Here Thar Be Monsters!

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10.3.12

Off The Deep End

LFS World Headquarters
Well, it's Saturday here at the LFS World Headquarters, deep in the jungles of Borneo.  We've got the Kimono dragon on the treadmill generating precious electricity to connect us to the world by highly conductive vines.  Our specially trained monkeys are picking our nits and the four wives are busily doing whatever it is they do, when not plotting to kill us with fried everything-in-the-world.

It's pouring down rain, as it is wont to do this time of year.  This year, however, we've stretched purloined FEMA tarps over the roof to provide some semblance of civility in the main hut.  After all, a bath should never be accidental.

On days like this, it is our practice to ponder the imponderable, with a little help from exotic jungle flora.  This week, we're enjoying some kind of tree leaf that, when chewed, imbues the chewer with an overwhelming sense of peace and clarity, both of which are sorely lacking in our otherwise hectic week-life.

Our thought experiment today is to explain the way the world works in simple, yet insightful language, so that everyone can get a handle on things.  At the end, we'll provide a link to some of the most amazing information you'd ever want at your fingertips.  Beware: once opened, your eyes can not be shut again.  Only those padwan learners with the intestinal fortitude to see the real world should proceed.

"So how does the world work," you ask with trepidation and trembling.  Well, it's like this...

Imagine you are fabulously wealthy.  A stretch, we know, but work with us.  You decide, along with some of your fabulously wealthy cronies, to create something that is at once an investment, but also provides endless entertainment for you and your buddies.

You all pool your play money and build a massive stadium with all the amenities (most of which are for you and your lackies).  The stadium has all the latest whiz-bang gizmos, so you can sell media rights to any events held in the stadium.  It has restaurants and food stalls of every description, so that no matter the tastes of the crowd, you have something to sell them...for a nice profit, of course.

The floor of the stadium is state-of-the-art.  It can be modified for sports, monster trucks, rodeos, concerts...anything you can imagine.  It's even possible to clear the floor and flood it for marine spectacles.

Each of the thousands of seats in the stadium have a terminal, whereby the audience can register immediate feedback on the spectacle du jour.  You call these terminals 'voting booths,' and it gives the audience the impression that they are participating in the spectacle, by choosing the best performances and events.

In reality, these terminals let you take the temperature of the crowd and modify the events so that you can control the crowd.  You can make them laugh or cry, sit on the edge of their seats, and even get hungry and buy snacks, just by tweaking the night's entertainment.

Now, you and your cronies built this monster to make a profit, so you'll need to charge admission.  You set up toll gates so that everyone entering your stadium pays a price, which you'll call taxes.  It's only fair.  After all, look at all the amenities they get in return, not to mention the show itself.  Besides, everyone knows it costs money to put on these spectacles, so they happily pay their fair share to keep the good times rolling.  Laissez le bon temps rouler!


Now, to get people into the stadium, you need conflict, strife and the occasional eye-candy.  You need Don King.  The King's of the world are the promoters.  They're the ones that go out and find the teams (countries), the fighters (armies) and the half-time entertainment (movies, TeeVee and dancing girls).

The Promoter
The promoters have all sorts of names: Bilderberg, Club of Rome, Freemasons.  But their jobs are all the same.  They go out and find the talent and create the image and atmosphere that draws the crowds.  They're the ones who put up the posters, do the recruiting, pay the entertainers, and deal with all the contracts and day-to-day operations.

The beauty of this arrangement is that if someone gets injured and sues, they go after the promoters.  You, as stadium owner, are invisible.  Besides, on the back of every ticket sold is a bunch of tiny legal mumbo-jumo and gobbledy-gook that says anyone buying a ticket signs away all their rights and you, as owner, are free of all liability.  You call this stuff 'laws' and it works great, because no one ever reads all that annoying fine print anyway.

Now you're ready to open the gates.  The promoters fan out and create oppositions and rivalries so that we, the audience, can enjoy the Big Game.  We can buy our tickets and go see two teams square off in mortal battle for our entertainment.  We can invest our emotions and personal identities in whether our favorite team wins of loses.

The promoters create artificial situations, like the Cowboys versus the Steelers.  The crowd chooses up sides, pays their taxes and takes their seats for the Big Event.  The two artificial rivals square off on the field with bone-crunching force.  The crowd goes wild as they watch the strategies unfold, the Hail Mary passes, the turn-overs.  They cheer their team and boo the other.

And the media lavish bags of cash on you to spew the whole spectacle to the outside world.

Oh sure, some of the fans in the seats get carried away and take the show too seriously.  Some fights break out and your personal security run over and beat them down into submission.  After all, the only bone-crunching allowed is the one you control and profit from.  Can't have the audience stealing the show, now can we?

The promoters are brilliant!  They bring all sorts of entertainment.  There's the one-on-one boxing matches, which you call 'summits'.  There's the team-versus-team match ups, which you call 'wars'.  There's the marine spectacles that involve competing teams shipping as much cargo to other teams as they can in the time allotted.  Once in a while, you even put on a Destruction Derby, where dozens of teams go at it, blowing up, running over and tearing down all the old props and scenery you've been wanting to get rid of.  You call these 'world wars'.

In between, you have the singers, dancers and performers, so that you can separate the most number of people from their money.  After all, not everyone wants to see all this rivalry stuff.

All the while, you and your buddies sit in your fabulously appointed penhouse suite at the very top of the stadium.  You don't really care about the entertainment.  Instead, you spend your time making guess-timates about how much money you're making off tonight's blow-out.

The promoters are happy, because they get a share of the profits.  The more people they can pack into the stands, the more they take home.  So they're motivated to bring in the top acts, the fiercest rivalries and the most calamity they can.

All the world's a stadium...
It's a brilliant system, as long as the crowd never thinks about who's making all the profit off this Big Game.  Once they figure out that they have to keep paying for everything, but really don't get much in return...once they figure out that the votes don't really change anything for them...once they figure out the whole thing is just bread-and-circuses with little or no redeeming value, they get upset and stop coming to your stadium.

You are forced to keep upping the ante, and put on ever more dazziling displays.  For this reason, you have a large gang of stage-hands and technicians devising bigger and better special effects.  You call them 'scientists'.  They're job is to make sure the crowds butts stay glued to the chairs, and that they keep paying top dollar for empty calories and sugar water and mind-blowing effects.

The problem comes when someone reads the legal mumbo-jumbo and gobbledy-gook on the back of the ticket.  They suddenly realize what they've given up for all this frantic fun.  They turn to the next guy and say, "Dude, look at this!"  Suddenly, a wave of discontent starts to sweep the stands.  People start to wonder just what the hell they've been doing all this time, wasting their lives on pablum and pancakes.

You panic.  It's time to pull out all the stops...

And that, my friends, is how the world works.

Now, if you're ready to read the back of the ticket, be warned.  Knowing the real, unvarnished truth will cause sleeplessness, irritability and depression.  You must fight these feelings and realize that there's work to be done.  From this point forward is the Red Pill.  Once you swallow it, there is no turning back...

There is a fantastic series of audio files by an Australian researcher named Frank O'Collins, which if you know anything about the history of the Collins clan, then you can imagine what you are about to learn.  The site is Talkshoe.com, and you'll want to start at Episode 1, or you'll be hopelessly overwhelmed.  Frank heads an organization called Ucadia University, which is dedicated to giving people the actual tools to fight the real problem with the world.  It's all documented with study materials and action plans.  I won't spoil it for you.  You just have to dive in and learn to swim.

The other is a three-hour YouTube video with a guy reading the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, since most people won't go and read them for themselves.  When you read/listen to the Protocols, forget all the propaganda and distractions.  Ignore the terms like 'jew' and 'goy'.  That's just there to throw us off from the scent of the real trail.  Instead, listen to the framework that is being spelled out, and remember these protocols were released to the world back in the mid-1800s, long before the technology to pull them off actually existed.  Prepare to have your world rocked!

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