As I mentioned the other day, in Part 1, after 14 years of laboring in the lab, I’ve isolated, purified, and identified 16,768 distinct types of virus lovers.
These are people who must say the virus exists. They’re compelled, obsessed.
And in Part 1, I profiled Type 6,659.
Today, I’m going to describe Type 846.
He’s definitely “alternative.” And he thinks of himself as a card-carrying “member of the alternative community.”
But he has a problem. He observes that within his own community—which is battling against the official powers-that-be—there are RUFFIANS.
Ugh.
And these ruffians are claiming the virus doesn’t exist. A few are even saying no viruses exist.
He believes the ruffians are giving his community a bad name. The public will now see the community as generally ruffian-istic.
And to head this off at the pass, guess what he does?
He names the ruffians. He advertises them. He puts up posters on walls.
The public—which was unaware of the ruffians—and the official press and government—which already have 9,453 talking points aimed at burying the “alternative community”—NOW see the virus lover’s advertisements, and say, “Well, these alternative people are even worse than we thought they were.”
When this virus lover was a boy, he headed up a “community” in high school called Students for Academic Excellence. The main thrust of the group was: Football is overemphasized; we need to highlight young scholars; teachers shouldn’t give football players passing grades they don’t deserve.
Well, one night the virus lover and a few of his alternative pals were walking around on the football field, and just outside the end zone they saw a small pile of leaves.
One of the boys said, “Watch this,” and he lit the pile on fire, and he produced a few long sticks and a box of marshmallows, and all the boys sat down and roasted the marshmallows and ate them.
A neighbor peering through his window saw this, and the next day he called the principal of the school.
The principal checked one of the video cameras posted on a tree near the end zone, saw who the boys were, and called them into his office. He said, “What you did was terribly dangerous and outrageous. I’m going to pretend this never happened. If I catch any of you committing an infraction of any kind this year, I’ll call your parents and suspend you. Now get out of here and behave yourselves.”
So the next day, the young virus lover writes a letter, prints copies, and posts them everywhere on campus. The letter describes the horrific marshmallow incident, and concludes: “I swear I had no knowledge that Harry, Fred, and Mason were going to burn the leaves. I was there, but I didn’t participate. I didn’t eat a single marshmallow. Our group, Students for Academic Excellence, is dedicated to achieving higher test scores and overcoming the football hysteria which engulfs our campus. We do not support the marshmallow actions of a few outlaws who carry membership in our group. Pay no attention to them. They’re distracting from our goal.”
Suddenly, a number of students are talking to Harry, Fred, and Mason. “Do the leaves burn fast? Does the fire go out by itself or do you have to pour water on it? How long are the sticks for the marshmallows? Which brands of marshmallow do you buy? Do you roast them until they turn brown or black?”
A week later, having disconnected several video cameras, another nameless group of students burns a pile of leaves on the 50-yard line and roasts marshmallows and sings the Stones’ I Can’t Get No Satisfaction. Possibly, beer is involved.
Meanwhile, the parents of ruffians Harry, Fred, and Mason are having marshmallow roasts with their sons. Harry’s father, who owns a café in town, puts up a big sign above his door: FREE ROASTED MARSHMALLOWS WITH EVERY PURCHASE OF FISH AND CHIPS. His business booms.
A local band, who has a standing gig at a bar on Main Street, unveils their new song, STEAL THIS FRIGGIN’ MARSHMALLOW.
The young virus lover sends a letter to the editor of the town paper: “This is exactly what I feared. One marshmallow roast in the end zone, perpetrated by a few scofflaws, has resulted in a contagion of demeaning incidents. The national press will undoubtedly cover this and make a mockery of our county…”
Flash forward to the present day.
This is what is happening. The virus lover, who now writes for an online publication called REBELLION WITH SANITY, NO RUFFIANS ALLOWED, is penning articles which express support for the existence of SARS-CoV-2. He is receiving a number of emails from, yes, ruffians, some of whom are offering detailed arguments against the existence of the virus. This is annoying and troubling.
It occurs to the virus lover that he can, through the exercise of massive self-control, ignore these emails, forget about them, and write about other vital issues of the day.
But alas, his skin has been gotten under. He can’t walk away.
He has to advertise the ruffians.
He feels the need to distance himself from them while naming them and alerting readers to their existence.
He declares them irresponsible, disreputable, and craven.
He may be suffering from a syndrome called SELF-UNDERMINING WITH DEVELOPMENTAL DELAY OF RECOGNITION OF IMPLICATIONS ACCOMPANIED BY EXCESSIVE AND IRRELEVANT HYPER-VIGILANCE.
Finally, after he attempts to dismiss the ruffians by naming them and advertising them, he argues his own case: the virus exists because it exists. Those medical professionals who can be trusted say it exists.
Although these professionals say the vaccine is safe and effective—which claim is absolutely false—when they say the virus exists, they are absolutely correct.
It’s magic. By chance, they are horribly and dangerously wrong over THERE, but they are true-blue and majestically honest over HERE.
I admire this form of logic. It has a surreal quality which matches the surrealism of the entire fake pandemic story.
Reprinted with permission from Jon Rappoport’s blog.
