Sunday, 28 March 2010

Upset? Me Stiles? UPSET?

MonsterQuest is a strange programme.

Until this week I’d never actually watched it before. To be honest I’m not even sure if it airs in the UK. The History channel over here is basically back to back War-vision (Gee Note: Ever wanted to know in painfully minute detail how the tanks for Word War II were constructed? No? Well tough. We’re going to air a six part documentary on that very subject regardless, entitled “How to make war very very boring”), punctuated by the occasional 30 minute show about how “UFOs are only seen by idiots and crazy people”.

Still thanks to power of the internetz, I managed to catch the very last MonsterQuest ever this weekend. I was thankful too, as the show was going to be dealing with one of my all-time favourite topics. That’s right folks, put the kids to bed and wake up Grandma, we’re going to have us a chat about Werewolves.

Now long time readers of the blog (Gee Note: You know who you are), will remember a while back I dedicated a trio of posts to Werewolf folklore. One of these dealt with what was known as “The Gable Film”, a “home video” shot on an 8mm camera depicting everyday family activities, until a weird creature turns up and supposedly turns the poor bastard filming it into nom noms.

So upon hearing that MQ would not only be analysing said video footage on their show, but also sending an expedition in to the surrounding forest to try and find a real life Todd Howard (Gee Note: For those who are curious, Todd Howard is the character played by Jason Bateman in Teen Wolf Too. I know this because three days ago I sat through the entire movie. And what’s worse, despite the fact that the film is unbelievably awful, I was so hypnotised by the parade of 80’s hairstyles I couldn’t turn it off. Screw you Bateman. That’s an hour and a half of my life I’ll never get back), I endeavoured to track it down.

In the end I was kind of torn as to whether or not this was a good idea. I mean the show itself basically revolved around two separate stories. Firstly, a trio of weirdoes eccentrics decided to go down to the woods one day in search of a big surprise. They consisted of a Native American who was obsessed with shape-shifters, a cryptozoologist who was open to the idea that Werewolves could be from another dimension, and a dude wearing a park ranger’s hat who had brought a jar Wolf urine along for the journey (Gee Note: I’d prefer a root beer myself. Actually the urine was from a female wolf in heat, and he was hoping that it would attract any wolf-like creatures in the surrounding area to him and his motley crew. Sadly, it was never explained how he managed to convince Ms. Lupus to wee in a jar in the first place, as I’m pretty sure that would have made a much more interesting programme than this one). Alas despite their best efforts, these three mighty adventurers only managed to hear a coyote’s howl way off in the distance and find something that may or may not be Wolf poo during their entire trip. Gripping television it was not.

The second tale centred on the Gable film, and the man who discovered it, Steve Cook. Now I listened to a pod cast about a year and a half ago where Steve Cook was one of the guests, and I remember thinking that he sounded like a pretty decent guy. He maintained during that interview that he’d found the footage in a yard sale and released it on his website, only for somebody to point out inconsistencies in the movie that would question it’s authenticity. So he took the film down and released an apology for the “unintentional hoax”. Then, according to Stevie, a bunch of other folks got in touch and told him that the first guy was talking a load of old bollocks and that he should reconsider. And so he started promoting the footage again, conveniently on a DVD you could buy from his website. A second film was then “unearthed” which threw in to question the legitimacy of the original, which is where MQ stepped in.

This time around however, Cook told a different story. Confronted by a historian named Linda Godfrey, Cook spilled the beans about the origin of the Gable film. Like a bad cop movie Cook crumbled under the interrogation and admitted that the whole thing was fiction. Seriously all you needed was Kiefer Sutherland standing in the background shouting “Who are you working for!” and the scene would’ve been complete.

This then led to Godfrey meeting up with a hippy called Mike who had a passion for collecting old junk. Explaining in great detail how he managed to pull off the stunt, he apparently made the movie as a homage to a song Cook wrote about the Michigan Dogman in 1987. Having tried and failed to market the footage himself he presented it to Cook, who edited it and promoted it as a bizarre and fascinating discovery of unknown origin.

As you can imagine, after the episode of MQ aired and revealed the truth, a lot of people were pissed. And so Cook went on the defensive. On his blog at Cook posted an entry the content of which, well, make him look like a bit of an arrogant prick if we’re honest.

First he compares himself to Mark Twain (Gee Note: Which is a severe case of delusions of grandeur if ever there was one) who had pulled a similar stunt by writing a bogus newspaper article in 1862. The major difference of course being that Mark Twain at the time was a 26 year old trying to make a name for himself, a genius, and didn’t do it to sell DVD’s. In fact Twain was convinced that not only was the story so off the wall but also so blatantly ill informed in regards to basic facts regarding the subject, that anyone with half a brain would be able to see right through it. When they didn’t he simply threw up his arms in despair and refused to apologise for what he saw as other people’s idiocy.

Cook on the other hand took a different approach when presenting the Gable film. Says he “The film was just fuzzy enough to be believable, and creepy enough to be one wheel of a large promotional vehicle for The Legend Legacy Edition CD/DVD set... I edited out several scenes, such as the faces of the people, and several short scenes that were dead giveaways that the film was faked.”. So rather than leave in enough obvious material to alert people that what they were watching wasn’t on the level, Stevie-boy intentionally tried to make it as “real” as possible.

Cook continues “A few weeks later an internationally renowned cryptozoologist contacted me. He hinted that with his endorsement the Gable Film could become “a permanent part of supposedly real werewolf lore.” I only needed to answer the hard question: Was this merely a “piece of creative narrative fiction performance art?” When he found my reply equivocal, he published his belief that the film was a fake and that I was a fraud. Across the internet, the chorus turned increasingly hostile, even threatening. It was time to end the charade.”

I assume that the “internationally renowned cryptozoologist” was Loren Coleman. After all Coleman himself posted the following email exchange on Cryptomundo in October 2007 after the movie’s debut.


The Gable Film is a good story, and builds in many ways like The Blair Witch Horror and the discovered film canisters of the Jersey Devil film. As a work of cryptofiction cinema and art, it can stand on its own, without it being declared to be nonfiction. I’ve worked with Haxan Films folks, and understand [after the fact, why they went about] creating of such fakes, planted early, to promote such things.

I am not saying you are doing any of this, but the background of the April Fool’s prank, the Legend, the poetry of it all, the scenario, the unfolding have to be seen as obvious clues. You have to be asked the hard question – is this a piece of creative narrative fiction performance art – before this gets all blown out of proportion and it becomes a cornerstone of supposedly real werewolf lore?


First, let me re-state that I do not take a position on the authenticity of evidence presented on Of course I have a personal opinion, but to state it publicly would serve nothing more than to encourage the kind of charges your e-mail implies. The simple answer is, I don’t know what The Gable Film is or what it shows.

I understand fully the scripted nature of this. For that reason, we expended considerable effort having it analyzed by a range of people from a variety of backgrounds. Even though none of those people was able to find an obvious flaw indicating a forgery, I still was very hesitant to release it before we had more answers.

Then a few weeks ago, I offered a private preview of the film to Linda Godfrey’s Yahoo group, the Unknown Creature Spot. Linda and I are old friends, going back some 15 years. I placed the film on YouTube for two days and invited members of UCS view and evaluate it. In that time, the film was pirated by at least three and perhaps many more individuals. That forced my hand, leading to the release of the video now on my website.

Coleman continues his post, expressing his doubts about what he dubs the “Blair Dog Project” before concluding “Okay, I won’t beat around the wolfbane, any longer. I don’t buy it. My past experiences and eye for forgeries tell me there’s something here that smells like a fake, a copycatted forgery, with the telltale signs of a found-film, the shaky camera, and the blurry imagery. Steve Cook may be a film genius or he may have been hoaxed, but there’s something that is very off about all of this for me. I think this is cryptofiction, developed out of the traditional folkloric motif of found treasures.”

See this is why Loren Coleman is all kinds of awesome. Because, if it is him that Cook is talking about then A) At no point is there any form of an offer of an endorsement and B) Coleman point blank asks Cook the question “Is it fake?” and Cook sticks rigidly to his story that he does not know where the film came from.

Back to Cook. He carries on in similar fashion, detailing how the whole sorry mess was put together and talking about “stagecraft” as if it’s something we mere mortals wouldn’t be able to understand. See in Cook’s world presenting something that you know to be false and yet pretending that it might not be isn’t misleading the public. No way bro, that’s “entertaining” them. Steve himself sums it all up in an astonishing piece to close.

In conclusion, let me state for the record a simple fact: I am not a cryptozoologist, and have no desire to become one. Truth be told, there’s no definitive answer as to exactly what a cryptozoologist is. There is no accreditation required, no university degree, no license. All you really need to become a cryptozoologist is to say you are. It’s a profession created from thin air, very much like The Legend of Michigan’s Dogman.

I am an entertainer. The Legend was created as an April Fool’s Day prank in 1987 for the enjoyment of a limited radio audience in northern Michigan. Something about it stirred the imaginations of people, and suddenly strange things they had seen or heard in the woods seemed to have a possible explanation. They shared and continue to share their stories with me, and that aspect has captured the attention of the world. But at no time in the near quarter-century history of The Legend have I ever claimed it to be anything more than entertainment.

There is, however, one characteristic shared by entertainers and cryptozoologists: we both have an audience with a set of expectations. How we meet those expectations differs only slightly. Cryptozoologists want (but never seem to get) substantive proof. To me, if a story, photograph, or film is interesting, that’s good enough.

As a final word, a statement I think Mark Twain would approve of: If you are one of the people mortified by these revelations, and feel that the “science” of cryptozoology has forever been tarnished by charlatans and hoaxers, perhaps you should choose a hobby that wasn’t invented by them.

What? I mean… what? OK, for a start, ripping on cryptozoology isn’t probably the smartest thing you could do right now Jack. I mean a lot of people have listened to your made up story simply because they have an interest and passion in the study of undiscovered creatures. Hell some of them may have bought that Goddam DVD of yours for that very reason. So, you know, calling cryptozoology a crock is biting the hand that feeds you surely.

And the truth is, I’ve run this blog for a year and a half now, and I’ve posted numerous pieces on various woovy bezerk tales of weird beasties. Yet I would never ever dream of calling myself a cryptozoologist, much in the same way I would never dream of calling myself ufologist. Because real cryptozoologists and ufologists are better, smarter people than I’ll ever be. I could make a list of around thirty people in those fields who I couldn’t, and wouldn’t want to, hold an intellectual candle to . So to criticise cryptozoology for being “created out of thin air” disrespects those diligent men and women who work in a field that will never be respected, but do so with intelligence and integrity regardless.

Also Steve, I don’t know if you noticed, but the word “entertainer” is just the same. There is no accreditation required, no university degree, no license. All you really need to become an entertainer is to say you are. It’s a profession created from thin air, very much like The Legend of Michigan’s Dogman. Except I would say this. Promoting something that you know not to be true without labelling it obviously as fiction doesn’t make you an “entertainer”. It makes you a con artist, pure and simple. And even though claiming that all the profits from your DVD sales went to charity is to your credit if true, it doesn’t completely diminish the sour taste left in one’s mouth if they have bought a product off you in good faith.

Put it this way, I have a banana that I claim I got from a mysterious jungle in Borneo. All banana’s from this region are said to contain a genie that, once peeled, will grant you a thousand wishes. I then claim that I don’t know if it is true or not but show you a video of someone peeling a banana and genie popping out. You then buy said banana, only for me to go “You know that banana you bought off me? Well I got it from the local grocers. I mean I always claimed I didn’t know whether a genie would pop out or not. Don’t worry though because I gave all the money you gave me to someone else. And weren’t you happy when you thought you were going to get a genie, huh? Didn’t that make you glow a little bit?”. Now if I didn’t end up getting punched in the mouth after that I’d be very surprised. 

Thing is I can’t help but shake the feeling that for Cook it was never about the charities, or entertaining people, but rather about making him famous. And if that’s the case, he may have shot himself in the foot here. There is after all a big difference between fame and notoriety.

Which as sad as it’s demise is, may actually be a plus point regarding MonsterQuest’s shuffle off this mortal coil. After all, it’s one less platform for folks like Steve Cook to stand on.

Friday, 19 March 2010

Dinner's over, worm dude.

I find it hard to care about Lady Gaga.

For example were she to wake up tomorrow and decide that her best possible course of action would be to go all Whoopi Goldberg on us and join a nunnery, I don’t think I’ll miss her.

It’s not that I dislike her you understand. It’s just I find her insanely tedious. For a start (Gee Note: And by saying this I realise I have just become my own father) her records all pretty much sound the same. Rhythmic chorus, electronic fiddly bit, some vocal manipulation, and we’re done. Secondly, all that wacky costume stuff that her publicist claims is Gaga letting her creativity flow is starting to get very old, very quickly. I mean it would be one thing if they were honest and said “Yeah, you know when Lady Gaga is wearing a dress made from PVC designed to look like a cross between the Eiffel Tower and a large pile of vomit? Well, she just does that to get attention. Honestly, she doesn’t really enjoy looking like a mong.”. Instead we get, “Ooooh my that Gaga has such a unique sense of style. She’s soooo crazy.”. Well, no. No she isn’t. For a start her own unique sense of style must be a newly discovered one, as this video of a pre-famous Gaga will attest to.

Also, real crazy people don’t walk around wearing a green traffic cone on their head. Nuh uh Jack, real crazy people look normal and keep the decapitated head of their cat in the freezer.

You see the problem is that if you strip away all the bells and whistles, what your left with is someone who is painfully ordinary. Gaga doesn’t have the sex appeal to be this generation’s Madonna. She doesn’t have the talent to be an icon like Janis or Aretha. And, with a personality as dull as dishwater, she can’t even fill the void left in the tabloids now that Britney has been locked up in a cupboard somewhere with a bucket of fish heads and a copy of the Reader’s Digest (Gee Note: That‘s what you do when someone‘s had a nervous breakdown right? Right?). In essence Gaga is, well, simply not that interesting

It turns out though that I may have misjudged New York City’s finest. You see according to an email sent to me by the lovely Jenny from Gen-1, it turns out that Gaga may have something worth talking about after all.

Meet The Vigilant Citizen. According to the bio on their website they claim they are a “mystic pizza Christian” who believes that the world is controlled by a secret society known as the Illuminati. Therefore they have dedicated an entire blog to routing out the various “symbols” found in everyday media, supposedly used by this nefarious group to manipulate average Joes in to doing their bidding. With the recent release of the new Lady Gaga music video for the song “Telephone”, The Vigilant Citizen went to town.

What follows is The Vigilant Citizen’s slightly edited post regarding said music video. Enjoy.


The Hidden Meaning of the Song

When I first heard Telephone on the radio, I thought the song was about Lady Gaga receiving phone calls from an annoying dude while she’s out in a club (Gee Note: Possibly because, and brace yourself for this, the song is actually about… Lady Gaga receiving phone calls from an annoying dude while she’s out in a club. Wow. I know right? You got it spot on in your first attempt. You must be, like, a genius or something. Either that or you listened to the lyrics. One of the two). I could already picture a video of Gaga on a dance floor not answering her cellphone. I’ve imagined this video because I was interpreting the song at its face value and going by its literal meaning, like most people do. Akerlund’s video has however infused a second, deeper meaning to the song, giving it an entirely new dimension. In an interview with E! Online, Gaga herself explained this fact:

“There was this really amazing quality in ‘Paparazzi,’ where it kind of had this pure pop music quality but at the same time it was a commentary on fame culture. In its own way, even at certain points working with Jonas Åkerlund, the director of both videos really achieved this high art quality in the way that it was shot. I wanted to do the same thing with this video—take a decidedly pop song, which on the surface has a quite shallow meaning, and turn it into something deeper.”

What is never stated, however, is that this “deeper meaning” found in Gaga’s video relates to mind control, a covert practice used by the military, the CIA, religious cults and the Illuminati elite. It is used to program human beings to become mental slaves and to execute specific tasks. In Paparazzi, Gaga plays the role of a mind-controlled slave who was “programmed” to poison and kill her boyfriend (Gee Note: Hmmm are you sure? Because I'm pretty sure the video I saw had Lady Gaga kill her boyfriend because the Paparazzi were no longer paying attention to her. I mean a mindless drone wouldn't become enraged by a photo of the new "It Girl" surely? Unless of course you mean all those mindless drones with anger management issues).

Telephone is a continuation of this story, where Gaga goes to jail for her crime. In the video, the “telephone” is a metaphor for Gaga’s brain and the fact that she is not answering that phone (her brain) means that she has “dissociated” from reality (Gee Note: Dude, you should see the way she dresses). Dissociation is the ultimate goal of Monarch mind control. It is induced by traumatizing events, such as electroshock therapy or torture, to force the victim to dissociate from reality. This enables the handlers to create in the victim an alter personality that can be programmed to perform various tasks, such as carrying out an assassination.

"Trauma-based mind control programming can be defined as systematic torture that blocks the victim’s capacity for conscious processing (through pain, terror, drugs, illusion, sensory deprivation, sensory over-stimulation, oxygen deprivation, cold, heat, spinning, brain stimulation, and often, near-death), and then employs suggestion and/or classical and blah blah blah (Gee Note: This section has been edited due to crimes against being interesting)."

- Ellen P. Lacter, Ph.D (Gee Note: Who sounds like she would be a riot at a dinner party)., The Relationship Between Mind Control Programming and Ritual Abuse.

Gaga’s brain as a non-answering telephone is represented in two separate occasions during the video:

Gaga’s head is the telephone. She is not answering that phone, which is symbolic of her dissociative mind state (Gee Note: Which would be a perfectly valid argument if the picture you chose to prove your point didn't feature Lady Gaga TALKING IN TO THE F***ING RECIEVER. Now I don't know about you but if I really wanted to not answer a phone, I wouldn't pick it up. You know it really is that simple when you think about it).

The telephone receiver is made out of hair and covers her left eye, representing Illuminati mind control (Gee Note: How does that represent Illuminati mind control? Or am I missing something. Do they control you by telephones? You know like in The Matrix? Man I hate that movie. Actually that's not true. I really enjoyed the first one. It's just the following two movies were so lifeless and pretentious I really gave up caring. Also how is Keanu Reaves still unable to act after all these years? When your best performance by a mile is Evil Robot Ted in Bill and Ted's Bogus Journey, something's not right).

So in the context of the video, the telephone is Gaga’s mind and the dance club is representative of her dissociative state, the “magical place” mind-controlled slaves are trained to escape to during traumatic events (Gee Note: Or, to put it another way, the dance club is Godzilla, and the telephone is Japan. Maybe. I don't know).

“Hello, hello, baby (Gee Note: Hi)
I have got no service (Gee Note: How did you answer the phone then? I don't think you're telling me the truth here).
in the club, you say, say
Wha-Wha-What did you say, huh? (Gee Note: I TOLD YOU. PEACOCK. DEAD. FRONT DOOR. JEEZ)
You’re breaking up on me (Gee Note: No I'm breaking up with you. It's not you, it's me. Actually no. It's totally you. I mean who wants a dead peacock as a present? See the thing is my mum warned me about you and I was all like "No you don't understand. She's a lovely woman.". But now I'm lugging around a deceased bird getting strange looks from people I've never met. You know I don't like being silently judged. DAMN YOU GAGA!)
Sorry, I cannot hear you,
I’m kinda busy.
K-kinda busy
K-kinda busy
Sorry, I cannot hear you, I’m kinda busy.”

By “kinda busy”, Gaga means she (Gee Note: Really has to get her dance on?) has dissociated from reality. Real life is calling her brain but she “has no service”, she’s not there. The chorus pretty much epitomizes this concept.

“Stop callin’, stop callin’,
I don’t wanna think anymore! (Gee Note: A lobotomy would sort that out lickety-split)
I left my head and my heart on the dance floor. (Gee Note: You might wanna go back and get those)
Stop callin’, stop callin,
I don’t wanna talk anymore!
I left my head and my heart on the dance floor.”

Gaga is not thinking or talking for herself anymore, her head and her heart have been dissociated from her core personality due to Monarch programming (Gee Note: Monarch? You mean like that guy from The Venture Bros.? “Please. How stupid do I look to you? World Domination. I'll leave that to the religious nuts or the Republicans, thank you.”. Ahahahahahaha. Awesome)

Video Analysis

The video is a Quentin Tarentino-esque short film which is heavily inspired by Thelma and Louise and peppered with tons of product placements and transvestites. That surely wasn’t the video I was picturing when I first heard that song. From the comments I’ve read, the video left many fans confused about its meaning. This is quite understandable, knowing that most viewers have no idea what the song is really about. When the hidden “mind control” meaning is brought to light, the symbolism of the video becomes evident and the storyline becomes more coherent. I will now attempt to go through the many symbolic scenes of the video and explain their occult meaning. Here’s the video:

(Gee Note: By the way, this video could be considered NSFW. It depends where you work I suppose. For example if your sitting in an office right now you might not want to have it playing if your boss is peering over your shoulder. On the other hand if you ply your trade in a brothel, go nuts I guess.)

The video starts with Gaga entering the “Prison for Bitches” (Gee Note: Formerly the St. Lucy‘s Hospital for Hedgehog‘s). So, yeah, I know, she addressed that hermaphrodite rumour and many think it was the most hilarious thing ever. I’ve never really cared about those gossipy rumours so I won’t elaborate on them (Gee Note: Awwwww. Spoilsport).

In the prison yard, Gaga walks around chained up and wearing sunglasses made of lit cigarettes (Gee Note: That‘s the thing about prison. Gotta make do with what you can get). Gaga then sits down and “gets busy” with a weird-looking inmate, but is interrupted by a phone call. She seems to be enjoying a special status in the jail … maybe due to the fact that she is a slave only obeying orders … and that she is needed again (Gee Note: Or maybe due to the fact that, like, she‘s the star of the video and so therefore they want to make her look as good as possible? I'm just sayin').

Gaga is then bailed out by Beyoncé and leaves prison. Inside the car, Gaga and Beyoncé engage into a highly dissociative conversation. It basically sounds like dialogue between two mind-controlled slaves. The phrase “Trust is like a mirror. You can fix it if it’s broke but you can still see the crack in the motherf***er’s reflection” can refer to a cheating boyfriend and can also refer to the permanent damage caused by the fragmenting of one’s personality in mind control (Gee Note: It can also refer to how difficult it is to fix a cracked mirror. Seriously I speak with experience here. It’s all fiddling with adhesive and stuff, and before you know it you’ve glued your fingers to the coffee table).

The dynamic duo (Gee Note: Nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur nur BATMAN!) then enters an all-American, good ol’-fashioned diner. Beyoncé meets with probably the biggest douche in the universe (Gee Note: Ah don’t sell yourself short man) (played by Tyrese Gibson) and proceeds to poison him. At this point, Gaga comes out of the kitchen with poisoned honey and serves it to the customers.

Gaga stares blankly (the way a dissociated mind-controlled assassin would stare) (Gee Note: Or because Gaga is a really bad actress) while Tyrese eats the poison The mass murder begins … people eat up Gaga’s poisoned honey and die. Does this represent the Illuminati elite poisoning the masses with toxic media? (Gee Note: No.)

The entire clientele of the all-American diner gets poisoned and dies. You might have noticed the emphasis on “bees” and “honey” during the entire video. Gaga calls Beyoncé “Honey Bee”. She also serves poisoned honey to the diner’s customers. What does this signify? Beyoncé and Gaga’s poisonous honey is actually their music and videos, which are served to the general public through mass media. You can figure out the rest. (Gee Note: So what you’re saying is Keyser Soze is… Stephen Baldwin? Wait. Hang on. I’m lost.)

While the customers are agonizing and dying, Beyoncé puts on the Mickey Mouse sunglasses, the same glasses worn by Gaga in Paparazzi while killing her boyfriend. In both videos, the singers wore the glasses during the killings, hinting to the fact that they are programmed to execute the poisonings. As stated in previous articles, Mickey Mouse ears or designs often occultly refer to mind control , probably because Disney films were known to be used on MK slaves during their programming (Gee Note: Well, of course Disney are evil. Have you seen “Inspector Gadget”? That thing was made purely to torture people or my name isn’t Gareth Danger Excitement Rhys Ninjaskillz Davies).

Gaga and Beyoncé finally flee the crime scene. Gaga is then shown in front of the Pussy Wagon wearing a leopard-print suit, a reference to “sex kitten” programming (Gee Note: Either that or she likes hunting big game. Dude. Gaga the Hunter. That’s a reality TV series waiting to happen).

BETA. Referred to as “sexual” programming. This programming eliminates all learned moral convictions and stimulates the primitive sexual instinct, devoid of inhibitions (Gee Note: Where do I sign up?). “Cat” alters may come out at this level.

-Ron Patton, Project Monarch

In the final scene, Gaga and Beyoncé prance around wearing dresses by Emilie Pirlot. Beyoncé’s black dress and the veils hint to the ritualistic nature of the murders (Gee Note: See and I thought Gaga was wearing a wedding dress. My mistake I guess. Unless of course you regularly attend weddings in which all the guests are poisoned. In which case, you may want to think about changing the caterer next time.).

In Conclusion

Telephone is yet another Lady Gaga product permeated with references to mind control and Illuminati symbolism. Gaga’s “commentary” on today’s youth is certainly not a positive one. The video basically says: America is ready to eat any poisonous crap the elite serves them, and that is accomplished through controlled puppets (Gee Note: Either that or people in diners really like them some honey). I will now pre-address comments I’m bound to receive:

“How is Lady Gaga mind controlling me? I’m not feeling controlled to do anything”

I am not saying that Gaga is controlling your mind. I’m saying her video is ABOUT mind control. This disturbing theme keeps reoccurring in pop music. (Gee Note: Which, and here’s, the thing, is a bit redundant don’t you agree? I mean if I was a secret society trying to control the population then I wouldn’t want a big neon sign above my door saying “JUST SO YOU KNOW. I’M TRYING TO TAKE OVER YOUR BRAIN!!!”. I mean why would the Illuminati advertise their activities anyway? Just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense does it?)

“She is doing it on purpose to piss you off”

I heard this comment when Bad Romance came out and after her Grammy performance, where her hype man alluded to her “mind-controlling music”. As much as I would like to believe that I’ve got that much influence on today’s biggest star, I highly doubt that Gaga, her staff, her video directors and her record label with its millions of dollars would concentrate all of their creative efforts to piss off one blogger (Gee Note: Especially considering she‘s probably never heard of you). The truth is: She was doing this before this site was even online and she keeps doing it now. Her works, like the works of many other pop stars, are part of a greater agenda. It used to focus on exposing the youth to materialism and sexual promiscuity, but it has now expanded to occult symbolism, mind control and transhumanism.

Am I reaching you or is your telephone busy? (Gee Note: Oh. I see what you did there. Word play. Nice.)


Now of course this is all bobbins. But it never fails to amaze me that folks continue to be so desperate to believe, they’ll find “evidence” in places where none is to be found. Because the truth is “Telephone” has about as much to do with “mind control” as Dora The Explorer has to do with exposing the underbelly of illegally trafficking sex workers. Unfortunately The Vigilant Citizen has confused something that is a ham fisted attempt to be “daring”, and applied an intelligent design to it that simply doesn’t ring true. Because, really, if The Illuminati were this clumsy and ludicrous then they wouldn’t be able to run a second hand bookstore, let alone the entire globe.

Unless of course I’m simply saying this to throw you off the scent. See that’s how we Illuminati work. All cloak and daggers and such.

Wait. Have I said too much? Damn.

Sunday, 14 March 2010

Here I am, you pod bastards! Hey, pods! Come and get me you scum!

Well we didn’t go on that ghost walk in the end.

Allow me to explain. Stratford is slightly odd. Actually, no, scratch that. Stratford is as crazy as Jock McCrazy, winner of Crazyville’s annual “Woah! How crazy is that dude?” competition. For a start, everyone is really nice. In fact, take a walk anywhere in Stratford and every single person you pass by will smile politely and even offer you a hearty pleasantry such as “Good morning!” or “Lovely day isn‘t it?”.

Now, to be honest with you, this totally freaked me out. See I grew up in Morriston, where people aren’t nice to each other. Indeed make eye contact with anyone on a street in Morriston who isn’t a close friend or a blood relative and chances are you’ll end up getting stabbed. So by the second day of this peaceful Stratford life, and after the 500th person had wished me well, I’d become a paranoid wreck convinced that we’d stumbled across a pod of body snatchers. “What’s wrong with these people?” I cried, “They’re so friendly. Too friendly. It’s not natural”. Seriously, I half expected to run in to Donald Sutherland who would then proceed to point and wail at me any moment.

Secondly Stratford itself seems to have a split personality. There’s the culturally rich, bohemian Stratford which includes the Swan Theatre, an art gallery on a barge, and Shakespeare’s Birthplace. Then you have the fabulously tacky, tourist trap Stratford boasting a sex shop called Romeo & Juliet’s (Gee Note: Geddit?!?! Sadly I didn’t and spent a good ten minutes staring in to the store’s front window confused, only to be lead away by a rather miffed future ex-Mrs. Davies demanding to know just what the hell I thought I was doing. Alas my pleading of “I thought it was, like, a bakery or something” didn’t seem to placate her in any way), and the Museum of Wizardry and Witchcraft. Or MoWaW for short.

Situated a mere two doors down from the bard’s birthplace, the MoWaW looks a bit like a Halloween store in the middle of Atlantic city  run by a crazy cat lady. Covered in gaudy neon lights punctuated by various depictions of ghouls and the like, it instantly screams “CHEAP”. Of course, me being me, I simply had to go in there. My fiancée (Gee Note: Man it feels so weird saying that. I mean it’s not a bad thing obviously. Quite the opposite in fact. It’s just… I don’t know… different I guess. Like mud wrestling a panda bear. If you did it every day you’d get used it eventually. However the first couple of times you’d be going “What the f***? Why am I mud wrestling a panda? What the hell is going on here?”. It’s a bit like that.) on the other hand didn’t seem quite so keen as I. In fact I kinda had to talk her in to it using half a bottle of wine and a packet of Olde English fudge.

Of course it was fantastically terrible, or terribly fantastic depending on which way you look at it. On three separate floors you could experience such delightful exhibits as “An old stick that might have been a wand” or “A chair that a witch might have sat in once”. They even had a sorting hat, a la Harry Potter. In fact for one whole English pound you could sit down, place the hat on your head, at which point some guy with a beard would stick his head around the corner and go “Uh yeah. The hat says Gryffindor.” Epic is not the word.

Problem was the future ex-Mrs. Davies didn’t agree. In fact she passionately found the entire experience completely disagreeable, even to the point that as we wondered through the gift section…

“Darling” said I, “I found a plastic bag with a spell in it that will help us win the lottery.”

“How much is it?”

“Ummm. Seven pounds.”

“C’mon. We’re going.”

On walking through the exit I saw an advert for the ghost walk and gazed at it longingly. My fiancée noticed this and in a less than playful manner exclaimed “No. No way. Not a chance in Hell.”. Sadly I knew she meant it.

So instead we went to watch the Royal Shakespeare Company perform King Lear. Which, of course, was unbelievably good. Thing is it’s of absolutely no use to this blog what so ever. Thankfully, as a much wiser man than myself once said, the solutions to life’s problems aren’t at the bottom of a bottle. They’re on TV.

I should point out that as I type this I've just finished watching an episode of The Jeremy Kyle Show which has left me, quite frankly, gob smacked. For those not in the know, The Jeremy Kyle Show is kind of like The Jerry Springer Show except with British accents and less fisticuffs. Another remarkable difference is that while Jerry would simply introduce his guests and let them at it, the JK show revolves around Kyle (Gee Note: Who looks like a cross between a bored viper and a horny turtle. No really.) shouting at some poor, bumpy skinned, shell suited wretch that they should "Get off their backside and get a job!". Either that or "Put something on the end of it!" should they have, heaven forbid, accidentally impregnated someone.

This inevitably leads to one or more of the participants storming off stage, at which point Kyle will slither off behind them and display a level of passive aggressiveness normally associated with psychopaths. For example, some unfit mother will be condemned for drinking Toilet Duck while letting her kids play with chainsaws, until the time she gets a wee bit teary eyed. At that point dear Jeremy will sit next to her backstage and calmly explain that he knows it's difficult being a single mum (Gee Note: Although quite how he knows this is never really elaborated on) and that he's simply here to help, neglecting to mention of course that his show's viewing figures go up every time he makes a Burberry bedecked manatee blubber.

Sadly, not a single one of Jezza's guests are ever intelligent enough to call him out on his buffoonery, and so the pompous loon is allowed to grandstand as much as he pleases. It makes for some complicated viewing. On the one hand you end up gawking in wonder at various monstrosities that are paraded before you like some kind of interactive Victorian freak show, and have a jolly good time in the process. On the other you can't help but notice the seediness of it all, how the whole process is designed not to help anybody, but rather to poke fun at the unwashed masses. Oh look at him, he's a really awful father. Oh look at her, she's an alcoholic. Oh tee hee hee, what japes.

Still it's not as if most of those that subject themselves to this circus are entirely undeserving of ridicule. Take today's show. On the stage were two slack jawed, white trash, yokels, who had come to Jeremy for a DNA test to determine once and for all if the male was the female's unfortunate sperm donor.

Anyway during the shall we say "heated" debate, the Kylester ended up displaying a picture of the couple's potential offspring for all to see. And then, in what can only be described as the single greatest moment in television history, he paused, looked at the mother, looked at the baby, looked at the father, looked back at the baby, held up his hand and said…

“I have to be honest with you. That baby is black.”

And without a pause the potential dad said…

“Well I’m glad you’ve said that Jeremy. Because it was that what initially raised doubts in my head”.

Raised doubts? RAISED DOUBTS?!? That’s a bit of an understatement surely? I mean I’m no geneticist (Gee Note: In fact I had to use spell checker to type out “geneticist” properly) but unless there’s some woovy bezerk DNA splicing going on, complete with a mad scientist cackling while lightening strikes all around him, then I’m guessing you’ve found yourself a pretty strong case to get yourself out of the whole paying child support thing.

As it turns out they did the test just for the hell of it (Gee Note: Either that or they’d pre-paid for the booth) and, yeah, no he wasn’t the father. Later on in the same episode they also revealed that the Pope is not, nor has he ever been, a protestant.

Which brings us to Psychic Sally: On the Road. Sally Morgan is a former dental nurse who claims to be able to contact the dead. In 2008 she became rather famous in the UK after publishing a book entitled “My Psychic Life”. Since then she has toured the country non stop, conducting shows in various theatres where she cold reads members of the audience. Unlike most UK psychics who are, let’s face it, kinda creepy - Sally’s gimmick is that she’s an average, down to earth woman. So much so she waddles on to the stage with the minimum of fuss, after which she calls everyone darling, and smiles a lot. During one episode  when the person she’s speaking to starts to well up she exclaims “Oh don’t cry darling, you’ll set me off.”. You see, this isn’t some dude with a bad hair cut and glittery jacket trying to amaze you with his mind powers. No, this is Aunty Sally telling you your loved ones are in the after life all sitting around the dinner table having a nice cup of tea. You know, real cosy like.

Except it’s not. In fact it’s all a bit sinister. You see Sally’s way of “passing on the spirit’s message” is rather unique. While other psychics will say something along the lines of “Your father says that… wait… he’s saying he had problems with his arm? Is that right? That he couldn’t lift his arm?”, Sally goes to town by putting on a weak little voice and crying out “How could I live like this? How could I? I can’t even lift my arm!”, at which point the camera cuts back to the receiver of this news who nods gravely and wipes a tear away from their eye.

But the most intriguing part of the show are the bits in between her performances. Sally is filmed travelling the road reality style with her husband/manager John in tow (Gee Note: A man who looks like he was imprisoned 30 years ago for a crime he didn’t commit and has long since given up the fight to prove his innocence), where it turns out it’s a wee bit more difficult to keep up the mother hen routine. For example, at some point Sally get’s a tooth ache and seems to think she has a God given right to get anti biotics carried to her by a flock of white doves or something. Unfortunately when trying to book an appointment with a dentist, it turns out they wouldn't give her a prescription for anything unless her face had swollen and she was unable to function properly. Which of course it hadn't, and which of course she was. This pretty much pushed the lovely Ms. Morgan over the edge.

After a relatively volatile discussion with a representative for the NHS over the phone, Sally dearest ends the conversation with sarcasm streaming through her voice.

“I’m sorry I’m going to have to cut you off now. Because I’m 58 and I’ve paid in to National Health Service all my working life, and this is what it is. Great isn’t it?! Absolutely wonderful!”.

Now, this might not seem like all that big of a deal, but for me this speaks more about this woman’s character than all the smiling and the “darlings” during her stage performances. Because I’ve had a conversation with those folks on the NHS helpline, namely when I had a kidney stone and thought that my back was exploding from the inside out. And the thing is, the people who work at the NHS helpline try to help you as best as they can, even though they probably have no formal medical training and are undoubtedly paid an awful wage. So, you know, taking your frustrations out on them is like kicking a puppy when your in a bad mood. It’s not cool, bro. Not cool.

You see, the truth is that Psychic Sally and Jeremy Kyle aren’t all that different. They both make money off other people’s emotions, both manipulate their audience in to giving them a specific response, and they both claim they’re doing it for the greater good. The difference is that one does it by bellowing that their guests are rubbish, the other does it by claiming that their guest's deceased loved ones are proud of them.

And, for the life of me, I really can’t decide which one is worse.