If you haven’t read Raw Story’s series on the Siegelman prosecution, then you can’t possibly be filled in on the raw ugly story detailing the saga of one of the political prisoners thrown in the new American gulags, courtesy of the Project for a New American Century. The fascists now and formerly occupying the White House and various places throughout our government seem to be handling that new century business in ways we couldn’t have possibly imagined when the Supreme Court usurped the people’s vote.

We always knew Karl Rove was a male whore, but the proof is in the pudding and raw story delivers the unvarnished truth. But you do have to wonder. Did Karl have Secret Service protection on the jaunts detailed below? Inquiring minds want to know.

Don’t miss Part I, Part II and Part III of the Raw Story series. Below the fold is a portion I lifted from part three. Now go read the rest soon.

He would never discuss anything on the phone. He would tell you to meet him at some corner and then you get there and sure enough he is standing in the middle of the intersection waving at you.”

Riley did not return calls seeking comment.

These allegations are similar to those made by consultant Marc Schwartz in The Architect: Karl Rove and the Master Plan for Absolute Power by James Moore and Wayne Slater, describing a meeting that took place in March of 2002:

“I gotta meet Rove,” Jack Abramoff told Schwartz one afternoon as they talked in the backseat of the lobbyist’s car. Abramoff’s driver, Joseph, was working his way through the crowded streets of Washington. The lobbyist gave Joseph a location for a rendezvous, and he set a course in the direction of the White House.

"Really?" Schwartz asked. “We’re going to the White House?”

“No. No. We don’t do that,” Abramoff answered.

“Why not?" Schwartz joked. “I’m sure George would want to see me.”

…He explained to Schwartz why they were not going to see Karl Rove at the White House.

“They’ve got movement logs over there and everything, and we like to keep things kind of quiet. So just watch. You'll really get a kick out of it.”

A few minutes later, Abramoff pointed through the front windshield at an approaching street corner and turned to smile at Schwartz.

“You recognize him?” the lobbyist asked his client.

“Son of a bitch,” Schwartz muttered. “He’s just out in the middle of the street.”

“Uh-huh.”