“Freeman, thank you for coming on the show.”
“Texe, thank you for letting me use your shower.”
“You did clog up the drain something fierce.”
“Not me. False flag operation.”
“Really?”
“Your shower is a crisis actor.”
“My word! Only baths from now on. Why are we looking at boobies, Freeman?”
“We’re not looking at boobies, Texe: we’re looking through the looking bra.”
“I understood the spirit of what you just said, but need more information.”
“The owl, Texe! Minerval predator of the night! Wisdom’s familiar and hidden icon of the Sons of the Bavarian Widow! Eater of children’s lollipops!”
“We had one in the backyard for ages. Used to scare the bejesus out of Mrs. Marrs.”
“She was right to be frightened. The owl is a grim portent; behind its eyes are cunning and chicanery and Jews.”
“My word! Jews!”
“Of course, Texe. All comes back to Jews and the Illuminati.”
“What about the Whore of Rome?”
“A front.”
“For whom?”
“Jews and the Illuminati.”
“My word!”
“I feel like you’re trying to force a catch phrase, Texe.”
“Let’s get back to the owl and its relationship to boobies and chicken wings.”
“Chicken? No, not chicken. Last real chicken died in 1983. What they want us to believe is chicken was created at Dulce Base sometime in the 70’s. These so-called chickens are laced with protein-based intelligence suppressors, plus a genetic bomb interwoven within the RNA.”
“What does that do, Freeman?”
“If you’ve ever eaten a chicken sandwich, the government can blow you up by remote control.”
“Even grilled?”
“A healthier choice than fried, but still yes.”
“Nuggets?”
“Smaller explosions, but still yes.”
“Tell me more about Dulce Base, Freeman.”
“I may have said too much already, but I’ll continue anyway. Dulce Base is a joint operation: military, about four or five alien races, several fictional armies that fought their way into this reality, and the Mormons.”
“Mormons?”
“It’s Utah, Texe. Plus, there’s not such thing as Mormons. Front group for Jews and the Illuminati.”
“Was this base like Area 51?”
“Area 51? Texe, don’t be a noob.”
“Sorry.”
“Area 51 was a ruse to fool the rubes. Hell, most of the Areas were fairly innocuous. Area 19 was a go-kart track.”
“So much we don’t know. More on Dulce.”
“It was the place where the genetic experiments took place. Human/alien hybridizations. It was a factory of atrocities, as humans and aliens are not compatible in that way.”
“How so, Freeman?”
“Most aliens look like doughnuts made out of fungus. Or vaguely giant koosh-looking, but with five sex-anuses on its face.”
“My word.”
“Fastasprangians are an alien race made up of sentient chemical reactions; they communicate by forming covalent bonds with each other. How do you have sex with that?”
“I couldn’t begin to start to prepare to answer that, Freeman.”
“This is where the doctors come in. Their first experiments were to see how much alien tissue could be implanted into a human.”
“How much?”
“It depends on whether you want the patient to survive the procedure.”
“What if you do?”
“Then: none. None at all. A human being’s immune system will violently reject alien organs. They put a Arcturian’s kidney into a lady and she simply burst into flames. Like her white blood cells hit the self-destruct button.”
“So that’s a no-go.”
“Well, they kept trying for a few decades. You know: mad scientist gonna mad scientist.”
“Were there any successes?
“The Dulce Base flag football team was virtually unbeatable.”
…
“Is it ‘t.exe’ like a computer program?”
“You’re obsessed with this.”
“Well, Texe: we explore mysteries and how to say your name is the biggest fucking mystery of all.”
“Freeman, language.”
“My apologies.”
“We’re in mixed company.”
“You sure we’re not in mixe company?”
“Cut the shit, Dan.”
“DON’T YOU CALL ME BY MY SLAVE NAME.”
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