Last night I was sittin’ in my chair, window shopping chrome for my new hardtail Sportster, as my old back beat a steady rhythm of pain through my body… and I got a message from the sister of one of my old riding buddies. My heart thudded loudly as I stared for a minute at the first few words she typed… ‘Hey I keep forgetting to tell you that my brother Ron…’ I was terrified to click on it and read the end of that sentence.

Finally, I worked up the nerve to open it, and thankfully she was just telling me he was in a nursing home here in town. He lost a toe, got put on dialysis… a common theme amongst old bikers from all the beer and road food… diabetes. I got his number from her and immediately texted him. Then I took my pack of dogs and went to bed early with my aching back.

This morning about 3:30 that backache woke me up with a gasp and tears, and I crawled out of the big brass bed that used to belong to Jj Solari, cussing my dogs, cussing my body, cussing Jj’s beautiful bed, cussing everything as my feet hit the floor. I staggered naked to the back door to let my dogs out, and pissed in the yard with them, because i wasn’t sure I could even get on and off the toilet. I tried not to cry out, naked in the yard and grasping the fence, trying to relieve the pressure on my spine. I stumbled back inside and grabbed my cleanest dirty shirt from the laundry basket and headed to the kitchen and my coffee pot. Then my phone lit up…. and it was Ron.

Ron and I ran together when I was married to my first husband. He is an old Vet and slept on our couch more often than not for several years. Back in those wild-ass days of my early twenties, we all worked like dogs in the Arkansas heat, then rode our bikes and fought and fucked around on the weekends. We did a little speed, drank a fair amount of everything, and smoked enough pot to put Willie Nelson in a coma. Thankfully, we didn’t turn into meth-heads or drunks… but the weed stuck.




As we were catching up this morning in texts, Ron told me he got caught with weed in the nursing home and almost got kicked out. I asked a million questions. How did they find it? Where did he get it? Did he sneak it in with the prison butt pocket method? (he said he didn’t) He also said he wasn’t alone… there was six of them, all in wheelchairs. I said,’ you seriously started a nursing home gang? Lemme come see you and get the whole story.’

I rolled a doobie and hobbled out to my car and headed to see my old friend before the sun came up. He came out of the nursing home and got in my car and we parked in an employee parking lot and did what we do, as he told me the tale. Seems he and several other residents snuck outside and had a nice little safety meeting and all was well, until one little old lady went weaving down the hall in her wheelchair giggling and carrying on and of course the jig was up since she also smelled like Pepe LePew. The nursing home decided Ron was the ringleader because he was the only one still able to roll a joint… they have now branded him the troublemaker.



I forgot my pain as I laughed and watched my dear old buddy of almost thirty years tell me of his experiences sneaking here and there to smoke pot during his nursing home stay. I left him to go get his breakfast with squinty red eyes and a big grin… I bet he ate a big breakfast today.

I came home and eased out of my car… and sat down on my new old hardtail in the driveway and watched the sun come up. I stretched my arms toward the sky and took a deep breath and prepared to fight my pain through another day. The thought went through my mind as I stretched, that old bikers never die. They just buy new Harleys and get caught smoking weed in the nursing home.

by Amy Irene White

They Just Smoke More Weed

Last night I was sittin’ in my chair, window shopping chrome for my new hardtail Sportster, as my old back beat a steady rhythm of pain through my body… and I got a message from the sister of one of my old riding buddies. My heart thudded loudly as I stared for a minute at the first few words she typed… ‘Hey I keep forgetting to tell you that my brother Ron…’ I was terrified to click on it and read the end of that sentence.

Finally, I worked up the nerve to open it, and thankfully she was just telling me he was in a nursing home here in town.

Click here to read this anecdote from Amy only on Bikernet.com

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by Ujjwal Dey with illustrations by Wayfarer

Love Triumphs Where Fate Falters

As a handyman, Richard had little to offer than stained clothes and bleached hands. He had worked odd jobs so often and so many, the obvious thing to do was to list himself on classifieds for any small home-repairs. Decidedly, he climbed out into the cold night to the back alley where he had chained his Triumph Bonneville. Few had chopped a Triumph since it was such a collectible.

Click here to read a romance that never ends, only on Bikernet.com

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Deadly Attachment by Ujjwal Dey
Love Triumphs Where Fate Falters

As a handyman, Richard had little to offer than stained clothes and bleached hands. He had worked odd jobs so often and so many, the obvious thing to do was to list himself on classifieds for any small home-repairs. From furniture to electric switchboards, from plumbing to roofing and gardening. He did it all. He was on retainer with two buildings and found time to do projects and minor repairs from references received through word-of-mouth publicity. During holiday season, he had so many enquires, he had considered enlisting a helper—but then the timer would go off on his 1980s design Casio and he would need to rush back to the basement room he rented in the cheapest neighbourhood in the worst corner of Bronx, NY.

He stood out like a sore thumb among the coloured crowd. Red hair, freckled, ghost-white face, a barrel chest which merged his head on his shoulders sans any distinguishing neck. While his youthful looks stayed hidden in his disregard of his appearance, his active lifestyle ensured he got more than enough exercise to burn calories from fast-food with a side-dish of long working hours.

“What did you do today?” asked Rachel.

“This and that. The usual!” answered Richard, not taking pride in his labour.

“90% of this city can’t do what you do. Don’t sell yourself short. You are 5’10’ with a heart of gold and arms of steel.” Rachel tried to reach the drooping hair on her lover’s forehead and then realized she can’t lift her arms that far and high.

“You will reach great heights. Your name will spread far and wide.” She giggled, with cognition of Richard’s likely response.

“Because they helped me find you. When you believe it, its true, otherwise love, family, friends, strangers, Gods, angels and ghosts—they are all just labelled boxes in a vast, dysfunctional toolbox called Earth.” She chewed a spoonful of mashed up peeled apple and added, “which reminds me, did you find that missing screwdriver? Otherwise, you would have to buy a whole set.”

“What do you think your Tarot castle in the air suggests?” retorted Richard.

“Stop calling it that! And get yourself a pack of cheap playing cards at some 7-Eleven on the way to work. You will ruin the artwork and detail, playing with my collector’s edition. Did I mention, it was blessed by that 109 year-old veteran from Louisiana?”

“Your old wives’ tale. She looked like any 50 year-old chain-smoker. And it’s a collectible only if it remains unused in original packaging. You read it every other random hour of day and night. Sometimes, you spend more time admiring them than your man-Sunday.”

Rachel laughed and then coughed with that effort on her tiny frame. Richard would only take one Sunday off per month—working round-the-clock every day. Your faucet is dripping, irritating singular drops that keep you awake at 2 AM? Sure, call Richard! Your cat got stuck in the cookie jar at dawn? An emergency you say? Call Richard. Your husband sawed off the wrong end of the furniture and needs fixing during holiday season, its only a holiday if you have a permanent job, so call Richard. Super Bowl and your kid fiddled with the LED TV settings? Google that shit, but you will call Richard at primetime after giving up on your own tech-busting skills.

It was the last Sunday of the month. Richard switched off his phone at dawn, the silent alarm vibrating in his breast pocket to ensure Rachel slept as much as possible through her pain and medication. Whatever savings they had, they had spent, pawned off whatever they considered unnecessary including her prom dress and his father’s handmade Swiss watch, a heirloom given from father to son since before WW-I.

“Want me to give you a bath?” he asked as he sensed her head move when he got off the bed.

“Just fix me!”

“Huh? Too early for breakfast, but I got eggs, sausages, waffles and cake. Coffee or tea?”

“No! Fix me.” Her eyes rolled upwards, just the whites peeking out of half-open eyelids.

“Rachel? Hold on, I will get the ambulance service on-line”

“No! Never! Please, I don’t want to die in a hospital. Promise, me. No more hospitals?!”

“Stop it, Richard. I was a born gypsy. You were an aspiring garage owner. Now look at us? Stuck in here like rats in a cage—with the medics, the society, the social media assholes commenting on our lives, our love. Those relatives don’t even visit, fearing that we may ask for money for medical treatments. Just tie me to the sissy bar like the scarecrow I am. Lets ride to that field again. Fields of golden corn and empty skies. Where all hope awaits and the horizon greets us with a new light of that familiar sun. Let me die among the wild than live among the dead at heart.”

Richard was too busy to pay attention to her fresh castle in the air as he dialled multiple helpline numbers who may pick up on a Sunday, when doctors had the day off and matrons were understaffed due to unavailable resources.

Living on favours and charities, he finally took the last option of payable, billable assistance from the nearest hospital emergency room. He turned to give Rachel assurance of help on the way. She had passed out due to the pain, stiffening her joints and soiling her pyjamas.

Working in public places, Richard never had a deaf ear to chitter-chatter. He overheard things, his mechanical brain, filtering messages and sounds to sort the important from the mundane, the wise from the raving loon. He picked up all of the 60 pounds that was Rachel, cradling her in his arms, he climbed out into the cold night to the back alley where he had chained his Triumph Bonneville.

Few had chopped a Triumph since it was such a collectible. But after years of maintaining the beautiful machine, he ran out recreational cash to pay for authentic parts and spares. The chopper was sleek and rigid. Ape hangers accompanying a stepped seat.

“The Sun – that’s the card for tonight” she whispered. Richard didn’t tie her to the sissy bar. He already had a premonition of such a situation. He had modified a baby wrap style carrier and it fitted the thin barebone frame of Rachel like a tailormade dress. Her latest and last motorcycle gear—it had been three years since she had been on the bike. When the Triumph engine roared, she almost skipped a heartbeat.

Bounding off major checkpoints, they made their way out of New York city—toward open highways. Catskill Mountains was 3 hours away in this thinning midnight traffic. It wasn’t corn country, but she would love revisiting it more than ever before.

As the motorcycle cleared through the city, Rachel picked 6 numbers at the gas station stop. She winked at the attendant who was about to jump for joy—she had won the jackpot on her first try at scratch cards.

“It’s a gift, he will spend it all if I give it to him right now” she hissed through the strain of explanation.

Over a hundred and thirty miles away from home, they lay on their backs, staring into the bright constellation, waiting for sunrise.

“What did the cards say?”

“The Sun, I told you. It’s a bright and sunny new day for you and me,” predicted Rachel.

“What does it mean Rachel?”

“Promise me you won’t open the gift I mailed you in an envelope….at one of the USPS boxes tonight….not until after the funeral….”

“What?” Richard almost jumped up, “You sent what?”

“Relax. You can use it. Consider it payday for the love others called labour.”

“Hmmm”

“Its not much, just a few dead Presidents to watch over you when I am gone.”

“You hid cash from me instead of getting you to an intensive care unit?” Richard speculated.

“No, I found some gold among fields of corn and crows.”

“I would rather have you than the last penny in my pants,” moaned Richard.

“Hey, sure, not a penny more, not a penny less.” She turned her cheeks to face him, “I want you to cremate me and spread the ashes among the wildflowers.”

“Write that down and mail it,” he said.

“Kiss me you fool, I am dying.”

The clouds cleared and the rays of sunlight bounced among mountain tops, dazzling on a chrome tank and silver mirrors. A morning was wake in the woods. A new day began, dewdrops evaporating into mist, birds took flight, as a life and love settled into the dirt.

The above screenshot shows a message that appears as a pop-up on the re-invented “Classic” Easyriders magazine website. This is after two years into the re-launch of this iconic motorcycling lifestyle publication.

Two specific things noted after reviewing the website:

1. The September 2023 issue is not listed for sale
2. There is no link nor button nor any webpage for purchase of annual subscription

It is unknown if there is any refunds or cancellations or any other subscriber related issues– and we don’t intend to speculate. Look out for Bikernet.com investigation into this discovery in the upcoming weekly news posted every Thursday. Refer our Weekly News section by clicking here.

Below is the text reproduction from the screenshot for your information and reference only — all rights are exclusive to Classic Easyriders and Paisano Publishing only.

* * * *

From: https://classiceasyriders.com/

Dear Easyriders Subscribers,

Due to a legal conflict between GIT Corp. (licensee) and Paisano Publishing (licensor and Brand Owner), GIT Corp. will no longer be publishing Easyriders Magazine. It will continue to be published monthly by Paisano Publishing and the current subscribers list has been forward to Paisano from GIT, in order for you monthly subscription to continue being delivered to all Easyriders subscribers.

Please direct any new subscription inquiries or current subscription questions to: bbarresi@paisanopub.com

We at GIT Corp. would like to thank all the customers that have supported us in the past 2 years in bringing back Easyriders Magazine.

Thanks,
GIT Corp.

Keith ‘Bandit’ Ball rides in with fiction that blends worlds, reinvents ideas & digitises old school charm

by Wayfarer with images from Jon Towle and Dick Allen

We are introducing a parallel genre, which may or may not exist— yet has plenty of fiction from its most prolific author K. Randall Ball (Bandit to us minions of the Bikernet.com Empire).

We are celebrating this veteran author who has re-imagined the Wild West with a unique sound and flavor. It kicks like a mule and bites like a rattler.

He writes complete and comprehensive Wild West adventures with all elements remaining mostly the same—except motorcycles as the preferred choice of the protagonists and gunslingers.

Click here to read this illustrated feature article, only on Bikernet.com

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Join the Bandit’s Cantina for exclusive access to 27 years of archived content, click here. Ride with freedom and Happy Thinking Goddammit!

by Ujjwal Dey with images & illustrations by Wayfarer

In Harley-Davidson’s desperate search for volume sales, Will there be a smaller Harley-Davidson X210 in India?

X440 is already the smallest engine – perhaps too small of an engine – to be considered a ‘real’ Harley for those who can actually afford to buy it. A rumoured Harley X210 may share the same design elements as the current X440.

The smaller H-D is rumoured to be powered by the same 210cc single-cylinder engine found in the Hero Karizma XMR.

Have a look at this editorial story giving you the background and the ground zero of Harley-Davidson’s new speculated adventure.

Click Here to read this article, only on Bikernet.com

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To Stay updated on all Motorcycle News and Events…simply Click & Subscribe to Bikernet’s FREE Weekly Newsletter

by Charles Rotter from https://wattsupwiththat.com

Professor William Happer IPA lecture

In September 2023, Princeton University’s Emeritus Cyrus Fogg Brackett Professor of Physics, William Happer, spoke to an audience in Brisbane, Australia about the crusade against carbon dioxide and integrity in climate science.

Professor Happer is one of the world’s leading scientists and climate realists, having made extensive contributions to the debate about climate science. He has played a vital role in ensuring there is integrity in climate science and the community is exposed to information and arguments that many major institutions in our society seek to silence or censor.

The Institute of Public Affairs was proud to host Professor Happer on a tour around Australian where he spoke to audiences in Perth, Melbourne, Sydney and Brisbane.

To learn more about the IPA’s research visit www.ipa.org.au

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Click it to get your Kickstart today

Now, we celebrate another veteran author who has re-imagined the Wild West with a unique sound and flavor. It kicks like a mule and bites like a rattler.

I don’t know if readers have found any other biker fiction or any author who has written for decades, multiple stories and novels about motorcyclists as if they were living in the Old West, with the key difference being iron steeds replacing the cavalry. Probably the meek victims and/or mute spectators can be called the cattle, with evil ranchers being replaced by modern cartels and politicians.

Heck, there are plenty of wine, women, dollars, Mexicans and guns to give you a poker run for your money. A complete and comprehensive Wild West adventure with all elements remaining mostly the same—except motorcycles as the preferred choice of the protagonists and gunslingers.

How and where Keith got this concept is something for his autobiography which he seems to push away as he is too busy living and looking for new projects to conquer. It would be more interesting to know why he stuck with this theme and reference point—the Frontier land, as re-imagined into motorcycle clubs, outlaws, bankers, governors and drug-dealers.

Everyone wanted a piece of land back then. Now they want to own you—you are the product as well as the consumer. A cash cow that is mute and domesticated into neutered bliss! Among such lifeless lives roars the reluctant hero of Keith Randall Ball’s fiction. A true visionary of the craft, circumstance, contemporary culture and trending news. His fiction is never a run-of-the-mill action adventure. There are hidden references to the life of Americans then and there, unveiled through its publishing date.

His short stories are too many to be listed and a challenge probably to Bandit himself to compile it into themes or time-periods. His novels though are more accessible and now even available as e-books anywhere in the world.

True to his alias, Bandit steals our hearts and minds and takes away our focus from the obvious, dreary, everyday worries toward bigger things. Things larger than us individuals. Events and laws that will affect us significantly, that may even destroy our life and livelihoods and bring an end to America as defined by its Constitution and culture.

History does seem to repeat itself. There may not be many steam engine trains, hidden natives, wanted posters, high noon duel, or gold rush. Yet, now we have dysfunctional transport system (department?), illegal voters, domestic terrorism, Silicon Valley’s expanding digital encroachment, Wall Street honchos robbing banks, disarmed & censored citizens, defunding police while financing wars overseas, media that seems to sell pulp & paper instead of news, scientists selling snake oil and animals going extinct.

The spirit and heart are not to be tamed. A broncho awaits the touch of the master. A man who allows the personality and character of his ride to become a friend rather than resemble a slavish mule. Soon, we see, Science Fiction as envisioned by critically acclaimed author Robert A. Heinlein, as perennial Frontier Country expanding into distant galaxies, across lightyears, return to planet Earth. In Keith Randall Ball’s Sci-Fi adventure Sam’Chopper’ Orwell, we got a glimpse into the future which has now fully manifested itself into our present day life and work. Smart gadgets and stupid college graduates with no employable skills. The predictions have come true, but the predilections have borne no fruitful food for thought.

In fact, thought as crime may be the situation. People only seem to consume handheld device content and the Big Tech companies are driving away traffic on key freedom-fighting websites which present ideas and opposition such as on Bikernet.com – denying us the natural flow of rivers of affection and supply of revenue.

Whether or not Shane represents the essence of human nature in survival mode, Bandit’s fiction certainly intensifies our desire to try freedom, try resistance or try having a spine. You don’t need a name nor position to make an impact or lead a positive change. You only need an idea. Bandit has a splendid one—the motorcycling Western. So let’s ride free and Happy Thinking Goddammit!

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Some Images from Jon Towle and Dick Allen

Fortunately for civilization there is a go-to way to stop a charismatic crowd-pleaser who says things the press doesn’t like: and that’s….. rape charges!!!

If the World Health Organization and the Center For Disease Control had come up with an overnight vaccine for Russel Brand like they did for the most dangerous virus in human history the rape-charge protocol would not have had to have been implemented. Even a Burma Shave roadside sign-a-thon ditty might have stopped him, if there were enough of them placed on roads worldwide.

Russel Brand went…
from impish sprite…
to global threat…
fucking overnight.
Burma Shave.

Yes, I know: I realize that making the planet’s newest threat to our sacred democracy into a frivolous Burma Shave road-sign ditty is not keeping us safe. Sadly, the deed is done. I did such a thing and we are now in danger. Alas for you. For I am drunk with power.

But enough about you and me and my indifference to your safety, let’s talk about Russel Brand.

Remember when he was a devil-may-care mocker of 9-11 and an outlandishly inappropriate libertine bragging of his indifference to the norms of propriety and cavalierly strutting his rakish persona before us all in jesterish hijinxity and rapscallion fearlessness while boasting of his love for the forbidden fruits of drugs, kicks, and hot pussy?

Well, that was long ago when he was what I will call a happily oblivious non-threat to anyone since he was basically a kind of lazy-brained Marxist. As are all Marxists. If that’s what he was. Who knows what he was? He was all over the place. Hey, he married Katy Perry. How focused could he have been.

Well, that has apparently changed. Literally overnight. To where he is now Public Enemy Number One. Eclipsing even Sam Bankman in news headlines. But Sam Bankman is not being accused of rape from 20 years ago by women who refuse to identify themselves. So, Sam is just being MONITORED and looked-in-on from time to time by bureaucrats and journalists. Rather than being declared Public Enemy Number One by them. Unlike with Russel Brand.

What caused this? Unlike Sam Bankman’s – by comparison – unlike Bankman’s presumed innocent but still jailed mere assaults on peoples’ pocketbooks, which could very well be remedied by taxpayers, Russel Brand has – apparently with some persuasional skills – he has railed against the Sacred C-19, the Sacred Ukraine “war,” and the Sacred Great Reset, and for all I know, and God forbid, the Sacred Global Warming, and has thus therefore threatened our Sacred Democracy.

Now I know what you’re saying: lots of people do that. Lots of people rail against these four sacred sacrednesses. But “lots of people” are not capable of going up against a wall of accusatory media types and coherently making fools of them, ten at a time, without getting rattled and without losing ground and in fact pissing them off. Whereas Russel Brand is not only capable of doing that he is capable of doing that in his sleep.

There’s a small example of this interesting ability of Senyore Brand here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sj6JdXvsWYM where he deals with not just three professional news dullards on something called The Morning Joe but he manages to turn around in his chair and mock the entire NBC news apparatus “working” in the background. While at the same time making Joe Scarborough’s wife hot from experiencing little flashes of sexual excitement. Without even trying.

To journalists and bureaucrats insisting on having the upper hand in any ideological confrontation this is a potentially dangerous ability. In fact, they consider it almost treacherously magical. Because they, on the other hand, have NO abilities. Of any kind! And are holding onto their imagined power by a thread what with the instantaneous mass communication now available to us all. Thanks to a few geniuses of free enterprise and innovation, one of whom is unfortunately dead and one of whom is very likely deranged.

Therefore, when you can’t defend your idiotic “liberal” and “progressive” perversions of reality to someone famous and charismatic enough to actually attract allies seemingly overnight and seemingly from out of the woodwork that the Left assumed just harbored wood….or when you’re actually capable of ANYTHING, like Trump and Musk are, in other words…….if you can’t out-argue these people who are better at what you do than you are, namely, BEING POPULAR AND LIKEABLE……..you declare them immoral and unsanctified and unworthy of admiration or fandom. You declare them a rapist in other words.

So far Musk has actually escaped this. Because the press and bureaucrats are actually afraid of Musk. Which they should be. They should also be afraid of Brand. They just don’t realize it yet. They think he’s an idiot. But he isn’t. Like myself, he’s one of the very few members of the Screen Actors Guild with a functioning IQ.

Four women, Rachel, Nadia and Alice Nottheirrealnames and someone named Tobeannounced, have all come forward at the same instant 20 years after the alleged fact to announce to apparently every “news” medium on earth that the man uttering “conspiracy theories” against the “pandemic” and the Ukraine-Russia “war” and declaring The Great Reset to be a threat to humanity rather than a wondrous pathway for humanity to reach their innate godlike status as self-created beings – which man would be Russel Brand – is a rapist. Because when you are Russel Brand and you say all these things you get “reported” by the world press as being a rapist. At least by every “news” organization in the English-speaking world. Which would be two thirds of North America, all of Europe, and some of Australia. Or in other words the only three places on earth that actually matter. In other words. And yes, that’s what I said. Got a problem with that? Round-up some anonymous women because I fear I have just endangered our sacred democracy. That’ll show me.

The “reasoning” here, then, is as follows…. If this is TRUE…… that someone is a rapist….then his political opinions cannot be factual and in fact could be dangerous to the public. In other words, assuming journalists could actually articulate their thoughts, “He rapes women….therefore he is dangerous to us all. For even as he forces his penis upon women, he has other mighty pizzles at his disposal; other cocks, dicks, peckers, lizards, boners, shafts, rods, lances, dirks, swords, one-eyed-monsters, fuckwands, pikes, ram-a-cunts, twatpluggers, seam-stretchers, hair-pie harpoons, vee-jir violators, ‘down there’ destroyers, pussy penetrators, labia lances, crack cannons, hole harriers, tunnel tigers, slit slayers, slut slammers, trollop tamers, slattern seducers, vixen violators, fox fillers, bimbo bulldozers, snatch blasters, beaver busters, bitch bruisers of oppression and invasion, that are not just his penis but also his words! His words too are instruments of rape!

Words forced upon the ears of virgins of social justice and fairness in order to corrupt and shame them into callous indifference to the plight of humanity and animals and plants and air and water and terrain and bunnies. And whether he uses his actual pizzle of heinous flesh filled with unholy blood or if he uses words of persuasion and deceit….there is no difference! It is it the same with his words and opinions as it is with his woman-wounding cock! These words and opinions overpower us with their crafted tones and syllables and ideas that hypnotize us like verbal Rohypnol: opinions and ideas and ‘narratives’ that are at first charming and seductive and then transmogrify and metastasize into ramrods of violent filthy male sound-semen and syllable-semen and acoustical cum and vocabulary violence that invades our ears and slides into our consciousness and squirts and ejaculates lies and untruths and theories-conspiratorial in the manner of verbal splooge that takes us unawares and defiles us in seductive evil filth, making us pregnant with The Unwanted Child of Mind-Rape….…..and thus leading us into harm. So, it must be aborted.”

Let’s go through that again: the journalist-bureaucrat First Course of “progressivist logic” food onto the plate of your dreary brain is – if you are a rapist…..your political opinions are not valid and are not accurate. And you are a threat to society. And to our sacred democracy. And, for Desert – you are a “conspiracy theorist.”

I will reduce the “Conspiracy Theory” theory to the meaningless powder that it is in just a bit. And I’m just the guy for the job.

Remember when Russel Brand was – basically – just a wild and zany commie? Now I’m not saying he referred to himself as a commie. Meaning an advocate of the Karl Marx “theory” of economics and human political society. It’s just me using a name that has ENOUGH of a meaning to where some people will go “Yeah, we remember when he was just a wild and zany commie.”

Well apparently, he’s not a wild and zany commie anymore. Apparently, he is a threat to humanity now. Which can only mean, I assume, that he is no longer a commie. Which to 95% of the world’s bureaucrats and to 100% of the world’s journalists means….he actually now IS a threat to humanity.

Or in other words, he’s apparently just started looking around on his own, lately, rather than having Karl Marx look around for him or whoever was looking around for him before he started doing it for himself.

Keep in mind I am SPECULATING. I don’t have Russel Brand here. I can’t ask him whether or not, “So, do I have this right?” Then I would have him correct me on any of my incorrect conclusions regarding his observations and opinions.

Now there WAS a time, when his opinions did not merit 300 rape allegations overnight from 50,000 different women, none of whom apparently have “actual” names, but rather have “other” names or “to be announced” names or “according to sources” names or “who spoke on condition of anonymity” names. Assuming they are all even women. I mean, since none of them have been actually identified by their real names yet, as far as I know they COULD be goddamn goats that got allegedly raped. And not even people. Which would be hot. But that’s just me.

Now, I DON’T know if raping goats is illegal. Not to change the topic. And the species. But I DO know that if you are accumulating a following “among the public” via statements that contradict “the accepted-as-agreed-upon” statements……. then your personal conduct rather than your personal opinion is what is going to be attacked. Not your opinion. No. Your behavior. And then your morality and sanctity levels. USUALLY regarding something that has nothing to do with your political opinions. Like for instance “rape.”

For instance, if I say in a public forum, or maybe even in a private forum, the following….. “C-19 is the annual cold and flu seasonal virus that appeared in 2019 and was elevated to a global ‘pandemic’ necessitating mandatory shots for an allegedly unknown virus, which shots called vaccines although having no similarity to anything defined as an actual ‘vaccine’ were produced and distributed around the globe within a year, that could ‘save lives’ and which C-19 was claimed to be this unprecedented planetary scourge TWO DAYS after the Senate threw the House’s impeachment papers regarding Trump into the trash – which C-19 claim was immediately orchestrated via a media blitzkrieg of coordinated lie-attacks in conjunction with a UN pronouncement of plague-like monsters now being spread via an incubation of horrors in a Chinese sidewalk meat market and also a Chinese bio-chemical-biological warfare lab – we have not decided – all of which was designed to throw Trump into a confused surreal environment in which he was at the time not able to discern truth from lies so that his turn-around of the global economy could be shut down and halted by shutting down EVERYONE via ugly, usually misshapen, ‘health advisors’ who came into existence overnight with power and majesty and virtue and honesty to have government handed over to them in order to dupe, lie and tyrannize the public into 2 years of desolation and madness on the – correct, it turns out – assumption and gamble that ‘the people’ are basically stupid little morons who will believe anything.”

If I was to actually SAY that?….. I would have rape charges brought against me. Because….if I’m an Accused-By-Ms.-Anonymous rapist…..then my opinions on everything, including what I just said, are incorrect and in fact are probably lies designed to rape minds, as does a cock rape a vaginal insemination intake tunnel.

Keep in mind that raping happens a LOT on this planet. The global instances of it, which annually probably number in the millions, are ignored by the press and the “governing personnel.” Unless, of course, someone they consider to be a personal threat to their comfortable pastimes of blissful deception shows up with enough charisma to actually attract converts who leave their cults of stupidity and enter into the universe of reasoned intelligence. Then rape becomes the topic of the day, but not the millions of them, just ones this particular individual targeted-for-destruction is being accused of having committed. According to sources. Meanwhile these other millions of unwanted penis intrusions are not making millions of headlines. APPARENTLY those rapes are ok to ignore. At least to bureaucrats and to news “outlets.” Because those rapes are not a threat to the Global- Grooming Cabal of untalented human deities determined to keeping us all safe via lockdowns and inoculations and “temporary” emergency health measures that last forever.

So, it’s not, therefore, rape that bureaucrats and journalists have a problem with. It’s suggesting that the World Economic Forum is attempting to orchestrate “The Great Reset” that bureaucrats and journalists have a problem with. Which – in fact – the World Economic Forum is proud to admit! “Yeah! That actually is what we’re doing!” is their enthusiastic response. What the WEF and the press and the world’s bureaucrats, with the possible exception of the ones in Poland and Hungary, have a PROBLEM with is anyone suggesting that the World Economic Forum is actually not a godsend but in fact a crazed lunatic NIGHTMARE led by a guy in a Star Wars costume that is going to forcibly eradicate and/or “elevate” humanity “Heaven’s Gate” style and which he says C-19 presents a golden opportunity to get things rolling.

It’s at this point, aside from the boilerplate rape charges, that the odd expression “conspiracy theory” routinely comes into play.

To review: Russel Brand is overnight a rapist….and a conspiracy theorist. Who for both these reasons must be banished from human consideration as being deserving of human consideration.

Now, what is a conspiracy theory and why is it something to be, if it is declared as such, and if someone is declared to be uttering such….why is that person to be considered null and void as an observer, or for being ‘opinioned,’ or for having a notion, or for making an utterance: as happens in the very same manner if someone is declared a racist or a sexist or a homophobe or an Islamophobe or an anti-Semite or a bigot – such that therefore that person is pronounced depraved, not actually human, lacking in value, and being immoral. At least until such time as he renounces that opinion. Or at least claims to be doing so. Why is it that “conspiracy theorist” is just as damning as “racist.” or “bigot” etc. And will it become a hate crime? As the “n-word” now is? I’m guessing yeah. Sooner or later. Probably sooner.

In fact, a conspiracy theory is neither a conspiracy nor a theory. A conspiracy is something you have no knowledge of it being in existence, forget about itemizing its particulars. It’s a conspiracy. You’re out of the loop. Only the conspirators know about it. Second, conspiracy theories are not actually theories. Theories are complex. What are called conspiracy theories by what I like to call “commies” are OPINIONS. Not theories.

APPARENTLY, some opinions are regarded as threats to “the common good.” Because we’re all in this together. As you may remember from the city signs put up by the city governments during whatever Covid-19 was. So apparently some opinions threaten the common good. Some opinions are SO threatening to god only know who or what that they have to be declared not opinions or suggestions or possibilities at all. They’re a new category: they’re conspiracy theories. Meaning – I guess – that they’re either inherently too dangerous to even consider, or else they have some seductive charm that will lead the Protected out from the Protection. Well, yeah, the seductive charm is that they make fucking sense. Because whatever opinions, now called conspiracy theories, apparently are, they’re so goddamn fucking persuasive EVEN AS NONSENSE REQUIRING SAFE SPACES….. that they have to be either shouted out of existence or shamed out of existence or as a last resort assassinated out of existence.

You’ll notice the press has no problem with the flat earthers. Or the moon-landing-was-faked people. Or the chemtrail people. Or the aliens from space people. Rape charges are never brought against them. Why? Because so far these people have not attracted a huge fucking crowd of devoted followers led by one charismatic gifted public speaker who doesn’t need teleprompters. Otherwise, these Paul Reveres would also be getting the Russel Brand treatment. They would be declared rapists. Assuming they were good looking, of course. Rape is an easy accusation, hard to prove in court but doesn’t get a lot of converts if you’re trying to railroad someone who looks like Fetterman on the charge, for example. Which is what the flat-earthers and the chemtrail people and the fake moon landing people and space alien people UFO crowd look like. They look like Fetterman.

There’s a reason government and the media have a parasitical symbiotic relationship with each other even though “Washington Press Corps” sessions are window-dressed to look like some sort of adversarial encounter. Any hack who was REMOTELY adversarial with your normal kind of President, meaning someone not Trumplike, or in other words not carrying a set of balls and an actual job history in the real world with a favorable win-loss record…… that hack would be OUT of the Washington Press Corps. Which, you may have noticed, is the same people every time by the way until one of the fuckers dies. It’s like the Supreme Court: you don’t GET there unless you’re 1: stupid and 2: you promise to remain stupid.

The reason they have a parasitical symbiotic relationship, government and the media, is because they both live on the lies of the other. It’s like they eat each other for mutual nourishment and for a reinforcement of the allied bond and then shit each other out their asses creating new cross-bred hybridized versions of their former vile selves which then feed off each other. And this goes on day after day century after century, both sides reveling in breathing-in the anguish of the tortured souls and pains of everyone not a bureaucrat or a journalist….that they are creating with their relentless, enthusiastic lying. They’re like some two-headed Cerberus guarding the gates of Hell, namely, “democracy” – against reality.

A “conspiracy theory,” whether it’s proclaimed as such by a journalist moronic failed-novelist slave to an editor he detests and who rewrites all of his already-shitty prose to make it even worse….. or whether it’s used by a candidate or an office holder – is defined as “a right-wing observation regarding global Marxism suggesting global Marxism is going to destroy the Industrial Revolution and reduce all of humanity to an ‘equitable and sustainable’ level of universal poverty and stone-age cloud-worship.” Which is correct. But it’s not a theory. It’s a fact. And it’s not a conspiracy: anyone with their eyes and brains open can see it plain as day.

Now, you might say “ Excuse me, sir, but c-19 and global warming and the World Economic Forum and mandatory vaccines that don’t actually fall under the definition of vaccines have nothing to do with Marxism.” Well, yeah they do. Marx is just more honest about it and calls it Marxism rather than “keeping everyone safe.” So, you can’t get Karl Marx for lying, He actually called it Marxism. Or, I SHOULD say, if someone ELSE called the C-19 tyranny “Marxism”….. Marx would say, “Yeah, I guess you could call it that.” He’d admit it. No problem. Try getting Al Gore to admit he’s a Marxist. In fact, try getting any Marxist in American government, which is basically everyone in American government now, to even consider that “an appropriate question” to even ask them.

But enough about commies, let’s get back to Russel Brand.

You will look real hard and for a real long time to get an answer to the Googled question “What are Brand’s specific ‘conspiracy theories’ that are regarded as ‘conspiratorial’ that he is espousing?” Apparently, whatever he’s saying is SO heinous it cannot be reprinted. Because good fucking luck trying to get from the “news” a detailed synopsis of whatever his opinion on anything “forbidden” actually is.

Good fucking luck with this. You will get sent to endless “news” sites which have run stories about this “problem with Brand” without ever 1: being specific about his opinions and proclamations, just referring to them as “regarding the Ukraine war” and “The Great Reset.” By the way, this isn’t ME capitalizing the great reset. This is the fucking great reset people capitalizing it. They admit it! They’re excited about it! Why the “press” isn’t calling the World Economic Forum a bunch of conspiracists, I don’t know. They’re the only “secret society” in history 1: blabbing their secrets to the world and 2: saying they don’t care if you agree with them or not: that this is the deal and you’re on board whether you like it or not. They’re SO conspiratorial they’re BRAGGING about it and telling their conspiracies in news conferences! Why journalists aren’t accusing them of rape from 20 years ago is beyond me. Journalists COULD be just stupid. Which of course they are. We give journalists and news people way too much credit for being clandestine. They’re not. They’re just giggling little mommas’-boys assholes looking for things to fuck with since girls are off the table.

Which Russel Brand, regarding their stupidity, will demonstrate!! Russel Brand is MORE than a match for any journalist fuckhead on earth. I THINK the press and the “media” are having too much fun at the moment to keep in mind that he is not only more than a match for them….he’s excited about all this. He might be a commie one decade and a normal person the next decade and go back and forth all over the place…..but he’s still SMARTER and more intellectually and verbally ADROIT than any of them.

But the idea here, regarding the giggling press and the more sinister global SWAMP – which is basically the people now “running” Western Civilization – in calling Brand a rapist……is to train his fans into “realizing” their new hero is a reprobate.

You’ll notice they are not even addressing his views and conclusions about things. They are addressing his “lack of morality.” His OPINIONS are not going to be discussed or investigated or proved erroneous. Because they fucking can’t be. I know it. They know it. Russel Brand knows it.

And THEN there is the little matter of claiming that the Russel Brand of 20 years ago, with his swashbuckling energy and otter-like enthusiasm and his rakish good looks and his charming, disarming qualities of sincere communication and his adequate bank account and his individual notions of couture and stylistic raiment and his wide-set almost nocturnal-ready eyes that in two seconds have discerned more truths about you than you know about yourself and possessed of Tyrone Power good looks…….is this a guy that needs to rape women in order to get laid? To a journalist still living with mom and convinced that people exist, so that he can destroy them to the entertainment of the gullible and envious?….the answer is yes.

–J.J. Solari

Images from Sam Burns