Friday, January 29, 2010

They Control Us

I’m not one of those conspiracy nuts. I don’t believe there are little green men or Leninist operatives lurking in every dark corner or behind every rock. Masons, Illuminati, Rockefellers, Elders of Zion, Commies, the bogeyman—take your pick—populate the minds of the sick, perverted, and paranoid hatemongers. I scoff at rumored plots to take over the world.

Nonetheless, I find the government’s efforts to control us disturbing. I could make this case on the basis of language alone. Why must I flout convention? Can I not disregard or even destroy convention? Is that asking too much? And what if I didn’t want the whole kit and caboodle but merely a part of it? Is that possible? Would they begrudge me that one sliver of caboodle? Do I have to wreak havoc? Or can I inflict it? Why does something have to be highfalutin? What if I’m desirous of small or midrange falutin? Must we go all the way? The demonic government and its evil minions seek our destruction with such propaganda.

I try not to worry about it. Why should I? I’m safely ensconced in my mountain retreat in eastern Montana liberating people from their fears through sophisticated mind-spirit techniques that I developed years ago. By “developed,” I mean the Alien-Goddess once breathed these scientific principles into me, giving me extraordinary prophetic powers until universal restoration occurs with our reptilian-like brothers and sisters hundreds of billions of miles away from here. My disciples call me Supreme Father and together with my assistants we practice “enlightenment therapy.” The idea is to keep the feeble-minded in isolation chambers and help them withstand the onslaught of unhealthy influences. They have the privilege of hearing my voice 24 hours a day on an intercom, but that’s only to soften them up for “freedom of thought” exercises later. I carefully monitor the situation and protect them from what I call the Oppression Industrial Complex, that is, the barbaric world outside our walled compound.

We must counter falsity in all its forms. For instance, Jihadists believe that 72 virgins await the martyr in paradise. Rubbish. First of all, the sex is pure and sterile, without emotions that get in the way, and it’s a spiritual experience, not carnal. Group sex is only one means to express the godhead, though we practice it exclusively. It’s not about genitalia and physical contact, though we avail ourselves of these things, and quite often. A few wayward apostates have told reporters that we’re a “sex cult.” Only Satan’s children could spew such vile filth. We do nothing illegal. Just ask my third and fifth goddess-mates Tabitha and Zeena, who are not 12 and 15 respectively, but actually 44 and 49 in Purity Palace years. So they’re actually older than me! Currently we’re trying to convince these liars to return to the fold and all will be forgiven. As part of the reinitiation ritual, we will gather around them in a circle, hurl abuse at them, and subsequently take them out beyond the guard towers of our sanctuary for castration therapy. We do not perform this ceremony in malice or with anger in our hearts; rather, like my predecessors Jesus and Gandhi, we take seriously our responsibility to correct and chastise deceivers.

I don’t place much stock in my associate degree in baking and pastry arts from Western North Dakota Technical College. I had not yet received my spiritual calling and, more importantly, Big Brother was simply using this “education” for His own purposes. Visitors are impressed with my diplomas and plaques from prestigious schools of higher education like the Institute for Lightbearing Wholinity, the University of Alienology, and Ascension Polytechnic—all of which, I might add (and I don’t mean to boast), were founded here under my auspices. The motto for each of these institutions is “Think for Yourself.” In fact we have emblazoned these words on armband patches. Everyone wears them.

We have the pleasure of sending off our advance party via the comet Eleustron to Purity Palace, or what the blinded masses ignorantly call the planet Saturn, a place where authoritarian mind control is non-existent and people can roam freely in nothing but gold lamé gowns. Eventually we’ll transport our entire family there, but I myself will hold the fort indefinitely and continue the important work here to bring others into the light. Taking the arduous path of self-sacrifice in order to give back to the community, I’ll refrain from drinking from the Salvation Goblet. My beachfront home in Malibu, the chalet in Vale, and alleged Swiss bank accounts mean nothing to me. They are a means to an end. Perhaps you are looking for an escape from the mind-controllers out there? The Alien-Goddess tells me that Purity Palace needs more attractive females, particularly brunettes with firm bodies and sensual skin. We can help you.

In the meantime we like to think of our ranch as a proto-utopian weigh station, a celestial checkpoint where our inspectors place your cares on the scales and lessen your load. Despite our busy day of confiscating cell phones and laptop computers; separating children from their parents; installing cameras throughout the compound; managing our tape ministry; and arranging marriages, we always make time to welcome visitors.