I confess that I am afflicted with a morbid fascination with conspiracy theories, the more outré the better. So far, I have only written three posts about this Pizzagate-on-steroids farrago of Bircherite paranoia, satanic panic, blood libel, and sexual angst. The conspiracy theory, also known as The Storm, posits that Global Elites, mainly Democrats, Hollywood celebrities, and rootless cosmopolitans are running child trafficking rings for the purposes of pedophilia, cannibalism, and the production of adrenochrome, which is purported to produce super-highs.
Rather than consume coverage of HW's state funeral yesterday, I figured that I'd dive into the fever swamps of right-wing whackaloonery to see how the fringe covered the proceedings... Some members of the QAnon crowd, exemplified by genuinely mentally ill Liz Crokin, believe that this sickly 94 year-old man was executed by a military tribunal in order to cause the elite to assemble in one place for mass arrests/executions... which never materialized. The Q crowd was so hopeful that their December Death Day, D5, would come- they were excited that a charter bus with paper signs reading '5' and 'D' would whisk the evildoers off to a swift execution. Today, after the letdown of Q-waitus interruptus, they are backpedaling, claiming that the 'good guys' raided the homes of funeral attendees, some of them have decided, in true Camping fashion, that they forgot to carry the potato when they divided, so they muffed the date. I expect that the true believers will double down, in a true When Prophecy Fails manner... they really, really want their Pain. I would feel sorry for them if they weren't so damn bloodthirsty- I mean, these people are idiots who believe that Trump's chronic misspellings are coded messages.
Since this topic has the potential to be depressing to people who aren't as sanguine about this sort of lunacy, I figure I should end it with one of my all-time favorite songs, Stuart, by the Dead Milkmen:
It's the perfect distillation of right-wing lunacy- it captures the evangelism, condescension, paranoia, and Dunning-Kruger style self-assurance of the conspiracy theorist. Released in 1988, the song is even more topical these days than it was when it was written.