06-25-2012, 06:43 PM
In the basement of a small, rundown ranch house somewhere in North Las Vegas, a shaggy-haired, bearded figure sat hunched over a red 1990s model Apple computer on a small metal desk. His blue eyes were bloodshot and watering from too much exposure to the glare of the monitor, but he continued to type furiously on the battered beige keyboard, refusing to let up no matter how tired he was. He was a man on a mission, and he would not stop until he had completed it.
The tiny basement bedroom was wallpapered with newspaper clippings, pages torn from magazines, and computer printouts from various websites. A crude bookshelf made from cinderblocks and two-by-eight planks stood in a far corner, crammed to the point of collapsing under the weight of dozens of paperbacks in various sizes, with such titles as The Roswell Cover-Up; Day of Shadows: How LBJ and the CIA Did Away With JFK; Nostradamus and the Mayan Prophecy; Big Brother in Washington: How the CIA Keeps Tabs on Everybody; What the Gov't DOESN'T Want You to Know! and so on.
The shaggy-haired typist, Boone Morris by name (aka the Truthteller on the Web) was entering his latest diatribe against what he called the thirty billion dollar boondoggle. According to his sources (consisting of a few paperback books and whatever he gleaned from Google), NASA had faked the entire Apollo 11 mission back in 1969. The so-called "moon landing" had been filmed in a Hollywood studio and passed off as the real thing. Careful studying of the film and the photos taken, however, revealed more than a few discrepencies: the shadows were not in sync, the flag fluttered in the "airless" atmosphere, and Buzz Aldrin's descent from the lunar module was too bright in the shadow of the capsule. These tiny details were concrete proof that the whole moon shot was a lot of moonshine as far as Morris was concerned.
"And now," the Truthteller said as he typed in the words, "after forty years, despite evidence to the contrary, the three so-called 'astronauts' are still hailed as American heroes! One of the conspirators--for conspirators they are--is coming here to Las Vegas on a lecture tour for his SpaceShare program. Yes, truthseekers! That publicity hound, Buzz Aldrin, is coming here to Sin City, live and in person, to perpetuate the myth of the Apollo moon landing! I say we must all band together and demand that Aldrin tell the truth about the hoax NASA has pulled for over four decades on the American people! Strip away the facade! Force him to admit the fakery! We cannot and will not be denied the truth! Stand up and be counted, truthseekers! Stop the madness! End the deceit! We will not be denied!"
With a sigh of satisfaction, Boone hit Send. His eyes burned and his head pounded, but he felt vindicated. Soon, everyone would know what a fraud Buzz Aldrin had been, along with all the other Apollo astronauts. There would be a hue and cry over it, but that was to be expected. The truth is always hard to accept at first, especially after having labored under a government sponsored delusion, but in the end, the light of knowledge would overcome the darkness of falsehood, and everyone would see the real picture as clear as day.
There was a knock on the flimsy wooden door. Boone's satisfaction turned to irritation over being disturbed. "Who is it?" he snapped.
"It's me," a woman's voice spoke from the other side, "Roxanne."
"Go away!" Boone shouted. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
"I can't see anything with the door closed," Roxanne retorted.
Irate, Boone shot up from his plastic desk chair and strode over to the door. "Whaddya want?" he growled.
Roxanne leaned against the door frame, crossing her tattooed arms. "Actually, I want a lot of things," she said. "I want you to get off your lame ass and do your share around the house for Mom's sake; I want you to pay me back all the money I gave you; and, I want you to give up all these (bleeping) conspiracy theories you've been spreading around all these years and get a life! But, right now, I just want to tell you that breakfast is ready and Mom doesn't like waiting."
"You know, that's the trouble with you, Roxie," Boone said. "You're too consumed with the trivial. You spend your time slaving away at some club while jamming away with your no-talent punk band, hoping to make it into the big time, which, by the way, you won't, that you fail to see the big picture. We're nearing the end times, Sis, and all you think about is your petty, physical needs for the moment. Me? I'm reaching out to people, telling them what's really out there!"
"If you don't come up with your share of the rent," Roxanne said, "it's your ass that's gonna be out there--on the street! Now, come on, at least get some breakfast. Mom's waiting."
(Have to cut this short again. Will be back later. V.)
Last edited by Veritas; 06-26-2012 at 07:29 PM.