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This is a question Conspiracy theory nutters

I keep getting collared by a bloke who says that the war in Afghanistan is a cover for our Illuminati Freemason Shapeshifting Lizard masters to corner the market in mind-bending drugs. "It's true," he says, "I heard it on TalkSport". Tell us your stories of encounters with tinfoil hatters.

Thanks to Davros' Granddad

(, Thu 27 Aug 2009, 13:52)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

How's this for a conspiracy theory?
Let's say you meet a man, and you fall in love. Let's call this man Paul (name not changed to protect the innocent). Let's say he's a little "cuckoo". You suddenly, and unexpectedly, break up in April, him saying he bumped into his ex and was still in love with her. You both still love each other though, and keep sleeping together for 3 months, in fact pretty much get back together, until you realise the stress is making you miserable so you end things, despite the fact he's still begging you for sex ("I can't do without it, and I still love you!"). He comes to visit you as friends, and you keep your distance because you know what he still wants. He leaves, gets very drunk and texts you to say he still loves you. You then move on, and go to the GUM clinic, expecting all to be clear, because, after all, you were both faithful, right? Uhoh. Chlamydia.

Now here's the conspiracy, according to him. It has to be a false positive. It has to be a mix up in the lab. It can't POSSIBLY be him cheating because he would NEVER do a thing like that. It may even be secret NHS staff infecting me in the night with chlamydia to keep their numbers, and their funding up, because he would never, ever, EVER be STUPID enough to cheat on me without a condom and risk my LIFE and my FERTILITY just so he could get some elsewhere.

Oh no? Really? Turns out he'd been sleeping with someone else since April. (Although, just found his twitter and I think January or even earlier now). Told her me and him were over. Took someone else to tell me though, he couldn't be a man and do it. I'm so tempted to tell her that he was sleeping with me for the first 3 months they were together to protect her before he hurts her even more. Stupid thing is, I think all it would do is hurt her and I don't think he'd learn his lesson.

I feel so violated it's almost like I've been raped. Girls, if it's chlamydia, he probably cheated.

Sorry for off topicness, length, depressingness etc but I just needed to get this off my chest.

EDIT: Apologies to anyone who has been raped, I'm sure it's much much worse, but it's the only description I can get close enough to how I feel at the moment. No offence intended.
(, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 11:31, 2 replies)
I've heard that if you WIN QOTW
you get a statue made of yourself in the high internet temple, and you have all your bills paid for you for a year and you get a small country named after yourself. Is this true? It must be! Somebody in a dirty raincoat told me at a bus stop.
(, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 11:25, 3 replies)
Mason man
There's a man who stands in the Strand some mornings opposite Charing Cross. He's usually surrounded by hand-written posters with a name and "killed by the masons" underneath and implying the Royal Family are involved in some sort of cover-up.

No-one stops to listen to him though because he is usually pacing up and down like a caged tiger on angry pills and because he has got himself so worked up that it is absolutely impossible to understand a single word he shouts.
(, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 10:54, 1 reply)
The Masons killed Kennedy you know
Many years ago, when I was a local activist in the Labour Party (all right, I was young and idealistic; the alternative is still worse), one fellow member was Hayley Mills's toyboy. She lived locally and occasionally let us meet in her rather swish house. He had apparently arrived as a mate of her son Crispian from that fuck-awful band Kular Shaker, then got it on with mum.
Anyway, he was forever going off to America to interview people for his forthcoming book on the Kennedy assassination, which would reveal it to be a Masonic plot. Here's how he claimed it happened. One assassin fired from the infamous grassy knoll, another from the overpass bridge in front of the motorcade but the fatal shot was delivered by Kennedy's own driver, William Greer. The wounds formed some sort of shape with Masonic significance.
Having an interest in the case and having come to the mundane conclusion that Oswald did it, I taxed him on the details a bit. How could Greer possibly get away with it? Wouldn't Jackie Kennedy and hundreds of others have seen? She did, but was too terrorised to say anything. What did the Masons have against Kennedy anyway? There was no pattern to the wounds, so what was the significance of the shape? Etc. He was gloriously impervious to it and added for good measure that the Jack the Ripper murders were Masonic too.
Later on they split up and it emerged that he, like Crispian, had some distinctly dodgy right-wing beliefs. Twunt.
(, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 9:28, Reply)
Sadly, I think I may be one.
People seem to be getting thicker, not reading newspapers, and more importantly, not keeping an eye on those we (apparently) choose to run the country on our behalf.

As Jefferson (I think, could have been Lincoln) once said that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance.

And without people watching, we now have RIPA, PACE, more security cameras than you can shake a stick at, apparently more speed cameras than necessary, GCHQ wanting to nosey at our email, you get the idea.

1984 is a work of fiction, but looking from a certain point of view, it seems to have become a manual instead.
(, Thu 3 Sep 2009, 9:09, 3 replies)
Not sure if anybody can dig it up
But there was a nut who posted a 5-page article on how the USA owned isreal or something about 9/11 ON TALK that got god-edited
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 23:23, 2 replies)
My missus
When I moved in with my missus, she confided in me her weird conpiracy theory that Santa doesn't actually exsist. The problem with this mad, unshakeable belief is that her crazy thoughts KEEP SANTA AWAY!

I have to go back to my parent's house to get my presents now...
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 21:40, Reply)
Anyone...
ANYONE who says "I'm not a racist/racialist but..." is a BNP voting, Daily Mail reading, TWUNT!

That's my own conspiracy theory and I'm sticking to it.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 21:32, 2 replies)
Pissed up BNP fuckwit alleges he's victim of a conspiracy!!!
news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/england/london/8234807.stm

"But the ex-Royal Marine, born in Scunthorpe, argued in court that he was the victim of a conspiracy motivated by his political beliefs.

Bailey, who claimed his phone and house were being bugged at the time, said: "I spent 14 years in the Marines and a good part of this working with the security forces - I know how the system operates.

"It adds to my belief it is a conspiracy against me, my party and the indigenous people of this country." "

What a cock.

e2a: should prolly be in /links, but seemed more relevant here :)
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 21:25, Reply)
It's all true
About 5 year ago I drove alone through Saudi Arabia on a transit visa, taking the ferry from Sudan to Jeddah and then driving north into Jordan, and eventually Syria when I persuaded them that I wasn’t actually British (but that’s another story)

As some of you might know from my ‘Africa Bore’ posts, I’ve managed to get around in my subtly kitted out yellow Land Rover, and I’m pretty good at observing basic precautions when I’m in strange places where the locals aren’t used to the concept of ‘travellers’. Don’t get me wrong – people are hugely hospitable on the whole, and Islamic countries take the concept pretty seriously and were very welcoming if a little puzzled. Even so, I stuck to a routine when it came to stopping for the night regardless of where I found myself, and this night was no different.

A while before dusk I checked that there were no other vehicles anywhere on the straight, shiny tarmac road cutting through the desert. Easy to do as there was bugger all traffic, but even so I pulled over, climbed onto my roof and had a good scan – absolutely nothing.

Then I turned off the road and followed a track that I hoped might lead to either a village or possibly a bedou encampment – either way if you know the rules of hospitality this is the safest option. I kept the speed down so as not to raise dust, and as I lost sight of the road I again checked to make sure I hadn’t been seen. Then I drove for about 10km through barren desert until I came to a small plantation run by a friendly bloke for Bangladesh who welcomed me into his home. This was perfect – no mobile signal, phone lines (or power), and no technology like satphones, just a battery radio for entertainment. I was pretty sure I wasn’t likely to be bothered, and I had a friendly soul who I shared dinner and a nice cuppa with, although we only had half a dozen words in common. Come 8:30pm I’m tucked up in my roof tent above the Land Rover fast asleep.

I wake up to the sound of two 4x4s labouring up the track. It’s 11pm. Not good news. I threw on my clothing and boots and was trying to figure out whether to scarper, but the desert was criss-crossed with wadis, and I’d have had to use my lights to find a path, so I figured it better to stay put. Half a dozen blokes got out of the vehicles and after exchanging greetings one who spoke English asked me if I was in trouble. To cut a long story short, they offered me help; the offered to put me up in a hotel courtesy of the local Sheik, they even offered me money. It was only when I thanked them for their kind offers and explained that like the Bedou my home was my tent that the left me to spend a restless night imaging sounds in the desert (and let me tell you – deserts are soooo quiet)

So the point of the story? I’ve spent the last 5 years trying to figure out how the feck they knew where to find me, and I still have absolutely no idea.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 18:15, 4 replies)
It's true and it makes me sad
The short version: I know for a fact that nothing you do or say is secure these days and you have no way of knowing who is watching.

I'd strongly suggest voting for the pirate party before they get taken down.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 17:49, Reply)
In the pub last night my mate Ian explained that sperm is ‘intelligent’...
...and each and every one has – for want of a better word – a soul.

To make sure the poor little buggers don’t suffer before landing on the kleenex or dirty sock he has stashed under his bed, Ian explained he always grabs hold of his cock really hard when he’s about to shoot his load. Confused, I asked why he uses this quite possibly dangerous mastabatory technique. Ian explained the extra-firm grip on his beef baton killed every single one of his army of little white warriors, strangling them before they spurted out his japs eye. Apparently this is the kindest way to treat your bollock-dollop.

As Ian’s last girlfriend probably said: this was pretty hard to swallow. Desperate to change the conversation, I asked Ian if he could get the next round of beerski’s in as I’d been paying for the both of us all night. Ian said he was skint although I know for a fact he earns more than I do and is just generally a bit of a cunt when it comes to spending money.

I drained the dregs from my pint glass. “You know what you are, Ian," Ian looked up at me and shrugged. "You’re a self confessed tight fisted wanker, mate.”
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 17:27, 1 reply)
E-mail sent to me a while back ....



History Mystery

Have a history teacher explain this----- if they can.

Abraham Lincoln was elected to Congress in 1846.
John F. Kennedy was elected to Congress in 1946.

Abraham Lincoln was elected President in 1860.
John F. Kennedy was elected President in 1960.

Both were particularly concerned with civil rights.
Both wives lost their children while living in the White House.

Both Presidents were shot on a Friday.
Both Presidents were shot in the head

Now it gets really weird.

Lincoln 's secretary was named Kennedy.
Kennedy's Secretary was named Lincoln .

Both were assassinated by Southerners.
Both were succeeded by Southerners named Johnson.

Andrew Johnson, who succeeded Lincoln , was born in 1808.
Lyndon Johnson, who succeeded Kennedy, was born in 1908.



John Wilkes Booth, who assassinated Lincoln , was born in 1839.
Lee Harvey Oswald, who assassinated Kennedy, was born in 1939.



Both assassins were known by their three names.
Both names are composed of fifteen letters.

Now hang on to your seat.

Lincoln was shot at the theatre named 'Ford.'
Kennedy was shot in a car called ' Lincoln ' made by 'Ford.'

Lincoln was shot in a theatre and his assassin ran and hid in a warehouse.
Kennedy was shot from a warehouse and his assassin ran and hid in a theatre.

Booth and Oswald were assassinated before their trials.

And here's the kicker...

A week before Lincoln was shot, he was in Monroe , Maryland
A week before Kennedy was shot, he was with Marilyn Monroe.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 16:58, 9 replies)
I love a good conspiracy...
Tehre is a lot about 9-11 that just doesnt' ring true - mainly the fact that a building that big, built that way would not drop straight down as it collapsed, unless assisted - when you pull enough blocks out of the side of a Jenga game tower, it falls over, it doesn't collapse in a neat heap, missing everythign around it. The Who and why...well, I think Bush and Cheney are up to their necks in it, what with the ties to Bni Laden's family that Bush has, but hey, what do I know?

The odds are we'll never know, as even if Bush was guilty as sin, there's no way the US will ever admit is, even fifty years down the line when secrecy acts are no longer in place - after all, how could a culture that is based on a delusional self-belief that they are better than everyone else (and that everyone wishes to be like them) ever admit that the leader they elected - not once, but twice - was in fact a self-centred, greedy, amoral, corrupt, murdering piece of garbage? Hell, they'd rather believe he was mentally sub-normal as at least they can fool themselves that he did his best and meant well.

Other conspiracies I've heard of:

1) There is a huge RAF base underground in Guildford that has the entire Lockerbie 747 rebuilt in it, as it wasn't a bomb, it was a UFO collision...

2) There's a vial in Portland Down that contains a Doomsday bacteria that consumes oxygen at an almost infinte rate - in the event of Nuclear war, the British Government would release it to end all life on Earth (aside from that inside the oxygen-rich sealed bunkers that the UK government would be in) - the bacteria would then die and repopulation would begin. Only problem is that they can't kill the bacteria without opening the vial and they can't open it without ending the world...

3) AIDS was created by South African scientists looking for a way to eradicate the "lesser negroid race" - the experimental chimps broke out of the lab and escaped into the countryside - once they had bitten/been shabged by/been eaten by the natives, the rest is history...

4) The government is deliverately lowering edication standrads and criminalising the populace (by ensuring everyone has at least a speeding ticket or parking fine, despite the illegality of the way they are enforced), so that they can claim that any objection to their rule is being raised by a thick untrustworthy thief, so can be ignored and thus impose their ideas and policies without question... (sadly, there is a warped logic to this).

5) If the price of oil in the US rises so that Petrol is more than $1.50 a gallon, they shoot the President as this is the extent the US citizenry will put up with fuel increases limiting their self-deluded consumption of resources and desire to convince themselves of "The American Way Of Life"...

There are many more - not that I believe them, but I have had some "great" conversations in the Pub with various drunkards!
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 16:24, 14 replies)
Hitchiking is always fun
Me and a pal were picked up once by a self-described "dark Christian". Maybe he stalked the streets at night, hunting criminals, plucking out eyes or turning cheeks.

He felt that it was a conspiracy that the meaning of the word "gay" had changed from "deliriously happy" to "bumsexual.

He felt the dark spirits of Milosevic and Pinochet pass over him when they died.

He felt that Octavia was a good name for a car.

He didn't say "WAKE UP SHEEPLE", sadly.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 14:58, Reply)
Having set up my own business
That could be doing better 15 months in I am beginning to think that my prospective clients are all conspiring against me not to buy our services. Boo Hoo.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 14:37, 2 replies)
I was drinking lastnight
Vodka, Beer, Ricekrispies the usual BUT FO RSOME reason i'm still bladdered now.
Thye planned this
Bastards
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 14:14, Reply)
Another one of my "Crazy Friends"
An old school chum of mine, Pete shall we say (for tis his name), was thoroughly convinced that the only reason that Britain didnt float away from mainland Europe was because the Channel Tunnel kept us anchored to France...

He was a fair few sandwiches, Jammie Dodgers and a flask of tea short of a picnic.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 13:55, 4 replies)
A nefarious, shady arm of the Government is attempting to put a black mark against my name and possibly rob me of my liberty
And I’m innocent! I swear, if I knew she was an undercover police officer I would’ve never asked how much she charged to let me take her up the dirtbox (no rubber). Apparently “I thought she was a prostitute.” is no defense in this damn country.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 13:10, 5 replies)
Cancer is a good cure for racism
It worked for Jade Goody.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 13:01, Reply)
I have yet to see ONE shred of evidence
That Alex Jones* doesn't work for the government.

*A GOD to a lot of conspiracy theory nutters.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 12:57, 6 replies)
[Pearoast] Calling occupants of interplanetary craft
[Posted this one a while back in the 'Family Holidays' qotw, thought it would fit quite well here]

First off: yeah, it's long -- read it or don't. Also: no it's not entirely on-topic -- so sue me. Finally: yeah, it's true.

I'm 16, heading towards A Levels and in order to improve my French my parents decide that I should spend some time there with a French family. Being short of cash and somewhat lazy, they decide to avoid the costly and time-consuming process of going through some sort of organised exchange service, opting instead to ask around to see if anyone they know might know someone who knows someone...

Et voila! Our next-door neighbours happen to know a family who live in the south of France, who have a similarly-aged son who'd benefit from some time in Blighty. The deal is done, although strangely with no direct contact -- they don't have a 'phone so it's all day indirectly through friends. I know literally nothing about them beyond the son's name. I don't even have their address.

The time comes, my parents accompany me to the station and stick me on a train with 250 francs (about £25) in my pocket and a ticket to Spain -- for some reason they're to meet me on the bull-hating side of the Franco/Spanish border. It's an uneventful journey to Paris, but things start to go wrong when I try to get from Gare du Nord to Gare d'Austerlitz. The 250F was intended to pay for a taxi across town (my mother deciding that the Metro was too dangerous to negotiate alone) but I quickly find that it's nowhere near enough to pay for such a journey unless I want to risk my life, possessions and/or possibly my anal integrity to a dodgy-looking Moroccan gent who accosts me while standing in the taxi rank queue. I don't.

Back in the Gare du Nord I begin to investigate the Metro. First of all I'm completely unable to find the ticket office, my pathetic O-level French failing at even this most basic of tasks. The metro station is a maze, and each person I ask gives me a completely different set of utterly incomprehensible instructions. When I do finally find a ticket office, the babbling goon behind the desk flat out refuses to make change from the 200F bank note I offer him.

I'm beginning to get a little nervous -- time is getting short. Finally I find a ticket office where somebody actually consents to sell me a ticket, then on my way to the platform, I'm accosted by an English-speaking woman who needs to find a map of the metro system. I happen to know where this is (having recently explored every inch of the place) and in return for my help, she gives me one of her metro tickets. Thanks lady, you're about an hour late.

I arrive at Gare d'Austerlitz with less than ten minutes to spare. Giving up on my French I simply walk up to every uniformed figure until I find one that speaks decent enough English to tell me which platform I need. I run. I find my train. I get on and look for my reserved seat. There's someone in it. I am perplexed. Not wanting to cause a scene, I find a guard and somehow make myself understood. He shakes his head: the reserved seat was for Calais-Paris. I have no reserved seat for this leg of the journey. And every single seat on the train is full. I resign myself to the prospect of spending the next twelve hours (i.e. through the night) sitting on my bag in the corridor.

Luckily, a friendly lady takes pity on me and lets me have the seat that one of her two children should be sitting in, only he's sitting in her lap. Said child then falls asleep across my lap, and I'm so worried about waking him up that I don't move for the remainder of the journey. Neither can I sleep: the train is full to bursting, it's hot and everyone is sweltering, even through the night.

We finally roll into Portbou the following morning, and I'm met at the station by a couple who I assume to be the parents of the family I'm to be staying with. I've had nothing to eat or drink in 24 hours: they hand me a dry croissant to munch on as we career at insane speeds along twisty coastal roads, back towards France. It's fortunate that I no longer suffer from the carsickness that I mentioned in an earlier post.

We arrive at a nondescript house in the suburbs of Perpignan. It's still morning but already horribly hot. Not having slept in over 24 hours, I'm looking forward to being shown my room, so I can crash out for a while. But it's not to be: as we walk through the door I'm greeted by a great crowd of people -- I have no idea how many -- all smiling and friendly, and in many cases barely clothed. There's a LOT of flesh on display, some of it belonging to some delightfully-proportioned young females, and even some bits that until that point I hadn't witnessed outside the pages of Razzle. My eyes are out on stalks. I think I must be hallucinating from lack of sleep/food/drink.

We're barely in the door when I'm ushered out again, back into the car and off we go -- once again over the border to Spain, where we're going to a restaurant for lunch. In spite of my hunger I'm frankly revolted by the food that's offered -- I have no idea what it was but suspect it was intestinal -- so decline and instead go for a walk along the adjacent beach: more naked flesh to ogle. Bargain!

The others gradually emerge after gorging themselves on garlic-stuffed tripe or whatever, and gather around in a group in a shady spot beneath some trees. I wander over to talk to the woman who (I correctly guessed) is the mother of the lad I'm to exchange with. He's just arrived, and we're introduced: his name is Ramuel. He is handsome, muscled, tanned and cool -- he sports of mohican (this is the 80s, ok?) and struts around like he has balls the size of coconuts.

In short, he is everything that I'm not. We have absolutely nothing in common, and his English is no better than my French so we could hardly communicate even if we did. I dislike him immediately and it's clear that he feels the same way.

And this is where it all started to get a bit weird.

We're called over to join the main group, who are now standing in a large circle. I'm made to understand the we should all hold hands and close our eyes, so I join the circle and do so. A very large, pot-bellied, intensely hairy man begins to talk in French. He drones on for a very long time. I don't understand a single word, but I'm sleepy, his voice is very calming and I feel very relaxed. By the end I'm nicely chilled. The mother calls me over and in broken English, she explains what has just happened.

First of all, the man I had assumed was her husband, was not. In fact, her husband is currently on a book tour of Canada. His name is Claude Vorilhon, and the book he's selling is all about the religious movement he founded -- Raelianism. For those of you who've never heard of it, the Raelian movement came about when he (Vorilhon, or Rael as he later styled himself) happened to be walking on a mountain one day, carrying a copy of the Bible (as you do). There he found a space ship, and in it some extra-terrestrials who told him (taken from Wikipedia):

"...every life form on Earth was created by advanced human scientists from another planet with 25,000 years of scientific advances who, according to Raelians were originally called Elohim or "those who came from the sky", and that some forty prophets in Earth's history were sent by Elohim whose messages were misunderstood and distorted by humans, largely because of the difference in the level of scientific understanding between the advanced race and our primitive one."

All the people at the house and now gathered around were members of this group/cult/religion (whatever). The group hand-holding had been an attempt to telepathically contact these aliens and summon them.

No, really.

Looking back on it now, I wonder at my equanimity upon having this related to me by an otherwise apparently sane adult. Perhaps it was that I was already spaced-out from the sleep deprivation, the hunger and the heat. It didn't seem in the least bit odd, and unbelievably I didn't even have the faintest urge to laugh at her. Which, by rights, is exactly what I should have done.

At this point I'm whisked off again, this time to a small airport where a pretty young thing of about my age is due to fly off somewhere with her father. Strange to report, in the hour or so we spend in the back seat of the car and then a hot airport waiting room, we fall in love. We barely speak, just smile at each other. I can't break eye contact, and we hold hands as we cross the tarmac to her father's Cessna. She flies off. I never see her again.

Heat/hunger/tiredness/horniness? Possibly. I can remember her face to this day.

The next week I'm given further insight into the Raelian movement, and do my best to take it seriously. There's a lot of group meditation which is genuinely quite relaxing, as long as you ignore the fact that the others think they're communing with the Elohim. One day we go to see the Dali museum (I later learned that he was there at the time, dying slowly in a small room in one of the towers). Another day I sunburn my feet (painful), somehow end up having to walk five miles in espadrilles (excruciating), then arrive at the house to find all the (middle-aged, overweight) menfolk sat around the kitchen table, stark bollock naked to a man, playing cards. I decline to join them, and head to bed.

But frankly, most of the time is spent lying around by the swimming pool, ogling scantily-clad young things while trying to a) not be seen to be ogling and b) not get a stiffy. Apparently free love is part of the religion (it's true -- look it up!) but alas I don't get any -- apart from being crushingly shy I'm also horrifically unattractive, especially compared to the various other bronzed hunks about the place. Ramuel basically ignores me.

At the end of the week, it's time for us to head for the green and pleasant land. Ramuel is less than happy, and who could blame him, when he's leaving behind sun and sex for a grey, cold English summer? We have an interesting time when we're stopped by armed border guards at Calais -- it turns out he's only 15, and you can't travel on a French ID card if you're under 16 unless you have written permission from your parents. And his mother can't be contacted because she has no 'phone. Somehow we managed to track her down, and were allowed on our way.

Ramuel was miserable for the entire week and bizarrely, ate nothing but apples. My sister fell in love with him. I gave up trying to entertain him and just left him to mope until the time came for him to return home. Needless to say, we didn't keep in touch.

To this day, I find the whole thing rather surreal. And the Realians turn out to be even more bizarre than the above story might suggest -- like, remember that group who claimed a few years back that they'd cloned a human? That was them. Great fun story to tell the kids, though.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 12:42, 1 reply)
"jews are responsible for 9/11 and 'synagogue' is a stupid word"
yeah you've prob herd the idiotic claim that jews were responsible for 9/11. well my story go's:

(move to next story if you can't be arsed to read through length)

a few years ago i was down on my luck and desperately needed a place to stay, i was in a situation where beggars can't be choosers so i found some dump on gumtree. after moving in i quickly learned that the internet is the 2nd best place to meet nutters (1st being public transport).

i moved in with this nuttie polish woman (blonde hair, blue eyes) who claimed to be a muslim without actually knowing much about the religion in general. i think she was seeing some asian chap who worked as a kwik-save monkey, he was equally as thick and plebby as her.

one day they both asked me to show them my pictures of prague. upon viewing the photo of the synagogue they unleashed the most juvenile rants about how jews shouldn't be in isreal etc, "fuck them fuckin' jews', even making the ridiculous arguments that "jews surely can't be taken seriously" when they use "stupid" words such as 'synagogue'.

i prob should have left at that point but i questioned them on why they think such idiotic things, they're answer was that apparently the jews are responsible for 9/11, naturally i asked how they came to such a conclusion...

"because no jews were killed on 9/11"

well no disabled people were killed on 7/7 either but it's hardly a reason to go on a mong hunt! having grown tired of conversation/company i decided to leave, before i stood up the asian chap giggled again childishly about how 'synagogue' was a "stupid word". seizing the moment i made a comment which shut them up:

"by the way... i'm jewish"

"oh, sorry" was both their replies as they looked to the floor sheepishly, knowing they've made a prat of them selves.


* i'm not actually jewish
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 12:31, 1 reply)
Fun House
My mate had a theory about the popular children's television program Fun House, which revolved a lot around the mullet happy host Pat Sharp. He believed the following was happening on the show:

- The ‘Twins’ were in fact Pat’s daughters. That’s right, those two little blonde haired minxes were the offspring of Pat Sharp. He had in written into his contract that the Twins must always be on the show, as their good looks helped attract a larger audience, and, more importantly, a constant stream of contestants.

- The contestants would never actually leave the Fun House after the show had been filmed. Instead, they would be coaxed by the Twins into a basement underneath the apparatus of the final round, with party rings, ice cream and jam sandwiches. Once there, they would be subjected to a variety of tests carried out by the government, because Pat Sharp was in fact working for the government. They used Pat’s friendly, sometimes wacky nature, to its full extent.

- These tests included seeing how the children responded to violent films and computer games. They were also used to test make-up products and the Twins would apply heavy lipstick and mascara to the children to see if the products were safe for human use. The children were told that this was still part of the Fun house and that by completing the tasks, they could win their family a luxury holiday. They were made to pen letters to home stating that they had gone on the run and for the family not to look for them. Pat Sharp would stand over the children with a large baton in his hand whilst they did this.

- The tokens collected on the go-kart round were heavily coated in a sedative. As the young contestants inhaled the fumes from the tokens, they would grow weary and thus, would be easier to manipulate.

- Pat’s famous mullet concealed a secret flap on the top of his forehead, in which he kept a gun, secret government files and a bag of liquorice allsorts. If the twins ever stepped out of line, he would give them a sweet to make them behave. He had brainwashed them so that they believed what they were doing to the children was right. Sometimes, he would rent the Twins out as entertainers at childrens’ parties, but this was just so that the government could gain inside knowledge of more children.

- Before the show started, the theme song was played to the contestants over and over again. On the line ‘it’s a real crazy show, where anything can go’ – the volume was put right up so that the children started to believe anything could happen on Fun House. Also, when in the secret basement, Pat would gently whisper ‘Use your body and you brain if you wanna play the game’ repeatedly to the Twins, whilst running his fingers though his mullet. This was just for his own amusement.

So, there you have it. Fun House was in fact a government trap which was used to gain extra information about how the children of the country responded to various things.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 10:01, 8 replies)
Angry Conspiracy nuts
I run an Australian forum. I do it as a hobby and have been doing it since the year 2000.

A few months ago a conspiracy nutter came to my site to pimp his book which claimed that nuclear bombs where used to destroy the twin towers and were also used in the Bali Bombings. These were special nukes. Ones that made no blast wave or left any radiation.
Now my site is full of geeks. Heavy on the science and very vocal on their opinions. Of course they all offered their opinions on this theory and a flame war started.

Being a busy site and me being a lazy boy I didn't notice it was going on until the conspiracy nutters posted a threat of legal action in the thread. Of course this just ramped up the flamewar. Eventually a moderator brought it to my attention and the thread was closed and the nutters banned from the site. I honestly through they where trolls considering none used the contact links to report any problems or send their legal threats.

Big mistake.

Seems this just made them madder. A few days later I got a letter from a lawyer demanding the thread be removed. Which I did. But regardless, now they are suing me for $42.5 million. No, I'm not joking. $42.5 million freaking dollars. We've had two court appearances so far, they tried to have the site closed by court order even though the material is removed and they've even put in a trademark application on my sites name to force it to close.

The reason they are suing me is because they had a mysterious Russian man funding a documentary they were going to make about the book. And according to them, a comment on my site caused the mysterious backer to pull out. Mind you, the same comment was also posted on two other forums and on their own blog (which still remains) by a person they’d pissed off.

So basically. If you do come across one of these nutters. Be careful, if you need further proof that this isn’t bullshit then go www.zgeek.com/index.php?page=legal I promise you I’m not making this up!
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 3:54, 35 replies)
oooooooooo
ever noticed how in lifts, the 9 is either directly about or below the 11???? Lift manufacturers are all terrorists...

The fact that there is only one monopoly commission?

My favorite... Stephen hawkins is not intellegent, he has been programmed that way by Bill Gates...
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 3:40, 6 replies)
Channel Ten and Coke.
I was on the bus with my missus. Its never boring with her, she is a very attractive young lady, but for some reason seems to attract the strangest of people to her.

Anyway, we sat near the back, and a gentleman, a fairly normal looking, regular guy, got on behind us. he was carrying a large sports bag. We heard the zip go, and my missus felt a tap on her shoulder. "Excuse me young lady, have a can of coke" i looked round, and he was indeed offering her a can of coke. From his sports bag which was full of...cans of coke. Regular coke. (not diet). She said no thank you, and mentioned that he was a bit of a fan of the stuff. His reply is still with me today. "i hate the stuff. but its the only thing stopping Channel ten (tv station in oz) reading my mind and broadcasting what im thinking on the news..."

My lovely lady immediatly faced front, rolling her eyes. i couldnt help myself though. I asked why. He believed the sugar content fuzzed up the signals. He offered me a can, i said no, unless he had any diet coke (im not a fatty, i just prefer the taste). He looked at me in disguest. "Not enought suger, i reckon they will be broadcasting your mind next"...

He got off the next stop. I have seen him on buses often enough until recently. I think Channel ten have managed to unscramble his thoughts...
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 3:35, 4 replies)
There's a fine line between stupid and crazy.
I was sitting in a pub, as I suppose most of these stories start.
There was a gentleman (see: nutter) sitting a few over speaking to a lovely (if not the brightest) young lady.
He was lecturing her on the evils of terrorism when suddenly I hear, "They did a study you know. Every terrorist attack of the past 50 years was done by someone of Middle Eastern Descent." All the while this young lady blankly stared and nodded her head.
When he directed an "Am I right?" towards me, I responded with, "What about the unibomber? Ted Kaczynski?" I received a bulletproof, "Well, that's if you believe he did it."

After pointing out Timothy McVeigh and the Oklahoma City Federal Building, I heard an answer that made me reconsider my placement in this pub.

The statement that crossed the line between stupid and crazy?

"That wasn't terrorism. That was the act of a patriot."

I raise my glass to you, Conspiracy Theory Nutter, for making my pub time far more interesting.
(, Wed 2 Sep 2009, 0:22, 1 reply)
this should do it...
the answer
(, Tue 1 Sep 2009, 23:40, 16 replies)
I do believe
That mr-lizard is in fact The Goat. I'd dispute his posts, however being buried under a morasse of text is erm... difficult to deal with.
(, Tue 1 Sep 2009, 23:35, 4 replies)

This question is now closed.

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