They want you to believe that the world is round and not flat for one simple reason: The world actually is flat, as more and more people here at the rubber plantation are beginning to find out.
Look, when tens of people start saying the world is flat, the elitist macadamia nuts, by default, have to say the world is round – as they are now doing to mucho laughter in certain corners of the bouncy room.
We are always thinking about what they don’t want you to think about because it’s what we do here at the Balloon Animal Farm. But it’s not easy, because they never tell you that working up a good think can cause irreparable, male-pattern babboo.
You know, of course, they want you to believe the moon landings were real. Get this: they want you to believe that there were so-called scientists back then who somehow “did” all the ridiculously hard math and science and gym homework required to build a rocket ship to the moon. People watched the live TV video of man’s first steps on the moon and they bought it, hook, line and walleye.
But hold on a sec. Wouldn’t they have had to send a movie crew up there first to film the landing? So how did they get up there? What — they had their own space ship and they flew up there? And who filmed that landing? And how did that camera crew get up there? And so forth and so on and/or etc. The lies just keep on laying eggs. They don’t want you to think about that, but I can’t help myself, even though it’s against the rules here at Whispering Chipmunks, which is why I think about it very quietly.
Oh, and they want you to believe that there is a seed vault hidden on an island in Norway. It stores every kind of seed known to man and some women. When Armageddon happens, all the seed stores around the world will be nuked and farmers will be forced to raise glow-in-the-dark Oreos.
But, hey, if you’re still alive and hungry, you can just drive over to Norway and get some tomato seeds and lettuce seeds and bacon seeds and have a BLT anytime you want. Or, that’s what they want you to believe.
Well, okay, let’s say you go to Norway (go ahead, use your “Big pain in the ass” sticker and park in a handicapped space.) You go in and ask for a six-pack of tomato seeds. And they say, “Oops, just sold the last one. How about some Brussels Sprouts seeds?”
And that, my friends, is how they finally get you to eat Brussels Sprouts. Jesus continues to weep.
They also want you to believe that the global is warming up, that Antarctica is like ice in a cooler five days after a barbecue, polar bears are waxing their legs, penguins are walking sillier than ever, there’s more rain, fewer umbrellas, the oceans are rising, sharks are putting sunblock on their fins, women are getting hotter, men are going behind burning bushes, footballs are wilting and not as pointy as they used to be, snowmen are getting prickly heat, men are transitioning into women who are getting downright sultry, baked Alaska is now fried Alaska, tuna are melting without benefit of cheese, spicy Indian food has been banned within six feet of a forest, baked beans are banned within six feet of anybody, and the president is six beans short of a three bean salad.
And who do they blame for global sweating? They want you to believe we did this to ourselves. What crap — pardon my Klingon. That’s like saying we’re all to blame for electing a sociopathic billionaire who got a wild hare up his northwest passage, then gave Canada the stink eye for being polite.
As long as I’m on auto think, they want you to believe baseballs are not juiced. They want you to believe we should be sneezing into our armpits – our firetrucking armpits! — and instead of saying “Gesundheit,” we should be saying “Gazebo.”
They want you to believe banjos are not cool. They want you to believe ukuleles are cool. They want you to believe that scientists are not making this up, not even the ones strumming “Ukulele lady” with all the peaches on the beaches under the moonlight on Honolulu bay.
Do they think we are stupid?
Actually, they do. But they want us to believe we are not stupid. Good luck with that.
©Patrick A. McGuire and A Hint of Light 2013-2018, all rights reserved.