“hate christmas” 12/25/07. A sunny but cold Tuesday. Stuck inside my shoebox apartment with nowhere to go. Just another person who is left out by circumstances during the so-called “Happy Holidays” season. I turn on the TV just long enough to make sure that they haven’t blown up the world on this holiest of holy days. Then I snap it off. Why should I bother to watch sappy Xmas specials or movies for the nth time? Even the TV news – known for its “objectivity” – is slanted towards upbeat seasonal cheer. So it’s time to escape this frozen tundra Podunk and connect to the outside world via my blazing 40 kbps dial up connection. Type in the key words “hate christmas” on the Google search engine and see what pops up. As I suspected, I’m not alone. Not everyone can conform to the societal dictates of the season. Of course, there are those who hate the holiday because of the stress on materialism, not religion. As oxymoronic as it may sound, there are Christians out there who hate Chr...
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SEASON’S GREETINGS FROM THE ILLUMINATI You are commanded: $pend! $pend! $PEND!! Buy more gifts, throw bigger parties! Indulge in the illusions of joy and freedom. Then sober up and report to work, wage slave. Thus The Ill stays in power!! (Brought to you as a public service by your local Illuminati.) [Illuminated art by TG; coloring by RX]
The Science Of George Adamski ( Flying Saucers Farewell by George Adamski. 1961. Abelard-Schuman, publisher.) Unfortunately, I only have one book by contactee George Adamski, his third effort. But even this one tome reveals many startling truths. Back in 1952 Adamski claimed that he met a Venusian with the synthetic-fiberly appellation of Orthon. This happened like all such events in a desolate area: a Californian desert. Following this life-changing meeting he had other encounters with the space brothers who, he said, looked like ordinary humans and who lived amongst us unsuspecting earthlings. In his books Adamski made claims that were quickly derided by scientists. He said that all the planets in our solar system were habitable to humanlike beings, even the outer ones like Pluto, despite the great distance from the sun. So how could the outer planets be warm enough to support life? Check out the image below from page 29 of Flying Saucers Farewell. (Click on image to enlarge ...
Don’t Hesitate: Ugate! Sick of the holiday rat race? Tired of shoving through crowds at the mall to find The One Perfect Gift? Then why bother? All you’re doing to letting some CEO rake in more obscene profits while you go deeper into debt. And does everyone out there really need the latest overpriced, materialistic fad? You’re just accumulating a pile of useless junk. Christmas is really Crapmass. Ugation is the answer. Slap together a gift on the small and cheap. Here’s an example made from a couple of dollar store items, a mouse pad found in a wastepaper basket, and a comb spotted lying on the sidewalk: All I have to do is glue this grotesque arrangement together on the ratty mouse pad and it’s ready to go. (Health tip: The comb was rinsed off, the pad was only dusty and worn. No need to spread contagion. Always use items that are at least semi-clean.) Of course, I wouldn’t give this to a friend unless they were in on the true meaning of ugation (ugly creation). But there’...
Jigsaw If you’re like me, when someone wants to share a weird dream, your instinct to is flee. Start running. I’m standing in the middle of nowhere with three other men. Barren flatland in all directions. The road stretches straight ahead, falling over the horizon. Dusky brown skies prevail. It’s imperative that one of us has to get home within the next two hours. Suddenly a car shows up. Not exactly a car. A futuristic transport one-and-a-half lanes in width, no roof, plenty of seating. The driver is a friendly woman who offers us a lift to civilization. I know what is going on. This is an alien abduction, albeit a benign one. The woman promises that no one will be hurt. I ask her how long it will be because one of us has to be home as soon as possible. One hour, no more than two, she replies. My companions and I end up in what appears to be a standard issue medical center. Most of the tests are mental: IQ, psychological, whatever. No nasty needles or probes. I’m aware th...