“I am who I was once

I am as you see

You make it make sense now”

—Mark Staycer

 

PAUL IS DEAD.

No—that’s not a typo. What you just read is one of the oldest “conspiracies” still readily available or discussed among theorists today. The foundation of its argument begins like this. On the early hours of Wednesday, November the 19th, 1966, a vicious fight between Paul McCartney and Ringo Starr ended with McCartney storming out of the studio and driving off in his Austin Healey. Along the way he picked up a hitchhiker. Her name was Rita. Neither made it home.

During the sunset of The Sixties, Paul’s gruesome death was the sort of rumor which might only be spread among subscribers of back alley conspirator newsletters or by gleaning the latest gossip on the marijuana train. I don’t say any of this to discredit the fact. Indeed, I’ve pondered over the Beatles subliminal messaging for years. And I’ve actually been trying to figure out if I can add anything new to the discussion. I believe I can. The most obvious conclusion to make, given what has already been discussed, is that The Beatles were Intel. That fact will become even more conspicuous when we find ourselves in the summer heat of a Helter Skelter crime wave—1969.

Admit it. You probably only agreed to read this paper because you’re wondering if I believe Paul McCartney is dead. I’m already three paragraphs in and you’re accusing me of “beating around the bush.” Get to it, Noel. How you feel about me as a “Truther” awaits in my response. What if I told you that John Lennon is still alive?

Oh, John Lennon is most certainly still alive. The question you will be asking yourself, before this is over, is if he actually realizes it yet.

 

 

You see, part of the equation is something called a dissociative identity disorder, which describes Lennon well. Though the media tells us the Beatle likely struggled his entire life with mental illness, we all know this has something to do with the MK-Ultra program. And it does not take a leap of imagination by any means to finger Yoko Ono. Rock musicians need government spooks like a cocaine addict needs his dealer. She was probably his handler from the very beginning. Yoko Ono breaking up the Beatles is only a half truth when in fact the Beatles were created by Intel.

It was Intel which broke up the Beatles.

Who set Lennon up with Yoko’s assistant, May Pong? Yoko did. It was Yoko who sent him home to her apartment, advising that she bed with him. It was her suggestion that Pong move into the Dakota while she was away in Chicago for a psyop feminist convention. And when Lennon and Pong moved to Los Angeles together—Yoko again. I haven’t the faintest clue which of Lennon’s split personalities became a born-again believer in 1977, but Yoko put a stop to that. Yoko was pulling the strings all along.

Another common observation is that Yoko seemed much happier after Lennon’s death. She paraded her lover Sam Havadtoy around New York, dressed in Lennon’s old clothes, and then exploited his memory for her own gain. She even successfully rewrote the Beatles mythology to some extent, transforming Lennon into the musical Wizard and McCartney the dunce.

At this point in my research, I’m not even entirely positive that Lennon was in on his own faked death when Mark David Chapman pulled the trigger in front of the Dakota building in December of 1980. But let’s just say, for sake of argument, that a trigger was pulled. Mark Staycer may not have been born that very moment, but it is also not beyond the realm of possibilities that Lennon’s doppelganger took over his psyche while Chapman sat down to read Catcher in the Rye—or soon after. Yoko Ono was a Master Wizard of performance art, and this just may prove to be her greatest act of witchery yet.

 

 

Lost already? Who is Mark Staycer—you ask? Hold onto something, because here we go. The world would not discover Lennon’s whereabouts until 2009. Only then we would come to know him as Mark Staycer.

Staycer’s appearance would coincide with a low-budget indie Canadian mockumentary titled Let Him Be. The film was quietly released and then pulled both from theaters and festivals almost immediately afterwards. Strange, don’t you think? Even the professional actors who appear in the film do not identify their involvement on IMDB pages. But even before that, Peter McNamee received Telefilm funding, despite having no previous track record as a director. What this tells us is that even Intel slips up at times. And in the decade since, they’ve practically scrubbed it from The Matrix.

The story of ‘Let Him Be’ revolves around a young man who discovers a Super 8 camera with a home movie still inside. Its contents involve a children’s birthday party and someone singing and playing guitar who has an uncanny resemblance to John Lennon. He soon sets out in search of him. See, this is where Intel screwed up. They had probably intended to shove the real John Lennon in our face and beckon us to deny that reality, so as to help the cognitive dissonance sink even deeper down, when in fact too many people witnessed a film about a man playing someone who is advertised to us as John Lennon and then concluded: “Wait a second—I think he is John Lennon.”

The actor playing John Lennon is Mark Staycer. Only in the movie, and as an added dimension, he goes by the name of Lennon impersonator Noel Snow. For the record, the real Mark Staycer is a lifelong imitator of John Lennon, just as Snow is in the movie. He looks exactly like Lennon. Same eyes. Same nose. Same ears. Same chin. Same teeth. Same lips. Same fingers. Even the mole under his right eye is identical. Everything about him is an exact match. Though apparently born and raised in Michigan, his American is spotty while his Liverpool accent is spot on—even while singing. Track down a copy and you will also find that it’s difficult getting a direct shot of Staycer in practically any scene, as if director Peter McNamee went to great lengths to camouflage him. Why would Mark Staycer need camouflaged? Because he is in every sense of the word the man he is attempting to impersonate. John Lennon.

 

 

Some will argue that Mark Staycer knows he is John Lennon and only roughhousing us up a bit. That may be so. Actors fill the frame of the MK-Ultra program. And was John Lennon not a prankster? Either way, I cannot pretend to fully comprehend the intricate inner-workings of the split psyche fluttering around in the soul of a monarch butterfly. But I suggest the padded identity of Noel Snow plays into my theory. Mark Staycer is no longer actor John Lennon, just as Noel Snow is no longer actor Mark Staycer. Staycer can only induce visions of grandeur and pretend to be John Lennon. He can prove one hell of a good John Lennon, but at the end of the day he will always be Mark Staycer. Maybe he even believes himself to be John Lennon. I don’t know. You tell me.

Again, either way, the very name Noel Snow once again plays into the split-psyche double fantasy. Researcher Miles Mathis sees it as an anagram. He writes, “Notice the name NOELSNOW contains the letters LENONO.” Mathis points out that LENONO is none other than the Lennon/Ono record label, as seen on the back of their Double Fantasy record.

With Let Him Be, it’s one anomaly after another. The John Lennon character, Noel Snow, is seen in his recording studio with odd equipment for a small time Lennon impersonator. An AKAI GX-635D reel to reel with six VU’s. Vintage mixing consoles. A vintage and extremely rare Crumar Roadrunner II keyboard, circa 1980. Mathis suggests we’re actually staring into John Lennon’s studio.

And I know what you’re probably thinking. Why would Intel transform John Lennon into Lennon impersonator Mark Staycer only to have him play the part of Lennon impersonator Noel Snow who is in actuality, as part of the script, the real John Lennon? They do it all the time.

We need only look to the December 14, 2012 shooting massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Connecticut. Super Bowl XLVII is no accident. That the slain children were miraculously paraded in front of us almost two months later—to 111-million worldwide viewers—as part of the Sandy Hook choir, was not an oopsie-daisy. That President Obama was able to raise the dead by hugging a ‘slain’ Newtown girl only days after the shooting, and in view of the press (this meeting was publicized) was not a lapse in judgement. Sandy Hook’s mortally wounded principal suddenly emerged some four months later, only this time as the victim of the Boston bombing. And let’s not overlook actor David Wheeler, playing two roles in one movie—a responding SWAT officer and mourning “dad” of a little child. These crisis drills are designed to look fabricated for a reason. This is subconscious human conditioning. Psychological warfare on a subliminal level. Or rather, the masterful art of deception perfected. We were all given the opportunity to observe such glaring contradictions and willfully choose our part in the denial. This is how we dig ever deeper into the cold cognition of apathy and evil.

Even the title ‘Let Him Be’ is an interesting turn of phrase. Get it? Let him be. Let who be? We are expected to believe the character Noel Snow, when the real person we are to let alone is the person he is revealed to be. John Lennon, duh.

I would be doing you a disservice if I neglected to add that Mark Staycer playing Noel Snow doesn’t simply perform Lennon on par. He writes his own songs too. And they’re purely Lennon. Songs like ‘Still Here I Am’ sound like Lennon alright—a broken down Lennon who wishes the past would simply leave him alone. Out of sight is out of mind. His next song, ‘I Was There,’ eerily details the moment David Chapman entered his life. Point is, they’re entirely Lennon.

In ‘I Was There,’ Staycer sings:

“Let’s have the truth and lose the lies.

Are you listening FBI?”

It is very difficult indeed to conclude that Lennon was not—how should I say it—one of the boys. If Lennon truly did believe the Nixon Administration was after him, wiretapping his phone calls, as biographical claims insist, then it was only so that the MK-Ultra victim could defeat his handler, thereby succeeding in splitting his psyche. Mark Staycer. The handler has won. That being the case, then John Lennon is dead. And perhaps—just perhaps—Mark Staycer got a little too close to discovering who he truly is.

That—or John Lennon is screwing with us.

 

 

IF YOU’RE still following, then my Paul is dead theory goes something-something as follows. 

During an undisclosed period of The Sixties, Paul McCartney died. Sort of. The Beatles then replaced him with Billy Shears, aka William Campbell. If you recall, Billy Shears had a heavy hand in penning the Sgt. Pepper album. Then again, like Lennon, Paul McCartney never really died—genetically speaking. And we’re talking merely on a biological level. That’s because William Campbell is McCartney.

Also, the Walrus was Paul.

 

 

AT THIS VERY moment, you’re probably wondering why you just scrolled past a picture of The Doors front-man Jim Morrison when in fact we’re supposed to be covering Billy Shears, aka William Campbell. “Noel’s beating around the bush again. Never can answer a direct question.”

See, we’ve established by this point that Lennon is Staycer. But if you’re reading this book in a chronological order, then you’ll understand full well that Morrison was pimped out by his father.

This may require more reading.

 

 

One of these days, I half expect to receive a link to some clip from the channel 9 evening news in Ann Arbor or Albuquerque or some obscure college town. The segment I’m imagining is pulled from a surviving VHS recording during the sleepy hours of 2002, when post-September 11 propaganda went into hyper overdrive and our Slave Masters needed the cognitive dissonance to really dig in. It devotes an entire minute to detailing some old fat man who looks exactly like Santa Clause. But on second glance, Jim Morrison. Come to think of it, everything about him screams The Doors leading man. Only he goes now by two first names, Fred Todd or Cory Roger—or if Intel was feeling especially frisky, Morris Jim.

Understand, the segment isn’t about Jim Morrison Fred Todd. No, it’s about the popularity of poetry reading night at Fact and Fiction, an independent bookstore only a block or two from the local University. But as the story unfolds, we hear the store owner talk about Fred Todd’s obsession with poetry. He’s been coming in to poetry reading night every Wednesday for ten years, never missing a beat, and everyone who works in the book store knows it. We hear a lyric or two from Fred Todd’s work. It involves an Indian and a snake deity. He delivers the line like a spiritual shaman. We further learn that he’s obsessed with singing songs from The Doors and, come to think of it, they’re the only songs he knows.

Mm-hmm, Jim Morrison lives.

Sure, Fred Todd and the channel 9 evening news entire segment is only a figment of my imagination, but hang with me here, because there’s a point to this. Need I remind you that this is precisely what the CIA would do. If you’re still hung up on the fact that I invented a scenario whereas an old fuddy-duddy showed up in the channel 9 evening news in 2002 right after the latest episode of Jeopardy, then you’re failing to recognize the reality of the ongoing psyop. It’s spooks who not only ran the independent bookstore, they’re also responsible for releasing it onto The YouTube fifteen years later. For all we know, the book store never actually existed and the segment failed to run. Also, that Jim Morrison poster you hung up over your bed as an emblem of your free thinking was purchased at your local shopping mall because spooks ensured a poster stand would sell their products (Freddy Mercury, Elvis Presley, Tupac Shakur, Marilyn Monroe, Steve McQueen, JFK, Prince) halfway between the glorified bra boutique and the food court.

Also, rock n’ roll was an Intel psyop.

 

 

I TAKE IT everyone is familiar with the Abbey Road cover, yes? John the angel. Ringo the minister. Paul the barefooted dead soul. George the grave digger. No conversation in the Paul is dead psyop is complete without it. The far more stunning evidence however isn’t the masterful art piece engraved seemingly effortlessly on a 1969 LP, but George Harrison’s own admission in his first solo album, All Things Must Pass, released in 1970.

The song is titled, ‘It’s Johnny’s Birthday,’ and just so we’re clear, he’s speaking about John Lennon.

More specifically, Lennon’s birthday.

Anton LaVey (I know) said birthdays are “the highest of all holidays in the Satanic religion.” And he’s absolutely correct about that. If the term Satanic seems too superficial or mainstream for you (and it is), then just replace it with the word Mystery. As in, the Babylonian Mystery religion. I am reminded of a paper I wrote which pulled just about everyone’s panties in a twist, and the brunt of it is this. Birthday celebrations ultimately originated in the Mystery religions, because the esoteric point to the divine hieroglyph is the neophyte coming to the knowledge that he is also divine. And so, naturally, he must worship the elohim within. The ancient world of Egypt, Greece, Rome, Babylon, and Persia celebrated the birthdays of divine beings and kings. If birthdays became popular for the common man, it’s probably only because Plato’s role was to initiate everyone into the Mystery religions via the immortal soul doctrine. Hence, everyone was now immortal by their own intellect know-how and disciplinary willpower, if they wanted to be. Birthdays, let the worship of the self-commence.

LaVey was a spook. A dressed-up mannequin in the store front window display. A Langley operation. And also, a nerd. So, you can only imagine my sigh when I quote his fuller discourse on the birthday celebration, which can be found in The Satanic Bible, and it goes as follows:

“The highest of all holidays in the Satanic religion is the date of one’s own birthday. This is in direct contradiction to the holy of holy days of other religions, which deify a particular god who has been created in an anthropomorphic form of their own image, thereby showing that the ego is not really buried. The Satanist feels: ‘Why not really be honest and if you are going to create a god in your image, why not create that god as yourself.” Every man is a god if he chooses to recognize himself as one. So, the Satanist celebrates his own birthday as the most important holiday of the year. After all, aren’t you happier about the fact that you were born than you are about the birth of someone you have never even met? Or for that matter, aside from religious holidays, why pay higher tribute to the birthday of a president or to a date in history than we do to the day we were brought into this greatest of all worlds? Despite the fact that some of us may not have been wanted, or at least were not particularly planned, we’re glad, even if no one else is, that we’re here! You should give yourself a pat on the back, buy yourself whatever you want, treat yourself like the king (or god) that you are, and generally celebrate your birthday with as much pomp and ceremony as possible.”

Harrison chose a song deifying John Lennon on his highest of holy days to execute his Thelmic craft. Oh, haven’t you heard? Aleister Crowley is another important puzzle piece to the Paul is dead narrative. Hang with me here, because we’re essentially dealing with a split psyche, and the Beast Master Crowley did appear on the cover of Sgt. Pepper. No Paul is dead conversation is complete without him.

First released in 1913, Magick (Book 4) is widely considered to be occultist Aleister Crowley’s magnum opus. In it, Crowley insisted that his disciples “train himself to think backwards by external means.” He was furthermore instructed to write and talk backwards, but also to “listen to phonograph records, reversed.”

We have a word for that. Backtracking.

And though this may be argued by some, nobody backtracked like the Beatles.

The Beatles had already sung about the birthday celebration on their 1968 White Album. Practically everything McCartney wrote was garbage, according to Lennon, of which Birthday was no exception. On the same album, John even went so far as to cast Paul in the role of a Lewis Carroll figure. The song was titled “Glass Onion,” and the walrus, as you already know, was Paul. In Through the Looking Glass, the walrus coerced the oysters into his belly. The walrus was an imposter. The comparison seems harsh. But the Beatles were all about manipulation from the very beginning. Mass media manipulation among the gullible masses who placed their trust in a product. Corporate manipulation of its own eager shoppers, standing outside in the cold and waiting for its doors to open. The Beatles were both media and corporate. They’re not even hiding that fact anymore. They manipulated their own fans, and everybody loves them for it.

In large part they were a major contributor to the birth of the teenager, which has already been covered. In the happenstance that you need a refresher, it had to do with screaming. Also, wet seats. Yeah, it took a janitor to clean that mess up. Total emotional manipulation.

 

 

Before you tell me that Beatles publicist Derek Taylor or their manager Brian Epstein couldn’t have possibly hired the girls needed to scream their lungs out, need I remind you that Frank Sinatra’s publicist George Evans did indeed hire girls in the front row, because screaming was not a thing. It worked for Sinatra. Presley too. Women everywhere fed off of that energy. The Ed Sullivan Show was broadcast into nearly every television in America. The Corporate media essentially created a ground swell with sub-psychodramas, whereas somebody would get married, and all the girls who wanted Paul or Ringo or John [fill in the blank] would have their bachelor snatched away from them, and the depression would set in.

Even the Beatles breakup played into the psychodrama. It is so ironic that John Lennon officially broke up the Beatles while staying at the Polynesian Resort in Walt Disney World, literally staring at the Magic Kingdom. Walt Disney World was a CIA operation, another psychodrama. The manipulation of their own listeners emotions would later be played out by Lennon and McCartney’s war of words, particularly on their early solo albums. And it’s so obviously mimicking the sort of abusive relationship one might find among an Mk-Ultra with his handler.

The psyop played out on the subconscious level is mass engineering on everyone.

 

 

We’re still on the topic of ‘It’s Johnny’s Birthday.’ The lyrics go something as follows.

“….and we would like to wish him all the very best.”

Backtrack that on the turntable and it sounds precisely like this.

“He never wore his shoes; we all know he was dead.”

 

 

I ask you to pause here and attempt to grasp what Harrison is ultimately saying. By drawing out attention to the cover of Abbey Road, he’s not simply talking backwards. He’s walking backwards too. That’s precisely what an adept of Thelma is instructed to do. And I know what you might already be thinking. If so, then you’re wrong. The Beatles didn’t study rigorously to become practitioners of Thelma magick simply to reach out to backmasking pot heads and confess that their dear friend had died, as if they were being held hostage and couldn’t say anything to the media. There’s a reason why John and Paul’s two posthumous Beatles albums, a catalogue of A-side and B-side singles, were called Past Masters. In Freemason terms they had achieved their status as Grand Wizards. Musicians covet the Beatles. It’s not because they want to become a Beatle, historically speaking. They want to cast the sort of spell on the world which the Beatles seemed to effortlessly achieve.

An interesting component to the Paul is dead psyop is how dis-proportioned McCartney is from the other Beatles in their various photographs. On the cover of Let It Be, John, Ringo, and George look stage left while only Paul is gazing directly into the listeners subconscious. In 1966, The Beatles traded out their baby murdering Moloch cover of Yesterday and Today for another which also worships death, but in a far more deviously subtle way. They put McCartney in something resembling a coffin. Baby sacrificing as a means of immortalizing the infant soul can be traced back to Homeric literature. Then again, burying the mortal initiate cries out Templar shrouds, a practice which still dominates Freemasonry, as well as the coffins of Skull and Bones, a rite that takes us back to the mummies of Egypt, via the Mysteries of Isis.

It’s literally in the title. Yesterday and Today.

You will tell me this is proof that Paul McCartney is dead. No, William Campbell is playing the part of Grand Master Jacques de Molay and showing us the way. The man in the shroud of Turin is the holy grail.

The back cover of Sgt. Pepper is for me the most telling. Once again disproportionate from his band members, only Paul is turned away from us. It’s almost as if we’re staring into his Looking Glass image, something which directs us not to Lewis Carroll’s literature so much as Monarch Butterfly. The Beatles are telling us of his split psyche. McCartney has successfully dislocated himself from the Alice peeping into the rabbit hole above with the Alice figure he has become below. He has journeyed through the mirror into the land of the looking glass. In Oz-ian terms, he has transformed from Dorothy to Ozma.

Billy Shears wrote Sgt. Pepper.

 

 

ON JUNE 4, 2007, Paul McCartney released an album titled ‘Memory Almost Full,’ in which he sings of his gratitude for everything he’s been given. Once again, the Aleister Crowley disciple backtracks the intended spell. He sings:

“Who is this now….?

I was William Campbell.”

Again, I know what you’re probably thinking. If you’re thinking Paul is dead, then you’re dead wrong. This isn’t a confession by some Canadian who won a look-alike contest. Rather, William Campbell, who perhaps also played the part of Billy Shears (yet another persona), was ritualistically split from the psyche of Paul McCartney and then played out as an alchemical psychodrama, but on the subconscious level. The only difference with Mark Staycer’s split from John Lennon is that the psychodrama was intended on an exoteric level and for the worldwide stage, whereas McCartney’s conversion strictly remained within the esoteric.

The Beatles were wizards in every sense of the word.

 

 

THE FINAL tip off came after stumbling upon an article titled “Paul is dead” on The Wikipedia, the brunt of which emphasizes how Paul’s alleged death among fans has become “the subject of analysis in the fields of sociology, psychology and communications.” Roughly translated, if you’re putting any credibility to the “Paul is dead” conspiracy, hence the very reason you clicked onto their article, then you have psychological issues. There’s some irony for you. Spooks created Billy Shears as surely as they created the Beatles. They threw bread crumbs in the way of album art and lyrics from the very get-go, and it’s a loaded cow, because several decades later they’re still milking that tit. They then went on to write articles in Rolling Stone and The Wikipedia calling you psychologically imbalanced for picking up on the finer details of their psyop.

Oh, haven’t you heard? The Wikipedia is spook literature. It’s written by spooks and for spooks. It’s how they pass notes in class. Also, how they jump through fiery hoops in order to keep the lie alive for the Corporate consumer. It’s like watching an Illuminati movie script in the form of a chocolate candy bar set upon the dashboard of my car on a blistering hot day. I just love to sit there with the windows down, watching it melt. Spook literature loves to manipulate remind us all how they’re dissecting our psychological issues this very moment, as we speak, because you’re a rat in a cage. That’s how they see you. You’re a rat. A slave to the cage. And they built the maze.

To put their manipulation in slightly different terms, they’re gas-lighting you. Gas-lighting. The very phrase derives from the 1944 film of the same name, Gaslight. Its plot centers on a thief who tries to convince Ingrid Bergman that she’s crazy so as to lock her up in an institution, thereby stealing the jewels hidden in her house. After raising and dimming the gaslights throughout her house, he convinces her that she is imagining the whole thing. Get it…? The jokes on you. If you look across a flat horizon from the seashore and don’t imagine a curve just beyond, then you disagree with the lab-coat professionals overseeing your maze and therefore have psychological issues. Just do as you’re told and look for the American dream cheese which is not only unsatisfying, but completely unreachable.

Sometime in 1967, Paul McCartney, or was it Billy Shears, wrote the following lyrics.

But the fool on the hill
Sees the sun going down
And the eyes in his head
See the world spinning ’round

Excuse my French, but who the hell writes lyrics like that? Certainly, nobody who’s drunk the K-Aide. The Fool on the Hill was released in November of 1967. We’re in the thick of the Cold War. America is pressed to the space race against Soviet Russia, only two years away from the Apollo moon landing hoax, and Beatle Paul is dropping lyrics that openly insinuates you’re a fool for believing the Copernican Revolution. Also, you’re psychologically ill for noticing. You’ve just been gas-lighted. For this we can undoubtedly thank his handler.

“His handler…?” You sigh.

Before you accuse me of reading Billy Shears Paul McCartney wrong, we need to consider that The Who openly spoke of the Copernican-revolution hoax only two months beforehand. I Can See for Miles was released in September of 1967, and it goes like this:

I know you’ve deceived me, now here’s a surprise
I know that you have ’cause there’s magic in my eyes

I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles

Again, I ask, who the hell writes lyrics like that? Mk-Ultras, that’s who.

In the final months before John Lennon bowed out at the hands of Mark David Chapman, via split psyche, the former Beatle wrote the following lyrics:

People say I’m crazy

Doing what I’m doing

Well, they give me all kinds of warnings

To save me from ruin

When I say that I’m okay, well they look at me kinda strange

“Surely, you’re not happy now, you no longer play the game”

People say I’m lazy

Dreaming my life away

Well, they give me all kinds of advice

Designed to enlighten me

When I tell them that I’m doing fine watching shadows on the wall

“Don’t you miss the big-time boy, you’re no longer on the ball?”

I’m just sitting here watching the wheels go round and round

I really love to watch them roll

No longer riding on the merry-go-round

I just had to let it go.

Yeah, um, that’s interesting.

This is precisely what our Slave Masters do. They dangle the Truth right there in front of you. Like a block of cheese on a string. Because you’re a rat. In a cage. And they created the maze. Just the other day Skynet sent me an article which actually read along the lines of: If you see pictures of celebrities everywhere throwing their allegiance up to Horus, then you’ve got a psychological problem. Get it…? The jokes on you, Noel. You have the problem. It’s not their fault that they keep shoving it into your face. Mm-hmm, gas-lighting.

Speaking of which… If you see McCartney throwing up his allegiance in—I don’t know—say, the picture I started this chapter with, which derives from a recent issue of GQ, then you’re probably psychologically ill for noticing.

 

 

Noel

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