Sometimes I would have one of those days when nothing went my way–one of those days when my boss criticized me for my productivity levels, my cat meowed at me all afternoon, my best frienemy and I had a falling out. When it was that kind of day and everything felt wrong, I would sit down at my laptop and go to my favorite social media sites. And then Fakelina would flutter up to me, tap me on the forehead with her magic wand, and she would make it all better.

Fakelina was a news fairy, and she was very special. Anything you wanted to believe was true, no matter how much of a stretch it was, she could make it so.

“Fakelina, is chocolate good for me?”

“Naturally! You should eat as much of it as you can. The more you eat of it, the lower your chances of cancer!”

“Fakelina, I wish I didn’t have to go to the dentist.”

“You shouldn’t. Have you heard that the anesthesia they use can cause dementia?”

But then I got greedier and the wishes got bigger.

“Fakelina, I wish all these awful school shootings were just a reality show.”

“They are. I can show you the video which proves that the kids are all paid actors.”

“Oh, good! That makes me feel so much better. You know…I really hate thinking about that Trump guy, too. The things he’s doing to the EPA…our judicial system…”

“Shush…don’t think about any of that. Did you know he peed on a prostitute once?”

“No way! Tell me more, Fakelina!”

“Yep. Somebody somewhere is supposed to have evidence of that, or so I’ve been told. And did you hear what he tweeted last night?”

“Ugh! I’m not sure he’s even human. Do you think he might be one of those lizard people?”

“Nope, not a lizard person.” Fakelina shook her head. “It’s even worse. He’s a fungus which has taken on human form. He’s from a different planet. Watch this–it shows where his disguise slips for a second, and you can see a little bit of the mold coming through.”

“I knew it,” I mumbled.

“The world is controlled by alien fungi. Here’s another one about Barack Obama…”

I paused. What? But I liked President Obama! This couldn’t be true. Or…could it? The theory did make sense… They were all a part of the elite, so they were all fungus.

And the videos were undeniable. Oh, God… President Obama was fungus… Prince William was fungus…

I sat motionless, taking it all in. Fakelina was scratching one of her glittery wings.

“Amazing, isn’t it? You have just found out the thing they don’t want you to know. You were courageous enough to research it, and now the secret is yours. You’re not like the sheeple who believe everything the media tells them.”

She was right. I felt special. Like I was smarter than everyone else.

“You have to spread the news,” Fakelina commanded me. “The people of this country don’t know what’s being done to them. But remember–you’ll get a lot of blowback from those who haven’t yet seen the light.”

I did not shirk my duty. I spent the following weeks delving deeper and deeper into the archives of secret knowledge on the Internet, and becoming more frightened as I went. The leaders of Black Lives Matter were aliens. The leaders of the Women’s March were aliens. All the Hollywood actors and popular singers and rappers were aliens, too.

I shared as much as I possibly could with my friends and family online. I tried to warn them. But just as Fakelina had said, the people I once thought I loved and cared about turned out to be blinded sheep, who bleated at me about “rational thought” and “credible sources.” There was a deadly international conspiracy going on, and all they could think of were my sources? It was painful for me, but I had to accept that they were not ready to wake up, not ready for the enlightenment I had experienced. So I blocked and unfriended them, one by one. I would have to walk this path alone.

Or…not alone, actually. I had new friends–better friends. People who were fellow alien fungus researchers. They understood me. And whenever I got too discouraged and was about to give up my quest, I could feel Fakelina perched on my shoulder, whispering in my ear: “Keep going! Keep watching Youtube videos! You will find the answers!”

So I kept going. Months, or maybe years, passed. And as I spent more and more time studying the conspiracy theories, I shrank–first my mind, then my heart and the rest of me, until I became a very shrivelled little creature indeed.

One night, I woke up around 2 am, curled up next to my laptop, and I noticed that I had grown a pair of sticky, glittery wings. They didn’t help me fly, though. I could only flap them listlessly.

Fakelina was slouching on my sofa, smoking a cigarette.

“Am I magical fairy now, too?” I asked her.

“I guess so.” She shrugged. “Oh no, don’t give me that look. It’s not like we’re going to be fairy BFFs or anything. Time for me to take off.”

“What?? But…but you gotta keep helping me! What about our mission of bringing knowledge to the masses?”

“You have learned enough to continue the mission on your own, gullible grasshopper.” I heard a “ding!” and a tiny, sparkly suitcase appeared in her hand. “Besides, I sold all the data about you to Cambridge Analytica and I need a vacation.”

She floated up to me and tapped me with her wand one last time. “I now endow you with the power to not only share fake stories, but to make up your own shit as well! If you spin your web of lies well enough, you can play on people’s fears and prejudices and fanatical obsessions. And then you can do all sorts of things. Influence elections….sell useless nutritional supplements…”

My shoulders slumped. “Wow. Not quite the fairy tale ending I imagined.”

Fakelina laughed. “If you wanted a happier ending to your story…you should’ve used your brain!”

I could still hear her cackle long after she was gone.

 

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A few decades had gone by, and still the war went on.  Nobody in the country even remembered who Osama bin Laden had been, although some had a vague memory of a terrorist getting killed at a televised White House dinner.

And yet, every Friday afternoon the same thing continued in my hometown–the old hippies came out to protest.  The real 1960s hippies had died out by then, but these folks proudly carried on the tradition.  They slouched down Main Street with signs proclaiming hilarious things such as “Troops Out Of Iraq!” and “No Money For Israel!” and “Funding For Infrastructure!”  They circled the downtown blocks, screaming at a President who couldn’t hear them, and who wasn’t listening anyway.

I could hear them, though, every week when I left the office.  The company I worked for manufactured toy drones, and I was always worn out after a long day of customers with malfunctioning drones which crashed into trees or attacked their children.  Friday was when I would treat myself — fries and a beer at my favorite downtown pub.  Even as I chewed, the hippie chants echoed in my direction.  Rain or shine, they were there.  And she was there.

I did my best to keep my eyes on my plate and avoid eye contact as she went past the glass. But on that particular day, much to my dismay, she came in to talk to me.

“Hey, Mom.”  I managed to fake a weak smile.  “I’m very tired right now, so…”

“Can’t I even say hi to you anymore?”

“Not if it turns into another crazy rant…”

“It’s not crazy.  It’s not crazy to tell you that your job is bad for you.  You’re wasting your life. You hate those stupid toys…”

“Oh, sure.  And you’re not wasting your time doing this?”

“I’m doing it for my country!”

“Look, Mom.  Nobody cares.  Your country isn’t paying attention.  This is my one reward for my shitty week–could you please leave me alone?”

“Okay.  Have a good dinner.”  I felt her move away and walk out behind me, but didn’t look back.

But once I’d finished my beer, my anger faded away.  Alcohol made me sentimental.  So what if she wanted to walk around and yell with her anti-war sign, or tell me about all the conspiracy theories she’d read on the Internet?  She was retired, and retired people got to spend their time doing whatever silly stuff they felt like doing.  Hell, maybe I’d join her at the rally.  I wouldn’t hold any signs, of course–I didn’t want any embarrassing pictures of me online–but I could applaud the speeches and pretend to chant along a little.

I paid for my meal and went to the city square, where the marches ended every week in a sparse, hoarse-throated rally.  I must’ve taken too long, because the square was empty by the time I got there.  The cops were half-heartedly arresting one or two people.  The grey-bearded little man who liked to throw eggs at them was being led away.

No rally, no protest, no chance to chant.  No chance to make it up to Mom.  It was now drizzling miserably.

I heard indistinct shouting to my right.  It was the other protester who was there every week — the one with pictures of chopped up babies.

“You’ll burn in eternal Hell!”  he boomed at me through his bullhorn.

He eyed me with suspicion as I approached.  I handed him a twenty.  “For your church,” I said.  I didn’t tell him that I felt sad for him.

He glared at me, but he did pocket the twenty.  In return, he handed me one of his anti-abortion brochures.

As I walked away, he called after me:  “Remember, God doesn’t just want your money!  He wants your soul!”

I laughed.  How sweet of him to assume I had one.

For those of you who are impatient to read it, here is a preliminary summary of WorldNetDaily contributor’s Aaron Klein’s upcoming book about Benghazi. Sounds exciting:

They make an unusual pair. He’s the Kenyan-born jihadi, with such radical acts of terrorism in his past as signing people up for health insurance and wearing a beige suit to news briefings. She’s the former First Lady, still haunted by memories of a killing spree of her political opponents, both in Arkansas and Washington D.C. Together, they will set off on a journey of transforming this nation into a Communist-Fascist-Muslim dictatorship, and their nefarious plan to hand the Libyan embassy into the hands of this country’s enemies is only the beginning.

But across the heartland, a scattered band of brave talk radio listeners is tracking their every move. Now that their guns have been confiscated, will they be able to fight off these progressive villains using only their supply of survival seeds and homemade water filtering systems? Will they be able to save America from its imminent demise? Or will a talking lizard crawl out from underneath a sun-drenched rock and tell WorldNetDaily readers: “Hey man, you’re obviously high on something and you’re hallucinating all of this. Don’t eat the purple mushrooms next time”?

Stay tuned.

A scary story in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, where a loaded gun was found sitting in a box in the toy aisle of a Target store.  The police report states that a suspicious man was stalking up and down the aisles of the store, and he was likely the one who left the weapon behind.  The Myrtle Beach police are currently seeking the last registered owner of the gun for questioning.

This story has now started making the rounds on social media, and naturally, the blame is being placed on…those who support gun control.  Yep.  The reposts of the story are filled with outrage about how low the “gun control fanatics” will stoop.  Because, you know, it’s obvious that the gun was planted on purpose so that a child would shoot itself or someone else, and so that guns could be blamed and more oppressive gun restrictions could be passed.

I can think of a lot of reasons why a mentally unbalanced or criminal person might leave a gun in that store.  Most likely, the gun was stolen, and this was a convenient place to try to hide it, since it would blend in with the toy guns.  The Target worker who found the gun stated that he did not realize it was a real gun until closer examination, so this makes sense.  Or perhaps there was mental illness involved, the sort of mental illness that would consider this a fun prank or a satisfying way to find revenge against humankind.

But once you start saying that a pro-gun control person left it there on purpose, you start veering into conspiracy theory territory.  And once you veer into the territory of strange theories, you have to offer evidence that what you’re talking about might be true.  So far there is no proof whatsoever of the “gun control fanatics!!!” side of the story.  And the people I know who support gun control want less gun violence, not more, so they would never resort to these kinds of tactics.  It will be interesting to see what emerges from this incident.

It’s a lazy, rainy Saturday over here, and I’ve been listening off and on to CPAC speeches.  Some observations:

Michele Bachmann:  still as grating as ever.  She wants us to build “that dang fence”.  Good luck winning over the Latino voters.

Dr. Ben Carson says that of course gay people should have “the same rights,” just not “extra rights” like marriage.  Um, no.  If I have the right to marry the person I’m attracted to, and a gay person has the right to marry the person he/she is attracted to, that is the SAME right.  Now, giving yourself the authority to tell other people what they can do with their relationships–there’s an “extra” right if I’ve ever seen one.  Dr. Carson says he wants the right to put what God says ahead of what man says.  Well, God said all kinds of interesting things about stoning all kinds of people to death.  Good luck winning over the millennials with this stuff.

Still not sure why Kesha’s “Die Young” was played after Newt Gingrich’s speech.  Did the speech make people suicidal?  Trying to attract the teenybopper crowd?

Ann Coulter did her thing and she also does not show much desire to appeal to the Latino voting block.  Her favored solution to the immigration problem is self-deportation.  She says that after all, the immigrants who came over the border knew perfectly well that what they were doing was wrong!  Ever ponder why people might be desperate enough to do something they knew was illegal?  But no, not a twinge of compassion in Ann’s face.  She says that if amnesty ever happens, it’s “game over” and it’s “time for death squads for the people who wrecked America.”  Lovely.  Moving on…

Mike Huckabee–yep, still talking about Benghazi.  It’s obvious they’re getting ready for 2016.  Now just pull out Monica Lewinsky’s blue dress and they’ll be prepared.  Good luck winning over the non-conspiracy theorists….

So, do the conservatives actually want to win upcoming elections?  That remains to be seen…I’ll keep watching.

A coalition of food, farming and health groups has delivered a letter to President Obama asking him to stand by his pledge and support a law to require GMO labeling on foods.  I’m not sure why this is such a big deal.  Other countries have GMO labeling on food products and their food industries haven’t collapsed.

Actually, I do know why this is such a big deal.  In the world of sanity, this would be a simple requirement.  But in the world of right-wing paranoia, this is only the first step to the government taking over food production, and it brings us closer to that tragic day when you will walk into your local McDonald’s and the only thing on the menu (by order of Michelle Obama) will be an organic kale salad with low-fat vinaigrette dressing.  The day liberty dies.  I’m sure our highly profitable fast food companies are shaking in their boots.

And this is why we can’t have a normal conversation about anything anymore.

According to the weather forecasts, the polar vortex will be coming back this week.  Chris Christie must be breathing a sigh of relief, as his hijinks might get swept from the headlines by more sensationalized reporting of Unprecedented Ice And Snow!  …also known as winter weather in the Midwest.

In fact, who knows, maybe Christie engineered it all, like he did the traffic snarl in Fort Lee?  I can see the internal e-mails now:

“They’re on to me.  Time for some climate problems in the East.”

And voila, a conspiracy theory is born.  These are easier to create than I thought they were.  I’m ready for my gig as the substitute host on Coast To Coast AM!