Covid and Hollywood in the Carnival Called Reality
During the lockdowns, famous screenwriter, Joe Jim Bob Cash, in order to escape recriminations from his kids because he wouldn’t wear a mask, hid in the basement of his Beverly Hills mansion and wrote raw notes for a new script:
SCENE: Bill and Melinda in a frozen circle of Hell. Small apartment. Wheezing heater.
Bill: Maybe we should have released a real virus.
Mel: Don’t you remember what David Rockefeller told you? They mutate quickly, nobody knows if they’ll have any effect at all. Selling THE STORY ABOUT A VIRUS is much better. We control it.
Bill: Anyway, what are we doing here?
Mel: I think it’s a challenge, a test. What can we sell in this place, and to whom?
Bill: It’s too late to atone for our sins?
Mel: What sins?
Bill: Sorry, I forgot. We’re immune. But look out the window. There’s nothing but a sheet of ice in all directions. Nobody there.
Mel: We’ll find somebody and sell something.
SCENE: Conference room in a hotel. Two Biden advisors.
“How’s he doing?”
“Same old, same old. The doctors are trying to get the dosages right. Uppers, downers, the rumor is he’s on a dozen drugs. For the past five years. You know, so he can stand up and sound coherent for a few minutes at a time.”
“Do we want to win this campaign?”
“My guess is hell no. Why are we going with Biden? I think we’re supposed to lose to Trump, so rioters can try to burn down a hundred cities. Hell of a game plan.”
“It’s a strategy I haven’t dealt with before.”
SCENE: Conference room in the White House. Two Trump campaign advisors.
“Why isn’t the president sending in the FBI or troops to squash the riots?”
“He might be playing an angle. You know, show people the violence on television all the way up to the election and win in a landslide. Just a guess.”
“It could work.”
“Worked for Nixon in 1968.”
“What about the economy? It’s a horror story.”
“Trump blames it on the Democrats.”
“What other choice does he have? He bought the COVID fakery in one fell swoop. One of the worst moves a president ever made. Virus my ass.”
SCENE: Bunker a hundred feet below the basement of the New York mayor’s mansion. George Soros, an ex-CIA officer, a Chinese Army colonel.
Soros: Burn, baby, burn.
Ex-CIA: My list of paid operatives, hard cases, is up to 900. They know how to take a protest up to a crazy riot in five minutes. They’re good. We can ship them anywhere.
Chinese colonel: You need more. I can supply some Americans.
Soros: Colonel, how long do you think it’ll take to impose the Chinese social credit score system together with real time surveillance on all of America?
Chinese colonel: Five years. But we need ongoing chaos.
SCENE: Conference room, video game company, “FOR THE LOVE OF SHOOTING.” Two executives.
“We’re way down on sales of all games.”
“What did you expect? People are watching the riots on TV. Some of them are out in the streets. They’re into the real thing. We can’t beat that.”
“How about a game where we mix and match virtual with actual riots?”
“How do we do that?”
“I think our holograms are good enough. We project them in and among the actual street events. You know, holos of cops, soldiers, invaders from outer space, UN troops, monsters.”
“I’m trying to picture how it would work.”
“Leave that to our tech guys and scripters. They’ll figure it out.”
SCENE: Conference room, CNN headquarters. Two execs.
“So I want to test this out. At the top of the news, no anchor, no voiceover. We just show five full minutes of riot and burning footage, and flash, every nine seconds, a big blinking poster that reads: COVID DEATH, COVID DEATH, COVID DEATH.”
“I like it.”
Joe forwards the script notes to a producer friend. The reply; “Have you gone full-blown whacko?”
Joe and the producer talk.
Joe: How can I sell this?
Producer: Two ways. One, it all takes place in a nut house. The inmates are pretending to be Bill and Melinda and the other characters. Or we make a documentary of your severe mental decline during the lockdowns, and use your notes as evidence.
Joe: Suppose my notes reflect the truth?
Producer: Suppose the man in the moon is George Washington? What the hell’s wrong with you?
Joe: AGAIN—what about the stuff in my notes? Suppose—
Producer: Suppose superheroes really do fly from building to building and repel missiles. Come on, Joe. Put your mind right. We’re in the puerile fantasy business, not the apeshit insane business.
Joe: Put my mind right? How?
Producer: Think about money. It always works for me.
Joe: I have all the money I’ll ever need.
Producer: Then think about getting drummed out of the corps. Never working in Hollywood again. Going on a blacklist. Your family is devastated. Humiliated. Their friends shun them.
Joe: Yeah, that r
Article from LewRockwell