A Rare Pepe in Clown World

The epic tale of a pot-smoking Bernie Bro turned fist-pumping Trump fan as told by an aging, wannabe hippie -or- How a small collaboration can be the light that saves the World.

Ted Rorschalk2 min ago

Emancipate yourself from mental slavery, none but ourselves can free our minds—Bob Marley

When I saw Trambley waving his freak flag high, I knew I’d found someone who knew, as did I (type adjacent to the narrator of Jorge Luis Borges’s prophetic story, Tlon, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius) that soon, without an immediate intervention, our world would be Clown.

I owe the discovery of this one-man rally machine to the conjunction of his high-energy and a flag emblazoned by a frog with a red clown nose and rainbow-colored hair.

During our Albuquerque Freedom Fighter group’s weekly protests we’ll stand on the corner with signs of varying degrees of Let’s Go Brandon!, my new one, BE BOLD AS LOVE, NOT RULED BY FEAR, somewhere in the neighborhood of negative numbers in degrees to that coded Clown World exhortation. In other words, nowhere near it, though, hilariously, I still get plenty of middle fingers and Fuck Trump’s from the pre-programmed hate brains of the NPCs cruising by in their Nissan Ultimas with none of them even attempting to live up to their dumb virtue signaling bumper stickers, COEXIST.

We’re an eclectic bunch of Trump Nuts, Sovereign Citizens, Closeted Hippies and Common Sense Communists (with American Characteristics) coming together to raise awareness about the Doctor Evil’s of the world cynical usurpation of freedom that got turned up to 11 right around the time Dr. Fauci’s patented spike proteins were breaking containment in Wuhan…coincidentally, I am sure. Honk, honk!

Taking the thumbs up and the middle fingers in stride, we neither countenance perfect stoicism or become too terribly animated. Imagine my surprise then upon first seeing this guy running up and down the sidewalk exhorting the passing cars with a “We love you!” for every honk. The positive energy made me want to twirl my sign and, maybe, break out some dance moves I’d left to die on the floor of the junior high gymnasium many years gone by.

Thankfully, I didn’t bust a move, but a notion was dancing in my head that day telling me I had to get to now this man better; a notion that became an imperative after he swapped out his American flag for the enigmatic banner of Clown World.

Freakin’ Clown World!: a concept that I had been turning over ever since it had emerged as a counterforce against the pre-planned covid crisis that had accelerated the rate at which We the People were being groomed to accept a kazoo chorus of total insanity so overwhelming that, eventually, we’d be more than happy to own nothing, live in pods and eat ze bugs.

I introduced myself and then, nodding at his flag, exclaimed, “Clown World!”

“You know it,” he smiled back. “But we’re gonna change it!”

Those who do not know their Clown World are doomed to live in it—Jason Trambley

I confess the photo caption is not a direct quote, but an intuitive interpretation. What Trambley actually said, as we talked over paper plates of food at a local Taco Cabana, was, “Once you wake up, you never go back to sleep.”

We had gotten a bite after a Tuesday night rally. I’d wanted to interview him for an article ever since he’d broken out his Clown World flag. His mention of waking up made me think of the film The Matrix when, after the opening credits, a mysterious command is typed across our hero Neo’s computer screen, followed by a confounding declaration and an enigmatic call to action.

Thanks to Trambley’s observation, I had made a connection that reinforced the rightness of the wrongness that had become a constant worry, taking up residence in my gut for so long then that it had become more nuisance friend that I might actually miss were it ever to stop tickling my innards. Noticeable since around the turn of the century around he time the elite ventriloquist’s dummy Al Gore leveraged a drowning polar bear to win an Academy Award, and a lifelong sinecure as a jet setting snake oil salesmen, with the propagandist film An Inconvenient Truth about the Global Warming doom looming directly before us if we didn’t abolish our reliance on fossil fuels, with CO2 in the role of nebulous invisible boogeyman that would consume us all in fiery hell of our own making if we didn’t repent, and bow at the alter/cash register of carbon credit dispensation to prove our unspotted virtue by happily, ecstatically even, paying through the nose for someone else to, it was alleged, plant trees on our behalf.

“Honk honk,” Trambley onomatopoeiad when I asked what Clown World meant to him.

Here here! Honk, honk indeed.

Way before the global elites dropped the MOAB of Covid upon a population primed for their Great Reset, the minefield had already been boobytrapped by myriad trained Marxists (ie ugly though, unfortunately for the World, smart virgins [just look at that photo of the walking birth control device Antonio Gramsci and tell me it ain’t so] who took out their sexual frustrations by plotting ways to ruin whole societies with their nightmarish and deadly Utopian dreams) dissembling in their damnable subterranean think tanks and secret enclaves for generations, dreaming up ways to trick us into foisting ourselves onto our own petards; our mixed up, messed up, muddled minds set to go kerplooey at the slightest detonation.

And transform societal consciousness they did. One of the main facets of the Clown World ethos is being cognizant of the gas lighting machine they’ve run us all through, starting in kindergarten and reinforced ever after in the classes we ostensibly learned in, the razor blades with which we scrape clean our faces, and even the steam extruded, half caf double lattes blessed by a Tibetan Buddhist monk that we buy at the local Starbucks on every corner; all of it codified on Cronkite’s /Rather’s /Brokaw’s/ enter any other Generic Talking Head that you can think of name’s broadcast production of The Nightly News (brought to you by Carl’s Jr. honk honk!, just kidding…brought to you by Pfizer actually[still Honk, honk!]) here. Despite what the self-admitted “trained Matrixsts” leaders of Black Lives Matter and all their minions say about America being a land of systemic racism, the honk honk of it all is that that false belief, as well as many others, is a symptom of the actual disease of systemic gaslighting that America was cast into many generations ago, along with most of the World (see Gramsci’s quote above)

And if you still have doubts about the forced conjunction of Clown World with our own, just look at all the rabbit holes!

JFK Assassination’s officially explained by the Warren Report? Honk honk!

Gulf of Tonkin Incident were no attack took place, just an inexperienced crew shooting at the tops of waves they thought were enemy vessels giving LBJ the excuse he needed to throw another generation into the meat grinder of foreign war for no other reason than he had a big dick and wasn’t afraid to use it, not to mention the insane profits of the war pigs borne by the deaths, both taken and given, by 58,000 American citizens’—ain’t no senators’!—sons. Honk, honk!

“Mission Accomplished,” said George Bush halfway through his reign of terror war that killed millions of Iraqis because Saddam Hussein was supposed to have Weapons of Mass Destruction that were never found that was the lie used to justify the Iraq invasion the U.S. undertook in response to two planes hijacked by Saudi nationals that brought down the Twin Towers and another that destroyed a section of the Pentagon. If by “Mission Accomplished” he meant to destabilize the Middle East so new terror groups would form that could be sold U.S. weapons to fight proxy wars like Saddam Hussein had fought for us against Iran in the 1980s before we killed him twenty years later (because we said he had WMD, which he didn’t, and if he did, we most likely sold to him Honk, honk!), and the total rape of the Middle East also set off a refugee crisis that guarantees a war between Christianity and Islam for the soul of Europe in the not-too-distant future, then old George wasn’t lying. Honk, honk!

9/11 The buildings came down so neatly into their own footprints, just like every other controlled demolition we’d ever seen. The $2.3 trillion Pentagon discrepancy Donald Rumsfeld had to admit to congress the day before it magically disappeared when the missile, ahem, I mean plane exploded the section of the Pentagon where all the records documenting the $2.3 trillion crime were being held, ie they destroyed the evidence. How Convenient! Honk, honk!

Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress, Devil with the blue dress on…Hanging in the pedo pimp to the star’s New York City apartment why? You know it! Honk, honk!

Jeffrey Epstein killed himself, using a roll of Charmin he’d expertly braided into a hangman’s noose, put on like a tie then did a Triple Lindy Double Gainer off the top bunk to create enough torque for the toilet paper to snap his neck. All the 24/7/365 cameras that should have been working didn’t and the guards were tired and fell asleep. An independent coroners report stated the broken bones in his neck were consistent with the injuries suffered by someone who had been strangled to death. Honk, honk!

How much honk honk can one take before they roll up into a ball and cry for their Mommy? Or retreat into their pod to eat the bugs?

But wait, there’s more!

The Strange Case of Hillary Clinton’s Schroedinger’s Cat: Is she innocent or is she guilty? Well, according to the logic of former FBI director and wannabe quantum physics theorist James Comey, she’s both! Yes, she broke the law he proclaimed to a national audience during a press conference right before the 2016 election, then in the same breath added, “But no reasonable prosecutor would take the case”… so we’re going to pretend she never had classified material on that private server she had installed next to her toilet. The part about the prosecutors not prosecuting because they didn’t want to end up on the Clinton Kill List was the part Comey left unsaid. Honk, honk!

LGBTQMIA12BUCKLEMYSHOEAND789: When you’ve gotten to the point in a society where the battle cry for the imperative of wearing useless masks and taking worthless vaccines is “Follow the Soyence” but those same scientism-ists can’t define the terms “woman” or “man,” it might be time to cash out and cut your losses because there’s absolutely nothing left that you can lose. You’ve ascended to the lowest point of peak Clown World. At this point does it even matter if its honks?

It gets to a point where its an everlasting, never ending crescendo of horns, the kind of pandemonium one might hear at the gates of hell heralding the great marche de triomphe of Satan; their predicates as numerous as the stars: The false imprisonment of Julian Assange because he exposed the truth of both sides’ rotten to the core corruption; January 6th protestors turned political prisoners held in perpetual solitary confinement for the misdemeanor of trespassing in the People’s House, a title that should go down as the greatest misnomer in history now that the Capitol building has been shown to be exclusively the den of power mad murderers and thieves; the totally legitimate and not stolen 2020 election where a potato was elected, a potato who couldn’t pull more than 12 socially distanced paid shills to sit through his totally not staged campaign rallies who got the most votes of any other president in history. Honk, honk, honk, honk, honk, honkety, frickin honk!

Trambley’s Clown World point of entry came during the housing crisis/Great Recession of 2008, which also happened to be the year he graduated college. Diploma in hand, all set to make his mark, and then the bottom fell out of the world. His intuition told him there was a dead rat stinking up the place somewhere deep in the details of this mini depression, or, at least, a reasonable facsimile thereof. Dare I say…a derivative? Honk, honk!

It’s so hard to come up with a simple explanation of the financial instrument as it’s called (what, like a tuba?) that was the duck in the jet engine that caused the housing market to crash and burn. It’s a bet on a contract between a borrower and a lender based upon the probability that said borrower will or will not be able to pay the loan back. Huh? And it’s not just limited to some third party gambler’s speculation, but can be extended to 4th, 5th, 6th and so on bettors until you’ve got a veritable Rose Bowl of rummies rolling the dice on whether John Q. will make his next payment or go down in flames. The best I can figure is its pure speculation ultimately based on nothing but some doomed duck’s wing and a prayer. And in 2008 the duct taped and gorilla glued plane finally and violently dropped out of the sky. At least if you weren’t one of them 747 type banks that were “too big to fail.”

Before venturing forth into the belly of this beast any farther, allow me to bring up some of the linguistic tricks and traps that are and have been integral to the furtherance of the New Order (see Gramsci above) cartoon vampires with real Clown World power are betting they can mandate into existence by the power of mere suggestions so they will finally be able to metastasize their baby Cthulus over into our world, fully formed and ravenous, from the other side.

Klaus Schwab, CEO of the World Economic Forum and honorary lizard person will assure you it is in your best interest to “save ze Vorld” by giving up meat to “Eat ze bugs.” And that’s not the worst, er, I mean, Wait! There’s more! In the mean time, want to try a charcoal-covered cockroach?

Presentation. Presentation. Presentation. You don’t say Pro-Death to delineate your stance on abortion. If you make it about the woman and not the baby she is killing, you can call it Pro-Choice. Likewise you don’t call it I’m Pro-Screw-the-whore-mother-I’m-only-for-the-baby, you simply say Pro-life. See how you play the word games? It’s the CARES Act stupid, not a stealth way to normalize your grandpa’s communism, a political system that 120 million lucky people turned statistics were served their annihilation papers by. Nah, nah, nah. After so many oopsie poopsies, Klowz Shvab vill azure you, real communism still has never been tried. No sir! Forget about it. Go buy yourself some ice cream, pay your rent and enjoy your free lunch. Free at last! Free at last! Everything is free at last! Don’t mind the sulfuric stench of the inflation hiding behind the curtain that will reveal its infernal self, most certainly, in its own sweet time. Oh wait, that stinking demon’s Hillary Clinton. By the way, kid, did you ever want to live in Venezuela?

Remember the Maine? Or, more recently the Patriot Act? We’re gonna give those Allahu Akbars the whatfer. You know we’d never take this outsized power grab for granted or use it to spy on our esteemed colleagues across the aisle, much less little old you? You know that, right? What’s wrong, kid? You know it’s called the Patriot Act for a reason don’t you or are you some kind of pinko commie?

See how it works?

Trambley moved on from 2008, voted Obama because McCain. John freaking McCain…he who sent weapons to the “good” head cutters across the Middle East to fight as our proxies against the “bad” ones which we’d, uh, accidentally?, created (see the wild ride of Saddam Hussein).

He also voted Obama because he campaigned on getting rid of the FISA courts, which Trambley suspected section 702 of the act could be used as a loophole to spy on American citizens. But in what world, much less Clown World, do presidential candidates ever keep their campaign promises? According to Trambley that was when the undeniable existence of Clown World really started to set in.

“You never can go back to sleep, once you wake up,” he said, although I’m paraphrasing, interposing the conjoined gerunds that make up the actual sentence in a way so that at least it means the same thing as its stereoisomer somewhere floating in the clouds of text up there.

Faced with the fact you’ve been inoculated by lies so long that base reality can no longer be trusted (the jury’s out on if it ever could), it’s integral you find a new perspective through which to filter reality so that that which no longer makes any sense doesn’t drive you thoroughly and completely bat flip insane. And if you’ve read this far you already know the answer…so shout it out loud!


The secret to the destructive force hovering over the tippie toppest peak of Clown World can be grokked through the meaning of its rainbow-colored hair.

Here ends part 1 of our saga. To be continued… Stay tuned!