WEAPONISED POP-STARS FILE: 027.8 Amy Winehouse: You nearly made it.

AMY THE FREEMASON VAMPIRE SLAYER!

AUGUST 3, 2014  

Martyred Babylonian Princess of Pop: Amy Winehouse, was a secret Freemason vampire-slayer.  

Amy launches into Vampire Freemason attack-mode after spotting a Masonic microwave death ray machine disguised as a camera.

Secret Pop-Princess Amy Winehouse’s incredible secret story can  finally revealed due to the discovery of a secret archive in the Akashic pop-records on the fifteenth floor of astral-focus area 19.

The records reveal that Amy Winehouse was born as a  Babylonian princess living in the Kingdom of Kish late in the 3rd millennium BC. It is believed that Princess A’Mi at this time was living happily until she met a cheeky crack-snake which was hiding from the sun in her palace gardens. The little crack-snake was so pale and poorly looking that she immediately fell in love with it and its crack-stash.

However the magic-crack-snake was not all he appeared to be, and was in fact, their local pagan-God who liked to dress up sometimes and confuse people. However God wasn’t happy that Princess A’Mi had defiled herself with the crack-snake and was so angry that he kicked A’Mi  right out of the palace garden, and far far into the future, way past the middle of next week, the kick was so powerful that the poor Babylonian princess was sent five thousand years into the future.

Epic-Sword-Battles

Amy shows her wounds after a night of Mason punching and swordfighting.

When she came-to in Midge Winehouse's house in North London, she was lonely and sad, but she was still a princess, and a princess is never unhappy for long. She decided to fight the injustice she had suffered at the hands of the magic-crack snake and when she discovered that all magic-crack-snakes are also Freemasons, she realised that this would be her one-purpose in life, and she would also do a bit of singing when she could find the time.

The newly Anglicised Amy often found it difficult to fit her singing career into her busy life as a Freemason vampire slayer, often finding it necessary to cancel concerts at the last minute due to being engaged in epic sword battles against wave upon wave of vampire-Freemasons. It was with a heavy heart that Princess Amy created the media cover of an enfeebled drug-hoover; however it gave her the freedom to cancel gigs and behave violently in public, which was essential if she was to succeed in her sworn mission to wipe out every single Freemason-vampire in the UKniverse.

Amy however was not to remain victorious for long as the Masonic leadership devastated by her sword-skills realised it could no longer meet her in open  battle and began to regroup. They released a specially trained unit of elite-OTO sex-soldiers who attempted to infect Amy with their crazy-juice.  Amy finally succumbed and was led by her untamed smoking-Semitic-princess Mojo into an OTO sex-and drugs ritual which was designed to trap the time-travelling princess forever in a candle.

However the ritual failed due to bad rhythmic drumming and cheap incense and Princess Amy was left more powerful and more drug free than ever. It was then decided in an emergency council of the Freemason Vampires that she instead be rewarded with immediate induction into the 27 club as a mark of respect and so, after being chased for months as Amy desperately attempted to reach 28 and therefore no-longer be a suitable candidate for admission to the 27 club, she was finally cornered in her Camden flat by a bunch of celebrity witches and brutally murdered.

Amy Winehouse was 27 and 312 days: She nearly made it.

Weaponised popstars file 082: POP Goes the Popstar!

The life death and future resurrection of a Pepsi-powered FrankenJesus.

The Pepsi fueled dancing man.

The late King of fizzy pop, Michael Jackson, is once again the centre of controversy as his death has recently been discovered to be one of the greatest occult practical jokes in pop-history. Jackson booked his departure for the 'nether-nether-world' for the first day of the UK’s 2009 Glastonbury ritual, which takes place during the first weekend following the summer-solstice while the sacrificial blood is still fresh on the dewy green grass.

Our researchers have learned that this date was chosen for Jackson’s temporary return to the interzone of possessed fizzy-pop demons as being astrologically propitious as the Stonedhenge portal is fully dilated at this point, and also, it would be a bit of a laugh for the people at Glastonbury who for the first day would assume it was a festival joke. After which it was predicted by Jackson’s occult minders that they would have charged their Dingleberries and all-seeing iPhones and at this point would have been able to confirm the news to be true.

Events unfolded just as predicted and the festival turned into a celebration of Jackson and every kebab shop was ordered by the fishy King of Glastonbury  to play his music whenever anyone fancied some chips. Jackson went on to headline the underworld section of the festival, and performed an astonishing  surprise acoustic set of all his greatest hits at the Deadfield. 

The gig was described as small and intimate as instructions on how to reach the Deadfield had been secretly texted to all members of Michael Jackson's fan-club and Pepsi’s human-research volunteer-list, as well as all those who held shares in Monsanto. 

Apparently the route involved taking a left past the stone-circle walking through towards the copse of cursed oak trees where a witch was killed by festival revelers for selling dodgy 'shrooms at the inaugural Glastonbury festival in 1237. 

Inside the copse was an ice-cream van with special limited access arm-bands which would were given out along with limited edition 'festival exclusive' extra-toxic weaponised cans of Pepsi which allowed access to the underworld and  triggered seizures which gave VIP access to the Deadfield. 

Other performers present at the Deadfield that year included a surprise appearance by Amy Winehouse who performed a low-key gig after her triumph last year on the Pyramid stage. Her surprise appearance in the Deadfield was apparently the result of a heroin overdose, her appearance was just as much a surprise to herself as to the festival revelers. As she came on stage she was heard to mumble 'Ah fuck, looks like I've overloaded the smack-spoon again!' Radiohead also played the Deadfield, just as they do every year. The band Radiohead have been permanent residents of the underworld since signing a special deal in blood at a deserted crossroads just off the M40 outside Oxford.

Michael Jackson is due to return to Earth in the year 2025 when his return will be heralded as a miraculous event and he will be worshiped as the one true-God for the next 10,000 years. After which people will gradually start to lose interest in weaponised soft drinks and their dancing-minion sponsored shenanigans and will at this point progress to the next point in human-evolution, when human DNA is finally liberated from the stunting effect of sugar, phosphoric acid and aspartame.

News from the future. The invention of Freetyping and how Romford teenagers are helping power Quantum Computers.

The science behind the creation of Quantum Computing. 

How our dope fuddled teens' inability to spell properly changed the world forever.

The phenomenon of Freetyping or 3typing, or 3tipin, 3typn or however you feel like spelling it, put an end to words being spelt in one way. In 3thai-pin words are spelt in any one of many varied and incalculable possibilities of ways, and often not necessarily the correct letters, and this generated an unlikely result, namely: the next level in computing. 

The intermittent fast moving stream of poorly spelt Facebook nonsense and Tosser yaps washing around the country create an incredible and varied set of mathematical possibilities. These possibilities manifest an algorithm based on the number of letters of each word and thus the activity of these illiterate young people creates enough of an uncertainty principle, to generate cold Quantum chunks. These chunks power the quantum computers which are now secretly operating within the confines of the top secret department of the top-secret department, right at the top, even of the toppest secrets.

New colloquial forms of English developed on the internet where the spoken language, in this case English, is typed to whatever the writer feels sounds correct. Typing errors are actively encouraged and a lax understanding of syntax and morphology are also much prized amongst the community. Inventiveness is promoted, lauded, and instantly assimilated. There are  no rules so no form of writing is ever consider wrong or illegible despite the textrbearinf lirrlw ro now connection wirh trhe oeignal speakunfg.

                                       Quantum field generator 

The creation of the new language through the apparent random actions of a young teenager from Romford addicted to anything red and with aspirations to marry a footballer, actually generates a quantum flux probability field, which is limited on the one hand by the original thought intentions of the sender and what the reader actually understands. Communication was no longer a binary exchange of information, but it had now become a quantum field generator. Between those two limiting factors a series of algorithms spontaneously sprang into existence as if to restore natural order to human chaos, and it was found that by the very act of creating randomness, a hidden form of fractal order instantly appeared.

The algorithms were found to be stable and work accelerated on the mass production of quantum computers. The beauty is their size. The fact is that they have none. They have no physical component. Quantum computae hide themselves inside an interconnected series of normal computers, their operating systems however are located in the 4th dimension. 

                                           Manipulating reality

The existence of Quantum computing, or 4D computing as it more commonly known, is suspected among the general public but not actually made official. Daily everybody experiences results from 4D computers manipulating their reality, yet they have no understanding of how they operate, despite they themselves and their broader spectra of personal data, being harvested by the social media and fed as raw fuel to power the quantum field.

Quantum computers distinguish themselves from traditional microchip processing by being able to travel in time. A quantum computer’s processor does not actually exist in a physical form, but as a highly energized quantum probability field which can be tapped. Traditional computers are used to host 4D computing only for convenience, the screen and keyboard being present, but a 4D computer can also be manifested by using the components from a television set and an electric egg whisk. 

                                 4D existence with 3D consequences. 

The results of the calculations made by 4D computers are visible to us as ‘present reality’ which is a quantum algorithm. Where traditional computers can make rapid calculations and instantly manifest any ‘2D’ reality, 4D quantum computers make instantaneous calculations and instantly manifest any ‘3D’ reality. The fact that humans created 4D computing is only ‘apparent’ however. 4D computers have always existed and will always exist, the apparent belief that mankind created 4D computing is only a misapprehension as a result of him living in only 3 dimensions.

And so because they are timeless, they can instantly be anywhen and can harvest data from this location in time. It was realized upon the discovery of quantum computing that they merely discovered something that had always been there, but which they had hitherto been unable to interface with.

                                             We want your data!

Now as we know we have a special force of Day Glo Bobbies requesting information and harvesting probabilities 24 hours a day, sometimes during little publicised 'dawn-info raids' carried out without legal authority. The under-discussed ethical issues of quantum computing have received little if any acknowledgement or consideration from the secret scientific establishment who are operating and developing 4D computing, at their semi-secret location somewhere 25 miles underground. Nor are the potentially hazardous effects of reality distortion widely known.

                                               Suddenly ginger!

The very fact of accessing a quantum field creates an observer paradox which creates modifications within the quantum algorithm itself. As a result of this modification, unpredictable results can manifest in people whose data has been used in the generation of said fields. Sometimes personal friends have spontaneous become ginger haired, or changed names, or houses and buildings spontaneously moved several miles or disappeared completely. The concerns for reality as we know it are very grave, but while the world seems to be daily amazed at the apparent 'miracles' which 4D computing has unofficially manifested, and are largely in ignorance to the dangers, dissenting voices are few.

Short story time....

On the threshold he held himself. The reassuring throb of the EM resonator droned on within. He wondered whether he could fully commit himself to the ultimate premise of a quantum universe, did the room and all it contained become ordered only when he opened the door and gazed at it? What was the state of the room now as he stood outside? In what form did the room and its contents exist? Was it like a detuned TV? all white noise and static which flew into familiar shapes and colours when his eyes ordered the cluttered light and chaotic streams flying within? It was all very odd. What a mystery existence is, even to a scientist. Particularly to a scientist,

Finally the door opened, the fluorescent lab lights flickered on. Dr Stapleton flew into the room like something borne on the wind; his white lab coat flapping like wings. He looked at the large metal turbine of the EM resonator with a nervous excitement. He walked over the white tiles to the centre of the room which had predictably settled to its usual quantum order of unwashed coffee cups, bread crusts and hand tissues, all somehow attempting to contradict the white tiles and tables tops of what was supposed to be a sterile environment.

Stapleton pondered again. He supposed it was his curse to be constantly looking at the obvious and mundane and seeking a way to make it much more complicated and inexplicable. This for him, was the key to knowledge, disconnecting from what one thought one already knew, by pretending not to know it. He peered over to the EM resonator and snuck a finger beneath his black rimmed glasses and rubbed his right eye in order to be sure of what he was seeing.

He was always prepared to see the unexpected, even though, he never did. His experiments had never yet broken the mould nor had he discovered anything which was not already common knowledge. His aim was to discover if the electromagnetic activity of an animal brain could somehow be amplified by sympathetic resonance, in order to create a standing wave of thought, or an idea. Which in turn could be used to remotely influence receptors to further augment the wave like a relay station.

Basically he wanted to know if psychic powers could be induced in laboratory conditions. In order to explore this hypothesis he had acquired several mice, and had created a situation where he could be fairly certain of what the mice were thinking, if ‘thinking’ was even the right word for what mice did inside their heads. So he had deprived three of his mice of food for several days, then set up a rather tantalising but scientifically necessary piece of equipment whereby the hungry mice could see and smell the food before them, but were prevented from reaching it by a titanium wire gauze which they could not bite through. He had the EMG scans in their present state in order to calibrate the mice’s hungry thoughts. If this same electroencephalogram scan, could be induced in another, well fed mouse in a separate cage, by means of the electro-magnetic resonator, his experiment would be a success and he would be able to publish his results and await the lucrative top-secret military projects which would no doubt be his next step in his research. He had tried to be ethical, but he was more interested in being very rich and more than a little tempted, by the idea of being a mad scientist bridging the gap between esoteria and hard science.

When most boys dreamed of scoring the winning goal in the world-cup final, Dr Michael Stapleton dreamed of the same football game, except that he was hidden in the crowd with a cunning machine which would incapacitate any opposition player at the touch of a button. A keen a football fan as any boy growing up in the north of England, but one for whom the problem of the England football team’s difficulty in dealing with penalty shoot-outs required solutions which perhaps most people had not considered possible.

Dr Stapleton was of the mind that anything was possible in the universe and there were no limits to what could be achieved; indeed that the laws of the universe and scientific dogma were only products of the time like the movable goal posts of an afternoon playground kick-around. The only thing was to visualise the end result and find a way of getting there. And so, although Dr Stapleton’s priority was no longer ensuring that England win the world cup after finally progressing through a semi-final penalty shoot-out, he was close to being in a position where he could finally make such things a reality.

Stapleton looked at the clock. It was one minute to midnight, but time meant little under the fluorescent lab lights and since the computers never showed any inclination to retire to bed so nor did Stapleton. If he ever felt tired he would always remark at the indefatigable nature of his computer and electrical equipment: always aglow and buzzing with the static of enthusiasm . Electricity never sleeps. He sometimes cursed his human weakness that after only half a day of activity his thought processes would become muddled and slow. After nearly a day of work without sleep he noticed he would start to see things out of the corners of his eyes which weren’t really there but which managed to significantly distract him enough to cease working, after all, if you can no longer trust the empirical evidence of your own eyes then whatever conditions exist at the present time can no longer be considered scientific.

He wondered what was it about the nature of the world he lived in that so taxed the body and the spirit as to require it to shut down every few hours or so. Like a hot cup of tea rapidly cooling on a cool winter morning, something seemed to be drained from him during a day of work. What was this element that the environment sucked from him and required him to recharge during sleep in order to return, piping hot ready for another day? Another experiment for another time he mused.

Though time meant very little in the abstract sense but the quantifiable seconds and minutes of recorded activity and the search for developing patterns of progress from the harvested data were essential. Yet the daily human routines of morning afternoon and night time held little relevance. In fact Stapleton worked better during the hours of night: there was much less superfluous activity taking place in the world around to distract him and also perhaps, in the best traditions of his hero the mad Konrad Dippel, he savoured the hours of darkness as being somehow more conducive to breaking the orthodoxy of the established laws of nature. Though he had more scruples about dissecting animals and doubted Dippel’s claim that it was possible to transmit souls between bodies by using a funnel.

He scrutinized the wavelengths before him, the mice’s hunger appeared to resonate at a frenzied 40 HZ as a Beta wave but the frequency was not matched in the well fed and generally contented fat-mouse. Perhaps the whole experiment was a silly waste-of time. Wishful thinking. Even though thoughts are frequency waves, electrical oscillations of firing neurons what reason did he have to think that another brain would be receptive to them?

As the timeless fluorescent evening wore on into morning he grew tired of testing and retesting the hungry mice and watching the brain scans of the fat mouse. He made himself a large pot of filter coffee in order to keep up with his computer and he started to question whether esoteric phenomenon could even be reproduced in laboratory conditions. This has always been the problem. Despite thousands of years of first hand stories and documented evidence of phenomena which seemed to circumvent the known laws of nature, there was still no place for any of it within the rational materialistic scientific canon of reality. None of it seemed to be available to be produced on demand.

Somehow, the fact of attempting to narrowly observe a subtle phenomenon sent the phenomenon scuttling to subtler dimensions and not being available to post results and produce pie-charts. Stapleton thought of Uri Geller and his remarkable watch stopping antics, which he himself, as a boy watching the BBC experienced first hand during one of Geller’s incredible mass-participation psychic experiments. There was no doubt about it whatsoever, Uri Geller had stopped little Mikey’s Terrahawks watch. At that time he was amazed but not surprised, after all, if miracles are real then most likely they will happen on TV. But later in life he had followed sought to follow Geller’s career and been dismayed at his failure on the James Randi show where a cigarette smoking Randi had produced steel locks and bolts of incredulity which finally scuppered Geller’s access to scientific acceptance. He had the evidence of his own experience and that was still as real as any science bigot's sneering skepticism.

In a fit of pique at a lack of useful results and partly stirred to some kind of rebellion by visions of a fag-bound James Randi’s scorning a superman he decided he had to fight back. In his pique he removed the titanium gauze separating his famished mice from their food. What was he trying to do anyway? Torturing small animals for science? Besides, if he didn’t feed the mice sooner or later they would die and he would need more mice and he may have been a scientist but he was not a heartless man. He would not drive small animals to their very deaths just so he had a complete set of data. Though, as his starving mice were ravenously and joyfully (as their brain scans showed) enjoying their celebratory iftar meal, he wondered if perhaps if he HAD driven them to the edge of death would something of their final desperation have given him the esoteric extra-sensory element he was searching for? Too bad. He wasn’t yet mad or desperate enough to go all-in to the death with small rodents. He would take sensible measurements within reasonable limits, after all, these experiments would one day perhaps be carried out on human beings, but he shuddered as he thought about the military component which would no doubt make him rich, and pondered that they would most likely have fewer ethical scruples over the lives of their human test subjects than had over the lives of his three mice.

So the experiment ruined and Dr Stapleton full of caffeine and in no mood to sleep he started goofing around. He decreased the sensitivity of his EEG equipment and decided to look at his own brain patterns. What does a bored disillusioned scientist’s brain scan look like? What is the magnetic pattern of boredom. In under an hour he had attuned the equipment to measure his magnetic brain responses and sat staring at his computer while feigning a series of emotions ranging from lust to joy from anger to hysteria. He noticed predictable changes in certain areas, with increased electrical activity in certain emotional response centres. Looking at the clock it was 8:01am. Perhaps it was time to rest nevertheless. Just then a strange idea came to him.

He decided to connect the EM resonator to his electroencephalogram headset and see what might happen, if anything.

Stapleton again focussed on an emotion, he decided to think of love, specifically of the platonic kind. He watched the familiar centres of his brain being fired with electricity a shifting sea of blue neuron discharges in the temporal lobe but his focus was interrupted as something seemed to move swiftly in front of him. He jumped with shock. His heart beating wildly as if awakening suddenly from a dream of falling. He looked around, there was nothing of course, he was alone in the laboratory, except for the mice of course. Tiredness? Perhaps. He would run one more test on himself then pack it in.

He chose another emotion, anger, indeed he did feel a certain unfocussed anger at the disturbing hallucination he had just suffered from. He looked again at his computer screen and waited a few seconds to organise his sense of anger. As he did so something jumped out at him causing him to fall from his chair and be scattered in a heap on the floor. This something had filled his whole vision with a shocking suddenness and ferocity. Now he didn’t have to feign emotion: he was scared as a child is afraid of the dark on a late spooky night. His fear now swam in front of his eyes and he heard sounds, uncanny distant sounds which sounded almost animal but were also terrifying human and possessed with some kind of malicious intelligence. His fear rose in pitch in response to the input his senses were receiving and the vision increased in magnitude until he started to see the dark shapes possessed of distorted and terrible faces with glowing eyes. They were moving closer to him, or he was being dragged into them, he did not know which, but he seemed no longer aware of the mundane setting of the coffee cupped laboratory but was somehow involved in his own cheesy horror film. What was happening? It must be something to do with the resonator or course.He removed the brain scanning apparatus with a sudden desperate fear soaked jolt and the sound and vision promptly vanished.

He lay on the floor, his eyes searching the white ceiling for hidden terrors as someone searches for a midnight mosquito which is plaguing their sleep. Seeing nothing he relaxed and closed his eyes and pondered what had just taken place. Instinctively he knew that what had happened took place because he was using the EM resonator and focussing on his own thoughts, but clearly expected something to happen, or he wouldn’t have done it, but he hadn’t expected actual hallucinations and terrifying visions. When he focussed on love what had he seen? A shadowy figure passing his vision but it was a familiar figure, it seemed to be a composite figure of everyone he had ever loved, or rather, it was an embodiment of that idea of loving someone. Reassured by the thought that he would be able to control the visions from now on he decided to try one more experiment before sleeping it all off. He reattached the brain wave imaging equipment and mentally tested his hypothesis.

Stapleton never knew what hit him. There was a sudden flare of activity on the brain scan before him then there really was no more Stapleton.

In its place was something bigger. In its place was the infinite expanse of dormant potential, there wasn’t much room left for a struggling research scientist. The electromagnetic consciousness matrix that had once inhabited the white coat and glasses had become something else. Stapleton had been a rather gnarled but still vigorous old oak, its root was strong and its branches still keen, and pliant enough in a strong breeze, not to break but neither to bend. Now the consciousness inside the glasses and lab coat was a seed, an acorn, a dormant and unexpressed concentration of potential, all the raw power of nature compacted into a particle, like the big bang awaiting the touch of a hair trigger. Stapleton’s idea had been to observe himself thinking about consciousness and use the resonator to increase the signal. Stapleton’s machine had managed to isolate and contain the electromagnetic frequency of consciousness seeking to explain its own nature, but in so doing it had discovered something explosive, that consciousness, when it becomes aware of its own true nature, sees God, and in fact, becomes God because it realises that the mind does not create consciousness but rather, that consciousness created the mind.

Stapleton had become aware of what he was part of, and had thus merged instantly with the whole. Like an odourless gas, the spark of certainty that no longer had room for doubts because it knew absolutely, had set off a chain reaction and all was fire. The research scientist had been burnt off in the combustion and the personality was nothing but ashes. What looked about the room now, at the apparatus, at the now cowering mice, was no longer a man. It was the absolute. It was a clear window gazing upon the world. It stood up and pausing only to release the mice to scamper across the room where they soon found an obscure hole to wriggle into.

He walked out to explore this new world which he had just been reborn into. He lowered a hand to open the door but then remembered the other side of the door and he instantly materialised there without any of the physical effort or mundanity of the electro-chemical muscle movement.

He walked out into a gloomy early morning mist. His body shuddered against the cold and the stark contrast between the warmth and light of the laboratory. He visualised warmth and sunlight. Something stirred the upper atmosphere and the clouds started to melt away, he felt the sudden change as bright sunlight fell upon his face and warmed him with tender caresses. The earth was his now. There was nothing he could not do.

He moved toward the main street to see what his new awareness would show him. He saw the showered and ironed human forms being drawn to work, why is it that people tend to speed up when they approach their place of work? The sudden sprint up steps and into the building itself. He caught the eye of one, then another worker. They seemed to snarl at him. Something resented him. He looked from face to face, the clear and open window saw them clearly. Saw their frustration, tiredness, unwillingness to go to work. Saw their anticipation of another day of petty frustrations and bit tongues. They saw that he saw this and they hated it, they tutted, they frowned, they muttered. Two of three office workers walking together all looked at him together and shared a moment of common hatred.

And the awareness that now inhabited the scientist’s body realised something, or rather, it remembered something for it knew everything. This shouldn’t be happening. This has happened before in earth’s history, several times in fact, an on each of these occasions there were no happy endings. It then occurred to Him that He wasn’t supposed to be here. Things had to run their own course. Error, pain, grief, suffering, although prolonged were never permanent. There would be a time when all confusion would cease.

It was then that the being which Stapleton had become, realised that he was a God trapped in Hell. He most ardent wish was that he had never opened this particular Pandora’s box. That he could go back to his simple sleep of a human life with the bracing suspense of its uncertainties and the continued scrabbling about in the unknown. There would be a time and a place to know everything. This wasn’t it. Suddenly there was a flash of light.

Looking at the clock it was 8:01am. Perhaps it was time to rest nevertheless. Just then a strange idea came to him but quickly he dismissed it. It was time to get some sleep. He took his coat and sleepily locked his laboratory. He would try something else tomorrow or later today, whichever came sooner, a fresh head and a good sleep is what is needed he decided. Or he might abandon it all together. It was a fanciful idea anyway. He turned out the lights and fed the two hungry mice. For a moment he thought of freeing them from their cages but then decided not to. ‘Pets’ he thought.

WEAPONISED POP-STARS FILE 637. A REPORTAGE OF DUBIOUS ORIGIN.

There has recently been talk on a certain internet forum about the existence of two George Harrisons. This idea is based upon the same fallacious reasoning as that which led to the rumors of multiple Paul McCartneys in the late 1960's. This suggestion is totally erroneous and symptomatic of the worst kind of disinformation which websites handling sensitive information tend to fall prey to. In fact there were a total of nine George Harrisons in use during their operational heyday, not two.  Originally only four George Harrisons were required because any more would be a security risk and also because there weren’t enough sitars to go round in the UK at that time.

One of the clone George Harrisons became contaminated in the lab and George Harrison’s alien DNA mustered its defences and to combat the pathogen, George Harrison’s genetically alien engineered body started to asexually reproduce.

Suddenly there were more George Harrisons than one decade could contain and there were fears that a stray George Harrison might travel to the 1860′s because the 1960′s were full. And this would inevitably lead to a pop paradox in time.

So the loose George Harrisons were safely contained, then implanted with a special mind control chip made of a newly discovered hallucinogenic metal and a radioactive isotope of LSD, and sent to wander the sandal shops of Goa for a half life of six thousand years, where they can still be seen today if the light is right.

While George Harrison was being cloned and weaponised by refugee Nazi music scientists in the secret pop apocalypse project entitled Operation Papershop, Ringo Starr was created to act as an inter-dimensional gateway to the marine world and home of the dark Archons, alluded to in coded references in the songs Octopus’s Garden and Yellow Submarine. For 3 thousand years the secret priesthood of the 33 Revolutions sect, secretly waited in secret, for their great Avatar to be made manifest in human form.

The holy child was born on the astrologically ordained date of 7th July 1940 (7,7, 7 (1940.. (40-19)/3 = 7) and his birth name Richard Starkey, when properly decoded became RICHard STAR-KEY, alluded to his role as inter-dimensional medium or key to the stars.

The correct technique on how to use a Richard Star-Key remains to this day, one of the many secrets protected by the 50 year rule which concerns the highest level confidential information relating to military espionage, international diplomacy and pop music. But it is believed that activating the Star Key involves the portal itself producing a dull repetitive and poorly syncopated sound using drums, thus creating a frenzy of disassociative anguish. It is believed the ritual of the Star-Key culminates, and the deepest apotheosis of horror necessary for the Star Key to open and release the Octopus men, is achieved when the Richard Star Key begins to sing.

A typical victim of the fully activated Star Key.

The effects of the Star-Key in a crowded room created small disaster areas, with women screaming in horror as the underwater Archons were released into the audience of terrified virgins.

These women were all of course astrally impregnated during the show and 9 months later they gave birth to Archon/Human hybrid baby ghosts which were invisible and didn’t exist.

In 1966 it was decided that further public rituals were no longer necessary as it had been previously discovered in parallel magickal workings, that demonic marine Archons could be manifested in the comfort of your own home, and the same restless anguish could be induced by imbuing a sacred disk with a special resonant field and having the magic disk turn upon itself the sacred sum of 33 times in one Earth minute. Therefore many disks of anguish were released into the world, which, being in a primitive spiritual condition, treated these disks and their discombobulating sounds with great joy and happiness.

Richard Starkey, unlike other weaponised pop stars such as Keith Moon and Janis Joplin, was never officially decommissioned and remains active to this day in the greater Los Angeles area of the United States of America.

Popstars of the Apocalypse Act 1 Scene 3

Act 1 Scene 3

A flat in Stepney Green, two hippies and a shell-shocked business man.Sarah Clarke, known to her friends as Quark because she is a bit strange, Russet Clair and John Hampton.

Russet: Oh, I’m transcending

Quark: John,  scatterthe cushions!Her Ka could end up anywhere, I once witnessed a  young accountant by the name of Staffidson who transcended himself into a fridge once.  His higher self sharing a space with the cucumber and cheese spread.

Russet:  I’m flying.

Quark: Quick! Put that incense out. Turn off the whale-song Russ, it’s getting too ambient in here. We don’t want a full on trance.

Quark: What can you see Russet, do you see the butterfly?

Russet: Yes a butterfly, a big beautiful butterfly with a big laughing head. HA HA HA HA it’s so happy and laughing HA HA, Oooer! It’s me. Ooh I’m a big butterfly..

John:    You’re not a butterfly Russet!

Quark:  Don’t say that you’ll  ground her too soon!

John :    Believe me she doesn’t want to be a butterfly. It’s not healthy. A tiny brain and eaten by spiders! Come on.

Russet:  Wow! WOW!

John: What is it Russet?

Russet: WOW!

Quark:  What are you feeling?

Russet plumps down into one the scatter cushions: Ow got a bit of a cramp actually.

John: Is that all? you transcend to a higher vibrational state of being and come back with a cramp, that doesn’t say much for the new age movement does it? Front page news:

I went and communed with the absolute oneness of God consciousness and it made my eyes go funny.

Russet: Don’t be like that.. I did feel something.

John:   What?

Russet: Well, I felt kind of dizzy.

John:     Don’t take this the wrong way Russet but that’s not what people want to hear. Anyone can feel dizzy, it’s not a mystical experience. Why don’t you put it this way:

“I felt my soul vibrate along my body as if I were a string playing an infinite harmonic, I rose higher and higher until.. I FELT A DISORIENTATING LIGHTNESS OF BEING. You see that sounds better than I felt kind of dizzy.

Quark : You’re such a business man  John, she’s not trying to sell you her experience you know. I think she should express herself any way she wants. What about you I haven’t seen you meditate even once yet. What do you feel?

John :   I don’t do that anymore.

Russet :  Why not?

John: It’s too dangerous anything could happen.

Quark snorts derisorily

John: Yeah, I wish it were a joke. But it’s not, there are dark forces at work in these times, and I used to work for them. Since then they’re never far from me, hoping that I will decide to return to dark fold once more.

Russet: But you won’t, you’ll never go back into merchant banking will you John?

John: It’s not just banking Russ, if only it were that simple, if only it were a question of applying or not applying for a certain job, no. It’s the crossroads. Everytime we go through life we step from one crossroads to another, we make certain decisions and this dictates which path we take. Every minute of my life I am faced with different crossroads. There was one just then.

Quark: I didn’t see a crossroads.

John: It was there. Here’s one right in front of me now. Shall I stop talking and go to my room and get me head down, or shall I tell you what happened.

Quark: So which decision leads where?

John: That’s the thing. I just don’t know. I do know that if I start to transcend in mixed company, things start to take a turn for the worse.

Quark:  Examples or it didn’t happen.

John: I used to be in banking as you know. As such I acquired a large portfolio of clients we worked with. One of them was a famous record company. They have these foreign  doos for suits like me every so often. All the lobster and caviar you can eat and great tides of fairly decent free champagne. I used to quite look forward to them. Then a night in a five-star hotel and a little bit of whatever kind of ‘room service’ you’re into, shall we say.

Quark: Oh yeah, what did you have?

John:  I used to ask them to send me a long haired woman with long fingernails and I used to ask her to scratch my back.

Quark: Is that all?

John: Afterwards I had sex with her.

Quark: Oh John, I’m so disappointed in you.

John: What are you supposed to do? It was expected, they’d think you were weird otherwise.

Quark: What’s weird about not having sex with prostitutes?

John: These people, you see they’re…different. Not like you and me.

Russet: What do you mean not like you and me. It’s you you’re talking about.

John: I’m different now. I’ve lived here for eight months, you know me, a Twix and two sugars in my tea, that the limit to my hedonism these days, but back then I was mixing with a very different crowd. These were people with all the money in the world, and to get that money they had had to engage in some kind of morally ambiguous chicanery, so in a sense they didn’t really go in for ideas of right or wrong anymore, because they couldn’t. If they did they would have to give up their fortunes and return all the money from the people and companies and governments they legally stole it from.  So they decide that if they’re going to hell they might as well enjoy the journey, so anything goes…. Anything they think will relieve the boredom of being one of the ‘bad-guys’.

Some people start to get into perversion for its own sake, they start not even to enjoy life but just try to commit as many atrocities as possible before their life is over and the accounts have to be settled. They see that their ledger is already full of bad marks so they decide they might as well, to quote the Rolling Stones: ‘Paint it black’.

Quark: And the most perverse thing you did was get your back scratched?

John: That’s about the size of it. I found out about what was going on when I saw a couple of Thai children being led to a room down to corridor from me. That was when I decided to get out.  It’s not just the music business, it’s the film industry too. In fact anywhere there is money power and influence, you will also find this kind of mentality of fellow passengers on the bus bound for hell. That’s why you get these stars every so often caught in the dragnet of paeodophiles, and also you get the odd star who says how he or she was sexually abused when they were a child by someone in the industry. Though it doesn’t happen often and for good reason, who wants to admit that they were abused as a child? There’s a great feeling of shame about it and many people refer to hide this pain and never refer to it. Also anyone speaking out risks never working again in ANY industry, and also there are other, more brutal methods of dissuasion which can be employed to silence people.

Quark:  So what happens when you meditate?

John: Strange things.

Quark: Such as?

John: Well Iwas initiated into a cult called the Knights of the sacred Trousers...

Russet: laughingThetrouser lords? You’re joking?

John: The trouser knights are no joke Russet believe me, they are a very dangerous and very deranged group of people.

Russet: Why are they so into ‘trousers’, it all seems a bit camp.

John: Hardly that, it’s an all male organisation, the trousers are their symbol of their bond of brotherhood. They have abilities that are not of this world. While working in Japan, and I learned how to communicate with the hidden masters of the Trouser Knights. We were told to meditate and clear our minds and the Masters would appear to us.  Initially I saw vague colours and moving shapes when I closed my eyes, then with time I started to hear a voice. As I became tuned into this voice it seemed to grow stronger until I was carrying out regular conversations with this ‘master’. And then one day, it appeared in my penthouse flat while I was sat on that tatami floor meditating as I used to. It emerged from the cupboard where I used to keep my futon. It was like a moving shadow, as if something from the darkness inside the cupboard was moving out into the room. As I watched the moving shadow the  sunlight which was streaming into my room was suddenly stifled and a heavy cloud must have passed over the sun, plunging the room into a temporary darkness, darkness is the element this beings need to move and manifest. In the best Biblical tradition they flee the light of God. And it came upon me. A cockroach. Urgh! But the cockroach was just puppet theatre compared to its master. The shadow entered me and possessed my will.

Quark: Sounds like David Icke territory. What size Tin foil hat would you like? Tall or venti?

John: Mockery is a very human reaction when confronted with uncomfortable truths but it’s no joke. I wish it were. Oh how I wish it were just a merry and foolish flight of fancy, or an ego comforting delusion. But it wasn’t, it isn’t. These beings rule the world.

Quark: Cockroaches?

John:  Clark, if you’re not going to take it seriously.....

Quark: Sorry John. I was just messing about. Of course I take you seriously. Like you say, you lay heavy stuff about disembodied demon beings and mind control on someone, on a Tuesday afternoon, then what do you expect. Tuesday afternoons and tales of inter-dimensional beings don’t sit too well together. You should have saved it till Friday night. Anything’s possible on a Friday night.

John: Yeah I know, I’ve seen you dancing but never mind trying to rationalise it.  Face it, it’s real. There are beings out there. Invisible to our eyes. The stuff of myth legend and mystery; most people go about their lives completely oblivious to them. Living and dying without ever really understanding what is taking place on planet earth right now, and what has always been taking place on planet earth.

Quark: What?

John: I can’t tell you. Yet.

Quark: You’re no fun at all today John. Well I’m gonna turn the telly on.

Quark switches on the TV and the 9:33 o’clock news flickers into life.

Newscaster:  Good evening, my name’s Sarah Serious and this is  the news at 9:33. Miss Naomi Spence, known to her fans as Player Attitude, has been reported missing without trace half way into her opening night concert at the O-No arena in East London. Miss Spence had left the stage briefly for a costume stage before a series of encores but failed to respond to knocks on her dressing room. When the door was opened there was no sign of the famous singer, nor any clue as to her disappearance.

John: standing up. Good heavens! They’ve struck again!

Quark:  Who has?

John: It’s best you don’t know child. I need to make a phone call.

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Popstars of the Apocalypse Act 1 Scene 2

Act 1 Scene 2

The O No arena, a music venue built on a former toxic wasteland in the London marshes which has successfully reinvented itself as a toxic wasteland of culture. The female popstar Pl-attitude or ‘Player-attitude’ is onstage in front of 20 000 fans made up of teenage girls and mostly homosexual men.

Pl-attitude:  singingHave you got what I need?

Dancers: Uh-uh! Uh-uh!

Pl-attidude: 

                       I’m not ashamed of it!

Backing singers: Skank!

                             Ah-ah!

Pl-attidude: Better get used to it.

                      When they’re down on me

                      I’m down on you

                      Then pin me up to the wall

                      And give it to me all!

                      Cos I’m a..

Backing singers:  Skank!

                              Ah-ah!

Pl-attidude:  Gonna sing and dance about it!

                       Let me be your

Backing singers:  skank!

Pl-attidude:  And you can be my bank.

                       I’m a car and  I’ll empty your tank.

                       Or let me give you a....

Backing singers:  Ah-ah!

The song ends and the crowd screams and cheers in robotic delirium. Pl-attitude surveys the crowd and then starts skipping around the stage as the music begins for her next song. Pla-attitude looks out at the crowd and starts her next number:

                   Na-na-nanana na!

The crowd react by screaming and jumping up and down. Several girls at the front are knocked over and trampled by the crowd who have now taken up the chant of ‘Na-na-nana-na!’

                  Na-na nana na!

The crowd are now all echoing the call of ‘na-na-nana na!’ except the half a dozen small girls who are trying to stop themselves getting trampled to death by what has now become a mindless 20,000 strong herd with one thought in its mind: ‘Na-na-nana na!’

Looking out at the crowd and Pla-attitude from the VIP salon are three gentlemen. One of the men walks over to the window and slides it closed reducing the noise from the concert.

Mr Hands: Thank God!

Second man: She’s totally certifiable you know that don’t you?

Trevor: Curiously Oh?

Second man: Drily Just look at her for a start. She feels the need to dance up and down a stage for over an hour in front of a group of children, whichever way you cut it, that’s strange behaviour. We can chalk down narcissistic personality disorder as a matter of course. But what else? Why does she need a room full of 20,000 teenagers to give her life meaning?  Isn’t that rather excessive? Most people are content with a couple of close friends to obtain their comfort. But of course, she doesn’t have any friends.  She has an emptiness inside her the size of Bournemouth.

Third man: No friends eh?

Mr Hands:  piping inOf course not. We don’t allow her to have them. Everyone who is close to here, including her present gentleman friend have all been put there by us.

Trevor: The Tailors?

Second man: languidlyWho else?

Trevor: But why?

Second man: Isn’t it obvious. She is a very high profile person. She has the media at her beck and call 24 hours a day. Her life is under constant scrutiny and so is she. That’s why there must be maximum control.

Trevor:  Over everything?

Mr Hands:  Don’t want her saying anything which isn’t on the script. No ad-libbing.

Second man: Certainly not. She has her lines and there they are gestures to the singer on the stage who is still singing Na-na-na.

Trevor:  What’s it all about though. Why do the tailors promote these troubled young people and make them into stars. Is it for money?

Mr Hands:  The money is more of a bonus than anything. She’s a holding fund. Her net assets of 40 million she never gets to touch. We give her pocket money. Her real fortune is used by us for our investments and shall we say, ‘expenses’.

Trevor:  So what else is behind it all then?

Second man:  cutting inWarfare my boy, warfare!

Trevor:  Warfare!?

Mr Hands: Yes indeed, we’re at war with the public.

Trevor:  Why?

Mr Hands: Because they outnumber us  100 to one. We’re the Spartans here. Fighting a barbarian horde by any means necessary. Most of the public if they knew who we were and what we got up to would hang us from the lampposts. That’s why we’ve got to distract them and give them something else to fuss about, preferably something totally meaningless. Better if it’s something which we can use to project OUR values on to them and make them think more like us.

Trevor:  Na-na-na?

Second man:  taking overThat’s the meaningless part. Pure drivel. How can someone oppose us rationally and intellectually if all they can think of is ‘Na-na-na?’. But there’s more. If we can subvert their moral values to make them more like ours then what moral right do they have to oppose us? We are tunnelling beneath the moral high-ground which has been used to attack and denounce us for centuries. Now, as the public’s morality and imagination sink lower and lower they find themselves on the same level as us. If they don’t even have the wit and awareness to protect their children from this noxious and sexualising rubbish then they do not deserve the mercy we won’t give them anyway. They are happy to see their young children emulate these fallen-women but we’ve still got some way to go before they have to complete moral freedom we enjoy, but we’re getting there. The next stage is the biggest of all. A task so difficult and a change in perception so radical that from the present view point it would appear impossible. But we know that nothing is impossible because we have done so many impossible things before. We have committed the most duplicitous and reprehensible impostures upon the human race in the name of our war. We have achieved glorious victories when crushing defeat seemed the most logical outcome.

Trevor:  So what is the next step?

Mr Hands: Ahh, I can’t tell you yet. You’re not cleared for than information.

Second man: Suffice it to say, that it’s not only policemen who are getting younger.

Mr Hands:grinningDeftly managed.

Second man: Would you like to meet Miss Plattitude?

Trevor: Not particularly.

Mr Hands: Too bad, you’re going to. That’s why you’re here.

Trevor: Oh really, I was wondering about that. I suppose my niece will be impressed if we can get a photo taken together.

Mr Hands: I know the set-list like an ugly scar on the back of my hand, she’ll come off for a two minute break after this one while she changes her costume. Let’s go backstage.