CONFESSIONS OF A CONSPIRACY THEORIST: MARTIANS – EARTH’S GREATEST THREAT IN THE 21ST CENTURY?
*CASE 201118345737 DUFOS (DefiniteUFOSightings) submitted via email 18th Jun, '17 by ***_Alien_Hunter69@*******.***
They’re such clever buggers.
’Scuse the French.
You’d never know it was anything but a water tower in a field if you weren’t aware of the alien threat. Honestly, you could walk past one in the street and you’d never even notice. H.G. Wells noticed but – way ahead of his time, that bloke.
I stopped trusting the mainstream media yonks ago. The message came through loud and clear that what I was seeing and hearing was nothing but a load of bullshit, eventually. ‘Scuse the French. The media smokescreen narrowed my interest to everyday affairs. Going to the pub, being a builder, getting laid while watching the footy and drinking a beer... Yeah yeah I know. Kyles always smacks me in the head for that one. Private joke. I love rilin’ her up but.
Then I found the internet. It opened up worlds that I’d never imagined – not even in my dreams.
I learned early on that I could choose my news, so I stopped listening to what Brian told me and started watching the Indie media on YouTube. It’s every man’s right.
I found the conspiracy theory section soon after I found independent media. The two went hand in hand, and I started to identify the closely weft patterns of the trends, trumpeted by people all over the world; UFO sightings everywhere, Illuminati, pyramids, global consortiums, the Federal Reserve...
Meanwhile the mainstream background continued to chatter about crackpots and tin foil headgear, but I hardly heard them anymore.
YouTube told me all I needed to know about chemtrails, aliens and economic collapses. Disaster was always just around the corner. It made for compelling viewing back then, and still does, except now we’re closer than ever, and it’s a shitload worse than we thought.
’Scuse the French.
That brings me back to the water tower. This country’s been in drought for decades – the long tufts of lovegrass are the only things that survive out here, and even they look like they’re about ready to give up the ghost. There’s no water here, not in the crops. There’s no crops. They’re all deader than shit. ’Scuse the French. So what would a water tower be doing here in the middle of nowhere? Caught my eye right away as I drove past.
YouTube reckons we’ll be having an alien invasion this year, or next year at the latest, or probably next year at the latest if not in 2025. We’ll just have to wait and see.
I personally think that H.G. Wells knew more than people give him credit for. The Martian tripods – it’s funny how the regular alien YouTube channels never talk much about them, but they’re everywhere. I see them all over the place. It’s not so much an invasion as a subtle take-over – a bloodless coup-de-grace. They’re blending in well. But I see them. I watch out for the signs.
It’s obvious to me that Mars would invade us. NASA hides all sorts of stuff from the regular punter; cuts live feeds, blurs out the alien cities on the moon, you name it... Why would they do that if there was nothing to hide? And there’s that face on Mars. Sure, you know the one I’m talking about. Cydonia. Aliens built it. I dunno why.
But it’s there, and that leads me to believe that Mars is the place the invasion is coming from. Stands to bloody reason, doesn’t it? ’Scuse the French.
I’ve talked to a lot of people in the comments sections of these videos and they agree with me, as a rule. Some are just trolls but – trolls are usually government or corporate shills, just there to chuck their spanners in the ointment.
The sensible commenters say that the Martians first got here hundreds of thousands of years ago. I dunno the story, exactly, but I know they had a war on Mars, and there were nukes, and only some of them got out. Most of those made it here.
They’ve been manipulating us from the beginning – we were their idea, for crying out loud. They wanted a species that they could use to enhance their own DNA. Also one that was good to eat. So they used their tech to create us, and the rest is history. History concealed beneath endless layers of hypocrisy, ridicule and conspiracy at the highest levels.
I mean, you guys have to agree, right? Even the bible has UFO’s, with Ezekiel’s wheel and what have you. I dunno, I never really read it, but I saw that bit on YouTube. There’s even old paintings from the middle ages with UFO’s, just go and check them out if you don’t believe me.
Anyway, the Martians clone us, the abductees, in a lab in Antarctica. I’m not an abductee myself but Stevo reckons Sharlene knows this sheila at work who once saw someone get abducted. I believe it. She sounds like a pretty cool sheila.
Most of us just get to work, breed and die, but even so... The Martians’ home atmosphere is carbon-dioxide and other nasty stuff, so just by being alive and driving to work we’re helping to carry out their evil plans. We’re killing ourselves to make this planet more comfortable for them, and we all think we’re doing it because of jobs and the economy and shit like that. ’Scuse the French.
That’s where the alternative media really comes into play. They’re not afraid to throw it out there. Some of those guys are awesome – they make up theories about this never-ending stream of blurry images and videos involving highly intelligent aliens and human/hybrid cover-ups and conspiratorial agendas... I won’t use the French but you know where I’m going.
Yeah, it’s true, a lot of it is definitely crap. You have to sift through the dross with a trained eye to spot the patterns. Once you know what to look for, the truth becomes transparent, until it’s like looking into a mirror. You start to see the patterns reflected out here in the real world.
It’s all about control, see? If we don’t think for ourselves, well, that seems to me like a bad idea from any angle. The media want us to think we’re thinking for ourselves while ensuring we remain ignorant to the fact that we’re not thinking for ourselves. If we only think we’re thinking for ourselves, but we’re actually thinking what we’re programmed to think by the corporate propagandist media, well, how would we be expected to know what we really think? That’s the sort of confuggle that you get from the mainstream. What hope would all the sheeple have without us, the ever-vigilant?
That, my friend, is why I wear my tinfoil lined Akubra hat everywhere I go. It provides me with protection from the Martian emissions which cloud the minds of the rest of you.
* (If you don’t believe me, go and get the tinfoil from the second drawer, fashion a hat of some variety, and don it. In just four to six weeks, your entire perception will change drastically, I guarantee it).
I’ve been watching this water tower for a half hour now. It hasn’t moved yet, but I know it will. I’m playing possum, blending into the background behind this tree line while I watch the bugger for signs of life. ’Scuse the French. I’m silent, like a ninja. I don’t want it to know it’s being observed.
I want it to think it’s Schrödinger’s water tower. Existing yet not existing. Perceived only by itself. An observer always changes the nature of an experiment. The smart ones all learned that doing their compulsory general studies unit in first year University. I never got past there so I dunno what they meant by it, but it sounds pretty bloody appropriate. French unintended, n’est-ce pas?
I'm dying for a smoke now. It’s been hours and this Martian shitbag hasn’t made a single move. The tree that I’m behind is substantial enough. I dig out my pouch and roll a thin cigarette. The tobacco’s as dry as my lips, and the smoke burns going down. I hold it in and blow it gently between my legs – don’t wanna be too obvious about it. It takes a few minutes to smoke. White Ox. It’s pungent. Convict tobacco.
I look out and... bugger me! The Martian’s gone. ’Scuse the French. No really, I gotta quit swearing, it makes me sound like a yob or something. What if there’s kids around, right?
Then I realise that I’m just looking in the wrong place. It’s there, right where it was.
I look again, more closely this time but.
No. Not quite. The thing has moved towards me by at least six feet. The bloody cheek.
’Scuse the French.
It’s overcast today, not that there’s anything unusual about that. It’s been overcast for the last few years. There’s enough toxins and particulates floating around in the atmosphere to kill us all a hundred times over. Everything’s hidden under the veil of poison that the Illuminati dump into the stratosphere with their aluminium and barium and strontium 99 or whatever that stuff’s called. They’re in on it, the Illuminati; the Bilderberg Group, the Scientologists, the Freemasons... They’re all part of the Reptilian conspiracy, and they use technology from the Greys to develop weapons and ships, but these guys are just the tip of the iceberg. It’s all controlled by the Martians.
They’re behind it all, every bit of it, I know. I’ve done the due diligence my ignorant, misinformed friend. Trust me on that. I’d bet my last stubbie on it. All the rest of the stuff you see and hear is just manipulation, smokescreens so that you won’t see what’s actually going on behind the scenes.
And standing here before me, one of those Martians has decided to play a subtle game of cat and mouse. It must have been the White Ox. That stuff stinks. But thanks to my tinfoil lined Akubra, I was able to detect the alien’s movements. It’s just a matter of time.
Hiding behind the conveniently comfortable trunk, I roll another smoke and light it, taking careful note beforehand of the alien’s position. This one’s a bit fatter, so it takes longer to smoke. I resist the urge to cough; I feel a deep phlegmy vibration in my chest every time I breathe for a while.
Listening carefully for any movement, I feel like humming, or drumming my fingers or something. Stakeouts are so boring. The Martian has decided on a metal object this time, so, if I discipline myself, I should be able to hear the creaking of the bolts as it moves its spindly, alien legs.
So far, nothing.
It’s getting late now, and there’s a soft, distant rumbling. Atmospheric disturbances light up the horizon, and I take a peek just as a huge bolt of lightning crashes into the ground in the field, a hundred feet behind the water tower. The thing lights up like a Christmas tree, and I see shadows suggesting evil eyes and a grinning, fanged mouth.
People might say I’m crazy, but I’m seeing what I’m seeing here.
I can’t be out in this too long though – storm’s coming, and we all know what happens to tinfoil in a thunderstorm. It’s not pretty. The item I brought with me from my trunk lays against the next tree over; I was lucky to get the ground to air missile today – usually Stevo takes it on Sundays. He’s had a few sightings on his farm recently. Buggers are everywhere. ’Scuse the French.
Stevo says he caught one of them last Wednesday, down the end of his back paddock. That’s why he had to use the ground to air. He missed, but he reckons that was because the thing teleported just as he was getting a bead. Sharlene reckons it was ’cause he was pissed, but we won’t go there. ’Scuse the French. Turns out he was gonna demolish the shed anyway, so no harm done.
I reckon this is the same one, ’cause it’s wary of me, see? It’s smelled the White Ox for sure, and us alien hunters are no strangers to these babies. We know how they think.
It knows I’m here, and for sure it would have communicated with its mate the other day when it had to teleport like that. Aliens can do that. It’s telekinesis. They have tele- just about everything, these buggers. ’Scuse the French. So I have to be careful, or this one will pull the same stunt.
The sky’s getting darker now, and the thunder’s rolling in waves across the landscape. The weather and the time of day are against me. I have to move, and now. I take a peek, and the bugger freezes mid-step. By the time my eye gets to its foot it’s back on the ground, just like nothing’s changed. But the wind hasn’t blown my Akubra off yet. I saw.
I make a lunge for the ground to air after a particularly fierce lightning bolt. I figure it’ll maybe be blinded for a few seconds, and before it teleports it’ll have to morph back to its true Martian body, so aiming and firing should be a cinch.
The darkness descends as the flash fades and I spring out from behind the tree, sliding on my knees. I feel like Michael Jackson, but this microphone packs a big surprise. Take that, Martian scum! Let’s see you do the moonwalk now!
Click.
Oh. Crap.
Stevo forgot to reload the ground to air.
The empty sound seems to bounce off the boiling clouds, reflecting back to mock me with an echo of failure.
I have no time. The spare shells are still in the boot. I didn’t think to bring one with me.
A huge crack of lightning whips the top of the water tower, and it glows blue. I shit you not. ’Scuse the French.
For a few seconds I think it’s all over. The sudden charge seems to infuse the Martian with a burst of energy. It takes a powerful bound and launches itself toward me. I dump the ground to air launcher and cower, awaiting the end – Stevo was lucky. This is one fierce bugger, and short of a miracle, nothing will save me...
But the axe never falls. The thunder dissipates and a light sheen of rain begins to spit on the dusty shrubbery. When I open my terrified eyes, the world is as it had been; the water tower back in its original spot. The rain begins to wet the edges of my Akubra.
It’s just a water tower now. I dunno whether it was me and the ground to air, or the lightning that frightened it off, but it’s gone to wherever Martians go when they flee a superior force.
Us alien hunters.
You guys don’t appreciate what we do for you all, but we don’t expect accolades. We’re just happy knowing our planet’s safe from the subtle take-over by the Martians while all you sleeping sheeple go about your not thinking business.
No need to thank me.
You’re welcome.
Now I gotta get out of the rain before it turns my Akubra to shit. It’s genuine rabbit fur. Stinks when it gets wet.
’Scuse the French.