The Debunker Files: The 9/11 Conspiracy

This is a big one. THE big one; the elephant in the living room of mysteries. It happened thirteen years ago, and yet it’s still so fresh in our minds, the horror of our nation under attack by a foreign enemy for the first time since 1941. I was only three when it happened, and yet it’s terribly sad that I care more about it and know more about it than fucking college students.

You are all disgraces to your country.

I have never watched Loose Change. I never intend to; I already know it’s an assload of bullshit. However, I have met a person who has seen it. He’s an asshole. A complete and utter jackass to me, solely because I’m a level-minded conservative. Seriously. He’s the anti-me. An ultra-liberal, conspiracy theorist and a NEW Atheist- I find the need to BOLDLY EXLCAIM THE “NEW” PART BECAUSE MOST REGULAR ATHEISTS AREN’T ASSHOLES AND ARE ACTUALLY RATHER AMIABLE. He also thinks the U.S. didn’t land on the Moon, but that’s another Debunker Files topic for another time. But anyways, he seemed to be rather… not clear on his reasons why the government would even want to do something like this.

That’s the big issue: forget if they did it for a few paragraphs; why would they even want to. What do they gain from it?

“Oil, man!” says Dylan Avery, the nongender who directed Loose Change. I say “nongender” because he’s not a man, but he’s not even manly enough to be a woman, for Kim Campbell and Joan of Arc have proven that woman have balls, dammit. So, he’s nongendered.

Well, Dylan, you’re wrong. Where does the United States get its oil from? Let’s look at data from Energy Trends Insider, shall we?

Move it along paragraphs! Make way for the big chart!

Move it along paragraphs! Make way for the big chart!

So, we’ve actually taken less oil from Iraq since the invasion, and Afghanistan is such a loser it didn’t even make the chart. The article also states that the all time high for U.S. imports of Iraqi oil was in 2001. Right… before… the attacks…. Also, somehow we took on an assload of Texas Tea from Colombia, completely out of left field. Hmm…

Also, what sane government would purposely bomb its own military nexus? Did you think of that, Dylan. Even the most psychopathic loon North Korea has to offer wouldn’t bomb their main military command center. Why would we? It’s shooting ourselves in the foot; it accomplishes nothing. I thought your conspiracy guys were supposed to be cunning…

Alright, now that I’ve poked a goddamn sinkhole in that theory, what’s your next point, Dylan

“Uh, well, you’re stupid! And the towers went down in a controlled demolition!”

Who rigged them up?

“Uh… the military! Yeah, they sound evil enough… they did it!”

What part of it? Honestly, these are people whose entire job is to protect their country, not kill 3,000 of its citizens! Besides, we all know that disgruntled military members only hijack tanks…

And even if they managed to swing a few disgruntled psycho soldiers- or regular, brainwashed Marines (oh, that sounds like a good plot for a spy movie. Somebody do that!) over to rig up the buildings, how the fuck did nobody notice? Hmm? They were punching holes in the building for a controlled demolition! Do you know how many people worked in the Twin Towers daily? One hundred thousand. Holy shit; I see maybe a quarter that many people in my entire day on public transit, counting out the window.

But, it could be done, right? I mean, sure our guys have to work under cover of darkness and hide every last bit of bomb and torn out wall by day, but sure, why not? They’d only need over eight thousand charges, right? It took four-thousand to bring down the J.L. Hudson department store. Those guys, even with important things like the building not being full of people and the operation being legal, took seven fucking months to rig it up right. Building demolition isn’t just “shit man, let’s just put a firecracker in this corner and a 37 kiloton nuke in that one”; that’s precise shit there! One misplaced charge and you accidentally bring down two buildings, but we’ll talk about that in a second.

Remember meeeeeeeeee.....

Remember meeeeeeeeee…..

And nobody notices. Ever. Honestly? Sometimes, when I have deja vu, I seriously ponder if my entire life isn’t just a simulation with all the people being robots! You’re telling me that nobody out of one hundred thousand people was even the slightest bit weirded out by the… different drywall. Or the fact that their desk is a bit more slanted than they remember, because one asshole brainwashed jarhead bumped into it while running the detonator coil back to Evil Headquarters.



Nobody notices all the trucks with detonators and charges sticking out of them sitting in the back lot. Nobody from one of the neighboring buildings videotapes- even just out of curiosity- the workers shuffling in and out of the building like the soulless pod people they are, carrying big, bulky bombs in their arms. In a world where we take pictures of our cats and treat them like Van Gogh pieces, I find this wholly, completely, fucking retardedly unrealistic.

Security notices nothing. Video cameras are all glitching out. Bomb sniffing dogs need to get their sniffers checked.


Fido, voiced by Paul Newman, is a disgraced former sniffer dog who failed in his duty and inadvertently caused a national tragedy. Now, he's a soldier for hire, private detective ninja pirate dog on a mission to save the adjutant governor's daughter from space alien mobsters while cracking a cipher that will lead him to the Temple of Mysterious MacGuffin's Treasure...

Colonel Fido, voiced by Paul Newman, is a disgraced former sniffer dog who failed in his duty and inadvertently caused a national tragedy. Now, he’s a soldier for hire, private detective ninja pirate dog on a mission to save the adjutant governor’s daughter from space alien mobsters while cracking a cipher that will lead him to the Temple of Mysterious MacGuffin’s Treasure…

“But Philly, all those people that could have stopped it were paid into silence!” whines Avery.

Oh really? Who the fuck on this planet has enough money to pay off FEMA, NIST, American Society of Civil Engineers, Popular Mechanics and the motherfucking New York City Fire Department, and everyone else involved?

“The government!!!”

Come on! Let’s assume they all go by my standards- my lowest, realistic standards- on what I would need for silence: 500 million.

I have high aspirations for life, okay?

I have high aspirations for life, okay?

So, let’s whup out our calculators here and… what? You didn’t bring yours? FINE! I’ll do all the fucking work myself! You people are so ungrateful!

Alright, 120,000 civil engineers- I find it of note that that’s more people than worked in the Trade Centers- 7,500 FEMA employees, 2,900 NIST employees, fifty top-ranking NYFD officials willing to let their coworkers get brutally burned to death and buried under thousands of pounds of skyscraper and ballpark estimate a hundred guys at Popular Mechanics- just the big names involved- and that rounds us out to 65,275,000,000,000.

Also known as: HOLY SHIT BRICKS A FUCKTON OF MONEY!!!! That makes the national debt of 17 trillion look like goddamn peanuts! So, no Avery, the government could not have funded this, even if they really wanted to.

“But the towers did go down in a controlled demolition! There’s no other way for it to have happened! The towers were designed to take a plane crash! And no other office building ever collapsed due to fire! And you’re still stupid!”

Well, that may be, but you’re still wrong. See, the Twin Towers were built to withstand an impact from a Boeing 707- the most common airliner of the day- and a fuel-starved, terribly lost one innocently trying to find its way back to the airport…

M-Mommy? Where are you, mommy?

M-Mommy? Where are you, mommy?

.. and not, say, a fully-loaded 757 fresh from Logan International on their way across the country. Also, no office building was ever left without water on it for that long. This was mostly because that would need a really long ass hose. They never had a chance to fight fire with… water.

You're gonna need a bigger truck...

You’re gonna need a bigger truck…

Really the only thing they could do was spit on it, and even then the NYFD was kind of swamped bringing people down with no elevators to do even that. Also, the plane’s initial impact killed the sprinklers, in cold blood. Poor smoke detectors never even had a chance. Never forget.

“But Philly,” Avery whines, “the Empire State Building got hit by a bomber in WWII, and it survived just fine!”



Yeah, but, believe it or not, the Empire State building is significantly more durable than the World Trade Center was. This conclusively proves that art deco is superior to modernism, but also describes perfectly something I described above. The Empire State Building was hit by a B-25 Mitchell, one of the most interesting warplanes of all time…
I don't always spend thirty seconds over Tokyo, but when I do, I follow up by disappearing into the Monongahela River, crash mysteriously in a UFO conspiracy and get a starring role dogfighting a dragon in a Zack Snyder movie...

I don’t always spend thirty seconds over Tokyo, but when I do, I follow up by disappearing into the Monongahela River, crash mysteriously in a UFO conspiracy and get a starring role dogfighting a dragon in a Zack Snyder movie…

… but this one in particular was hopelessly lost and fuel-starved in the fog and just sort of blundered into the skyscraper. But c’mon; we all know the real reason they crashed into it:
Perhaps today IS a good day to die! Prepare for ramming speed!

Perhaps today IS a good day to die! Prepare for ramming speed!

“W-Well what about the no stand down order? From NORAD? Hmm? They were clearly in on it!”

Actually, before 9/11, NORAD didn’t even monitor American airspace. Their job was kind of to make sure Russia didn’t fuck America with missiles, not worry about aircraft hijackings. And they DID send up two jets, to intercept Flight 93. That’s another story for another time, but I’ll touch upon it a bit.

Lieutenant Heather “Lucky” Penney was scrambled in her F-16 Fighting Falcon with very clear orders: fuck Flight 93 with any weapons she had, at this point confirmed hijacked. Problems? Yeah, she had no weapons with which to fuck the hijacked aircraft. No missiles, no guns. Her jet was a declawed kitten in the realm of air combat. Her plan of action? Make good on Worf’s eternal words and ram the damn thing.


Ahmed, who in the name of Allah is Leeroy Jenkins?

Ahmed, who in the name of Allah is Leeroy Jenkins?

Thankfully, she and the other badass pilot in the air at the time, Colonel Marc Sasseville, didn’t have to go kamikaze on Flight 93. The passenger revolt made sure of that. Which brings me right into my next interruption from Dylan. What is it now, Dylan?

“Everyone on Flight 93 was in on it too!”

You sick fuck! Haven’t you ever heard or read about the phone calls? Todd Beamer and the other passengers!

“But there was no wreckage! No wreckage, no plane!”

Allow me to let my pictures do the talking:

Pictured: wreckage

Pictured: wreckage

Also pictured: wreckage.

Pictured: more wreckage.

“What about the Pentagon? Obvious missile hit! There’s not even any wing marks!”

Well, I think this video sums it up rather nicely:

Sorry it wasn’t very funny. Or sound-y.

Is that all?

“No! What about World Trade Center 7? That wasn’t hit by any planes and it collapsed!”

Uh, it spent eight goddamn hours taking a shower with debris from the North Tower like a meteor storm. Of course it’s gonna collapse after taking that kind of punishment.

“And the NYFD said ‘pull it down’ right before it collapsed!”

What kind of talk is that? They did not! They said “pull it!” Meaning “get out, the building’s unstable!” Not “evil, evil, evil, blow it up with our comical pump detonator while twirling our moustaches! Nyah!”

Actually, now that I think of it, didn’t you have a thing on Loose Change’s website a while ago saying flat out that this was all fake, and that you made it all up wholecloth? Yeah, I’m pretty sure you did. Here, I’ll check it out…


Hmm, well that’s odd. Let me refresh it…


Hey, Dylan, why isn’t this thing showing up?

“Uh, no reason?”

Is that a question or an answer?

“Do you want 500 million dollars?”

HOLY FUCK!!! You did it! You caused 9/11!!!

“Well, technically I just hired al Qaeda to do the dirty work for me, but hey, 500 millis, man!”

You sick fuck! How dare you! Do you think I’ll accept that?

“Uh, Yeah…”


NOOOO! We’ve worked far to long at this for you to fuck it all up now! Philly, prepare to die!”

What are you doing? Put the gun down!

“No! I’ll have to kill you now, now that you’ve exposed us!”

Quick, Avery! Look! A news crew! Bask in the attention you so desperately crave!

“This is CNN! Dylan, what’s going on here?”

“Uh, nothing. Everything’s fine.”

Like lightning, I draw my radio. “Hey, Lt. Heather, I’m gonna need air support and I’m gonna need it fast.”

“Who did you just call?” Dylan demands.

"THIS time we brought missiles, bitch!!!"

“THIS time we brought missiles, bitch! Colonel, let’s do this! HEEEEEAAATHER PENNEEEEEEEEYYY!!!!!!”

“Oh shi-“

Whoo-hoo! Disaster averted! Hi-five, guys! I’m gonna go watch Non-Stop now, okay?  Here’s some links to the fine fucks whose research I shamelessly stole but honorably credit for this article:



The Debunker Files: The Gadianton Canyon Incident

Let me say this right off the bat: I like strange stories. No, check that; I love strange stories. Fake stories, too. Creepypastas; frickin’ love ‘em.

My BFF...


But I prefer true stories, because they’re so much freakier/stranger/cooler/scarier because they actually happened. So, I’ll be doing a bunch of these Debunker Files, using my horribly uninformed opinion to judge: did this shit really go down?

This one: the Gadianton Canyon Incident, still one of my favorite stories. I’ll post a link to the story in whole at the bottom, but let me get some excerpts in here:

“One of the strangest Highway Space Warp (HSW) cases took place in southeastern Utah near the railroad crossing of Modena, on the edge of the Escalante Desert.  

Janna North had the wheel of her father’s 1971 Chevrolet Nova, and Carol Abbott was in the passenger seat. Sitting in the back seat were Lisa Rochefort and Bethany Gordon. It was after 10 p.m. when the girls crossed the Utah-Nevada state line nine miles (14 kilometers) east of Modena. And they were anxious to get back to the campus before their housemother, Mrs. Mortensen, locked the dorm doors.

That stretch of Utah Highway 56 is pretty desolate, all sand and sagebrush and ocotillo and Spanish bayonet, with the red sandstone bluffs on the northern horizon. So the girls were pretty happy when they finally spotted the Union Pacific railroad crossing at Modena. But just past the rails, Janna noticed something strange. Two sets of blacktop highway headed off into the desert–one veered sharply to the southeast, the other shooting northeast toward the canyon country further north. As the girls approached the Union Pacific rail line, the road leading off Highway 56 looked inviting. It seemed to be a more direct route back to their dorm. Their landlady, a stickler on curfews, always locked the doors by midnight and it was already half past ten. None of the girls relished the thought of arriving late and being forced to sleep in the car. The opportunity to take what seemed a short-cut strongly appealed to them.

The mysterious road curved sharply away from the main road towards the direction of the ominous Gadianton Canyon in the distance.

“Which one do we take?” asked Carol.

“Left,” Janna said. She knew that Cedar City was 46 miles (73 kilometers) to the northeast, and she guessed that the canyon road would bring them home much sooner. Despite the stories of the canyon, the girls agreed to take the road. They chatted happily about the day’s events as the car wound its way deeper into the foreboding canyon. As they drove, the dark rock walls inched ever closer to the crumbling edge of the thin ribbon of asphalt.

Five minutes later, the Chevy entered the red-rock canyon. Janna, who had been chatting with her friends, suddenly noticed that the car’s headlights were shining more brightly on the pavement. Looking closer, she let out a gasp. The white centerline was gone. Instead of black asphalt, they were driving on white cement…

“Janna, up ahead!” Carol exclaimed.

Abruptly, one of the girls shrieked, “Look out!” The road suddenly ended at a towering rock wall. They were boxed in by the canyon and had no choice but to turn around and go back the way they’d come.

The three girls moaned and complained to the driver. Now they’d all have to sleep in the car. They’d never make it back to the dorm in time because the “short-cut” cost them at least a wasted half hour of driving.

Impossibly, the landscape had completely changed.

Janna gasped. The highway ended abruptly at a rocky cliff face. Janna stepped down hard on the brake pedal. Fishtailing slightly, the Chevy screeched to a stop in front of the cliff.

“Oh, great! A dead end!” Putting the gear into reverse, Janna swung the car’s nose around. “You’d think they’d put up a few warning signs.”

“Now we’ve got to go all the way back to Modena,” Bethany complained.

“We’re never going to make curfew,” Lisa said.

“We’ll make good time once we’re back on the state highway,” Janna assured them.

Tense minutes passed. Janna began to feel uneasy. They were still rolling along, hemmed in by red canyon walls. But they should have been back out in the open desert by this time.

The canyon gradually gave way to open country. The girls gasped. Instead of moonlit desert, they saw grain fields on the right and a large dike, with stands of ponderosa pine, on the left. What was desolate, wind-swept desert sand, dotted with dry sagebrush, stubby ocotillo and gnarled Spanish bayonet, was now lush fields of ripening wheat under a clear, moonlit sky. In the distance, the water of a large lake shimmered, silvery under a bright moon.

Yet the moon should not have been visible that night.

Later, they recalled at that moment they felt they’d driven into a different world. The events that followed proved them right.

Carol looked around in awe. “This sure ain’t Modena!”

“We must’ve gotten turned around back there,” Janna said, her gaze darting back and forth. “Where the hell are we?”

Now the girls were on edge. They had no idea where they were and wherever it was it didn’t look like either Utah or Nevada. Maybe someone could help point them in the right direction so they could get back onto Highway 56 and finally reach their dorm.

Approaching the light ahead of them, they discovered it came from a large building—some kind of roadhouse or restaurant. The place sat in the middle of a large parking lot and a blazing neon sign on the roof spelled out a message—at least that’s what the girls assumed the sign was for because they couldn’t read it; what should have been letters were brightly-lit squiggles and curlycues… The sign’s brilliantly glowing symbols were composed of strangely twisted lines creating of a mosaic of weird curves…a written language unknown to any of them.

Without warning, some very tall men came out of the building. Quite a number poured through the front door spilling into the parking lot. Later, the girls recalled the people from the roadhouse seemed shocked and frightened at the appearance of the Chevrolet driving into the parking lot.

Some of the roadhouse people seemed upset by the girls’ arrival. They waved their arms at the girls. Others shouted and pointed at the girls and the Nova.

“There are some guys,” Carol said. 

Bethany let out a giggle. “Are they cute?”

“Let’s find out.” Lisa began rolling down the rear passenger window.

“Lisa! We don’t have time for this,” Janna said.

“Relax!” Hastily she touched up her lipstick. “I’m only going to ask them how to get back to the highway.”

As Janna slowed down, she noticed a good deal of consternation among the men. As if they’d been startled by some unknown animal. As the girls pulled into the lot, Lisa got a good look at the throng of people milling outside the building.

Sticking her head out the window, she said, “Hi! We’re–” And she let out a terrified scream.

“Lisa! What–!?” Janna turned in her seat.

“Get out of here!” the girl screamed, frantically rolling up the window. “Punch it, Jana!”

Bethany shrieked, “Step on it!”

Tires sitting sand, the Chevy zoomed away from the building. Janna stepped down hard on the gas pedal. The lake flew by on her left.

As they raced through the forbidding night on a strange road passing the strange lake, intense lights lit up their car from behind. The girls in the back saw the lights at the same time the driver saw them in her rear-view mirror.

“Oh, my God! They’re coming after us!”

“Go faster. Faster!”

“Oh, my God! They’re coming after us!” Bethany shouted. “Janna, faster!”

Janna glanced in her rear-view mirror, and what she saw turned her blood to ice. They were being chased, but not by any vehicle that had ever been built in Detroit.

Four queer-looking automobiles followed in their wake. Egg-shaped vehicles mounted on tricycle wheels. That is, with two large wheels in the front and a smaller wheel in the rear. A single bright white headlight shone from the front of each pursuing “car.” They made a strange whirring or buzzing sound as they rolled along, humming and whining loudly, closed in on the speeding Nova.

The Nova’s engine roared as its speed crept towards 80 miles per hour. Still the crazy egg-shaped cars pursued them.

“Janna, go faster! They’re gaining on us!”

Ahead the road led back into a red-rock canyon. Janna’s Chevy plunged into it at 80 miles per hour. The road was so narrow; it seemed to hem them in. The Chevy’s tires kicked up a billowing cloud of dust. They could no longer see their pursuers.

Then the girls were back into the canyon. The Nova’s roaring engine reverberated off the sheer rock walls. A rooster tail of dust rose up behind them and soon none of the girls could spot the whirring egg-shaped things anymore.

As they flew out of the canyon and into the desert, the road before them all but disappeared. The car bucked crazily over sagebrush and sand.

Minutes later, they roared out of the canyon, back into the familiar desert. All at once, the road vanished. The headlights showed nothing but sagebrush and ocotillo. The Chevy bucked and jostled like a wild bronco. Janna hit the brakes. Too late! Although it quickly slowed, the Nova skidded out of control sliding into an arroyo and crashing into the bottom.

The engine died.

Although badly shaken, none of the girls were seriously hurt. The car, however was undriveable; three of the tires were flat.

Shaking uncontrollably, the girls emerged from the car. Miraculously they were unhurt. The Chevy took the worst of it, with three flat tires, numerous dings in the front bumper and a missing hubcap. Jenna took one look and clapped both hands to her forehead. “Oh, no-no-no! My dad’s going to kill me!”

Lisa, however, was near-hysterical. She sat on the ground, hugging the knees of her bell- bottom blue jeans, weeping and moaning, She kept mumbling, “They-they weren’t human…”

The girls stayed with the car until sunrise. Then they walked a couple of miles due south. Boy, were they glad when they found the familiar blacktop of Highway 56. An hour later, they flagged down a cruiser of the Utah Highway Patrol and told their story.

The details of the report to the Utah Highway Patrol have been muddied over the years. Most versions of the incident list the trooper at the scene as a “Vic Lundquist.” But the officer was not a man, as many assumed, nor was the trooper’s name “Lundquist.”

As best as can be determined, Trooper Victoria “Vic” Lindquist took the report, and the details of the accident investigation make fascinating reading. They tend to support the girls’ testimony of what transpired that strange night off Highway 56 in the barren desert near Modena.

  1. There were no tire tracks showing where the Chevy had left Highway 56 in Modena.
  2. Tire tracks from the wrecked Chevy extended only 200 yards back into the desert and ended abruptly.
  3. No one could explain how the Chevy had gotten nearly two miles north of Highway 56 without leaving any physical trace of its passage through the rough desert terrain.
  4. Although volunteers searched diligently, no trace of the Chevy’s right front hubcap was ever found.”

Alright, I lied: that’s the entire story right there. BUT… did it happen?

I’m sorry to be the pooper of the party, but no, probably not.

For starters, Modena is literally a block wide at most.

H-Hello? Civilization?

H-Hello? Civilization?

First off; what were these chicks doing out that far in the desert? I mean, unless they live in Modena, which as stated is a block wide. And Cedar City, their destination, is an hour away, and the story starts at ten. So, sorry, ladies; you weren’t making it back to your campus before 11:00 interdimensional travel or not. Also, Cedar City is more to the southeast of Modena by fifty-three miles, but I’d allow those tiny errors on part of seeing inhuman monsters trying to eat your face off.

Now, looking on Google Earth, there is one divergence from Highway 56 into dirt road, which does lead through not one, but two canyons, although I can find no references to either of them being named Gadianton Canyon. If it helps and native Utahers (or Utahans?) the mountain the first canyon borders is called Silver Peak.  The only place I can find any reference to Gadianton anything is in Mormon folklore, because we all know just how rock-solid, factual and not ridiculius the Mormon belief system to be.

And what sane streets department would build a highway through a slickrock canyon?  Okay, maybe PennDOT would, but they’re always screwing things up! The “canyon” I mentioned before as existing looks to be a narrow valley at best! You know what happens in slickrock canyons?

Yeah, sure seems perfectly safe to me, Bob; let’s build a road through it…

But maybe Gadianton Canyon is one of those creepy-ass geographical locations that is there one day and then not there the next. Like in the Monkey’s Paw, but with fewer sadistic wishes and more canyons.

Then we jump into this parallel Earth, which I can’t really critique that well, because it’s not freaking on Google Earth (duh) but I can comment a bit, because I am the king of this damn blog! BWAHAHAHA!

So, assuming that they were still in Utah, and weren’t just transported to some other part of the planet, that means that Utah never became a desert, which means two things: one, Meteor Crater didn’t cause a minor extinction event in North America fifty-thousand years ago, and two, the frakkin’ Ice Age didn’t ever end. So, New York looks something like this:

This whole IRS scandal is making Lady Liberty a little… bitter. Ba-dum-chish!

This whole IRS scandal is making Lady Liberty a little… bitter. Ba-dum-chish!

Also, the Moon is approximately one lunar cycle ahead or behind our world’s, as it was full in this universe and presumably new in ours at the time, since it “should not have been visible that night.”

Then, they come to a restaurant with a neon sign presumably in some foreign language of squiggles and curlicues. Well, maybe the letters were written in cursive and the girls were just really, really high on whatever drug was big in the seventies.

Yeah man, just like, huff some LSD-ijuana and it looks totally radical!

Yeah man, just like, huff some LSD-ijuana and it looks totally radical!

Well, at least these poor almost-people were at least as scared of a Nova as we were of them, right? Cause they seemed kind of shocked to see this revving monster sports car barreling towards them belting out Bee Gees, right?

Welcome to Earth!

Welcome to Earth!

They acted all around like any normal person would if they saw a flying saucer rambling down the street, pointing at it and shouting expletives in whatever godforsaken language they spoke.

So, Bethany is a total whore and wants to induce a Close Encounter of the Seventh Kind and get it on with some tall-ass ET’s. And her buddy Lisa was totally down with this, each going to spawn some hybrid hell-child that’ll eat its way out of their wombs if that were to happen.

Holy ZORK! Look at the size of those glands!

Holy ZORK! Look at the size of those glands!

Then, Lisa starts talking to them all hot and heavy, but then reacts something like this:


They floor it out of there, but then these interdimensional guys pull a Gorman on her with their egg-mobiles.

Quick! To the eggmobile! VROOOOOOOOM!

Quick! To the eggmobile! VROOOOOOOOM!

Now, I can see some truth to that part of the story; I mean, that picture above is actually a proposed vehicle by the amazingly named Alan Gerardo Farias. So, I won’t call bullshit on that; it could happen. Unless somebody saw the above picture when making up this whole yarn, but I don’t think so; the story dates to 2007, the eggmobile to 2010.

Apparently, our vehicles are no match for theirs because they were still tailing smoothly when the Nova was thundering by at eighty miles an hour. They roared back into the canyon, and then their Nova was like “Guys, I’ve had enough; wake me when I can get a complete engine overhaul.”

Then, they were back! Back and better than ever, on planet Earth! Apparently Lisa was a hippy, because she was “hugging the knees of her bell-bottom blue jeans, weeping and moaning. She kept mumbling ‘They-they weren’t human…’”

Sounds like a bit of shock, maybe PTSD. It’s a moot point, though; anyone can fake that in writing. Hell, I’ve faked that in my own writing- I am an author, you see.

The story then attempts to cover one of the fallacies consistent in many others, mainly the one where the police are just like “meh” and don’t care that people are disappearing and being brutally killed left and right. They also make the story seem “muddled over the years” and make their “Vic Lundquist” a chick!

Here’s the next set of problems: unless they were burning rubber, how would the police be able to find tire tracks leaving Highway 56, although that part does lend to the theory that Gadianton Canyon can just appear and disappear on a whim.

So, there’s a few things lending credence to the slim possibility this story may have actually happened: one, the police didn’t just brush it off and got shit done. Two, those people that weren’t quite people at the squiggly-do roadhouse seemed just as scared of us as we were of them, much like I would imagine such an encounter would be- not them suddenly whupping out intergalactic chainsaws and trying to kill them. Three, the one girl seemed to have PTSD afterwards- but again, could’ve been faked. Four, eggmobiles aren’t so strange and far off as they are 2020’s premier vehicle. Five, Highway 56 does indeed veer off onto a Desert Mountain Road beside Silver Peak, which could be the basis for the canyon. And finally, Gadianton Canyon isn’t just some made up b.s. location, since it is featured in a religion, no matter how ridiculous it is. So, it’s not quite as ridiculous as, oh say, Slenderman or the Rake.

Oh, and the hubcap was missing in action, and the story hints that it might be “on display in a museum on that parallel Earth.”

Bullshit, man! They’re reverse engineering a Nova from that hubcap, just itching for Gadianton Canyon to reappear so they can use their massive army of eggmobiles to lay waste to Utah!

The end goal of the Eggmobilians…

The end goal of the Eggmobilians…


Invasion U.S.A. : The Documentary Version!!!

Once upon a time, there was this thing called the Cuban Missile Crisis. It was an event that would turn the world into a radioactive wasteland populated by mutants and talking dogs, with nuclear pistols a terrible gender gap that results in every single woman getting raped to death. The hero of the day is Robert Carson, a former Marine who was deployed to Cuba to kick communist ass when the shit hit the fan, now struggling to return to Philadelphia from the war ravaged deep south to his sweetheart and wedded wife Carol.

Or, at least that’s what was by all means supposed to happen. See, by some miracle that whole thing didn’t go nuclear, so my grandfather was only deployed to Florida, had three children, one of whom went on to have me. Oh, and the excuse for rape is still “she was asking for it” not “I have to procreate the species dammit!”

Somewhere mixed in with a U-2 shootdown ,Fidel Castro obviously being batshit insane and my grandfather possibly having to bash in some mutant commie skulls was Operation Northwoods.

Led by the Joint Chiefs of Staff, who were all obviously reading way too many Thunderbolt Ross comics, this insane plan was basically 9/11, except the terrorists was the government.

So, the proposal was wrapped up in pretty pink ribbons with a rose bouquet, presented by a busty blonde young secretary (probably…) to Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara, who for some strange reason I feel was an asshole elsewhere, but wasn’t for this. The proposal was under the not to insane title “Justification For U.S. Military Intervention in Cuba (Top Secret)”

And that is the precise point where the sanity of this plan ends. Resident asshole Brigadier General Edward Lansdale, who might as well be called Brig. Gen. Blowshitupwithairliners, made an outline of shit that he and a few other guys- probably cackling maniacally whilst twirling their cartoonish mustaches- thought would garner support for the U.S. of A to fucking blast Cuba to the stone age, because, y’know, ‘Murica.

Before I get into the grimy details, allow me to point out that at one point in the document, they say, and I quote: “Such a plan would… create the necessary impression of Cuban rashness and irresponsibility on a large scale, directed at other countries as well as the United States.” Well shit up my nose! What hypocrisy! Well, let’s jump in, shall we?

First, they were going to make Guantanamo Bay go bye-bye. Obama, if you would just let these guys take the reigns, they’ll fulfill that broken promise for you! So, they were going to have a bunch of friendly Cuban saboteurs go into the base (because the last Cuban refugee invasion worked so well…) and start riots at the main gate. Then, they were to “blow up ammunition inside the base,”  “burn aircraft on airbase,” and my personal favorite, “lob mortar shells from outside of base into base.” As opposed to lobbing mortar shells from inside the base into the base, right?

Well fuck me! This next part is insane! They honestly quote “Remember the Maine” in the document to describe what they’re going to do next: sabotage a ship in the harbor with fucking napalm, and then sink it.

False flag! False flag!

False flag! False flag!

So basically their whole operation was “blow up all our toys and blame the bully on the other side of the playground.” To rub salt in the wound, they were going to act like any ships or aircraft Cuba might send to honestly help out the survivors of the blast like they were the ones who blew it up in the first place!

It gets worse. “We could develop a Communist Cuban terror campaign in the Miami area, in other Florida cities and even in Washington.” That is an actual sentence from the document. That’s Invasion U.S.A. shit right there!

The most historically accurate film I've ever seen...

The most historically accurate film I’ve ever seen…

“We could sink a boatload of Cubans enroute to Florida.” Alright, now they’re just fucking with us. That’s like Morgan Robertson predicting the Titanic actually sinking, but in reverse: these assholes are predicting the plot of a B-movie!

Then, they planned on painting up F-86 Sabres to look like MiG-15s, which has to be as offensive to airplanes as blackface is to humans.

Racist bastards!

Racist bastards!

They were going to use these black-noseart (?) planes to “[harass] civil air, attack surface shipping and [destroy] US military drone aircraft.” Basically, they wanted to launch the air battle at the end of Independence Day against themselves.

Say, you know, this just occurred to me, but isn't this kind of stupid...?

Say, you know, this just occurred to me, but isn’t this kind of stupid…?

Here’s where it gets insane… or more insane than it already is: they were seriously proposing hijacking airliners. You know how those batshit insane 9/11 truthers claim that Flight 93 was replaced by the pod-people equivalent of airplanes? They were going to do just that, with one lucky airline flight! Congratulations! And then, they were going to have this airplane pretend it was under attack by MiGs, providing more of a Cassus Belli than we already needed. Seriously guys, we were good at this point.

The pilot would fake ditch into the seas after this fictitious engagement, sending out a mayday before flying back to Homestead AFB, cackling maniacally while an effin’ submarine– probably crewed by the Joint Chiefs themselves- dispersed airplane parts all over the sea.

So, that was the plan. Imagine the scenario in the first paragraph again, but this time my grandfather has to pick out the real bad guys amidst a bunch of bad guys dressed as good guys, and he’s being helped out by Chuck Norris and a prodigious amount of tanks and guys with ammo belts and machine guns.

And how, do tell, did The Man, John F. Kennedy, react to all this? Oh, that’s right, you didn’t know it went all the way up to him, did you? Had someone else been in office, we all might be reading this tattooed onto a mutant’s face right now. But Kennedy said something along the lines of “Fuck that shit!” and fired General Thunderbolt Ross- er, I mean, General Lyman Lemnitzer and rejected the plan firmly. But joke’s on him; Lemnitzer went on to become Supreme Allied Commander of motherfucking NATO the next year, an achievement I liken to a serial murderer who targets young children exclusively becoming governor of Texas.