Tuesday, 2 February 2016

I HATE BEING A CONSPIRACY THEORIST.

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Whatever you prefer to call it, but anyone who disbelieves the official version of world events as portrayed on television by BBC, Sky and ITV News is either labelled cuckoo, a nut-job, a Truther or more common than not, a Conspiracy Theorist.

I hate being a Conspiracy Theorist.

Since sticking my head down the fabled rabbit’s hole and deciding to go as deep as I dare, my life has turned into a nightmare. Everything has changed and there’s no going back.

I remember with fondness when I had no more cares in the world other than Liverpool Football club beating Manchester United Football club. No more fears other than loosing an hour’s drinking time down the pub with my friends, having to wait until the kids went to bed before going out. No more worries other than losing a £10 100-1 punt on the Grand National.

Now I have no friends. My relationship with the mother of my children has broken down and my extended family keep a healthy distance too scared to talk about current affairs in my company.


I hate being a Conspiracy Theorist.

Since travelling on this journey I’ve changed into a bitter and unhappy man. Being a conspiracy theorist has robbed so much of who I am, which before the journey I took for granted.

Now when a Rock’n’Roll hero is tragically taken from us by Cancer, I cannot grieve as I once would have because as a conspiracy theorist I harbour doubts that NASA has flown him to Mars.

I can't grieve the death of a celebrated TV and radio chat show host because as a conspiracy theorist I’m shaking with rage that he may have been killed because he was about to expose a huge paedophile ring at the BBC.


My cousin who’s a nurse recently received a medal having gone to Africa to aid in the Ebola virus out-break. As a conspiracy theorist I’m unable to either send her a congratulation message or even a Facebook Like because as a conspiracy theorist I believe the whole Ebola virus was a lie and that no one even died.


I hate being a Conspiracy Theorist.

I was once a Royal Military Policeman serving in the British Army willing to kill and die for Queen and Country. So you can appreciate how far I’ve come considering that now all I want to see is for Queen Elizabeth II to be tried for Crimes against Humanity.


All my pride and joy in being British has evaporated in a puff of smoke. I only feel shame and disgust that our illustrious Monarch and her in-breed family are accused of being members of a sick satanic cult murdering and eating babies in satanic rituals every Saturday night.

I hate being a conspiracy theorist because I have to admit David Icke is right.

There is no turning back and I wish there was. I wish my conspiracy tenancies were proved wrong, debunked and stamped on. But alas they persist and grown stronger with every passing day. The flow of conspiracy theories never end.

Like millions I am dreading Chris Spivey’s latest article because he’s promising to expose Princess Diana’s fatal car crash as a fake false flag event.


I hate being a conspiracy theorist because I can’t grieve for a fallen Princess whom I once loved so much.

Being a conspiracy theorist has destroyed the life I once had. Gone are the laughs, the smiles and the carefree attitude that all was right with the world.

Now it feels as though I’m living in a bad B-horror movie in which the world is over-run by body snatching satanist zombies intent on killing us all, raping our children and opening a portal to the Gates of Hell.

Being a conspiracy theorist I see everything in a new light. I can't even join in with the nation’s pride and delight that British astronaut Tim Peake made it into space. I’m so entrenched that I harbour serious doubts as to whether there even is Space, let alone whether the Earth is round, whether Man walked on the moon and whether the Sun is really 93 million miles away from us.


If I was to search for something good about being a conspiracy theorist, I’d have to think very hard. Having learnt there really was a King Arthur who lived from 503AD to 579AD fills me with some delight and satisfaction. It's like discovering Santa Claus is real after-all. But alas, the thrill soon wears off as the real King Arthur story goes onto reveal the disturbing reality that the Dark Ages were brought about with Asteroid debris destroying the Arthurian Kingdom in 576AD and that to save his people King Arthur sailed to America in a fleet of 700 ships, where upon he was eventually assassinated by a native while battling with the Red Indians in Kentucky.


I hate being a conspiracy theorist because I don't know where it’ll end...

Where does the fabled rabbit hole lead us? Is there a definitive answer? Are we right or wrong? I hate being a conspiracy theorist because I’m no closer to the answer than I was when I started so many years ago.

Having been given the option of the red pill or the blue pill, I wish I had taken the other one and not have known.


Living in ignorance is a lot better than living in the knowledge that we are being systematically killed on an industrial scale.

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