Epstein, Aliens, Iran—Pay No Mind!

Hey! Did you see the regime demolition in Iran? Explosions in Tehran? Dancing flames on the smoldering ruins of Beit-e Rahbari? Well, did you see it? Watch it? On YouTube? Or CNN? Or TikTok? Crazy, right!? Manic-minded Donald Trump is launching America into World War III. He’s moving aircraft carriers around the Indian Ocean like a toddler in a bathtub. So many lives hang in the balance. And our great leader is acting like a macho tough guy, puffing his blond-cirrused chest, punching the air, loosing off ballistic missiles as if he’s in a Nerf war.

Like I said, crazy, right? Well, get this. No, seriously. Get this. The whole Iran war isn’t what you think. We aren’t freeing the Iranians from a despotic cleric who wants to preserve the eternal right to wed six-year-olds. This isn’t a glorious campaign to gift freedom from above, one face-melting payload at a time.

Here’s what it is: a distraction.

I’m not kidding, joking, joshing, or pulling your leg. This is a drop-dead contention. Initiating the most combustible coup in recent history, within the most volatile part of the world, incinerating not just a head of state but a spiritual leader for an entire sect of an ancient Abrahamic religion, is a riveting romp. Sure, there were some fatalities. A couple of Islamic fanatics. A hundred school girls. Probably a shopkeep or two. But it was spectacle, fireworks. A big loud BANG to draw your peepers. The dog isn’t just being wagged; scruffy is getting a full-throttle quaking.

The Iran war is nothing but an eye feast for sheep. But it’s not the only one.

How ‘bout those Texas primary elections? The one where a seminarian with a $10 haircut is now the Democratic Senate nominee? Or how the sleazy Attorney General is facing off with the Boo Radley lookalike who’s been sitting senator since the Atari 2600 era? Well, avert your gaze, plebe! Those elections are neither bread, nor circus. They’re electoral slop to keep you distracted from what’s really going on.

The same goes for the nine-robed magi who act high and mighty in that satanic compound all the sleepers call the “Supreme Court.” You see the Court’s ruling on the tariff case? Pssssshhhhh. A complete and total distraction. Especially for all the smooth brains who crave cheap plastic Chinese crap. What? Poor consooming American wants more Walmart schlock for less? Boo hoooo. Pathetic!

Don’t even get me started on that all-powerful price at the pump. You want to see a real distraction? Look at all the Wall Street Journal headlines about the average price for a gallon of the go-juice. That’s how it works. They make you narrow your beady pupils on on whatever Exxon or Sunoco are charging just so you’ll miss what’s really happening. The dumb Honda polloi get all gassed up when paying $3.00 a gallon before spending another $25 on Cheetos, Pepsi, and beef jerky. It’s all a demonic deflection to keep us tooling around in total ignorance.

Speaking of, that Venezuela blackbag? The one where Maduro was whisked away in a Navy corvette to stand trial? You already know: a capital-D diversion. You hear how a bunch of special ops grunts wielded supersonic migraine-inducers? You believe that Orwellian claptrap? Sounds like some Hollywood screenwriter is playing mind games on us. And all this hoohah about kidnapping foreign leaders in the dead of night, about freedom’s stalwart champion serving justice’s haymaker to a brutal dictator, and untapping vast reservoirs of black gold—all theatrical flummery. And so much more the act if gas prices inch downward in time for summer vacations.

You, ingenuous reader, may be wondering what all this sparkly staging is for. The daily distractions fed into our feeds. What’s being covered, being veiled, being kept opaque and obscure, so we remain in the dark, grasping at whatever trivial matter is floated by those actually in control.

If you think I’m about to drop the E.T. card… errrrrrrrrrrmmmm… you’re wrong! Trump’s promise to declassify government documents related to unexplained alien phenomena is the biggest distraction of all. You really think proof of the existence of little green men, or giant red octo-monsters, or star-faring superintelligent jellyfish is really going to mean anything? Prediction: whatever document Trump’s loops his signature on is just a feint. They’ll probably doctor some photos from old Méliès films. Or some White House intern will instruct Claude to work up some plausible photographic evidence of a dented flying saucer smoldering in the New Mexico bajada.

Don’t fall for it. Big-brained, sallow-skinned humanoids from beyond the Milky Way with interdimensional technology are just an attention-suck for suckers. The X-Files are a big shiny bauble. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. Ignore. The real mental probe isn’t Martian, it’s ministerial.

Which brings us to the last of the obvious distractions: the infamous Epstein Files.

You know: the trove of documents detailing the late sexpest’s ephebophiliac exploits in the Virgin Islands. (You can tell it’s a made-for-media exhibition just by the nominative plot!) The President supposedly hemmed and hawed about dumping the bawdy goods to protect both his lecherous friends and innocent nubile victims. Now the Department of Justice is slowrolling the release, redacting the most salacious tellings. The entire affair has left the American people absolutely convinced our country is run by a bunch of short-eyed amoral pigs who make Humbert Humbert seem like a Trappist monk.

Before you adopt the perverse consensus, I’m here to tell you: STOP. Gather your senses. Because, yes, even l’affaire Epstein is just a colossal distraction!

And what, you, pigeony reader, may wonder are all these A1 issues supposed to be diffracting our attention from? Well, lucky you! Your dutiful propaganda translator can clue you in on my gnostic knowings. Many farsighted men charge a hefty sum for such divulgences. But here you are, green as grass and as dewy-spirited as Dorothy, ready for a Lynchian peek behind the curtain.

This is beyond your quaint anti-statism and Stanley Kubrick DVD collection. To start, have you heard of kabbalah? Pentateuch acrostics? The mystic art of extispicy? Of course you haven’t. OK, let’s start at the genesis of our undoing. In the beginning, there were tunnels beneath—yes, subterranean—Central Park…