A Brief Treatise on the Various Paranoid Thoughts of Revelwood Citizens
by The General
Pondering is a favorite pastime in Revelwood. It is interesting, fun and profitable for us to indulge the most obscure concepts. We consider them in a logical, albeit distorted, manner to offer insightful explanations for pesky cosmological questions. It goes without saying that usually the answers reveal more questions, which leads to more thought, then more questions, then more thought, questions, thought, etc., until someone finally screams and runs out of the Barn with their hands flailing over their heads. Happens all the time.
It seems that one of the most popular avenues of creative thought in Revelwood is the Conspiracy Theory. This probably has some deep-rooted pseudo-psychological (and occasionally pharmaceutical) basis. But it seems that most Revelwooders are certain that behind every closed door, beneath every barn carpet, inside every empty keg, there is a nefarious life form ready to do us some form of harm. Actually, the carpet thing is real. Donít ever lift a Barn carpet without proper safety equipment and a clear path out of the Barn. To do so without those measures is just asking for trouble.
Oliver Stone is
the current popular media conspirasy maven. However, he seems to be fixated
on commercial subjects that with few exception have very little to do with
the daily life of the Revelwooder. OK, nobody really knows how many people
shot JFK. But so what? One, two, three, a dozen... how does that impact
us? Dead is dead, right? Will we get a rebate on tires if the final number
is discovered? Will the neighborhood kids mow my lawn if it is proved LBJ
had him shot by a Mafioso? I donít think so. Oliver picks subjects that
play well on the screen but have little consequence in the real world.
A good conspiracy theory needs to touch on you where you live. It needs
to make you stop for a moment, opened mouthed (drool is optional - for
some at least), glazed eyes and feeling the little hairs on the back of
your neck grow stiff in wonder. It should cause your head to spin in alarmed
frenzy because it is so possible that it scares you, like a banjo playing
Whiskey In The Jar off in the distant forest. A good conspirasy theory
is a soul cleansing experience. And here in Revelwood, we bath often. Currently,
there are four working
The theories will be presented by those persons who discovered them. The order is random and does not denote severity.
Qís Wire Clothes Hanger Theory
How long have hangers been in our midst? Their design is ancient. My guess is Egyptian. Look at the pyramid shape. I bet if you lined three of them up in a certain way they would point to Orion. And the hook is reminiscent of the devices used in mummification and the swirled metal at the neck is so much like a snake, or a double helix that it canít be by chance. And yet, we think they are modern. And you know what, that may not be by accident. These things may actually be sentient. Ancient, sentient metal life forms. You can buy plastic clothes hangers, sure. But did you ever see wire clothes hangers for sale? Me neither. They come and they go in our lives and we never seem to really notice them. We just know they are there when we need them. When we need to hang up clothes. When we need to reach the key that fell into the grating. When we need to open a locked car door. It can do anything you want it to do. They have thousandís of functions. More than any inanimate object can. And they also have a very special talent. They are perfect car antennas. They are natural at broadcasting electromagnetic waves. That means they can communicate. Theyíre communicative, ancient, sentient, ambulatory, metal life forms. Anyone want to guess from where? Well my guess is Mars. Itís got to be. We havenít been able land a spacecraft on Mars in the last, oh, what 10 attempts? The rover was cute but it wasnít something the hangers were worried about. No, the Martians arenít worried about us because they already conquered our planet. Theyíre with you now. Just go look in your closet.
The Bishopís Shopping Cart Theory
Shopping carts come from the center of the Earth. We see them emerge along highways, in ponds, rivers, lakes, and the seashore. They surface in the desert-like wilderness, deep within forests, through video store parking lots and for all we know are probably shot out of active volcanoes. They creep out of mountainous snow banks in winter and crawl up from the steaming humid swamps in summer. And they always arrive as adults. Have you ever seen a little one? The infrequency of a tiny shopping cart is amazing. The occasional discovery of one suggests either mutation or a deliberate plant by the mysterious ďShopping Cart Underground.Ē Donít even get me started on that group.
Besides shopping carts being almost all the same size, they all have the same characteristics. A plastic (if not amputated) horizontal handle at the buttocks. A tapering torso that moves smoothly head first, riding on hard round knuckles of thick rubber. Its heavy steel skeleton is both open and closed at the same time. Geez thatís weird. This not a concept within the vision of humankind. This is not something that would occur to anyone. This is not an object you want to have rolled over you.
It goes without saying they are symbiotic with our life form. We need each other. Without us, they would not be able to co-join and become the single giant shopping cart you see outside of the Shop Ní Bag. It is for this purpose that shopping carts emerge from the warmth of Mother Earth and make their pilgrimage, sometimes across entire continents, to reach the parking lot of their ancestors. It is in this way they reveal their natural instinct to migrate. Usually, out in the wild, they move so slow as to be imperceptible. However, in the parking lot, they are overwhelmed with passion and can be seen frantically rolling around the lot, banging head first into parked cars, avoiding the teenage cart-boy and seeking out the one and only shopping cart mate with which they must join. The ecstasy they enjoy during that time of joining and the species unity is a feeling we may never come to know. Not unless we get really lucky.
Without them, our backs would be killing us. And some of us would starve to death. We would not be able to shop as efficiently as we do and we would revert back to primitive food gathering techniques. The weak would gather nuts and berries. The strong would hunt again for their daily sustenance. Animals we had previously bought a sweater for in the Pet Smart for would become the main course for a dinner party.
Society would begin again as a planet full of hungry tired people. The dinosaurs would come back. Then we would really wish we had the shopping carts. But they would not appear. Even they could not withstand the stomping of a dinosaur. No, the shopping carts and their young would remain just below ground. Waiting. Just deep enough to be protected from the asteroid impact that would eventually come and once more cause the extinction of the dinosaurs, allowing the mammals to flourish again.
Only then will
we see the shopping carts return.
The General's Pious Six-Pack Theory
Unbeknownst to even the most observant Revelwooder, until now, a group has secretly been forming across a span of 15 years. It started out innocently enough as non-related individuals, each seemingly concerned with their own interests. However, it is now a group that controls several levels of doctrine and visibility. Un-detected as individuals, this powerful aggregate has finally reached the point of being noticed. And it may be too late.
The convergence of the various church related persons was recently recognized and exposed by Q. It was his mention of this image that instigated The General to investigate and formulate this conspiracy theory. In Revelwood, it is common knowledge that when something happens once, it is random. When it happens twice, it is coincidence. When it happens three times, it is a pattern. When it happens six times, it is a double helix of doom. Well, six is the number isnít it. And six is a multiple of three isnít it. And another way of expressing that combination is three sixes, or 666. Need I say more?
Here are the interesting and disturbing facts: The Vicar sits at the left hand of the IB and had his own Vatican Guard escort him into court on the evening of his placement on the throne; The Bishop is preparing to convene an ecumenical council to discuss and legislate who knows what; Thelonious Monk has gone underground; Brother Rodney controls the electronic printing press; St. Nick spends an inordinate amount of time portraying a red-suited, gift promising, good/evil determining master of pointy-eared midgets; The Lady Cheron's spiritual doctrine included a dagger and a mask. Sounds ominous, no? This is a group worthy of great scrutiny. When they are together, we may be in great peril.
We have all seen what the churches of history are capable of... genocide, inquisitions, midwife conflagration, the nun that works the cable network and sells the battery-operated Saint Obidiah air fresheners. It is enough to make you become a card carrying Carl Saganist, or worse yet, a Scientologist.
This is a collection
we must be wary of. It is a pious six-pack of doom.
Day after day, week after week, month after month and year after year, we are subject to the greatest ruse in all of modern recorded history. The illusion of the weathercaster.
Since humans first tried to suggest they could foretell the next dayís weather, we have been led down a path of lies and deceit from a group of charlatans with only one goal in mind. To get your money. [Or, as in the case of the early humans, your piece of mammoth burger.]
The weather is not something that can be foretold. It is always random. Never predictable. It is based on wind for Godís sake. Wind, and the thermal residue of the sunís effect on the atmosphere. And if thatís not random enough for you, how about the rate of evaporation of the oceans thrown in for good measure. Think you can predict with any accuracy the percentage of humid air that will be drifting up about 5 miles into the sky? No, I thought not. Well me neither.
And yet, these slight-of-hand artists do it every day. And we buy into it every day. And we buy a lot too.
Listen, hereís how it goes.
Youíve decided that this weekend, youíre going to pack up the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and the tube of SPF-30 and head down to the shore for a little dose of solar radiation poisoning. You watch the weather channel, or listen to the radio station, or read the newspaper. Of course, it tells you that it will be beautiful. Especially at the shore.
So, Saturday morning, you ignore the rain as it washes the neighborís cat down the street, climb into your VW and make for the beach. Of course, itís raining there too. But since youíre there already, you decide to spend a few bucks at the boardwalk arcade, buy a plastic Alaskan King Crab memento and dine at Salís Oceanview Pizza.
On the way home, you hear the weather forecaster describe how lovely it will be tomorrow. Then it hits you. These guys are in cahoots with greasy Sal, and the arcade owner and the plastic crustacean manufacturers. Theyíre all in this together to convince you to go and spend your money. Now thatís a conspiracy if I ever heard one.
Next time you plan
a trip, call your Aunt Sophie and ask her how her corns feel. Itís as honest
a forecast as youíre going to get.