“Tell me again, Winston, how Epstein died.”

like spice-crazed zombies, we’ll eat the face off our fellow man if he dares deviate from the Party line

So, the Federal Investigative Bureau (aka FIB) is on the case! Nothing to fear. We’ll get our man. Our man, having succumbed to the vicissitudes of self slaughter in the most lugubrious short-sheeted kinda way, being, it appears from the leaked photos on the gurney, having already been got.

Don’t you dare to connect dots or question authority cuz then that’s what’s called CONSPIRACY THEORY. You wouldn’t want to be saddled with that most insalubrious pejorative, now would you.

Has it ever been more apparent that there is an actual Matrix of concurrent-but-separate realities that quotidian existence is predicated on? That the Epstein Suicide story, with all its contradictions and unbelievable coincidences, would even be attempted to be passed off by the pied pipers of the mainstream press is itself a good example of just how far apart the two realities have become.

The attempt to create another media-driven consensus gentium (ie if enough people believe it, it must be true) smacks of going to the well once too often. The lie is sofa king apparent. Though it’s not surprising it would be reported straight faced by ‘trusted’ sources in the MSM just as the powers-that-be would have it, it’s more terrifying to know they can piss in our face and call it rain and we’ll take the piss and, albeit despondently, call it rain. We’ve known the gas lighting has been gas lighting for so long now and they’ve known we know it too and have yet to do a damn thing about it that they don’t even bother to sell the lie with anything but words that have no relation to the facts on the ground. Epstein killed himself today. Trust me. I’ve got a journalism degree and blindingly white veneers.

The Government / Media complex has lost all credibility, which has long been an illusion anyway. We have abdicated the right to rule ourselves here in America for a handful of fairy dust and ephemeral things. The piper’s called the tune of diversity baked in with the hyphenated guarantee of division. Most of us have already donned the face cage voluntarily, and, coincidentally, we’re also the rats inside the cage.