoshoot — all dirndls and cleavage. Travers immediately perks up, visibly aroused. The girls giggle, waving for him to join them in the break room where they’re having a “private” Oktoberfest celebration. Travers starts after them.
Master Devlin: “For fuck’s sake, Travers. What are you doing? We don’t have time for this.”
Travers: “My job! Someone has to inspect the talent. Besides, I did the lawyering for you because you were too afraid to ask the council for assistance, so don’t give me your sass.”
Master Devlin: 😠
Travers: “Don’t forget, I’m the boss around here. It’s my face on the newspaper header — and don’t you forget it, pal.”
Master Devlin: “Hrrmm.”
wF: 😏
Travers disappears for a while. The Master glances at the clock, frowning. When Travers finally returns, he’s wearing a Bavarian schoolboy outfit, followed by a jittery oompah band. Hilda and Greta trail behind, giggling uncontrollably. Travers darts around the office at 100 miles per hour.
Master Devlin: “What is the meaning of this?”
Hilda: “Guten Tag, Meister Devlin! You should have joined us, no?”
Master Devlin: “What have you done to Mr Travers?”
Greta: “Showing Herr Travers how we celebrate Oktoberfest in Deutschland.”
Hilda: “We also gave him a little… pervitin.”
Master Devlin: “Speed?”
Greta: “Ja. Geschwindigkeit.”
Suddenly Travers leaps onto the desk, dancing and singing while the band plays along. The office staff gather outside, watching in silent horror as their boss gyrates wildly.
Master Devlin (furious, to the girls): “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? He’s going to be like this for hours — maybe days.”
Hilda: “Why worry, Meister Devlin? Let ze boss man have some fun.”
Master Devlin: “You have no idea what these kinds of narcotics do to a goblin like Travers…”
He turns to see the band still playing — but Travers is gone.
A scream echoes from the street below. Devlin rushes to the window and sees Travers sprinting down the road, pants half-open, frantically rubbing his crotch against every lamppost and occasionally lunging at pedestrians.
Master Devlin: “OH GOOD GOD!”
Travers bolts down the road out of sight. Devlin grabs his coat and storms out after him.
As the band stops playing and shuffles out awkwardly, Waldo hops into Travers’ chair, props his feet up, and lights a cigar.
wF (doing a Walvers voice): “KYLE!”
Brian: “Yes, Mr Tr—?”
wF: “Wiffuhuh is running things now. Get us a Coke.”
Brian: “Mr Travers didn’t put you in charge…”
Waldo leans forward, hissing aggressively as he flicks open a switchblade.
Brian: “Uh… yes sir. Right away.”
Waldo grins, chewing on the cigar.
wF: “Yes sir… hehehe… out of turn…” [unintelligible mumbling]
The Waldoverse continues in Rampage