It’s time for the Children’s Crusade
All religions have sought to leave the material world behind. Likewise, the visionary vaccinologists of the Covidian Cult promised to evolve us beyond our biology. The warp-speed trial had began around the world, as twenty thousands souls were shot up with an experimental formula. Following the injected commands, the subjects’ transhumaned cells would manufacture their own pharma cures and, in that way, conquer their own diseases. The inventors of this modRNA (“mod” for modified) claimed the immune system did not have to be triggered by some actual dirty natural virus particle; it could be triggered by the product of the genomicist’s pristine code, like a divine intelligence, practically immaterial, pure intellect. The experiment would work perfectly.
In December of 2020, breathless media personalities announced that the trials were done. While John Philip Sousa played, banners waved and citizens cheered, the first arm was jabbed for the flashing cameras. Then the long-awaited, final solution began to be implemented for octogenarians+ and hospital workers. The celebrated rollout was accompanied by a spate of Big Pharma mini-musical commercials, with celebrities kicking up their heels, spinning around street lamps, belting out arias about being able to leave home, get a haircut, and hug Grandma.
It was as exciting as anything on the Great White Way.
In January a bunch of old people keeled over within hours of getting the shots, but no one minded much because at least they hadn’t die from Covid—and they were well passed life expectancy anyway. And correlation does not mean causation (it’s just the basis for any and every working hypothesis, but never mind). If a nursing home in Gibraltar had not a single Covid case in all of 2020 and thirty residents up and croaked in January 2021, a few days after receiving the “vaccination,” we can blame it on Covid, which must have snuck in with the vax team (who themselves—do we dare mention?—were fully vaccinated).
Soon most hospital workers and the elderly western-world-wide were all double-dosed and there were only a few Internet stories about doctors and nurses with brain bleeds. We were warned: Don’t spread information that could cause the plebs to hesitate before getting a potentially lethal experimental drug.
Surely, I thought, it will stop there.
As January lapsed into February, “The Science” admitted that shot was less effective against variants than against the now extinct Wuhan-Fort Detrick strain, but keep injecting! Those who had essentially no risk whatsoever of severe illness or death from Covid-19 finally got their turn. Carnival tents were erected in parking lots to receive the hoards of excited boomers, who jostled with each other to stand at the head of the line. Only seldom was a loved-one found later face-down on the asphalt steps away from his car.
Surely, I thought, it will stop there.
No, six cases of life-threatening reactions per million cannot stop this noble experiment. Just as it’s heroic when a few hundred soldiers are sacrificed to hold a bridge for an hour, it is beautiful when a few thousand anaphylactic persons smack the ground for the sake of testing a new vaccine. Such sacrifice is the proles only route to glory. Right?
It’s still safe and effective, say FAQ pages and Press Releases. Doesn’t matter if you have natural immunity. Get the shot. Doesn’t matter if you have virtually no risk of serious illness. Get the shot. Doesn’t matter if you don’t want the shot. Get the shot.
The local news stations across the land were peppered with MAGA clot shot deaths and denials from the “protective” agencies. The evidence isn’t hard enough to prove the vaccine was the cause, they said. Let’s keep going and see. Safe and effective.
Did we have to wait until young and hale were dying suddenly, here and there, before they would stop? Surely not.
On March 11th, Scandinavia nations suspended AstraZeneca due to blood clots. The drug kings promptly gaslighted the Nordics with press releases insisting that blood clots and massive strokes were within normal numbers. Get the shot.
In early April, despite the fact that no test had been done on this group, pregnant and breastfeeding women were urged to get the shot because antibodies were found in umbilical cords blood and in breast milk. Get the shot. A breastfed baby died. Get the shot. Miscarriages in the first trimester doubled. Get the shot.
On April 6th, that most heavily propagandized group age 16-18—idealistic SJWs so eager to take on all the responsibilities that their parents shamefully ignored—were invited to get the shot in New York. Safe and effective.
In mid to late April there was a brief pause for the J&J shot while they slipped in a microfont warning for Thrombosis with Thrombocytopenia Syndrome. Get the shot.
Hurray! The day had arrived. On April 27, the CDC issued updated mask guidelines for fully vaccinated Americans; You can go outside without masks when walking, jogging, or biking or dining with friends at outdoor restaurants. Finally, we were getting back to the new normal! Weeks later, scratch that: as spring approached summer, “breakthrough” infections were making the headlines. Put your masks back on and keep getting the shot.
Surely, thought I, it will stop now that the shot is shown to be unable to stop infection. Nope. Talk of boosters instead. Get the shot. Get more shots.
On May 10th Pfizer expanded trials to ages 12-15. Get the shot.
Headlines bemoan the low uptake among minorities especially indigenous people. On May 11th, a First Nations indigenous doctor in Canada blows the whistle on heart and neurological disorders in his vaccinated patients and was duly ignored. Get the shot.
On May 24th the FDA began to take a cool interest in heart problems in vaccinated teens, out of an “abundance of caution.” Meanwhile, keep getting the shot.
On June 1st, updated guidance from the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission— which was formerly charged with protecting employees from the unreasonable whims and demands of employers—granted employers, who know pfuck all about health, the right to mandate the COVID-19 vaccine for their workforce. They were also encouraged to provide incentives, like cash, cookies or cannabis, to workers to get vaccinated, and to threaten with isolation or termination if they didn’t.
Beginning July 12th an updated J&J label warned of Guillain-Barré syndrome. Get the shot. Summertime videos shared around the world showed magnets sticking on shot arms, freaking a lot of people out. Get the shot. On August 23rd the FDA gave full approval to Pfizer. Mandates follow; on Sept 10th Los Angeles school system required the deadly shot for all their beautiful healthy young students.
Pivot point, September 11, 2021. On the 20th anniversary of 9/11, all the preparations have been made for the grand finale. Total surveillance. Check. Censorship. Check. Scapegoat identified. Check. Now it’s just a matter of tuning up the orchestra, dimming the lights, and raising the curtain. They are now ready to begin Global Totalitarianism, brought to by—well, they’re not going to name the big donors, but it’s worth noting that they couldn’t have done all this without brainwashed viewers like you. On this day, the big two-oh, the two tragedies clasp hands. The reactions to 9/11 have led us to exactly the spot that we find ourselves today, with half of Americans ready to regularly top-off their experimental vaccines (which are safe and effective miracles of warp-speed science), hoping the other half of unvaxxed Americans will all die on ventilators, cut off from family and friends.
And now it’s time for The Children’s Crusade. It’s not enough that they’ve got the teens begging their parents to let them get the injection, now they want to bring the children into the Pfizer Youth club.
In their innovative and daring product launch, Pfizer dressed up 5-11 year-olds in super-hero costumes and recorded them saying courageous things, such as real adult heroes say, about not being afraid to risk their lives for the sake of the others. The adorable tikes flexed their little muscles and jumped off the backs of sofas, pretending to soar, by means of cape alone, to show how strong and fearless they were.
None of the children in the trial carked. There was one little girl who was excluded from the report because she went and developed a completely unrelated coincidental case of infectious arthritis, which was probably nothing. Autoimmune diseases cannot possibly be related to vaccines, which only befuddle the immune system in ways that are not well understood and are entirely unpredictable. That whiny little brat, complaining of painful swollen joints, did not make the final hero cut.
On October 29, 2021, the FDA gave emergency use authorization for the little ones. Like their predecessors the eugenicists, vaccinologists must be quite comfortable with the prospect of disposing of healthy people (mostly children) for the sake of the greater good. Like the mother who urged her son to join the army and was proud when he died like a salmon on D-Day, the mother who agreed to let her tween take part in the Pfizer trial, felt a bittersweet pang for that child when she found her seizing on the floor of her room.
“Julia, what kind of world is this where adults ask children to risk death for the greater good?” I was speaking out of turn, again, while we were cleaning up dishes after supper. She was already tired of me rattling off all the developments in the shot roll out. She didn’t reply.
I went on, “Isn’t it our job, as adults, to protect the children? I remember Gertrude warning me, when I was two or three, that I should never trust an adult who asked for my help. He might be trying to lure me into a trap. Because good strangers never, never, never ask children for help.”
“That’s not a good comparison,” Julia replied. “The parents think the shot good for the kids. You don’t seem to understand that other people don’t have all the information you have.”
“I get that. I understand that they’ve been hoodwinked. The point I was making—or trying to make—is that they seem to be at least somewhat cognizant that there is risk involved; otherwise they would call the kids ‘heroic’ or ‘brave’.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying,” she said and changed the subject to work schedule considerations for the following week.
After answering her civilly, I left the house and let the iron latch noisily clang as I went to the garden.
Now they have petite Honoré in their sights. Already 82,000 children in New York City have now been injected. Meanwhile the Ministry of Truth has been working overtime to change recorded history, which had claimed, incorrectly, that young children generally don’t have strokes or heart attacks. It turns out that quite a few unfortunate youngsters have strokes and heart attacks pretty much on the regular. Statistically speaking, it’s not all that rare for an eight-year-old to clutch at her heart and keel over in gym class. What is very rare—practically impossible, really—is for an experimental gene therapy to cause any unexpected side effects.
The backtracking newscasters now explain that the vaccine isn’t really a vaccine, as such, but a sort of therapeutic, since it doesn’t stop the spread. Oh, wait. I stand corrected. As I was writing the above, Merriam Webster revised their definition of “vaccine” to include drugs that don’t stop infection but only reduce symptoms a little bit. So it is a vaccine after all.
This is it. The genocide game has gone live. The bioweapon virus, the deadly standard of care and the torturous lockdown were the dress rehearsal. Now the real killing starts. Having learned from the mistakes of the Nazis, they’ve designed a way to kill hundreds of thousands without having to dispose of the bodies themselves. Disposing of the bodies really held the Nazis back. It took time (to pull out the gold teeth), energy (crematoriums require intense heat) and manpower (captive Jews had to be fed to get them to keep loading the ovens). This time the murderers don’t have to bother with any of that.
I personally knew my first victim, twelve-year-old Sophie, daughter of one of my coevals. She seemed fine right after the first shot, but a week or so later she started having violent seizures in the school hallway. By the time the ambulance drivers carefully donned their PPE and drove to the location, Sophie had stopped breathing. But mechanical CPR (they don’t do mouth-to-mouth anymore, because of Covid) got her heart and lungs going again and she’d been whisked away to a fairly distant hospital where they had a good pediatric ward. They vented her. Feeding tube. Life support. After several weeks in a coma, her eyes opened, but her stare was vague, and she did not know her mother. She seemed to vividly experience pain and panic, however, if nothing else, and she constantly tried to pull out her tubes. So they had to tie her down.
Sophie, one in about 87K.
But her mother and the doctors did not want to report this vaccine injury. Her mother didn’t want to discourage people from having their children shot. Her misfortune was one in a million, the doctors said. It was probably not that the vaccine caused the seizures, per se, but that the vaccine triggered some flaw (like asthma) already lurking in the child’s body, the doctors said. The mother accepted any explanation that relieved her from the thought she should have guessed this would happen. Not because there was a pre-existing condition in the child, but because the drug manufacturer is a serial felon that has killed loads of people before.
Why were so many intelligent people brainwashed?
“How is it that we saw through it all immediately?” I posed the question to Julia, yet again. “I suppose it’s because I never had a TV my entire life.” I was watching Julia fold clothes that were strewn across the bed. “About the only time I encounter mass media is when I use the gym. You know, the TV is on and you can’t turn it off, either because some other exerciser is watching it, or because you couldn’t figure out how to work the darn remote clicker.”
Julia had not experienced that. She tossed a pair of socks at me.
I balled them up.
“He got his booster today,” said Julia of her soon-to-be-ex.
“Feel any symptoms this time?” I asked.
“No nothing. He’s fine. Not even a sore arm.”
Silence for a moment as a demon inside me wished him dead.
In the pitifully under-equipped community exercise room at the Amenia Town Hall—as I was goose-stepping on some 1970s isometric version of an elliptical—I learned that on December 6, 2021, New York city mayor issued a vaccine mandate for all employers. “We’ve got the virulent omicron as a new factor,” he explained. “We in New York City have decided to use a preemptive strike” he raised his fist, “to really do something bold and courageous to stop,” more hand waving motions, “once and for all the growth of Covid and the dangers it’s causing to all of us.”
Although the Federal government had recently had its hand slapped for illegally trying to impose a similar mandate, the New York Commissioner of Health claimed he did indeed have the authority to mandate whatever pleased him.
“The Library is requiring the vax,” said Julia when I got back home.
“I heard. Can’t you get a religious exemption?”
“They know I’m an atheist.”
“Winston, stop it. You know what this means.”
“You can get another job.”
“Where? They require it everywhere.”
“We’ll think of something. When is your deadline?”
“Okay we have time.”
“Honoré and I can’t even go into stores or restaurants.”
I wanted to tell her to let me homeschool Honoré, but I waited.
“Her father wants her to get the shot. I’m afraid he’ll just do it without telling me.”
The color left our faces as we ruminated on this. But then Honoré came into the room and we quickly (and badly) feigned happiness.
“Hey, punkadoodles. Want some fennel tea?”
Punkadoodles climbed into her mom’s lap and put her hands around her mother’s warm teacup. Julia embraced Honoré and held her tightly as if she thought her arms could protect her from overwhelming forces of evil.
Go to Chapter 16
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