Author: Kilgoar

INTERNET — Seventeen hurricanes are loading up with hate over Africa, tearing a swath of destruction towards the Atlantic and the east coast of America. Grocery stores are manic with energy as Florence bears down but shelves are empty and customers are suffering from a mass outbreak of psychotic episodes.

“Why don’t they nuke the goddamn hurricane?” A man in a loud Hawaiian shirt shouted at a pile of emergency rations. “And why is this goddamn cart’s wheel stuck! God Dammit!” He threw the cart on the ground and told the nearby manager, “Look at this piece of shit store you’re running here. Goddamn cart wheel’s broken.”

Store manager Dr. Angstrom H. Troubador shook his head and said,”Tier One Civilization. It’s the Kardashev scale. We’re at tier zero because we have not tamed the earth’s energies. Well, actually we have, but our pyromaniac engineers have designed a string of seventeen hurricanes that power a spying ‘social media’ bought and paid for by a nascent neofascist political world order.”

“Fuck you! Fuck the store! Fuck everyone!” the man roared, crunching packets of ramen into his pockets and hurling a beer bottle at the concrete floor.

Dr. Troubador looked wistfully at the tall cumulus clouds through the vast windows above the Customer Service department and its dense assortment of tobacco products. “Yes we all know the carbon dioxide is to blame. But has anyone ever considered the effects of turbines, pistons, propellers, and all the billions of little devices spinning off into the air? It seems almost as if these gizmos are designed to stir up hurricanes, if you think about it for long enough.”

The angry man began to pick up the glass. “I’m very sorry about this mess.”

“Say nothing of it!” Dr. Troubador waved his hand and several red-vested customer service experts swept and mopped the mess and uprighted the man’s cart in a onslaught similar to a SWAT team.

He blinked, staring off at the clouds, dazed by the flurry of action.

“We’re getting several cases like you each hour. But I wonder now, what would a 50 megaton thermonuclear device do if it was detonated in the center of a hurricane?” Scratching at his iconic notepad and doing quick calculations on a scientific calculator app, Troubador raised an eyebrow. “My God look at this man! The incredible heat vaporizing all that water and the concussion waves – not to mention the X-Ray ablation. Add it all up and you’d have a hurricane that would stretch from Brazil to Quebec! Jesus Christ, let’s hope they don’t drop a nuke on it.”

Already forgetting his psychotic break, the man in the Hawaiian shirt walked off muttering “god damn” at price tags, pieces of ramen falling all over the place.

Dr. Troubador cruised his Segway towards the loud yelps and howls from the produce department, thinking about what a neutron bomb salted with cobalt would do when popped off at the center of a hurricane.

“I wish you had some real vegetables,” the dreadlocked woman hissed at Dr. Troubador. “All this fake monsanto shit tastes like shit and is made of glyphosate chemtrails!”

“Ma’am vegetables are shit. Shit and sunshine. You won’t find any more natural vegetables than these here. Except over there in the organic section, if you can afford it.”

The dreadlocked woman smashed the squash open and ate with her eyes wide, pieces falling out. “Look at me, I’m healthy. I’m a healthy healthy healthy health.”

Dr. Troubador blanched at this vulgarity, but regained his composure almost immediately. “Our individual, narrow idea of what mother nature’s essence is will only further complicate the matter. It’s true, Monsanto has made some small improvements to crop yields and patented what amounts to a small modification of millennia of human ingenuity. It’s a real racket and I hope they lock the bastards up.”

She stripped off her squash tainted clothes and screeched, “Gaia! Mother Gaia! I am free!”

“There’s no helping you, I can see now. Whatever you do, don’t go into farming. It’ll only take you farther from nature. I recommend you join up with the Femen movement immediately.”

“Thank you Doctor Troubador. That’s exactly what I’ll do. I thought the squash was actually okay, even mediocre.”

Troubador waved off the red vests and helped her clean up the terrible mess with the shirt off his back. “That’s the secret of our success. Outstanding mediocrity. But don’t tell anyone I told you.”

There is great confusion, generally, about the terms ‘liberal democracy’, the related ‘neoliberalism’, ‘republicanism’, as well as ‘fascism’ and ‘neofascism’. While some of these terms are often jumbled around in murky waters and Orwellized by all-too-clear propaganda, so it might be easy to meet any of them with the scoff of dismissal that shows you know everything and nothing at the same time. Perhaps the meanings are not easy to suss out for those who aren’t interested in reading about political science or history, and very difficult for readers who are very limited to the ‘blogosphere’, and totally impossible for those who strongly receive propaganda, but for today only, Dr. Angstrom H. Troubador is pouring out his intellectual gravy for the internet masses to summarily reject and eject, injecting wordplay like a tired and unfun episode (medical) coming out of Lionel Nation’s big mouth.

Firstly, a liberal democracy is a weak democracy, in fact it is one purposefully designed to protect the property of the rich and powerful. This kind of limited democracy in which only political rights are appropriate for the masses to debate purposefully engendered an ongoing ‘culture war’ wherein civil rights are the only rights that many citizens, for example Ta Nehisi Coates, can even imagine. Early liberal thinkers did not go out of their way to hide the fact that they distrusted democracy and looked at it as an instrument by which the rich and powerful could preserve and legitimize their power. To put a fine point on it, a liberal democracy that is operating as originally intended is an oligarchy. In practice, however, this oligarchy is forever in constant peril.

That doesn’t sound very ‘liberal’, at least in the common usage of the word in the United States at this moment. But to understand why a ‘liberal’ is also an American leftist is impossible without a quick history. The liberal oligarchs of 19th century Europe (and the Americas) controlled all economic policy which engendered a terrible global crisis, triggering some of the worst wars and famines in history as the 20th century dawned. The invisible hand of nature failed their generations miserably, and through the mechanisms of democracy which were originally supposed to only be a sham legitimizer of their rule, and through the war and revolutions, some policies, governments, and institutions that were robustly democratic emerged around the world in the wake of this disaster. Militarist reactionaries in Mussolini’s Italy and Hitler’s Germany wanted to set back the clock and recapture the naturalizing economics and a semblance of the former order from the grasp of democracy. Hitler actually got his start by denying that Germany lost the war, which should tell you something. Through perverted norms of civility, cynical mass propaganda techniques and so on, this nostalgic daydream deepened the crisis in Germany and ultimately only brought on a nightmare of economic cannibalism in the concentration camps, much akin to what Swift brought ‘ad absurdum’ when liberalism was a fresh 18th century way to enlighten your powdery whigged up head. But, mostly thanks to the communist grit and sacrifice, the skeletal specter of fascism passed and was forgotten, and over much of the 20th century the strongly democratic economic policies of now not-so-liberal nations like America built up educated work forces and absorbed millions from around the world into a fertile and rich economy that seemed to never slow down. But, like a zombie from the 18th century, ‘neoliberal’ dogmatists clawed their way out from under Hitler’s tombstone, murmuring their self-concerned discontent. It wasn’t natural that they should pay taxes, that democracy should exist beyond some flimsy sham of a culture war. They felt bad about beating up Nazis in their opportunistic charge to carve up Europe, and had long talks with Werhner Von Braun about colonizing the moon with nothing but white babies. Joe McCarthy and Richard Nixon killed JFK, MLK, declared war on humanity itself, and did it all in the name of Nature, blasted their message on television night and day, and ultimately created a culture that cheered for a reality TV show fetishizing a string of firings that can only leave one person in all of the world with a high paying job. And that’s why Bill Clinton and other democrats had to call themselves ‘liberal’, so you can be sure he’s not a communist. Although for the money, the best usage of all comes from the right wing bumper stickers declaring that liberalism is a mental disorder. Specifically, economic liberalism is the grandiose delusion in which one’s own property is inflated into a law of nature and made untaxable. ‘Neoliberalism’ is specifically the expropriation of democratic institutions by private ownership, and it is the direct track to neofascism paved by the CIA when they lit the sanction-busted Soviet’s government on fire and expropriated the whole goddamn empire. Putin was among the first neofascists, and it was just what the paperclippers in the CIA ordered.

As for ‘republicanism’, this was an ancient Roman concept that was rebirthed by Machiavelli in his most famous work, The Discourses of Livy. Unlike in the little-known pamphlet of personal advice for a dictator of a no longer existing form of government, The Prince, the Discourses is the book in which Machiavelli set out the schematic for a fully modern nation state. Featuring three branches resembling oligarchy, monarchy, and democracy all set against one another in tension Machiavelli designed the stability that is today embodied in many modern nation states that have hung around for unusually elongated historic periods. In the sense of American politics, a Republican is a Conservative with that eye for stability and properly separated power Machiavelli set forward in his book. But this scientific view of politics and the staunch conservatism always on the losing side of centuries of culture wars has broken open, seemingly without crisis, into a full-fledged oligarchist front which has now implemented a policy of crisis to make way for the neofascist cannibal type hotfixes already in experimental stages, to help bust open its own mean shell. Blowing up the ACA. Big irony to conclude today with, of course, the Trump Administration’s rabid anti-republican rhetoric dismissing all legitimacy in the other branches of government, and even parts of the executive that have a layer of traditional separation from the president’s office for reasons of propriety that are so obvious even Barrett Brown could spot it from the bottom of a junk binge. Neoliberal? That don’t mean nothin!

INTERNET– Tuesday, an Anonymous hacker and researcher known only as Sabu 2.0 posted the secret identity of QAnon on the underground hacker website pastebin.

With the use of Barrett Brown’s powerful Pursuance software, Sabu 2.0 — who has hinted at an inside affiliation with Mueller’s FBI investigation — tracked QAnon down as part of Anonymous operation #OpQ.

Sabu 2.0 wrote, “Simply put, QAnon is a psyop organized by Frederick Brennan, the founder of 8chan. He has been receiving inside information on the Trump Administration after hacking Steve Bannon’s phone,” wrote Sabu 2.0 in the press release posted on the hacker website pastebin.

Sabu 2.0 concluded his release with the typical Anonymous collective signoff, writing, “We are Anonymous. We do not forgive. We do not forget. Q should have expected us.”

Dr. Angstrom H. Troubador, digital anthropologist, told reporters, “Frederick Brennan came up with the idea for 8chan while tripping on psychedelic mushrooms and experiencing a ‘cosmic’ level of rage at rumors that game developer Zoe Quinn was sleeping with several prominent men in the gaming community. His reason for orchestrating the QAnon psyop likely stems from a similar reactionary rage coupled with drug abuse.”

The original Sabu, former hacker overlord of the Anonymous collective, was outed as an FBI agent by investigative reporters at Internet Chronicle in 2012. Sabu, now known as Hector Monsegur, declined to comment but has no apparent connections to Sabu 2.0.

INTERNET — Fans mourn the loss of Roseanne Barr, who died from autoerotic asphyxiation Tuesday after her show was cancelled because of a racist tweet. An explicit image of the suicide, posted onto her twitter this evening was very quickly scrubbed from social media sites.

A seemingly endless string of celebrity suicide trends are sweeping through social media. Saturday, Chelsea Manning soured her Senate campaign, threatening to kill herself by jumping from a building. George Noory, host of late night talk radio show Coast To Coast AM, died from a DMT overdose just like Joe Rogan.

Jeff Dunam, puppet comic and Roseanne’s close personal friend said, “Fans remembered a Roseanne who grew enraged at the nazi tattoo on Jesco White’s hand. Now that she’s dead a lot of us are wondering where her life took this turn towards evil. I believe it was social media, maybe the Russians. All that time she kept asking me for tips on puppetry, I think she was using it online, running a sockpuppet network.”

Even Wikileaks jumped into the social media trend, with social media editor Suzie Dawson, writing:

Who is former Obama advisor Valerie Jarrett, who is in the news today after @theRealRoseanne, lead actor in America’s #1 sitcom, was axed by ABC after Barr was perceived to have insulted Jarrett’s African-American looks? 1,016 WikiLeaks docs: https://t.co/tUX3ArkWDG

— WikiLeaks (@wikileaks) May 29, 2018

Suzi Dawson denies running the WikiLeaks account, but critics say the Forensicator’s language analysis software points to a nearly four sigma correlation between her tweets and those of WikiLeaks.

The Forensicator told the press that they should begin to fear the rise of Suzi Dawson as head of WikiLeaks now that Assange is out of the picture. The Forensicator said, in a live stream press release,  “The startling tweet from WikiLeaks blamed Roseanne’s racial slur on black people who felt insulted. Abject linkage with a stash of pointless emails seems to have fuck all to do with Roseanne. What’s happening here is Suzie Dawson is just manipulating us by means of a mechanical rather than social meaning of language. Hashtags and stories blend seamlessly together for no salient reason. There is no substance but vague suspicions, suspended from a single wire of doubt and dipped into a gobbledygook concoction of current events that taken from afar represent a compromised ethic and standard not only of truth but of justice, liberty, freedom, and basic humanity. Look at what they say they aren’t, in response to nothing. We aren’t authoritarians, we aren’t partisans. Where are the Trump Emails then? Why are they always telling us what everything means, how to interpret their legal cases in a strict and narrow language? It’s an abomination and an absurdity, the late stages of a Lord of the Flies intrigue we can only begin to imagine, and Suzi Dawson is on top — for now.”

Roseanne’s estate was transferred to Tom Arnold, who intends to liquidate and donate all assets to Black Lives Matter and the ADL as requested by Roseanne.

Tourists can visit many solemn war memorials and presidential shrines, but barely removed from the Pennsylvania Avenue freakshow in front of Donald Trump’s White House, fans weave through glass-encased Black Rock City artifacts in the cramped Renwick and find themselves in a plywood Burning Man Temple. The curator’s sign informs them this exhibit is sacred and partially funded by Anonymous, the hacker collective.

A reveler’s phone is blasting the voice of Hunter S. Thompson, reading Revelations  “. . .and whosoever was not found written into the book of life was cast into the lake of fire…” the voice echoes from the many plywood surfaces.

Tourists from all nations write and paste small phrases onto the plywood, the glue fumes in the unventilated exhibit damaging their brains. The fumes are so strong the fear of a sudden ignition paralyzes me, my heart runs faster.

They’re taking pictures of all the messages, and a social media screen downstairs catalogues each photograph, analyzes the handrwriting, archives the message, identifies and resells this sacred personal prayer to someone much worse than Cambridge Analytica, more robotic and sinister than Mark Zuckerberg.

Just outside there are sharp cries of injustice, “We are petitioning Donald Trump to order an FBI investigation into the MURDER of PRINCE!” Ten purple umbrellas with Prince’s emblem shield the protesters from a sudden black squall descending onto the White House like the alien ship in Independence day. “Prince was murdered for music rights and corporate profits!”

Lieutenant Dangle has moved up in life. He is now working for the secret service, standing guard over the crowds of tourists milling in front of the White House for their photo opportunity. He has his hands rested tactically on the MP5 strapped to his belly, almost a match for an assault rifle maniac, but not quite.

The Capitol’s dome has a new paint job and glistens in the harsh sunlight after the rain with unnatural brightness. Protest kids are coming from that direction in the hundreds, all wearing bullseye hoodies and carrying anti-assault rifle signs. They’re making for the air and space museum, getting their more traditional field trip now that the protest’s over. Each student is greeted by two banned intermediate range ballistic missiles, a heartwarming  display, the soviet missile a token of a disarmament treaty with Russia.

A group of monks split up at the entrance, stomping through the museum in a harried research. The particular Buddhist order is searching for something very important that might undo the terror of this moment in history, that much is clear. I want to help them, but their method of exhausting all the items on display by splitting up is something I have no time for.

The root of it all was the Wright Brothers so I start there, but quickly my instinct is that their frivolous good time fun machine is not quite what we’re after. Somewhere in World War One there is a quotation from an atom bomb maker blaming his work on the sinister baby bombings committed over London by Zeppelins. This sinister editorial is a good clue in finding exactly what the monks are after when they compare notes in their hotel rooms.

The biggest monk is carefully taking stock of the surface of the moon. It is not a deity or anything at all but another world like ours, a dead and lifeless world. There is no suffering there, but it is not in a state of nirvana. This is a perfect riddle to bring about a state of holy insanity but he hurries on after only a moment. It is not the kind of idle theological pondering appropriate for this urgent juncture in history.

The V3 rocket is placed between the more cost-effective V2 and a tremendous cylindrical section of a Saturn V rocket, all three designed by the very same team of guilty holocaust scientists. Their sordid chapter in it all has been erased, as best as possible, by the US military, but a lost fragment out of Wehrner von Braun’s autobiography, which is now confirmed by many historians, expressed great regret for acquisitioning Jewish boys as ‘dummy weights’ in rocket trials.

This is when I notice what the monks must be missing, in their harried reading of placards. From every corner of the museum there is a low, but audible mantra. Elon Musk’s name is babbled at everything. In front of a model of Howard Hughes’ Spruce Goose, “He couldn’t make it fly, but Elon Musk could. He made an electric car fly past Mars.” At a group of drones, “Elon Musk will have these things delivering pizzas instead of bombs.”

Those monks were agitated for damn good reasons that I see very clearly now that this whole town is too much to handle. It would be easier to relax at a loud freakshow like Black Rock City, because at least I’d be able to score something to take the edge off of all these landmarks of cosmic cruelty. And christ! There are giant crows standing in the parks, pretending to be statues but actually genetically engineered by DARPA, picking over this god damned city’s human refuse, beastly manifestations of natural law by an elite that now controls nature.

Any stupid tourist can get a legal marijuana high in Washington DC, or at least something close to it at any CBD bar. And in a town like this any decent person needs something to take th eedge off. A sign at the CBD bar counter reads, “What is CBD? CBD are the non-THC components of hemp and have an effect stronger than tylenol.” It’d better be stronger than tylenol. But staring all day at the sunlight glinting off of the mirror-polished cast iron capitol dome has me wanting a tylenol anyway, so to hell with it. When in Rome eat gummies, right?

Jerry Garcia walks in, sits down next to me, and starts shouting. “Hey man, I told you to stop fuckin’ with me like that!”

No, not a schizophrenic acid case, oh no, he’s picked up a phone call and he’s got a slick headpiece. Small, like something for secret service muscle. Now he’s laughing, probably to some artificial intelligence buddy construct, it’ll drive him to grab a bargain sale assault rifle from Wal Mart and go spree killing once his phone addiction, CBD, and last-ditch benzos can’t cut it anymore.

His agitated barking is very quickly nullified by a good double shot of CBD in decaf. It’s working on me too, soon enough, and I’m grooving on the music instead of deciphering this man’s schizophrenic growls. Hell it’s my first legal high.

Dr. Troubador, marijuana expert, arrived with a shipment of CBD oil. “Only I can dispense the rest of the shit, the good part, of course by prescription only.” He scrawled a dick onto a napkin and crushed it into my hand. “You’re good? You’re good? I’ll tell you when you’re good.” He rips the remaining gummy from my hand and crushes it with his shoe like a lit cigarette. “Throw that shit out.

The mad marijuana scientist is stroking a vial of reddish purple essential oil, “You’ve never had a high like this, the terror components are through the roof. Ten trillion on the Troubador scale. We’ve engineered a strain of weed that’s extreme and overpowering in its paranoia, and then we extracted all the CBD out of it to heighten agitation and attentive faculties even further. This shit you’ve just eaten is our waste product. You gotta try the pure shit.”

The doctor whipped out a tremendous syringe, filled it with the oils, and injected it into my eye. For a short time, perhaps an hour, I was able to see radio frequencies as visible light. The ionosphere arced upward like a new sky and crackled in perpetual green lightning from AM talk radio transmitters. People’s phones blinked red and white into the distant horizon, amber flaring up in data transmission. The network of sparkling jewels overlaid my vision almost totally, fading just as the harmony and rhythm of it all formed some vague pattern. I think I saw Donald Trump Tweet something hot, amber waves all flowing outward from the single point in DC. The monks need to see this, I thought, this is what the military has been working up to all this time.

INTERNET — Psychiatrist to Alex Jones, Dr. Angstrom H. Troubador, announced that Alex Jones’ pot habit has turned the Alternative Talk Radio Host into what he described as an “emotional child.”

“Everyone’s seen Alex Jones smoking weed on Joe Rogan, and behind that there is certainly a deeper, even hardcore addiction. The marijuana has him feeling so sympathetic to the Syrian Gasser. Well, whatever one believes, crying like that on air is a total buzzkill, man.”

Internet Chronicle infiltrators in the InfoWars staff say that Alex Jones is not being allowed to speak out about everything he knows, and might have been threatened recently by the Deep State, or even replaced with a simulation. “I don’t know why he’s crying like this, but it’s embarrassing everyone. It’s not him.”

“Something really is up with him,” said Prenter Huddleston, audio intern, “And it ain’t just the pot. It ain’t just the government taking his kids cause he’s doped up all the goddamn time. It’s the Russians and the Americans, working together to take over the world. He’s guilty for bringing about the New World Order. He knows that Syria is a fake war designed to drive ‘refugee’ immigration. He knows that ultimately these missile exercises are just so that American forces, combined with Russians, will achieve global nuclear superiority. And for the first time in his life, he can’t say the truth. All he can do is cry. It’s ruining Alex. He used to be sharp eyed for all the inconsistencies in 9/11, but nowadays he has to kiss the Saudi’s feet and thank them for it.”

Tactical Strategist Ian Krank confirmed the leaks, telling reporters, “My God, My God. We have the US engaging in offensive exercises, warning Russians ahead of time, and we are supposed to believe that this is all because of chemical weapons? That these weapons can have any kind of meaningful impact? If there were chemical weapons it was surely the Americans and the Russians working together to stage them, so they can keep testing. It has nothing to do with Syria at all. “