Usually, I get one good nutjob a week. They waddle in, regale me with their conspiracy theories, then leave to do whatever it is they do when they’re not holed up in a makeshift Faraday cage somewhere.
Today, I had three before lunch. I checked: it’s not a full moon. So what gives?
The first mentioned that DHS put in a large order of ammunition, “like a million rounds or something.” A rational person would say, “OK. We’re going into the 4th quarter of the fiscal year.”
Well, that’s what a rational person would say. This guy? Noooo. He claimed it was to be to used on “sovereign American-born citizens who will one day stand up for their rights and refuse to lie down any more.” I got that part verbatim because I was so bored with the conversation I actually wrote it down.
I hadn’t even had my coffee before another guy came in railing about FEMA camps and bath salts. Apparently, bath salts have replaced flash mobs as the new source of unease. He suggested that we arm ourselves with .308 at the very least so we can be sure to penetrate body armor and…oh, look who I just stopped listening to.
Weirdo #3 opened with the generic “Obama’s gonna get our guns” spiel, made slightly less cliché by the suggestion that someday we’d be hiding underground (figuratively or literally, I don’t know) from our oppressors.
So, as far as I can tell, there are two possibilities for the future. The first is that we’re all going to end up like redneck Morlocks, but at least we’ll have our guns. Until we get rickets, or starve to death or something.
The second is that we’re going to be herded off to Rex 84 sites, where we’ll be force-fed bath salts to help us fight the Red Chinese, all while engaging in forced gay marriage.
Am I the Pied Piper of Cranks or something? All I know is, if we end up in internment camps, I’m selling these guys off for cigarettes.
3 thoughts on “I Am a Magnet for Crackpots”
I hope I’m not one of the nutjobs. If I am, don’t spare my feelings, be brutal and tell me.
If you want to be a true crackpot, you’ve got to try harder, man. For starters, insert as many of the following into conversation as possible:
Really, treat it like Mad Libs. Just replace nouns with that stuff at random. If the conversation at hand doesn’t involve these things, it can’t possibly be of any relevance. Therefore, it must be steered forcibly into a consistent, self-perpetuating mythology.
If your friends don’t want to hear it, THEY ARE NOT YOUR FRIENDS. They may have been replaced by INHUMAN DOPPLEGANGERS from the planet Zeta Reticuli, with whom the MK-ULTRA has been in cahoots since 1947. They’ll be cannon fodder for the ILLUMINATI when the END TIMES come. They may be brainwashed into complacency already by the CORPORATE MEDIA, and they’ll most certainly turn on you when the BLACK HELICOPTERS come for you in the night.
It sure sounds socially alienating and exhausting, doesn’t it?
Of course, there’s an alternative. Most of us just live in the real world and take up more rewarding (and relaxing) hobbies.
Don’t forget the government purposefully martyring celebrities who give up their careers to go active duty military. That’ll boost your crank cred.