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
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).
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?