There is a reason conspiracy theories remain theories; there is no evidence to prove them real. A couple of the more bizarre recent ones are that 5G phone masts caused Covid - no idea how that worked - and that Finland doesn't exist since it was cooked-up as a conspiracy between Imperial Russia and Imperial Japan. Aki Kaurasmaki would be most disconcerted to realise he's a work of fiction. Art!
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| The funniest film ever made |
However, when we look to South Canada, conspiracy theories acquire a sinister cast, all the more so because they are armed to the teeth, if not more so. 'Armed to the top of their head' seems more apt. Take 'Pizzagate' as an example.
In Real Life: The Wizard Lizard Gizzards decide to hold a fund-raising party, because in South Canada you need very deep pockets to campaign. The Comet Ping Pong Pizza parlour stands alongside a bookshop owned by a former aide to Hilary Clinton - and your finely-tuned conspiranoid-whiskers ought to be twitching by now - who thus knows it well and recommends it as a venue for said event. Art!
In Loony La-La Land: Any mention of 'pizza' in e-mails or texts is, of course - obviously! - code for 'pedophile sex-trafficking ring run by Hilary Clinton'. Because so many right-wingers would rather asphyxiate than breathe the same air as Hilary, they go from Hearing to Believing. Of course - obviously! - the pizzeria is the centre of this child-trafficking ring, where they are manacled in the cellar, so that eeeeevil Democrats can abuse them at will. This message gradually creeps from the fringes of loonwaffleness and into the mainstream, and is eagerly espoused by the Ice Cream Bandits, who are delighted to have more metaphorical clubs to lambast Hilary with, because she is seen as Evil Incarnate.
At no point does anyone bother to actually determine the facts of the case, especially not that repellent biffer Alex Jones, who makes money from it as he does any kind of tragedy. Art!
Here an aside. AJ has now declared bankruptcy in an attempt to avoid paying the enormous punitive fines levied for his lies about Sandy Hook, and because he cannot keep his flapping pie-hole shut, has admitted as much on his television broadcasts. I suppose we here at BOOJUM! should remain unbiased and non-partisan; I plead special dispensation to point and laugh at the horrid little goblin in this case.
ANYWAY this is where things get serious. Recall, if you will, Don Quixote tilting at windmills in the mistaken belief that they were evil giants? Art!
Yeah. Enter one Edgar Welch, who entered Comet armed with an assault rifle, determined to free the sex-slaves held in the cellar-cum-dungeon-cum-torture chamber. Proving that he wasn't the sharpest tool in the box, he fired a shot into the floor to announce his presence, entirely forgetting the hapless captives held beneath his feet. Art!
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| Poster boy for 'Ignominous' |
His plans for a gallant rescue as the knight in shining armour came to naught for two reasons: 1) The local SWAT team turned up and 2) Comet doesn't have a cellar. Both equally compelling arguments.
To the swivel-eyed slack-jawed bumbletucks who insist that it DID, and it was bricked-over or filled in or covered up (in both senses), I cordially refer you to City Hall's planning department, where you will find Comet listed - without a cellar. And I can confidently assert this whilst living on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean, without access to any documents held in the local archives. You see, I have reality on my side*.
The Haul
I did indeed visit the Oxfam shop in Oldham yesteryon, another fruitful visit indeed, especially since I've not finished reading the last clutch of books I got there. Art!
In case you can't make it out, the tome to port is "Sherlock Holmes The Short Stories", which Your Humble Scribe first read aged about ten, and a fascinating read it was, too. "Darkest Hour" is truly that, a description of the politicking that went on in the summer of 1940, when This Sceptred Isle stood alone against Nazi Germany, who was backed up by their best mate the Sinister Union (Ruffians hate trying to explain this away). "Airborne" rather threw the lady on the till, as she recognised the name as an author of fiction. "He is, but he branches out occasionally," I quoth. "It's probably ghost-written but it has his name on because it sells books," I cynically added.
Tanks Very Much
You may have heard, or you may have been living on the Moon, but Ukraine is about to be sent a plethora of NATO Main Battle Tanks, which is both a good thing and a bad thing.
Good: Because these puppies are a quantum level above and beyond anything the Ukrainians - and the Ruffians - have at present. Art!
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| A Challenger. This may be the last thing Ruffian tank crews see**. |
Bad: A logistical dogs dinner! The Leclerc, Abrams and Leopard 2 all require different spare parts and maintenance procedures. The Challenger doesn't even use the same NATO-standard ammunition as the others. Plus the Abrams is a resource-hog, as I've said before. The MOD will probably have to set up a repair depot in Poland to accommodate maintenance.
That sound of tears falling into a bowl of salty borshch? Sad Putin is sad.
"The Sea Of Sand"
Our band of survivors have captured an injured bio-vore, one that took the full brunt of a jar of petrol, which seems not long for this world.
‘Not for long,’ muttered
Capriccio under his breath, cocking his gun.
‘Allow me to interrogate,’
requested the Doctor, standing in front of the bio-vore to prevent any
“accidents” with gunfire. He kicked the
unfortunate creature on it’s webbed foot, eliciting a jerk in response.
‘Don’t! Don’t touch me!’ the alien babbled. It’s skin
where petrol had fallen was turning white and blotchy, blistering whilst they
watched.
‘Are there any survivors of the
caravan you attacked?’
The bio-vore made several
gestures, none of which the humans recognised.
Eventually it realised they didn’t realise.
‘No, none. We Eviscerated them all on the spot. Time was a factor. We needed to be quick.’
Loathsome creature! thought the
Doctor, not feeling at all sympathetic.
‘Why? Why the need for urgency?’
‘Because of the Artefact! It appeared out of nowhere, in the middle of
the sands whilst we approached the fodder.’
All three soldiers bristled
with annoyance, visibly. Even Capriccio
got the gist of what their captive said.
‘Assault Detachment Leader
Icono decided to take the object back to the Infiltration Complex, for further
study.’
I think you and I can work out what the 'artefact' was, gentle reader.
Finally -
How long does it take to do sausages in the air-fryer, I wonder? I am curious after hearing Wonder Wifey describe slicing them down the middle, stuffing them with cheese and salsa and then cooking them. That's me, thinking with my stomach again. Plus, I could make chips!
* Frequently but not always.
** Or not. One of these scored the longest tank kill ever - at over 5 kilometers distance.
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