Who are you, Marilou?

 

Most conspiracies are shit. Self-indulgent narrative forays into dramatization of droll events.

 

Mindful, objective examination and emotionless, detached consideration, are important and crucial. Conspiracy theories imply malfeasance at high levels but the very nature of high-level surreptitious operations is that they, in fact, remain hidden and invisible, perhaps in plain sight.

 

That said, I am not averse to “conspiracies,” but ultimately, I ask that you show me the money. Show me the goods. Thought experiments are fine, but let me see the data, the method. The proof, faggot.

 

Tell me about Marilou and I’ll sing you a song. Follow her movements, her motives, her history. She will take you down the rabbit hole, if in fact, there is a rabbit hole.

 

 

 

 

 

Tell me why she was conveniently in the Philippines when Stephen Paddock killed 59 people. Supposedly, she is Indonesian. How often does she visit the Philippines and how long was this trip planned?  Generally, trips to the Philippines are booked and planned well ahead of time; it was no surprise to anyone she was headed there.  In fact, it was probably anticipated.

 

Indonesia and Philippines are rife with a certain “group.”

 

Tell me about Marilou.

 

 

An image…perhaps revealing.

 

The simplest photographs can say so much.  When confusion reigns and people search hastily for answers, perhaps the thing to do is to behold an image, and fill in the blanks.

 

 

 

 

Grand events have grand motives.  And what grander a venue than the glittery shithole in the desert?

The American Left proves more dangerous than Maria.

 

There’s an aphorism from the Japanese book of the Samurai warrior, the Hagakure. It simply warns us against indulging in self-delusion for the purpose of shallow and vacuous comforts.

 

 

 

 

 

There is something to be learned from a rainstorm. When encountering a sudden shower, we may try to avoid getting wet. But, while doing things such as moving from place to place or passing under the eaves of houses, we still get wet. If you are resolved from the beginning, though you get the same soaking, you will not be perplexed.

 

 

It is a splendid nugget of wisdom I’d like to dedicate to the Puerto Rican disastress-in-chief, Carmen Yulin.

 

 

 

 

Yulin is vilely sub-exploiting her country’s tragic misfortune for American leftists who would rather see thousands, millions of people suffer, than let Donald Trump appear sympathetically Presidential.

 

Politics have proven deadlier than Maria, for Carmen Yulin is too busy dashing between the eaves of obsequiousness to American anti-Trump forces.

 

h/t, The Last Refuge

 

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