The X Files: A Primer on the Next Plandemic

"We don't know what it is or when it will strike, but we're positive this not-yet-discovered disease is going to be extra-deadly," and other asinine things people will probably believe.

*I’m on my way home right now but I’m positive I’m exhausted so this is the last recycled post until I am recovered enough to once again bring you timely, original content. Thanks for hanging in there.*

My recent or only-intermittent readers may not buy this, but I truly do try to be sympathetic to the people who fell (and continue to fall, bless their trusting little hearts) for the wickedest and most prolific propaganda campaign in history. I have attempted to exonerate or at least understand the medical professionals who—despite overwhelming, irrefutable evidence to the contrary—continue to have unshakeable confidence in the safety and efficacy of the poisons they’re pushing. I’ve done my gods-honest best to forgive the folks who blocked me, mocked me, and wished death on me for having the audacity to disbelieve the relentless mainstream Covid messaging. I may have sprained a synapse or two trying to understand how the cretins in control manage to sleep at night after a day of designing directives that will indubitably lead to widespread death and unimaginable despair. But the one thing I cannot wrap my brain around is how anyone, anywhere, under any circumstances whatsoever including but not limited to severe mental illness or a drug-induced stupor, is actually going to fall for “Disease X.”

Source: Amazon of course, where you can buy this in bar sign form!

(Spoiler: But they will. Incalculable hoards of them.)

Surely, you’ve heard of the hypothetical but highly anticipated new pandemic pathogen; the one the oligarchy can somehow predict with stunning accuracy and absolute confidence “will be twenty times deadlier than Covid,” despite the fact that—and I really cannot put too fine a point on this—it has not been discovered or identified. Nevertheless, the WEF has a whole session in this week’s Davos conference devoted to it; I hear it’s sandwiched between The Perilous Toll of Unicorn Poop on the Planet and Oceans in Motion: A Conversation with Mermaids.

According to the University of Nebraska Medical Center, Disease X is “the somewhat mysterious name for an illness caused by a presently unknown, yet serious microbial threat.” I’ll repeat, in case you’re a skim-reader: A presently unknown threat. That is also very serious.

Seriously? How can an unknown threat be given a grade on the highly scientific seriousness scale?

Definitely SMH.

To be fair, unidentified-yet-possibly-profound hazards do exist in the world. A box you just watched something long and scaly slither into may well prove a risky place to stick your mitts. A flock of geese soaring straight into your airplane’s engine in the dark of night could without a doubt alter your flight trajectory in let’s just call them unwanted and life-threatening ways. Forking over your credit card number for an absolutely free* assortment of Le Creuset enameled cast-iron (*you pay just $9.96 for shipping which is a screaming deal seeing as a set of the pricey French cookware weighs as much as a pregnant polar bear) because some zealous production line worker accidentally made a few too many—whoops—but his misstep is your blessing and thankfully Tay Tay offered to help offload the excess by sharing this exclusive offer with six or seven million Swifties—is probably not the wisest way to test your luck. But to predict with statistical certainty the destruction that will be wrought by a suppositional thing is suspicious at best—and downright diabolical at worst.

Mint picked up UNMC’s slippery ball of fear-porn and raced off into the sunset with it, adding that Disease X could potentially result in up to 50 million fatalities, and—betcha didn’t see this one coming!—that “the world will have to prepare for mass vaccination drives and deliver the doses in record time.”  

TV announcer voice: But wait! There’s more!

“Disease X is as infectious as measles with the fatality rate of Ebola [67%],” the Mint piece insists, which logically and literally—and I hate when people use the word literally figuratively, so I’m being intentional here—can only lead to a single, self-evident question: How can anyone possibly predict the infection and fatality rates of a microbe that has yet to be discovered?

At the risk of insulting anyone’s intelligence by pointing out the blazingly obvious, they can’t.

From a study abstract currently parked rent-free on our government’s own National Library of Medicine’s website: “Disease X is supposed to be caused by a ‘pathogen X.’ Such a pathogen is expected to be a zoonosis [a bacterial, viral, or parasitic pathogen that leaps like a leopard pouncing on some dimwitted prey from animal to human], most likely an RNA virus [Shocker! More of that magical, marvelous mRNA to the rescue!], emerging from an area where the right mix of risk factors highly promotes the risk for sustained transmission.” [OMG not sustained transmission again that’s what leads to lockdowns and completely arbitrary six-foot social distancing directives as admitted by Herr Fraudci himself and also is there a sentiment in existence more vague and esoteric than risk factors that promote risk?]

TV announcer voice: BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!

“The WHO has been criticized for underreacting on pandemics such as the 2014 Ebola pandemic,” the abstract admits before going on to reference a pseudo-indignant analysis of said response which came to the not-even-a-little-bit-surprising conclusion that clearly what the esteemed World Health Organization needs is “a series of proposed reforms” including “establishing a global emergency health workforce and a $100 million replenishable contingency fund that the WHO secretariat can immediately draw upon whenever a PHEIC [public health emergency of international concern] arises to mobilise [sic] resources and personnel.” In other words, they failed miserably because they didn’t have incontestable global governance and their very own trust fund fountain so we’d better remedy that ASAP. (There really should be a word that means “more utterly and absurdly ironic than Hunter Biden doling out wholesome living advice.”)

Predictive program, much? The heroic dropping-of-everything to safeguard humanity with medicines the industrious WHO will suddenly and miraculously have the power and means to manifest at will and once again will not feel the need to subject to any unwieldy animal or human studies to prove their safety, efficacy, or even necessity has such a romantic ring to it that some people, I’m afraid, won’t be able to see it as the steaming shit sandwich that it is.

For hyperbolic purposes: Imagine a patently sketchy neighbor tells you that someone is positively going to break into your house. It’s a 100% foregone conclusion, scribbled in thick black sharpie on the white leather sofa of your life. Your clairvoyant chum has no idea who it will be or precisely when it will happen, mind you, but it is definitely going to be sometime in the next week and the SOB is going to get away with precisely $7,345.16 worth of your stuff. Would your mind maybe, briefly, let itself entertain the off-the-wall possibility that your neighbor is not only the one planning the heist, but he also has some rather specific items in mind he is eyeing?

Or picture, if you will, getting an unsolicited call from a realtor. (Hahahaha I know nobody answers their phone when it’s an unknown caller, but picture it anyway for comedic/illustrative purposes.) Apparently, Mr. Zillow tells you, based on absolutely nothing whatsoever, there’s a 77% chance your brand new house is going to get struck by something (lightning? A meteor? A frozen squid? He’s not sure TBH) and be reduced to rubble within the next year. He’s willing to take your ticking residential time bomb off your hands for just under market value (a steal seeing as it’s soon to be a pile of ashes, after all), because he’s a nice guy and he grew up in the neighborhood and he doesn’t want to see a swell chap like you suffer such a devastating loss. Could it at least be conceivable that Mr. Z is simply trying to score a killer deal on your sweet digs?

To be clear, I’m not saying the degenerate alphabet organizations—WHO, WEF, NIH, IMF, CDC, FDA, BMGF, CEPI, GAVI—won’t separately or together invent, enhance, or unleash a genuine deadly disease at some point in the not-distant future. In fact, if I was in Vegas and a bookie offered me even semi-modest odds, I’d put money on it. But not for a single, skinny minute am I buying that the entire thing hasn’t already been meticulously and mercilessly planned out.

Fortunately, I have bottomless faith in the magical combination of optimism, prayer, and a massive stockpile of ivermectin.  

Looking for a lockdown companion? The War on Ivermectin doesn’t snore and will never get mad if you eat the last cookie or forget to take out the trash.