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Why I Love Conspiracy Nuts |
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Written by Scott Meadow
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Tuesday, 30 August 2005 (read 2370 times) |
 This is Stanton T. Friedman. Take a look at freedom, slappy. I've admitted
it before: I collect conspiracies and conspiracy nuts like some people
collect baseball cards, antiques, or syphilis. The reason is very
simple: I'd rather read a hundred guys like this guy and have 89 of
them be delusional lunatics with no appreciable sense of reality than
have only the loosely rewritten press releases that substitute for news
these days to figure out what the hell's going on. I say
let the damn dogs out. Let 'em out and
let 'em run wild. That's freedom, baby.
Friedman may look like a goofy kind of sadistic UNIX administrator --
with big '70s glasses, a choppy Santa beard and the wardrobe sense of a
lobotomized Queer Eye host -- but he also has a
master's in physics from the University of Chicago and is widely called
the "Father of Roswell." They don't call him that because he
nailed a WB actress or wrote the T.V. series: they call him that
because he was the first guy to think -- 31 years later, okay he was
busy -- that it seemed fishy that the Army would report having a flying
saucer and then immediately say it was a weather balloon. It
seemed particularly fishy since the two things don't really look
anything remotely alike and, stupid as the Army is, that level of
incompetent intelligence is hard to fathom outside the Bush
Administration.
 Take a wild guess which is which. In case
you're having trouble visualizing the mistake, take a look at this and
play "spot the saucer." Now I'm no Gallup employee, but I'll bet
my beer goggles that damn near 99% of you can figure out the difference
between a soggy weather balloon -- top secret or otherwise -- and a
crashed interstellar spaceship sticking out of the New Mexico
desert. (The rest of you are here because you Googled our ancient hot pic of Carmen Electra again, so
grab your Kleenex and click away, fuzzy.) Nevertheless, the Army
intelligence officer who investigated the incident -- Major Jesse
Marcel -- was apparently totally clueless, thus qualifying him for a position as Bush's National Security Advisor.
Then again, maybe he did actually possess those few extra chromosomes
and was lying to cover something up. Aside from this genetic
disqualification from Bush's cabinet, why did he lie?
Conspiracy guys are pretty unanimous on this point: he lied to cover up
the fact that the Army did, in fact, recover E.T.'s spaceship and they
didn't want to share, especially since the Cold War was just getting
cooled after the Big Badass Berlin Blowout a few years
earlier. What the hell they intended to do
with it, and why the hell it crashed in the first place
are two questions the UNIX guys almost as unanimously duck.
 Wild Phil Corso. One theory has it
that the Army intended to "reverse engineer" the spaceship's technology
in order to gain a huge global advantage, despite the fact that in the
'40s they'd have been damn lucky to figure out how to
turn on my Palm Pilot let alone figure out
thousands of years of advanced physics and propulsion technology.
Nevertheless, this guy on the left -- Phil Corso -- managed to
convince a whole lot of people that that's exactly what we did (well, HE did), and
this produced all the modern marvels of the computer age today,
including everything from microchips to microwaves. Of course, he
didn't convince everyone, including our pal Santa Stan, who tore
himself away from writing PERL scripts long enough to tear apart
Corso's The Day After Roswell.
As to why the ship crashed during a July earth thunderstorm -- after
travelling through the depths of interstellar space -- well, I can spot
an alien no-bid aeronautics contract when
I see one. I'll bet alien executives are still explaining that
one to the alien congress around Alpha Centuri.
Now, Corso's dead and was pretty old when he banged out The
Day After -- with an introduction by legendary Confederate
Codger Strom Thurmond -- so I
suppose we should cut him a break, but why start now? I
think it's pretty obvious the man was insane -- or in a state closely
resembling insanity -- his memory was faulty, and he was just plain
wrong in many important details. Nevertheless, I applaud his
efforts, because, like I said, nobody appreciates the bona-fide lunatic
fringe like yours truly. And this brings me to the end of our
lesson.
See, in the final analysis, it really doesn't matter what the truth
really is about the Roswell incident or a lot of conspiracies like
it. What matters is that we all keep questioning, keep
probing, keep checking government power in every way
we can. Political freedom means tolerating crackpots like Corso
and Oxy-morons like Limbaugh. We all have a right to be card carrying
paranoids and bang out whatever type of conspiracy laden screed we
choose to write. That's what America's all about: The freedom to be as fucked up as possible.
So before you heap derision upon Santa and Crackpot or Strommy here,
think about the children. Think about the future of a democratic
society. Think about how lucky we are they forgot to include
riders in The Patriot Act banning books, CDs, and audio
tapes. Think about the message these "thinkers" bring and
what that could mean to your tenuous grasp of reality.
And for buddha's sake stop touching yourself.
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