Saturday, 31 December 2011

I got dressed in a hurry.

Before we start I feel I have to warn you. I’m feeling a little flat today.

You see I’ve spent most of the day catching up on all the stuff I missed over Christmas. And so far it’s been one colossal disappointment after another. First off we have the rugby match between my home team the Ospreys and their fierce rivals the Scarlets, a game that the Ospreys not only managed to lose but was so poor in terms of quality that calling it “garbage” would be an insult to empty crisp packets everywhere. Then we had the news that some remains of the Pangboche hand had been discovered in Tibet London and had been DNA tested, the results revealing that it belongs to a human and not a bloody great big Yeti after all (Gee Note: Which, if you think about it, just goes to show that monks are as full of crap as everyone else. Yeah that’s right. I said it. Just because you walk around in a robe all day doesn’t mean you you’re any more enlightened than the rest of us. That includes you Jedi. I mean, sure, you may think you’re pretty badass with your laser sword and your mind control. But did you stop Darth Sidious corrupting young Anakin Skywalker and beating down the galaxy like it was a prostitute locked inside Mickey Rourke’s hotel room? Did you? DID YOU?!? No. No you didn’t. Instead we had to leave it up to the Ewoks to save our bacon. Ewoks for f***s sake. So now the entire galaxy is indebted to a load of teddy bears. Thanks a lot Jedi).

Following that we had the ball bustingly exciting news that a bona-fide Yeti had been captured by Russian authorities, only for it to turn out to be a man in a monkey suit (Gee Note: I imagine he gave up the goose when he spied a vet approaching wearing a rubber glove). And to top it all off I eventually managed to watch the festive episode of Doctor Who, and it was largely awful. Unless you happen to love boring trees being boring of course. If that’s you’re thing then this was the TV event of the year. Sadly as I have not recently had a lobotomy, it left me feeling cold and vaguely angry about wasting an hour of my time watching it.

So yeah, since Christmas decided to make its excuses and leave things have pretty much gone downhill quicker than Sonny Bono skiing. Although maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m just grumpy that Christmas is over for another year and now I have to go back to my regular duties (Gee Note: As opposed to drinking beer all day and shouting at whatever happens to be on the TV). Maybe it’s the stress of it all. Being a new dad, not getting any orders for a signed copy of RAINBOWS ARE MADE OF CHOCOLATE BUT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT, living through yet another year when no one has found definitive proof of a sea monster or something cool like that, maybe it’s all just getting to me. Maybe I need a break from it all. A holiday perhaps.

But where to go? That’s the question. It will need to be somewhere I can unwind. Relax. Somewhere filled with enough positive energy to make the cast of Sesame Street look like a right bunch of miserable bastards. And it will also need a great big rock as well. Because nothing says “Here is a place you can recharge and feel connected with a higher level of existence” more than a great big rock.

Thankfully the answer arrived in the form of a link sent to me by a wonderful lass named Jenny.

Because out there somewhere deep in the Mojave Desert in California is The Giant Rock, which believe-it-or-not fits the bill perfectly. But don’t just take my word for it, ask the folks at Labyrinthina.com. Specifically an article written by Kathy Doore entitled “George Van Tassel's Amazing Integratron at Giant Rock”.

Now if you’re sitting there and asking yourself “Who’s George Van Tassel? And while we’re at it, what the hell is an Integratron?”, never fear brave reader. I have painstakingly taken the time and effort to reprint the important bits of the article here for you to read, as well as adding helpful notes along the way. No need to thank me. I do this out of love, not for any type of reward. I’m like Robin Hood. Except I don’t have a bow and arrow. Or ride a horse. Or wear tights on a daily basis. So not really like Robin Hood at all when you think about it. Anyway the article in question kicks off with…

To researchers, Giant Rock is significant for many reasons. For starters it was the home and workplace of the enigmatic George Van Tassel, known as (Gee Note: “The All-Night Delight” to travelling salesmen and truckers looking for some love on the road?) "Van" to his friends (Gee Note: Oh. OK).

Van allegedly made contact with extraterrestrials in the 1950's and was tutored by them on a variety of subjects, including human cellular rejuvenation leading to the building of a structure called "The Integratron”. (Gee Note: They also helped him out with his Math homework, and gave him the courage to ask Suzie Rubenstein to be his date to the prom. As well as showing those no good jocks a thing or two by defeating them in a game of basketball. It’s true. I saw it on the Lifetime TV Movie “Van and his alien tutor”, with Harry Hamlin giving the performance of the decade as Van’s best friend who happens to be an imaginary duck. If you haven’t seen it you should check it out. It’s emotional stuff.)

After arriving in California from Ohio in 1930, Van, a young pilot and engineer, lived with an uncle who owned an automobile repair shop in Southern California. One day during that period, he met Frank Critzer, a down and out prospector who needed to have his Essex car repaired. Van found the prospector to be an engaging fellow and the two of them soon became friends. Owing to Critzer’s financial difficulties Van agreed to repair the car for free. Critzer was even allowed to sleep at the garage while repairs were made to his car. Van's largess didn’t end there. He gave Critzer a trunk full of canned goods along with $30, which, as Van put it, was a lot of money then. In return, Critzer promised to include Van and the uncle in any mining claims he might make in the future. (Gee Note: Lucky Van wasn’t married at the time, otherwise he’d have probably have said something along the lines of “Hey Frank. Look I know it’s a bit difficult picking up chicks, what with you living in a car an’ all. So I was thinking, why don’t you have sex with my wife? No really. Why don’t you? Seriously I’d be happy to let you slip one to my missus. In fact, why don’t you go and send a meaty missile in to my wife’s red love zone right now? And when you’re done I’ll have a tray of freshly baked hot scones waiting for you”).

A year later, Critzer mailed a map to Van showing him how to get to Giant Rock - a massive boulder surrounded by a dry lake bed sacred to the native Americans, who called it the "Great Stone", the place where Critzer was living. Map in hand, Van set out to visit his friend. When he arrived, he was (Gee Note: Raped by a marauding pack of Grizzly Bears who were fraudulently sending maps to random addresses hoping someone would bite. This in turn taught Van a valuable lesson about being gullible) surprised to find that Critzer had dug under the massive boulder in order to carve out a place to live. He had made an alcove within the cavity to set up house.




During WWII, Critzer ran afoul of the government and was accused of stealing dynamite and later of being an enemy spy. Conflicting stories about this colorful character abound. But whatever the truth, a confrontation with the police resulted in his death in August of 1942. Interestingly, Van Tassel claims the prospector was an "advanced thinker" who researched innovative methods of manufacturing plastic. However details of that matter are sketchy. (Gee Note: There’s no real great mystery to Critzer’s demise by the way. Basically US Marshalls responded to anonymous tip that Critzer was a German spy and went to arrest him. When he refused to come quietly they set about bombarding his home with tear gas. Alas the dynamite which Critzer had in fact pinched was ignited by one of these tear gas canisters, and proceeded to blow the poor sumbitch to smithereens. Which suggest that he wasn’t really that much of an ‘advanced thinker’ after all. Unless of course by ‘advanced thinker’ you mean ‘dumber than a bag full of tortoises with astonishingly low IQs’).

During the ensuing years, Van Tassel became an aeronautical engineer, flight inspector, and test pilot (he'd obtained his pilot's license while still a teenager), and worked for Douglas Aircraft during the 1930s, and alongside Howard Hughes in the 1940s at Hughes Aviation as Hughes' personal flight inspector for testing experimental aircraft (Gee Note: “Hey. This helicopter we made out of silly string and nitro-glycerine doesn’t look very safe. Get George on the phone would you?”). During this time he continued to visit Giant Rock with his wife on vacation. In 1945, he made an application to the Bureau of Land Management to lease the property. And in 1947, he quit his job at a Lockheed aircraft plant and moved his wife and three daughters to the Mojave Desert near Landers, leasing four square miles of land surrounding Giant Rock from the government.

The area was covered with decomposed granite making it a natural site for a small airport where Van Tassel created Giant Rock Airport and Cafe, which he operated from 1947 until 1975. Howard Hughes was a frequent guest who flew in for the delicious pie that Van Tassels wife made (Gee Note: I hope “pie” isn’t some sort of euphemism).

Van Tassel believed the rock's crystalline structure possessed great channeling power by virtue of its piezo-electric characteristics. In 1953, he began a series of weekly meditations in the rooms under the boulder where it was said the meditations led to contact with extraterrestrial beings. On August 21, 1953, a ship from Venus landed and a man wearing a jumpsuit stood at the foot of his sleeping bag, announcing “I am Solganda, and I would be pleased to show you my craft”. (Gee Note: To which Van replied. “Um… OK. I guess. Although how long is this going take? Howard Hughes has just been on the line. There’s an exciting new helicopter he wants me to be the first to fly.”). Van Tassel wrote that he was led to a hovering spaceship, and stepped into what he described as a “butter colored” light emanating from the underside of the craft. He was taken on a tour of the ship and told that he had been chosen to bring a message of peace and interplanetary brotherhood to his fellow earthlings. (Gee Note: Also his tight firm buttocks would give the ladies something to talk about. Phoooaaawwwrrrr) He was shown the principals of cell rejuvenation which later led to the creation of The Integratron.




Designed specifically to carry out anti-aging processes to prolong human life, the Integratron schematics called for recharging human cell structure using a powerful negative ion field. Although Van Tassel died before he could complete the structure (Gee Note: Wait. He died? Not much of a cell rejuvenator is it?), what was left behind continues to focus and amplify powerful geomagnetic forces running through its location, built over a large underground aquifer, while the unique all-wood construction created, sets up a resonant sound field (Gee Note: I have a similar thing at home. I call it “THE SHED”).

George Van Tassel called his Integratron "a time machine for basic research on rejuvenation, anti-gravity and time travel". The structure stood four-story's high and 55 feet in diameter. It was of non-metallic structure, sited over a magnetic vortex--an essential part of its functioning. Van Tassel erected a sign at the entrance which simply stated: “Integratron: Dedicated To Research In Life Extension.” (Gee Note: “If you’re looking for Mrs. Van Tassel’s “pie”, please use the rear entrance and have a credit card to hand”). The placement of the Integratron was chosen based on a complex set of theories involving the earth's magnetic field, with the Integratron's relationship to the Great Pyramid in Egypt and Giant Rock, presumed to be the world's largest freestanding boulder at the time.

With no written plans for completing the project, Van Tassel's family abandoned the site (Gee Note: Hi Bill. Bill? It’s Mary. Your cousin. Did you hear? Crazy-ass uncle Van died. Left you his alien building or whatever. Bill you still there? Bill?). The buildings at Giant Rock were vacated and gradually Vandalized until the Bureau of Land Management found it necessary to bulldoze the remains, leaving only the nearby dome intact as you see it today.

In his many hundred radio and TV appearances, George Van Tassel compared the Integratron to the Tabernacle of Moses. He claimed that he was instructed by a higher intelligence to build a 21st century version of the Tabernacle that Moses constructed, using the same positive power principle of the Great Pyramid of Giza, and was given the name The Integratron. He was told it would revitalize and rejuvenate the physical bodies of humankind. George Van Tassel openly shared much of the technology with his supporters and followers, but those close to him say he kept much of it secret, sharing it only with his closest, trusted colleagues. (Gee Note: They wants to take it from ussssss. The precioussss. Filthy hobitsesss wants it for themselvesss).


According to Van Tassel, the Integratron is located on an intersection of powerful geomagnetic forces that, when focused by the unique geometry of the building, will concentrate and amplify the energy required for rejuvenation and healing. In 2005, a geophysicist measured the earth's magnetic field for up to 15 miles in every direction from the Integratron and then inside the dome. She proclaimed that there is a significant, unexplainable spike in the earth's magnetic field in the center of the Integratron. (Gee Note: A geophysicist who didn’t want to be named apparently. Sad really. Obviously suffering from crippling shyness. Or as it’s known in the trade “the geophysicist’s curse”).

George Van Tassel's literature describing the project stated that the machine's purpose was "to recharge energy into living cell structures, to bring about longer life with youthful energy." He theorized that the body is an electrical device, and aging was a matter of the cells running out of power. The Integratron, capable of collecting up to 50,000 volts of static electricity from the air, would be a multi-frequency, electrostatic charger for the human body. (Gee Note: It’s amazing that no one had thought of pumping electricity through a human body before really. I mean it sounds perfectly safe and in no way potentially fatal).

The 16-sided Dome was built of wood and concrete and held together by glue and gravity-electrically neutral materials. The generating core was made of copper wire. Had it been placed into operation, candidates would have walked through the building, essentially a huge air capacitor, while wearing white outfits. The charges, distributed over a wide range of frequencies, would affect every cell. Integratron became a Noah's Ark, "a vehicle or vessel that could deliver a chosen lot of followers to a secure place. It's the dream as old as mankind to live forever and have some control in governing our time on earth." (Gee Note: I bet Mumm-Ra The Ever-Living was first in line. Was always on the look out for a wacky never dying scheme that one).

Recently honored with a dedication and historical monument by the Ancient and Honorable Order of E Clampus Vitus, Billy Holcomb Chapter, the Integratron today receives many visitors drawn to experience the Integratron's enhanced energy fields. An overnight stay at the Integratron is said to result in waves of peace, heightened awareness, and relaxation of the mind and body. (Gee Note: As well as the feeling of a great weight lifted from your wallet). Affectionately called "The Dome" by the Karl sisters (Joanne, Nancy, and Patty), who together own and operate the Integratron, say "Our work at the Integratron has been about honoring the old history and getting the story straight about George Van Tassel's life's work, what we call the New History of the Integratron, which we believe is about creating an environment that is a gathering place where science and spirit meet. We're dedicated to the research and the understanding of what the Integratron's gift to humanity really is." And many agree, including a very high-ranking Tibetan Buddhist lama who has been teaching out of the Integratron, purportedly sent there by His Holiness the Dalai Lama. (Gee Note: Which suggests that no one has actually confirmed that he was sent there by the Dalai Lama. For all they know he could just be a bald bloke in a dressing gown. “Heyyy. Whatchoo mean I ain’t no lama or nothing? I’d kick your ass if I weren’t all peaceful and shit.”).

So there we are then. Sounds perfect doesn’t it? I’m packing my bags as we speak.

Now where did I put my white suit?

Thursday, 15 December 2011

I never was a fancy talker.

Something funny happened to me the other day (Gee Note: Funny as in strange. Not funny as in Herman Cain’s run for President. Although, I’ll be honest, I was sad to see him go. Even if he couldn’t keep lil’ Herman under control, he was still brilliantly entertaining. Did you know he even finished his concession speech with a quote from the Pokémon movie? No really. Pokémon. I swear the world would be a much better place if all politicians took that route. Think about it. President Obama purposefully striding towards to the podium, placing his hands on either side with authority, and announcing “My fellow Americans. I just saw something on the television that pulled at the strings of my heart. It was a wildlife documentary about cartoons and people who say “wah” a lot. Anyway apparently a small turtle with surgically implanted water cannons needs to get to a particular forest otherwise he will lose all his power. And if the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles taught us anything it’s that there’s nothing more important than turtle power. So it goes without saying that this little dude needs our help. As such I’ve made an executive decision. Yeah that’s right. Suit up bitches, we’re heading out to Japan to lend a hand. Hold on Squirtle, we’re coming to save you”. And then President Obama marches away triumphantly to the sound of “Hail to the Chief”. It would easily be the greatest moment in human history is what I’m saying).

I was at my desk, perusing the online editions of the daily newspapers, and came across an article about David Icke. The contents of which surprised me so much that I had to get up, find the nearest sink, and splash water on my face.

I should probably explain. For those not in the know, David Icke is a former professional soccer player and BBC sports journalist who completely lost his shit in the early 90’s and started going around claiming to be the son of God. When that didn’t stick, Icke took some time off to reflect and reinvented himself as a conspiracy theorist. And boy did he come out swinging. Reviving the dusty old NWO hypothesis for a new millennia, Icke put a novel spin on the idea of secret overlords making the rest of the world miserable and poor. While his peers were still claiming these sinister rulers of the planet were greedy privileged psychopaths, Icke instead painted them as… wait for it… evil aliens.

Not just any aliens you understand. These sumbitches are 9 feet tall, shape shifting reptiles that are able to pass for people by sacrificing the occasional virgin and making the human race as depressed as possible. You see that way they can feed off the collective negative energy pumped out by the Earth and are able to carry on their day to day roles of causing mass genocide and so on. These “Reptoids” were responsible for the Holocaust, 9/11, medieval witch hunts, the black death, the war in Afghanistan, the JFK assassination, the crusades, Twilight, Katie Price, and everything else in between. In fact if anything really awful has happened on this planet, you can bet your ass these slithering lunatics were behind it. Of course there’s not a shred of evidence to support any of this, but in situations like these all you need is the ability to shout loud enough and have a knack of blowing the tiniest details out of proportion to be a success (Gee Note: For example, “There’s a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I holding a snake! Which proves she’s a reptile! Because snakes are also reptiles! HOW CAN THE REST OF THE WORLD NOT SEE THIS???!!!??!?!?!?”). And, as it happens, Icke has both those attributes in spades.

However, the reason I had to dowse myself in liquid (Gee Note: Easy tiger) was that I never realised just how good a Snake Oil salesman David Icke is. According to an article in the Daily Fail Mail, Icke has recently sold out the Best Buy Theatre in New York, all 2100 seats of it. For £45 a ticket. £45. A ticket. Or, as my calculator puts it, a total of £94,500. Which, and this is the bit that really got me, is more money than I’ve earned in the past five years combined. Of course David won’t be taking all of that huge pile of dosh home to himself. The theatre itself probably requires a cut, and the cost of staging his… er… show (Gee Note: Show? Lecture? Call to arms? One man public service announcement about how meds for mental illness should be easier to obtain?) probably costs a fair whack as well. But even if Icke is taking home only half of the house receipts it’s still a healthy £47,250. Which is a very tidy wage for an entire year, let alone one day.




All this got me thinking. Obviously I’m in the wrong business here. I’ve been quietly poking fun at folks like Icke for nigh on four years now on this blog, and despite being recognised for my talents with a prestigious award my total net earnings from this escapade equal a big fat zero dollars. Nada. Nothing. Zip. In fact the closest I get to any type of monetary reward for this here web adventure is the occasional random email from a marketing type person. Every so often one will offer me a potentially free copy of a book with a supernatural theme, on the understanding that I write a glowing review on these very pages. Which would be fine except I’m a terrible liar (Gee Note: Just ask The Future Ex-Mrs. Davies. Once I told her I wouldn’t be able to take the bins out because I was being attacked by a shark. She soon saw through that one), and so if I end up not liking the product my only alternative would be to type something like “This book is really great! I was especially impressed by the binding. I’ve had it for three weeks now and almost none of the pages have fallen out. Pick up your copy today!”. I’m no expert but I would be willing to bet that quote wouldn’t make the dust jacket.

So after a whole three minutes of quiet contemplation, I’ve decided that things need to change. I need to change. No longer can I be content with receiving the odd email from friends telling me “That last post was OK”, or meeting up with relations every once in a while who’ll say things like “Oh sure. I’ve read your blog. It’s really… say how’s your daughter getting along?”. No. I’ve been kidding myself for too long now. This blog and I. We’ll never be successful. It’s time to go in a different direction. That’s right folks. No longer will I simply find stuff on the internet and add snarky comments. Gone are the days when I would cheerily wonder what brand of beer Bigfoot would drink (Gee Note: Although I’m pretty sure Biggy is a Coors Light type of man-monkey). You’ve seen the last of me trying to make weak jokes about psychic mediums. I’m giving all that up.

Instead, I’m going to become a conspiracy theorist/spiritual guru. Because, baby, that’s the where the money is. Bucket loads of cold hard cash are waiting to be given to me by gullible fools enlightened individuals who want to learn to truth about who REALLY rules our planet. And believe me, as soon as I’ve come up with whatever it is, that truth will shock you to your very core. Get ready to make your cheques out to “Gareth Davies” as I invite you to follow me on a very special path. A path that leads to a higher level of understanding. I can help you set your minds free, my friends. And together we can make the world a better place to live.

Problem is, I have no idea where to start with this new venture. So I guess I should be thanking the various Gods for Edward Alexander. AKA Maggador.

You guys remember Maggy right? Of course you do. A blonde bombshell of Scandinavian silliness, Maggador is one my favourite internet personalities of all time. Claiming to be a reincarnated alien (Gee Note: See? I told you he was awesome), he’s also a top notch conspiracy nut, and something of a dab hand when it comes to raising us humans to a greater plane of existence. Better yet, no matter how many times I’ve been a wee bit mean about him within the sphere that is blog, he always sends me a message along the lines of “Hey, you’re a funny guy. Good luck”. Which means that not only is he wise, he’s also forgiving. You know, a bit like Jesus. If Jesus had a pet monkey and made YouTube videos telling you to overthrow the government that is. Point being, he’s exactly the kind of chap I should be modelling myself on in order to make this new venture of mine a triumph.

So just what has Maggy been up to recently? Well it turns out that about a week ago he uploaded this video:






WOW! Lightening! Egyptian flute music! Badly synched audio! Maps! Maggy saying the exact same thing all over again except this time using some sort of distortion software to either make his voice sound deeper, or to fool you in to thinking you’ve accidentally ingested some sort of hallucinogenic compound! More maps! I bet you’ve just had your tiny little mind rocked to its socks, haven’t you? I know I have. If that trailer is any indication of what’s to come then I can’t wait for the full documentary.

And then of course we have Jim Corr (Gee Note: Or as most people know him “That bloke from the band with all the pretty women”). Corr, the former guitarist from popular beat combo The Corrs, recently caused havoc in his native Ireland by claiming 9/11 was an inside job on national television. Which, if you’re looking for a comparison, is a bit like Fab Morvan from Milli Vanilli publically announcing that JFK was shot by a unicorn with a bad attitude. Even better when the news broke that Osama Bin Laden had been killed by a bunch of kick ass marines in May this year, Corr immediately took to twitter and claimed that it would be difficult to kill Bin Laden as he had already died some ten years prior.

But here’s the beauty of this. Anyone with half a brain would work out pretty quickly that unless Bin Laden was a freakin’ zombie, it would be pretty tough to produce a time sensitive video of him in August 2007 had he snuffed it in 2001. But Jim can afford to claim things like this because he probably knows full well that no serious minded journalist will challenge him on it. Instead at worst he’ll have to endure some “phew what a loony” type snickering from tabloid headline writers, while his target audience will lap it up like thirsty dogs.

And that’s the one thing Icke, Maggador, and Corr all share in common. Because once you’ve put your mind to becoming a conspiracy theorist you can pretty much say whatever you want to and get away with it. Throw in some bogus history and a slide show and - BOOM - you’re making more money than a Kardashian divorce lawyer.

With that in mind, prepare to have your universe shattered. We here at I Saw Elvis In The Woods proudly present to you a serialisation of the new soon-to -be smash hit best seller “RAINBOWS ARE MADE OF CHOCOLATE BUT THEY DON'T WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT.” written by me, Gareth Davies (Gee Note: And don’t think I’m serialising it here just because nobody else wanted it. Nuh uh Jack. All the big ass newspapers were after it. Rupert Murdoch was practically blowing up my phone to get it for The Times. “Strewth mate” he’d say, “You’ve got to give me the rights to for your new book, you great big galah”. In the end I had to tell him “Rupy, dearest, you know I would. But the people who read I Saw Elvis on a regular basis, all six of them, they’ve been really good to me. I have to give something back. You get it don’t you?”. Unfortunately this upset Murdoch so much that if you ask him about it now he’ll tell you he’s never heard of me. Bit childish really).

CHAPTER 1


Friends. If you’re reading this you probably think you’re awake. Unless you’re sleep reading. In which case, you might not think you’re awake. Or you might think you’re awake when you’re actually not. Come to think of it, I’m not even sure sleep reading is a real thing. Look I’m getting off topic here. The point is you think you’re awake when you’re reading this, but you’re not. And it has nothing to do with sleep reading. You were not awake when you got out bed this morning. Or the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before that one. In fact you’ve been asleep your whole lives. And not in a fun, dreaming about a sitcom starring Tony Danza and the kid from Jerry Maguire, kind of a way. I’m talking about a constant nightmare. A nightmare that’s so nightmarish, you don’t even know it’s a nightmare. You actually think it’s pretty good for the most part. You may not even to be willing to accept that this terrible nightmare is a nightmare at first, due to it being so terrible that you don’t even know it’s a nightmare. But your life is a nightmare. A terrible one.


Before you go all wacky and start running down the street naked, you need to know why your existence is in the gutter. The good news is it’s not your fault. You see the world is secretly controlled by an exclusive group who are purposefully making your life rubbish just to amuse themselves. Now you may be reading this thinking “My, that doesn’t sound very likely”. If you are, let me ask you this. Do you own that Ferrari you’ve always dreamed of? No, of course you don’t. And even if you do, do you own two of them? And if you own two, why don’t you have three? Or four? Or seventeen? It’s because this shadowy organisation has been holding you down your entire life, denying you such things as spiritual enlightenment and Ferrari’s. The bastards.


But luckily for you I am here to WAKE YOU UP. You’ve been living in a fake reality for too long now, a reality where you’ve probably been walking a lot more than you have to due to the lack of Italian sports cars. However I am not naïve or simple minded. I do not expect everyone who hears what I have to say to be able to fully comprehend it. But for those who choose to stay ignorant I will simply state that a day of reckoning is coming soon. At which point you’ll look back at these passages and realise that I was right all along. What I’m saying is, this is your chance to get in on the ground level here. It’s like when you hear a new band on the radio and you’re all “Hey that’s a pretty good record” and on an impulse you buy the album. And then you realise the band is actually all kinds of amazing and you’re like “Hey this is band is really great. I wonder why nobody knows about them?”. And then six months later everyone you know is talking about how great they are, and they release a second album which is pretty much the same as the first one, and you don’t like them anymore because they’re “not as good as they used to be”. Well, this right here is your chance to figuratively “buy that first album”.

So yeah, the secret rulers of Earth that are keeping YOU down are everywhere. They have infiltrated every section of society, from that Café you went to once where the waitress was looking at you funny, all the way to The White House. Many influential figures including President Obama, Queen Elizabeth II, David Cameron, Ryan Seacrest, Brad Pitt, Meryl Streep, Lady Gaga, Christopher Biggins, and three time figure skating World Champion Elvis Stojko are not who they claim to be. In fact they’re not even human.


No. These imposters are passing themselves off as human when they are actually highly intelligent birds. Yes birds. As in Ostriches and Emus. Puffins. Wrens. Peregrine Falcons. That type of thing. All cleverly disguised by wearing a combination of movie make up and animatronics. Birds previously ruled the Earth over five thousand years ago when they were all dressing up as dinosaurs. In fact back then the only group of dinosaurs that weren’t secretly birds as well were the Stegosaurs. Alas a Stegosaurus brain is only the size of a walnut and so they NEVER realised that some of the other dinosaurs had feathers despite them supposedly being lizards. 





When the stegosaurs became extinct after the birds had killed them all and used their plates as surfboards, the evil overlords of the planet took a different route. Some of them reverted to their natural form to act as spies on a new race of evolved apes called humans. Others started disguising themselves in order to manipulate the humans every chance they got. Because of their superior skills, such as the ability to point at things and pick tiny specks of stuff off the ground with their mouths, birds quickly rose to the top of the human power structure. And they have remained there ever since. The TRUTH is that birds have been lying to you from day one. So while you go through your humdrum life by watering your pot plants and painting your fences, the birds are becoming more and more powerful with each passing second. Name any politician and the chances are they are a bird in a man suit. Apart from George Osborne. He's human believe it or not, just a very very stupid one. The point is it doesn’t matter which political party you vote for as they’re all frauds anyway. DEMOCRACY IS A LIE. A BEAKY FEATHERY LIE.

The serialisation will continue next week and cover such topics as “Birds are up to no good. The proof” and “How to tell if your neighbour is a bird”. If you are interested in securing a signed copy of RAINBOWS ARE… ETC please send me your details and a bundle of unmarked notes totalling £300. It would make the perfect Christmas gift for a loved one.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to call the Best Buy Theatre in New York. After all, they’ll definitely want to book a guy like me, right?