Stranger Things Than Bardot

Don't Forget That You Are Going To Die

Humans are a peculiar species.

Nothing in our world can pass without narrative framing and attachment to help make sense of events that transpire by ascribing causation or finding correlations. Though we are highly selective creatures, because we often ascribe causes and correlations where none exist, or ignore them all when there are mountains of both.

Through education, mass media, entertainment, and a well-oiled historical guilt extortion game, narratives can even mold in the public consciousness without any events transpiring at all, or the causes of which are completely fabricated. (See most of 20th-century Western history.)

Narrative is the backbone that gives our life experiences significance. They can change over time as memories become foggy, and with our desire to wrap ourselves within them for comfort or meaning, or to exploit and extort others.

A woman ends a toxic long-term relationship and travels to another city for unrelated reasons. While stopping for gas, she sees an old ex-boyfriend at the same station. Neither of them lives there. The encounter happens four days after the breakup. She interprets the event as destiny, rather than happenstance or accident, and emotionalizes or even labels it as a “sign from the universe.” If religious, she might call it a “sign from God.”

Each individual can choose what context and details to include or omit from personal experiences, thereby defining events in their lives that might seem transformationally powerful.

In psychology, this is called Jungian Synchronicity, when one or more events occur close in time, with no physical cause and effect chain, and yet still have a strong symbolic or emotional resonance with the individual.

The opening interviews of married couples from the Rob Reiner film “When Harry Met Sally” seem apropos here.

Husband: I was at the butcher's, sent by my mother to pick up the roast. Waiting in line, I noticed this pretty girl walking past the shop windows.

Wife: There he was inside the same butcher shop I was walking past in Brooklyn, as if it were destiny.

If we’re not directly involved in events but experiencing them as distant observers, building a coherent narrative still helps us make sense of the world. Order is much more preferable to chaos.

Apparently, each individual can also choose what details to include or omit from highly publicized, staged, and scripted public events, thereby bending narratives that are often ‘official stories’ furnished by those who staged the events and have prepared a solution to the very “problem” they created.

Those wily skeptics, who detect scripted events, are provisioned with alternative prefabricated narratives from online personalities, who are pushed into the spotlight for one reason only— to keep the spectacle grounded in authenticity.

Not happy with government officials involved in staging the greatest mass murder in history (outside of engineered wars) under the pretense of a health emergency? Don’t worry, here’s the Wuhan lab crew of “alternative” doctors to the rescue with a protocol that will help you beat something that doesn’t exist with more drugs that you don’t need! We don’t care who you follow, as long as you keep believing there was a pandemic and stay fearful of lab-created viruses, so you believe we have the potential to do this again.

Not satisfied with the official FBI version of events around the Charlie Kirk spectacle? Don’t worry, follow these people who are tracking Egyptian jets, Israeli security details, and all the shady individuals involved in Kirk’s organization, while his “widow” embarks on her 2025 Dry Tissue Publicity Firework extravaganza. We don’t care what you believe happened that day as long as you keep your attention focused on this spectacle.

I swear it was the guy with the palm gun, honey.

No, dear, it was the guy in the balcony behind Charlie.

What about the trap door in the floor? That’s why they scrubbed the site the next day!

No, idiots, his microphone exploded!

I think you guys are just reaching. It was probably the queer kid who liked trannies with his grandpa’s hunting rifle, just like the FBI said.

Who the hell invited this guy?

The only thing I’ve been able to conclude from the Charlie Kirk event is that only those in Valhalla will know if his neck healed as fast as Trump’s ear did.

That quote often attributed to Mark Twain, “It’s easier to fool people than to convince them they’ve been fooled,” holds a new significance in our highly scripted, atomized Truman Show world. Some people have a deeply rooted desire to know how they’ve been fooled rather than why.

Truman Burbank wants to find Ed Harris and the production room.

The online sleuths who hit the fake sky wall go back to Main Street of Seahaven for a slice of apple pie to watch podcasts tell them what to think of the wall they just hit.

Colonial Mustard with the leadpipe in the conservatory to reauthorize the NDAA.

Dancing Israelis for the Patriot Act and endless wars.

A Wuhan Lab leak for the “vaccines.”

Arsen Ostrovsky, a kosher narrative manager from Tel Aviv, with the fake blood, on Bondi Beach.

The scripted events used to be tiresome.

Then worthy of a chuckle or two, but now they’re mostly a passing jest, as if living in an amusement park and briefly looking up at a speedy ride at Magic Mountain, and wondering if the people on the ride know that they’re being taken for one.

They paid money and willingly boarded the ride, so they must know. Right?

When the participants disembark the rides, a contagion of emotions shapes their shared experience. Emotions are what mold the narrative for the masses more than anything, but the signs of them being taken for one are always there.

The rides continue even long after the riders have disembarked the spectacle.

Their time is limited.

They know that one day they are going to die.

DON’T FORGET THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE

And yet, they have to consume the aftermath of the spectacle, engrossing themselves in the narrative formation of scripted events, because they’re hooked.

How have they tried to fool me again?

Memento Mori.

In the great Christopher Nolan film Memento, Guy Pierce’s character Lenny has an affliction that fuels his obsession with investigating his wife’s murder. His anterograde amnesia means he cannot remember what happened twenty minutes ago, but he has Polaroid photos, handwritten notes, and tattoos to guide him day by day on his search.

Online sleuths have thousands of minutes of terrible, grainy bystander footage to guide them in a world where anyone can recreate anything using an AI video generator, and billions of minutes of fake AI videos are being uploaded to social sites every single day.

They’re going to solve it. They’re going to break the big story and appear with “I am a founding Mason of Turning Point,” Candace Owens, to unravel the conspiracy.

Nobody is more amused or laughing harder at the spectators, then the scriptwriters and their paid actors.

In Memento, Lenny has John G. Raped and Murdered My Wife tattooed across his chest. Erika Kirk has pleather camel toe pants, ten makeup artists, and firework displays. She’s on the case of her husband’s murder.

DON’T FORGET THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE

Erika Kirk versus Candace Owens, hosted by the Don King of Kosher Con Inc. “journalism” Bari Weiss. People tune in and follow the psychodrama closely.

Few people ask, “Why are they so desperate for everyone’s attention on this garbage?”

The Stranger Things finale was more woke garbage from Netflix. I can’t take it anymore! #BoycottNetflix!

That’s how you spend your leisure time, watching Hollywood child groomer shows, with misandry, paedophilia, miscegenation, and hero homosexuals coming out of the closet after being accosted and orally raped by a demon, and then venting about being scammed by $400 million Netflix shows to strangers online?

Another Somali daycare center without any kids in Minnesota? I’m done paying taxes! #DeportAllSomalis

Are you just now seeing the fraud? Not after a century of central bank looting and taking the dollar off the gold standard in 1971? And two trillion “missing” the day before 9-11? And trillions in fraud for a hoax pandemic that has tripled grocery prices in five years?

Mass anterograde amnesia?

Did you take a Polaroid of Donald Rumsfeld on 9-10-2001, and write on the back that he said $2 trillion was missing from the Pentagon?

Did you take a Polaroid of the price of coffee in 2019?

Did you tattoo across your chest: All of these parasites have raped and murdered my country since I was born?

Your entire host empire is built on a Ponzi scheme of fraud by international bankers who rely on you, from your birth, as a future debt slave to keep their scheme afloat, but you can’t see that they want you to suddenly pay attention to rampant fraud at Somali day care centers in a few states because the guy who broke the story (which actually broke four years ago with Project Veritas), Nick Shirley, is another Kosher Con Inc. plant funded by Israel for the amusement riders in West Israel?

Find a pen. Remember this. Find a pen and write this down. Stay focused.

It no longer matters how one is being fooled.

The adventure is in finding the causation, and correlation others who are just as outraged by events that are artificially shoved into the spotlight to enrapture the masses.

Memento Mori.

DON’T FORGET THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE

And there it was.

Just a few days ago.

Staring back from my programming screen.

I had to ask myself: “How am I being fooled?”

An old crush suddenly appeared after a bad breakup? Nope.

“Brigitte Bardot is dead,” the global headlines announced.

That doesn’t seem suspicious. She was 91.

How will I pass this last hour on the day Brigitte Bardot died?

I scan YouTube channels under my old subscriptions, mostly wondering why I ever subscribed to such mediocre or moronic channels. I remind myself how much I’ve changed in the past decade. What makes me laugh today, had my attention a decade ago.

Goldbug Peter Schiff is on a cryptobro’s podcast. I already know what Schiff will say about Gold, Silver, the dollar, and Bitcoin. I click it anyway, comprehending full well that one day I am going to die and this time will never be refunded.

Schiff performs his script just as I expect. Five minutes pass, and I remember that he lives in some rich country club enclave in Puerto Rico to avoid paying taxes. Smart guy. What was the name of that enclave, again?

I don’t have it tattooed across my chest.

I go to Zillow Puerto Rico.

Dorado. Dorado, Puerto Rico.

Mansion prices range from $10 million to $55 million.

I notice one listed for $43 million.

It’s one of those ugly “contemporary” white boxes on the golf course.

I can’t believe they’re asking $43 million for this house in Puerto Rico with no land, no ocean view, no beach, and golfers peeking into the back yard, so no privacy either. I remind myself that the dollar is tanking, and inflated house prices mean nothing in dollar terms.

I know that I’m going to die one day, and yet I click on the property anyway and start through the gallery of images.

DON’T FORGET THAT YOU ARE GOING TO DIE

Image seven.

The same wall?

I freeze.

For a full minute. Okay, maybe it was half a minute.

I re-examine it closely.

And zoom in on the photo montage portrait.

I freeze again.

Then I ask myself: “Am I Truman Burbank, and where the hell is Ed Harris hiding so I can wring his fucking neck out?”

Somebody must be messing with me.

Natalie? John G? Erika Kirk?

I mean, what are the odds?

It had to be Brigitte Bardot, on the same wall, adjacent to that memento mori, on the day she dies, after 91 years of life, inside a ridiculously overpriced home in Puerto Rico that I was led to because I chose to revisit my lame YouTube subscriptions after months of ignoring them, and clicked on a Peter Schiff podcast video, who happens to live in this area of Puerto Rico?

For those who might accuse me of rigging this up with an AI image generator, you can visit the Zillow link to this very overpriced property in Dorado, Puerto Rico, here and confirm that it is indeed real.

The property had roughly 3000 views at the time I saw it, after 26 days. Most of the visits were probably brokers in the first week.

If, say, fifty people visited this property that day online, but only half of those clicked through the images, how many recognized what they were looking at in image number seven?

Four? Two? Just me?

One in a hundred million chance on that very day?

One in a billion?

The artist who created it has one of Audrey Hepburn, Marilyn Monroe, and a dozen other icons who didn’t die that day, who were not on the wall of that home in Puerto Rico beside that memento mori.

Probability narratives.

Chaos and order.

Jungian Synchronicity?

Making sense of personal experiences.

Brigitte Bardot photo montage by Jerome Lucani

Brigitte Bardot became a global sensation because of a French Film called “And God Created Women,” directed by her husband at the time. Hollywood didn’t hand-pick her for stardom by setting her up on a paparazzi-tipped date with Cary Grant or Marlon Brando.

They would soon get their grubby hands on her, and she’d later regret it. Having attempted suicide a few times, she was probably used and abused like most starlets and sex kittens in that sick industry.

Hollywood cast her in a few flops before she became famous, but otherwise ignored her until the masses voted with their adoration and attention. Men lusted after her. Women wanted the attention of the men who lusted after her, so they turned to social mimicry.

Today, women can plump up their lips with fat injections, get breast implants, have their faces rearranged, and even trim down with drugs like Ozempic to try to mimic a French icon who won a genetic lottery.

Every generation has a Brigitte Bardot, but few of them have the good sense to depart from that industry and retire to a life of privacy, advocating for animal welfare and securing a future for their people.

Someone who goes by Sidney Sweeny is all the rage with the young men these days, because that’s how she’s been packaged and marketed for them.

So they consooom her in the way all young “right wing” men have been conditioned, with her Whiteness making her an ‘antiwoke’ direwolf among those who compete to be the most “based.” But there is nothing “based” about Sidney Sweeny. In her private life, she dates a money-grubbing manager called Scooter Braun, who, along with Puff Daddy, groomed, chewed up, and spit out a teenage Justin Bieber.

When Brigitte Bardot was all the rage, nobody needed words like based or White to describe normal behavior. Everyone instinctively knew they were looking at someone beautiful, and nobody had to apologize for being human. 90-98% of Western Europe and America were White, before they all became colonial outposts for Scooter Braun’s Chosenite tribe of Talmudic Kalergi Plan architects.

Sweeny was recently the focus of more scripted engineered “controversy.” Something about a double entendre using a jeans ad as a “dog whistle” for genes, and thereby eugenics and White supremacy and all the implanted trigger words to send the mindless borgs frothing from intolerance and hatred of the one race that isn’t permitted a future.

Nowhere is the intolerance and hatred of Whites more obvious than in Bardot’s native France, and nobody had the courage she did to speak out publicly about the planned replacement of her people. Bardot was charged and fined five times for violating “hate speech” laws in France, which protect the replacements of France’s long-planned reverse colonization.

Racial aspiration and envy are a strange game, but those who betray their position at the table always appear to have been dealt the worst genetic hand.

An editor at Vogue magazine, Emma Specter, was just one of many who published a smear piece on Bardot the day she passed, with the usual meaningless blather, calling her a bigot and “Islamophobe.”

She looks exactly as you’d expect a bitter, talentless goblin, who most likely benefited from tribal nepotism to land any role at Vogue, when she appears better suited to working the fryer at a Jack in The Box.

In this one, the goblin is NOT pregnant.

Emma Specter is going to die a lot younger than Bardot.

And nobody will be surprised by it. Or sad by it.

And nobody will remember her name or accomplishments when her fifth booster sends her to the morgue because she will have left none that are worthy mementos behind.

Along with Bardot, there was another passing this year that will serve as an ominous shift for the money grubbers like Scooter Braun and the barely sentient goblins like Emma Specter.

Even white guilt knew that one day it was going to die.

Those who birthed it with scripted narratives and erased history devoid of truth should be very afraid, because its ghost will haunt them in the years ahead, with more chaos than order.

Probability narratives?

Jungian synchronicity?

Scripted and planned?

The only way to notice the amusement rides is to never get on them.

Find a pen. Write this down. Remember it.

As another fake New Year's Day passes (April 1st is the real New Year’s, but the scriptwriters will call you a fool for believing that), the only certainty for any of us is uncertainty around the one event that will not be scripted.

Fuck taxes.

Memento mori.

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