In the teeth of Medical headwinds

Flying blind at four hundred knots

There is neither obvious rhyme nor conceivable reason why anyone should accept the administratively evil rationale being handed down to First World citizenry at the moment. The Slog puts an unpleasant personal experience into the context of a demigod madness we must increasingly expect on the road to dystopia.

For the first time in 62 years of flying, I was bounced off a flight two days ago. The “reason” given was that I didn’t have a Contrick19 PCR test that was not in any way listed as a requirement when I booked the flight. The airline saw fit to email me about the last-minute need to wear a mask throughout the flight, about how I could check in online “and save time” hohoho, about the flight being delayed, but not about a last-minute French authorities’ bizarre decision to demand the PCR test as a must-have. Their defence against a decision I had hotly contested was this corker 9/10ths of the way down a casual email about how it was Time to Go:

Note initially how globalist business and the State award us all exclusive responsibility to be well-informed and compliant, but (a) offer no accountability at all for their responsibility to communicate vital information to us and (b) starve us of any rights to factual news information or freedom of negative comment and movement. [See Lisbon Treaty and EUHRC]

To keep my close family informed, I wrote this in an email yesterday afternoon:

‘I was refused permission to fly this morning because the Boy King Macron rushed through a must-have-a-PCR-test-for-Covid rule 48 hours ago. The inventor of the PCR himself admitted two years ago that it was unfit for purpose as a Covid19 detector. The lateral flow test (which I did have to show my tormentors) is unerringly accurate, but deemed “not valid” by Frogland as a result of being invented elsewhere. And so, on this flimsy basis, a trip five months in the planning with travel and accommodation costs of some €4,600 was blown away on the impenetrable political whim of a pervert who also happens to be the President of la belle France’

I stand by every word of that.

The personal crisis was turned into a perfect-storm drama by the fact that using the airport’s “free wifi” (dysfunctional dial-up at best) gobbled up all my monthly phone network bytes at a stroke, thus making all contact with supportive friendships beyond impossible; and the unwillingness of airport admin to give me the use of a phone that would swiftly end the hopeless comms situation.

In the face of this megacorporacratic robotist systemism, we are all alone as individual human beings. That said, I was greatly moved by others behind me in the registration queue for the way they came up to me spontaneously after the scene I’d created, and offered profound sympathy. One beautiful German lady of my age deserves especial mention for the genuine warmth she showed, making me ashamed of my occasional penchant for critiquing Prussian cultural oddities.

So I made my return to a friend network in due course, slept well and then awoke ready for what I knew would be a bareknuckle fight with the airline to get my money back and salvage the disaster of my trip plans. Suffice to write as follows: their opening gambit was a flat refusal to help, and the passage of all blame onto “the authorities”. I was therefore forced to play the journalist card, point out the inconsistency of their “legal” case when it came to selective information, and threaten if necessary to raise their air-traffic control radar presence to that of a public pariah.

This turned obdurate refusal into rapid cooperation. It also turned me into a despicable bully, the reality of which has made me despise these sociopaths even more. But it did reinstate my travel itinerary and reduce lost monies to a bare minimum.

The moral of the story remains the same: don’t comply, complain.

However, there is a broader context to that life-rule, and all of us in the 1in8 awareness club need to stand by it if we are to avoid a thousand years of dystopia for those who will inherit our genes.

There are three stages in the process of dehumanisation envisaged by the Schwabs, Gates, Rothschilds, Pharmafia and financial monopolists incapable of humane behaviour and balanced analysis:

  1. To persuade we the mass proles, artisans, creators and rebels that we need them in order to avoid a future of permanent catastrophic threats
  2. To convince their intimate whores, senior PR staff, Davos thinkers and bureaucratic allies in Whitehall, Langley, Brussels and beyond that they are indeed uniquely gifted in their ability to ‘fulfill’ those needs….and have been chosen for an historic role in doing Good Things
  3. To encourage their lackeys to

make their supplicants wait at all times

constantly change the documentation required in order for “help” to be supplied

exaggerate danger in order to maintain a high level of anxiety and thus obedience

These are of course general rules – to which there will always be exceptions that highlight them. But all in all, the three lackey behaviours are almost always present in the military, surveillance, central banking, insurance, media, political and today even civil police professions.

However, there are two sectors that have honed such practices into a sort of anti-perfection of Kafka-and-Orwell-meet-Solzhenytsin ménagerie. Most of us have bitten our tongues as we dealt with the pursed lips of pinched goblins supplying visas, exit permissions, driving licences, cartes vitales, cartes séjours, prescription meds, passports and all the rest of the 21st century paraphernalia of diaphanous totalitarianism that has so superbly lived up to the Nazi tradition of of “Meine Damen under Herren, Papieren bitte”.

But nobody squashes the individuality of human hope and aspiration quite like the medical and airline architects. They are the epitome of Mussoliniesque brutality and set-jaw, wobbly jowel arrogance. Not for nothing is an airline departure point called ‘Terminal’; not for nothing is ‘travel’ derived from the word ‘travail’; not for nothing is ‘hopital’ from the Latin ‘place for the needy who cannot look after themselves’; and the fact that the witch in simple tribal society is called ‘doctor’ explains an awful lot about the last three years.

The clue is nearly always in the name.

The day before I was due to fly, I went to be vaccinated against various tropical diseases in a gigantic hospital centre that architecturally dwarfed everything surrounding it. I was told beforehand that I needed a Covid19 lateral flow test to get into the hospital. The State & Big Pharma shared the €20 proceeds. In fact, I didn’t need it at all.

Reception in the hospital was replete with Big Hair people. I was then processed, in the manner of a canned pea: this involved showing my Carte Vitale, Residency Permit, proof of address etc. I was then directed down a corridor to secretaries who asked for the same information all over again. The appointment was 3pm. The jabber was forty minutes late. I was lectured about the importance of Covid vaccination. My smartphone rang twice to pressure-sell me on the Covid booster. At last, I got the vaccinations I needed to survive in Gambia. The lady rubbished Ivermectin, Oxychlorocaine and all other widely used Covid treatments. She scoffed at African and Indian data showing their effectiveness. She smiled a lot in a patronising fashion.

Throughout the hospital were black and yellow lines demonstrating how to walk in a straight line, where to stand while waiting and where to sit when standing became tedious.

The same lines greet one in an airport, but there are no easily accessible baggage trolleys or directions to check-ins via carrier. In my Hall, four blokes were employed full-time filling in the gap left by AI.

You’re asked to arrive 3 hours before take-off, but the baggage counter staff don’t arrive before 90 minutes prior to departure….which has just announced an hour’s delay.

Everyone joining the queue looks anxious about whether their documents will satisfy Brunhilde doing the check-in – which you already did online, but the bags still need to be dropped off and all the endless IDs, health passes, e-tickets, seat reservations and baggage shapes and sizes have to be approved.

Then of course, there is the old Covid chestnut herself. I got my test results (Negative) last night at 11.58 pm. I was offered an email to go to the results, so I clicked on that. No email. I clicked again. No email. On the fifth attempt at 00.47, it arrived. I downloaded it greedily and went to bed.

This morning, the download had vapourised. I was told by the friends housing me briefly that yes, sorry, downloading never works from the portail citoyen. You have to page-capture. Oh, and the password is only available for 10 minutes. Six clicks on the email button later, it came through. I page-captured it in two different files and emailed the bloody thing to all three of my pc/laptop/smartphone destinations.

Public Health and energy costs having been rendered unaffordable by those who exist to “help” us, all of this bollocks is only going to get worse and worse in the laughably titled ‘First World’. We are ineluctably at their mercy until enough people say “No”.

Few of us are hungry (or angry) enough yet to do that, so my aim remains that of seeking sanctuary – and the freedom to express myself – in those parts of the Third World as yet of little or no interest to the megalomaniacs.

I know that, for many of my friends, this marks me out as a nutter. For me, it feels like clinging for dear life to the last helicopter out of Vietnam…..while playing the love-sick boring bloke in the movie Airplane.

Anyway, choose your own favourite phrase or saying: I’ve flown into a rage seven times in three days, but now I’m flying high by the seat of my pants until the next twist in the tale of this fly-by-night NWO régime. Pigs might fly if I emerge with flying colours, but stand by for sparks to fly if I don’t. I am Steve Martin reborn and I want my seat on this plane and you can help by taking that dumb grin off your face while saying, “Howcunnihelpyooserrr?”