Once there was this girl who
Swore that one day she would be a figure skating champion
And when she finally made it
She saw some other girl who was better
And so she hired some guy to
Club her in the kneeeeee caaaaaaap

Mmm mmm mmm mmm, mmm mmm mmm mmm

Ahh, Mmm mmm mmm mmm, mmm mmm mmm mmm

They got paid for their sound bytes
And sold their TV-Movie rights

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Weird Al

LOOK, I get it. Listening to Weird Al Yankovic will likely threaten nauseating side-effects for the bulk of my readers. I was never a fan at any point in my upbringing, and so know what I’m asking. Which is to say a lot. Unless you’re a fan—then I’m asking for you to have a fun time. Either way, proceed no further, give this video from my adolescence a listen, and then get back to me.

It’s called: Headline News.

Watch it? Good.

I’m assuming four minutes of your life has already passed, which you can never take back, and now have inside knowledge on where I am going with this. Seriously, I owe you one. Thanks for giving it your all when showing up to class. The last time I’d seen that video was probably on Vh1 sometimes in The Nineties, but that was before I had woken eyes. They hide the Truth in plain/plane sight all the time and then lie about it, by which Weird Al’s music video is no exception. It’s what I’ve been saying all along. The world is a stage and the official narrative is an Intel script hashed out by actors. Weird Al simply exposed a few of them in a silly song.

Every decade or so Intel projects take on a new look. The evolution of polyester took a turn for the worse in the Seventies, whereas the synthesizer became aware of its own existence in the Eighties. See what I mean? You can often identify a decade by the music or the movies or the fashion, but also by what they show us stylistically through television programming. Intel-sponsored media headlines in the Nineties gave us Waco, Texas, the OJ Simpson murder trial, Amy Fisher, the Menendez brothers, and Michael P. Fay, that kid from the Weird Al video who brought a spray can of paint to Singapore and got repeatedly spanked in the bum for it. In that same video, we saw Lorena Bobbitt, whom many women immediately transformed into a folk legend. She was the wife who cut off John Wayne Bobbitt‘s penis in bed.

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“What are you saying Noel, that John Wayne Bobbitt’s penis wasn’t cut off?”

That’s precisely what I’m saying. Do you wish it were? You are under no obligation to believe the official narrative. John Wayne Bobbitt later starred in the Ron Jeremy porn film, Frankenpenis. If you paid for a VHS copy back in the day (I’m very excited to say that I haven’t) and this is somehow proof to you, then you were duped into the same special effects which had us all believing that Stevie Wonder was blind. For the record, Ron Jeremy is a Hyatt and also a New York born Joo. The story we are given is that Ron Jeremy’s girlfriend was so impressed with the size of his package, and wanted to share it with the world, that she sent a picture baring its image into Playgirl Magazine. It’s all misdirection when in fact his mother was in the OSS. Frankenpenis was just another spin-off of an already terrible direct to video Intel movie.

Another gem about as classy as the mullet was the Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan drama. If you were alive in the Nineties, then you will undoubtedly remember the moment when Tonya Harding’s laces came untied. And that is because the Kerrigan-Harding drama was television. In 1994, it was damn good television. Not only that, it paved the way for Nineties television as we know it. The OJ Simpson murder trial would quickly fall in its heals. I was a pubescent teenager for every person and event so far described and, save for the Ron Jeremy film, were fuel for dinner table etiquette and debate. Their characters were set up that way from the beginning. When you finally come to terms with the fact that they’re all actors in an ongoing Intel scripted serial drama, intended to alchemically transform and mold you into the image of the Beast system, then you too will be capable of detaching yourself from a fabricated reality and unplug from The Matrix.

As if we haven’t already, let’s begin.

TONYA HARDING gave up drag racing and deer hunting to become a world champion ice skater. And then one day Nancy Kerrigan, her leading competitor, was prepping for the U.S. Championships on an ice skating rink inside Cobo Arena in Detroit, Michigan. The date was January 6, 1994. It was 2:35 pm in the afternoon, eastern time. A camera crew was recording her practice session, even going so far as to follow Kerrigan off the rink after she was retiring for the day. As Kerrigan spread a curtain and started down its adjoining hallway, the camera panned to the right, away from Kerrigan, and then abruptly cut out. Classic symptom of a media fabricated hoax. Her attacker, whom we never see on camera, abruptly approached Kerrigan from behind, or so we are told. He extended a 21-inch collapsible police baton, struck her lower right thigh in the whereabouts of the kneecap, and made his escape, using the club to smash through a locked glass door. One witness claimed the man carried a crowbar and smashed through a window, but we’ll give her a free pass. We are then told that a co-conspirator was waiting outside in a getaway car. Actually, we are told of many things and shown very little. Why do some media sources claim she was clubbed in the knee and others in the thigh? Simple, because you are expected to use your imagination and fill in those important details.

Immediately after the incident, the camera crew begins recording again. Kerrigan can be seen sitting on the floor of the hallway, gently caressing her right knee. Here Kerrigan bemoans: “Why? Why? Why?” a line which is quickly broadcasted around the world in news programs, while staff unlace her shoes, attempting to make sense of where it hurts. She is wearing a white ice skating dress, which is to say we can see the full length of her legs, and there is no redness or irritation of skin anywhere. But more on that in a moment. When questioned, she describes a “hard, hard black stick.” You will have to make sense of how she saw the color of her assailants weapon when she was struck from behind. The black stick itself is apparently important, as media footage details several witnesses all talking about the man with the black stick or the black crowbar or the black metal pipe, and did you hear the wack of the black thing-a-ma-jig or how that man came fiercely running through a glass door with his black baton?

The video footage which aired later that night then captures Cobo Arena security running around outside in the snow seeking her attacker, so as to sweep the viewer up in the current of drama. In this game of CLUE, we already know Nancy Kerrigan was assaulted in the hallway with a black something or other. Obelisk perhaps? Now the media is drawing us into the biggest question of all. Who done it?

This is the part where I tell you that I would never club someone in the knee for the purposes of taking out the competition, because that’s breaking the Law of Yahuah. But if I did, I would club her more than once, just to be certain that the job was complete and the knee was shattered. How else would I assure payment from my employer? Her attacker only beat her once rather than taking another crack or two at her knee cap. I also wouldn’t commit the deed surrounded by a camera crew. You will tell me that he wasn’t filmed by the crew, but isn’t that suspicious? Surely, the Feds scoured footage for shots of the attacker’s face, but the media doesn’t even make a go at it from this angle—and why is that? I would furthermore play the part of a burglar and break into Kerrigan’s home, playing off her injury as if it were simply a response to being discovered in the act of thievery. Because even burglars need to defend themselves. You will tell me the dressing room was perfect because he knew precisely where to find Kerrigan and when, but it’s a lazy plot device. Had he done so, entered her home that is, we would be more likely to accept the misinformation as something organic. Burglaries happen. Even in the dead of night. It would have left us guessing as to the invaders true intent, further frustrating any connection to an employer. And why would they do that when the pieces of the puzzle needed to be assembled in time for the Olympics?

Kerrigan was being taken out of the tournament. Thus, fierce competition and the lust for fame and fortune led to Kerrigan getting clubbed in the whereabouts of the kneecap or the thigh, you see, furthermore draping the sport in scandal. Hopefully, you will sleep a little easier tonight knowing that the Cobo Arena crime was a purposely planted trail of pork-flavored Doritos crumbs intended to lead us back to the trailer park, and that the man wearing the ugly Christmas sweater is a spook.

Also, the incident became known as “The Whack Heard ‘Round the World,” which is ironic, since nobody reading the newspaper or watching the television actually heard it. Kind of like the April 18, 1775 “Shot Heard ‘Round the World.” Wait, was that a hoax too? Oh, never mind.

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IN SCREENWRITING, it pays to arrive late into the opening scene. That’s the trick of the trade. A screenplay is essentially the story of somebody’s life with all the boring stuff cut out. Therefore, the best sort of scripts discover our protagonists at the last possible moment—when the movie starts. That last possible moment would be the clubbing of Nancy Kerrigan.

We have already seen with my paper on Jim Jones and the preliminary work I’ve already pulled on Charlie Manson that these psyops and hoaxes often arrive with a rich history for further prodding. Usually, the intended audience is caught unaware of the actor until the event goes live and the Media sets off their alley-cat alarm. That is, at the last possible moment in the actors life. Americans may not have known who John Wilkes Booth was before the Lincoln assassination hoax, but you can be certain they knew which theatrical productions he starred in afterwards. And wouldn’t you know it, Harding and Kerrigan had a longstanding rivalry. We call this a backstory. At the 1991 US Figure Skating Championships, Kerrigan won a bronze to Harding’s gold. The following month, Kerrigan not only managed another bronze to Harding’s silver at the ISU World Championships in Germany, she was also overshadowed by the fact that Harding became the first American woman to successfully perform a triple axle in a competition.

People often ask me what price someone is offered before they’ll agree to do their part for the Government and take part in a lie. While sitting around at the table two days after Christmas, Gillooly offered $6,500 to each of the three conspirators. That’s according to the official narrative, which makes no mention of God and country. If you think someone won’t sell their soul to Satan for fifteen minutes of spotlight, then I will remind you that Esau sold his eternal birthright to Jacob for a bowl of soup. Today people will sacrifice the coming kingdom for a $50 TGI Friday’s gift card. How much did John and Lorena Bobbitt agree to?

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THE HIT-MAN was soon thereafter identified as Shane Stant, and the short of his connection to Harding is this. Stant’s uncle, Derrick Smith, who waited outside in the getaway car, was initially contacted by Jeff Gillooly, the ex-husband of skating rival Tonya Harding, and Harding’s bodyguard, Shawn Eckhardt. The story, we are told, is that Gillooly, Eckhardt, Smith and Stant sat around a living room table in Portland in 1993, two days after Christmas, hatching the plan. How very redneck of them.

In the weeks to follow, Shane Stant became the third suspect in Kerrigan’s assault who surrendered to police, which came amid calls for rival Tonya Harding to quit the Olympics. They allowed her to preform and then stripped her of her medal afterwards. So again, we’re getting slightly ahead of ourselves. We will visit his conspirators in a moment, because you will hopefully recall that Kerrigan’s attacker approached from behind. Who was filming the ice skating champion from behind but the cameraman? This would essentially mean that the cameraman was standing behind Kerrigan while Stant loomed behind the cameraman.

The cameraman appears to have crouched down below the railing. He then arose and panned his camera in a nearly 180 degree direction, capturing everyone standing around Kerrigan. There is absolutely no sign of an attacker. Shane Stant would have had to pivot with him and wait for the camera to turn off. A little awkward, don’t you think? It’s about as convenient as RFK taking a last minute detour through the kitchen only to have Sirhan Sirhan emerge from a tray stacker. RFK hoax. I know, I know, the senselessness of it all. Detroit is one of the leading cities for murder and crime in the United States. Actually, crime rates peaked in 1991, with more than 2,700 violent crimes per 100,000 people. Population decline left abandoned buildings behind, which then became magnets for the drug trade, arson, and other criminal activity. Basically, a playground for CIA operatives. Didn’t Robocop take place in Detroit? I just checked. It did. Despite its crime, the media is not concerned with random clubbing in the streets of Detroit. Intel only cares about their own psyops. The cameraman probably crouched down underneath the rink wall so as not to capture any other ice skaters on the rink in the news story. Why is that important? Because they are trying to mask the fact that Nancy Kerrigan’s clubbing was the scene from their documentary.

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FROM THE HALLWAY of the Cobo arena, the narrative moves swiftly forward. We are not expected to make sense of how each and every plot point sticks the landing and manages to keep up. And yet the cause and effects given to us are smooth as the Zamboni on a baby’s bottom. From various confessions in January to Harding’s guilty plea on March 16 (only after her lackluster performance in the Olympics, which resulted in the former champion having her gold medal striped), every discovery in the two month-long drama was perfectly executed with clockwork precision, intended to compliment the intrigue required for a Nineties tabloid soap opera. Remember, this is television. Scripted television—a precursor of what is to come. How many drafts did Intel work on before the Media executed it? We are not told. But the delivery is indeed impressive for a live action sports movie.

Speaking of which, the US Women’s Championship went down only two days later, on January 8, 1994. Where was Tonya Harding training when Kerrigan was attacked? The Media never seems concerned with those details. Harding finished her gold medal-winning program by pumping her fists. Saucy. I was thirteen years old and remember watching it. To this very hour, I can still tell you what music Harding skated to. Jurassic Park. Spielberg’s propaganda movie was released on June 11, 1993, but was still being played in theaters. John Williams, the soundtracks composer, had earlier scored the Sharon Tate movie, Valley of the Dolls. Intel projects just love to refer to each other. Why was I glued to women’s figure skating on a Saturday night? Because only two days earlier, Nancy Kerrigan was clubbed in the knee, duh. My family was watching an unfolding psychodrama, but not just us. America was caught up in the magic.

Seconds before starting her gold medal-winning program, NBC broadcasted Tonya Harding’s horoscope. A little strange, don’t you think? Perhaps not so strange when you consider its fortune, which reads:

“A long cherished goal moves within you. You feel elated! The outside resources or talents you need are available. Your leadership skills put you ahead of the pack.”

You see, they’re already dangling the pork chops. This should tell you something. Horoscopes are written by astrologers, some of which are spooks. If Intel wanted to screw with your head in the Nineties, they’d write your fortune, have it printed up in The Los Angeles Times, and then play the part of your shrink after you went woodpecker over it. Nowadays, they have A.I. to do the exact same thing. Predestination at its finest.

During a January 11 interview with Harding, CBS affiliated sports broadcaster Ann Schatz asked if she had considered someone she knew as being involved in the attack. And why wouldn’t she? As we have already seen, the attack was set up that way from the start. Meanwhile, notice how Michelle Kwan was never suspected? Harding answered, “I have definitely thought about it. No one controls my life but me.” Wink-wink. Harding has a controller. “If there’s something in there that I don’t like, I’m going to change it.” Sure, let’s go with that. It was Schatz who first asked if she would cooperate with an investigation, thereby planting the association of her guilt in the American consciousness. A shifty-eyed Harding responded that she had nothing to hide. Of course she didn’t. Harding then went on to say that the real victim here was Tonya Harding, because Tonya Harding was no longer able to defeat Kerrigan, and where is the fun in that? Classy. Which is to say, not classy at all. But that’s the entire point of this episode, isn’t it? This is precisely what happens when cousin Ernie gets invited to the wedding.

Harding had already been filmed by the media on February 7, the day after the attack, running barefoot to stop a tow truck from hauling her illegally parked pickup. Another press photo will reveal a picture of Tanya Harding smoking. Even before the bubble is broken open, Harding is being systematically picked apart before our very eyes while playing the part of a west coast Oregon hick. And to furthermore erase any doubt, on February 15, a videotape of Harding topless was shown on A Current Affair. Sure, her competitor is being elevated to international stardom, but in due time, they too will dismantle Kerrigan.

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SHAWN ECKARDT was described as the sort of individual who, after learning about what he was accused of, lay awake in bed crying at night. On January 12, only one day removed from Harding’s interview with Ann Schatz, the FBI launched their own investigation into her bodyguard. Clockwork, people. Clockwork. Apparently, the Feds had to slap Eckardt silly just to shut him up, because Shawn “The Mouth” Eckardt couldn’t confess fast enough to his involvement, and just as importantly, his kitchen table rotunda of conspirators. He threw Jeff Gillooly and Derrick Smith under the bus, and at the drop of a hat. You know that scene in The Goonies where Chunk confesses his sins to the Fratellis? “OK, I’ll talk! In third grade, I cheated on my history exam. In fourth grade, I stole my uncle Max’s toupee and I glued it on my face when I was Moses in my Hebrew School play.” Mm-hmm. This is precisely what it was like for the “investigators” at Watergate. Perhaps Eckardt is a distant cousin of Deep Throat.

The 300-pound 26-year-old worked out of his parents home, reportedly in the basement, and drove a 1976 Mercury with a missing hubcap. His resume listed him as “counter-terrorist specialist, executive security consultant, certified parachutist, and college lecturer,” all of which was filled with misspellings, but don’t let that fool you. It is Eckhardt who supposedly arranged everything. We are pressed to conclude that Eckardt was the worst body guard ever, certainly less than the sum of his resume (not a stretch of the imagination), or he was doing precisely what he was trained to do. Be the klutz. Isn’t that ironic, also playing the part of Tonya Harding’s bodyguard? When the Media repeatedly reminds you that Eckhardt boasted of overseeing an international special operations force, or something to that effect, what they ultimately want you to know is that his delusions of espionage played a huge part in the assault on Kerrigan. And how could Intel possibly be involved when everyone present isn’t exactly what you’d call the sharpest tool in the shed? Come to think of it, Eckhardt is probably the only person involved who hasn’t the slightest clue that he was hired to take part in a psyop.

On the following day, Eckhardt and Smith were arrested.

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EVERY FEW years Disney takes their films out of the vault and repackages them for public consumption. Sometimes they arrive with new missing scenes or Making of documentaries which hopes to shed new light on an otherwise stale production. Intel does the same thing all the time. The Kerrigan-Harding drama is regularly revisited every five to ten years and sold to us as nostalgia, even though every repackaging is morbid. But more on that in a moment, because first, we have another introduction to make. Jeff Gillooly was a conveyor belt operator but also dabbled as Tonya Harding’s manager. They were married from 1990 until 1993, and apparently Harding filed twice for divorce. Right about when the investigation began, Harding claims he hit her while they sat in the car and told her she was a stupid bitch for opening her mouth. We must assume he made no physical contact with her face, because we are never shown any bruises—on anyone. While all of this was going on, Harding later claimed that she told the Feds she’d cooperate if protection was offered. Otherwise, she said, she’d get the shit kicked out of her—apparently by Gillooly and his associates.

He surrendered to the FBI four days after a warrant was issued for his arrest, thanks in part to Shawn “The Mount” Eckardt, and confessed to masterminding the media-orchestrated assault. According to Gillooly, story boarding the attack ranged anywhere from killing Kerrigan, assisting her in a car accident, cutting her Achilles’ tendon, or breaking her leg and leaving her injured wearing a duct-tape gag in her hotel room. What were the Feds doing, feeding him a Truth serum? It must have taken hours trying to shut these guys up, after they’d been properly wound up. But he didn’t simply name the other three. Gillooly implicated his ex-wife in Kerrigan’s mishandling. Tanya Harding, he said, was well in on the plans. Not only that, she was furthermore impatient when Kerrigan wasn’t immediately disabled in the days following their meeting. Good going, Gillooly. So much for those million dollar endorsements.

This is another part where I again tell you that, if I were plotting the broken kneecap of my skating competitor, I wouldn’t leave handwritten notes highlighting her practice schedule in the trash bag. That is however exactly what Tonya Harding did. Within days, the Feds dug through their garbage and found proof of her participation in the heist movie. More Truth juice? A handwriting expert quickly confirmed that the notes were indeed written by Harding. Today we are reminded of the terrorist passport found at Ground Zero. How convenient.

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AN OLYMPIC skating champion was promised to rake in one million or more in appearance fees and endorsements. Hopefully, you see the contrast being presented here. No? Gillooly and Eckhardt wanted Kerrigan taken out of the competition in order to secure endorsements. The resulting fame which Kerrigan acquired as a result of the attack landed her $9.5 million in endorsements before the Olympics even began. Also, the Olympic committee chose Kerrigan as the second member of the United States ice skating team, directly behind Harding, despite the fact that she hadn’t even qualified. Even more importantly, she was still recovering from her injury. The decision came after tense jockeying between the U.S. Olympic Committee and Harding on whether she could compete in the Olympics. In order to add Kerrigan but keep Harding, they had to bump Michelle Kwan from the roster. Or in Emperor Palpatine terms: “Everything that has transpired has done so according to my design.”

In 2008, Harding claimed that Gillooly and two other guys drove her up into the mountains, soon after winning gold at the Women’s Championship in Detroit, put a gun to her head, and repeatedly raped her in the back of a pick-up. Notice how Tanya Harding only thought to bring this little tidbit up after Gillooly’s statutes of limitations had expired. Who were the two other men? Harding claims she “couldn’t see who there were,” but we know who she’s implying. We can easily deduce that her bodyguard wasn’t one of them, because 300 pounds doesn’t exactly go unnoticed. Also, you’d think the Feds would have followed them around by this point. And yet here we find a reunion of the motley crew—plotting the assault of another ice skater. I’m confused as to whose side Gillooly is on. Didn’t he want Tonya Harding to win? The entire point of this operation, I thought, was to fill his pockets via Corporate endorsements, and he had put all his chips on the ex-wife. This isn’t how you win the game, Gillooly, unless we’re dealing with CIA mind control.

It is about this time when the topless videotape of Harding emerged on A Current Affair. Probably not the sort of move that would land Harding on a box of cereal. Did she form a lawsuit? No, she didn’t. On July 26, 1994, after all was said and done, Harding and Gillooly mutually sold a 35-minute sex tape to Penthouse Magazine.

Another lesson to be learned in this comes to us by way of Judge Donald Londer, who told Gillooly, while sentencing him to two years in prison: “You are a prime example of how ruthless ambition and raw greed can disrupt, degrade and disfigure a sport of grace even to the height of the Olympics.”

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ONCE AGAIN, Kerrigan arrived at the 1994 Winter Olympics in an ice skating dress. Which is to say, the full length of her legs were exposed, and we are shown no wound. Not even a hint of bruising. Remember when a police baton smashed down in the whereabouts of her knee and we saw no evidence for it? You will tell me that oxygen-rich blood had yet to pool underneath the skin surrounding her bruise, thereby refusing to produce the slightest hint of a slap. But we are never shown an injury at all in the fifty days in-between. Kind of odd, don’t you think? Just show me a wound. Within one or two days of the attack, the hemoglobin in the blood would transform her wound into a bluish-purple or even blackish bruise. After ten days, it would turn greenish-yellow. Do me a favor and commit to an image search in The Matrix for police baton strikes. You will find gashing wounds and blood all over the place. Blackened skin, broken bones, and stitches. You would think the media would be all over that, but no. Nothing of the sort can be found with Kerrigan.

As if to slap the injury in our face, Kerrigan shared the ice at an Olympic practice session with Harding for the first time since the January 6 attack wearing the exact same white outfit that she had been assaulted in. We are constantly offered Truth hidden in plain/plane sight, and if you’ve been paying attention, this is one such example.

Despite being taken out of the competition, Kerrigan skated what she considered to be the best two performances of her life in both the short program and free skate. Not bad for a live psyop. It goes with the career, I suppose. Some people work amazingly well under the heat of the spotlight—particularly ice skaters. She received the silver medal, finishing second to Ukrainian Oksana Baiul, with Chinese Chen Ly falling in third. The ladies single skating event is the moment when Tonya Harding stopped her entire performance to cry before the seat of judges. Ask anyone who was cognoscente in The Nighties and they’ll likely recall how her laces were lose, and that she begged for a reskate. The judges granted her one. And I have to give it to her. It was a very convincing performance. Bravo. Harding finished in eighth place—her last dance. Actually, Kerrigan clutched the gold during the short program, but lost the free skate to Baiul in a close and controversial 5-4 decision. Clearly, they were playing this drama out from all angles. CBS Television portrayed it as some sort of Cold War East meets West battle on ice, sure, singling out German judge Jan Hoffman for biased judging against America’s underdog. How many times has gymnastics settled the fate of the world again?

Rather ironic, since the competition marked a distinctive shift in the way Kerrigan’s personality was portrayed in the Tube. The Media is the master manipulator, not Jan Hoffman. It is in the Nordlyshallen, while Kerrigan waited over 20 minutes for Lu to touch up the make-up which she’d cried off, that CBS decided to air the silver medalist saying, “Oh, come on. So she’s going to get out here and cry again. What’s the difference?” Mm-hmm, somebody flipped the script and turned on her. The truth apparently is that the delay was due to Olympic officials scouring their tape collection for the Ukrainian national anthem, which is also strange for a $300 million dollar production, but what does that matter? A missing tape is not what Kerrigan was either whispered or scripted to say. The point here is that the Media chose to air the comment, and that’s no lie.

Thus, her spiral begun.

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Sure, Kerrigan is an underdog story. But it’s also the cautionary tale of an American idol incapable of meeting the expectations thrusted upon her. Remember those multi-million dollar endorsements? They were quickly dropped. Kerrigan’s spiral continued after she elected not to attend the closing ceremonies at the Olympics, which happens all the time. Initially, her agent claimed this was because Norwegian security had advised her to leave due to death threats, which was later denied. How her agent could have remained ignorant to the fact that she flew to Disney World is anybody’s best guess. Let’s try that again. Her agent is one of the leading marketing agents in the world and definitely wasn’t ignorant.

While at the Magic Kingdom, the official narrative will tell you time and again, verbatim, that Kerrigan was caught on microphone telling Mickey Mouse: “This is dumb. I hate it. This is the corniest thing I have ever done.” Once again, they aired it. Ridiculous. I used to be a wedding photographer. That’s like me saying I caught a bride or one of her bridesmaids slipping off one garment for another and then broadcasting the nip shot for her friends. I wouldn’t do that because I was paid to make them look good. See what I mean? Celebrities talk trash all the time and it is the media’s job to protect them. Especially their Corporate sponsors. You almost begin to get the feeling that Disney acts as an MK-Ultra Slave Master, but that’s probably none of my business.

Kerrigan later claimed her remark was aimed at her agent and the silver medal she was wearing rather than Disney or the parade itself. Wait, why was she angry at her agent again? Something about dumb and corny. Kind of sounds like it has something to do with wearing an Olympic medal in a Disney World parade. There’s only so many ways that you can spin that. Here Kerrigan added: “Who could find fault with Mickey Mouse? He’s the greatest mouse I’ve ever known.” Her first quote was by far less corny, but even Kerrigan’s gotta eat. If Mickey Mouse offered a comment, we are not told.

Before concluding this week’s paper, I decided to do a little digging on the agent whom Kerrigan slung so much mud at. His name was Jerry Solomon and as it turns out, she married him the following year. I checked. Solomon is a Joo. And now you know.

Why did the world turn on Kerrigan? The answer to that is simple. Because the Media informs our reality. And also because the Media told them to.

Noel

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