Hey may be no Niels Ferguson, but Dan Shumow is pretty good too. I mean, I once spray painted his ass.

He reported 100% real news (that Bush didn't complete his military obligation and was AWOL) but unfortunately had included a single piece of possibly forged evidence in with the body of completely true evidence.

I have a Kroger Plus card. It has a magnetic stripe on the back that when you check out or get gas it adds points to your acct which then get traded for discounts, cash back, etc..

So one day a friend of mine who a few years ago paid off some debts selling Credit card info he got from customers in a restaraunt let me use his reader. Its a small black piece of plastic with a mag reader and basic electronics that dump the info to a Compact flash card. You had to manually enter the 3 digit SFF number on the back of the card with a keypad on the bottom. ANYWAY...

I used it to read my Kroger Card... I was shocked at the discovery..

It had name, address, phone, and gender.

That was it. Frankly I was confused that there was no Unique ID#, but whatever...

I have a screen capture of the video here: Capture

I'd be okay with the idea of a National ID card for the US if it was proven that It was safe and helped catch the terrorists.

I settled into the therapeutic leather seat, watching the road as our vehicle pushed through the fog, soft blue low beams charging forth into the night. Off the cool concrete before us there lay an occasional abandoned farm, overgrown grass swaying softly in the darkness. In the moonlight, run-down trailer homes sat unoccupied, windows shattered and doors boarded. A harsh flicker as lightning struck far to the south.

A soft, synthesized female voice spoke to us as the navigation console suddenly came to life. "Left turn ahead," it said. I turned my head briefly to a sleeping Robert as I committed the turn. The screen returned to its overhead perspective. A red triangle set against a simulation of a map indicated our current position. I looked up, biting my tongue to avoid falling asleep, and watched carefully for deer.

My throat felt swollen as I thought of Paul Cryer, whose lifeless body was floating aimlessly in the black waters of Steinhagen Lake. My throat felt swollen, but I could never pity him. Nor could I afford to lament his demise. Hundreds like him were searching for me, searching for me in order to avenge his death.

The harsh railroad track shook Robert awake. "Where are we?" he asked, eyes half-shut. What seemed like a river of blood ran through one, perhaps the result of sleep deprivation. In that case, mine probably resembled cherries.

The navigation system instructed us to turn right onto a dirt road that led into a darkened alley. At the end of the road, two faint taillights beckoned. As we drove nearer, the car's well maintained jet-black paint glistened with the reflection of our headlights. My eyes were drawn to the silver three-pointed star attached to its trunk. A man dressed in an expensive suit approached our vehicle as we slowed.

He looked inside as I retracted the automatic window. "Are you Cryer?"

"Yes," I said, with a slight hesitation. "I am Cryer. That's me."

"All right," he said. "Blake told me not to give it to you tonight. Said he'd hold it until you saw him. I made an appointment for you. It's at 10:30. Be there tomorrow morning."

"Be where?"

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot. I keep forgetting to give away the new address. It's the thirteenth location in two years. Guy's a nomad, man." He handed me a creased piece of plain copy paper, which I refolded promptly and placed on my lap.

The man then walked silently to his car. Robert and I sat together, alone and exhausted, watching as the lights became faint, then finally disappear altogether. "Peter," he said, "unfold the paper. I thought that I saw something. A logo, maybe."

As I opened the document, I shuddered with fright. I stared at the paper, and our corporate logo stared back into my eyes...