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The abomination of desolation... spoken of by Daniel the prophet.
He Who Reads, Let Him Understand.
In order to comprehend the length and the breadth and the height of the current conspiracy, an excellent example is the Kennedy Assassination. The only thing many researchers have in common is their assertion that President John F Kennedy was definitely NOT shot by a lone gunman, Lee Harvey Oswald, from the sixth floor of a schoolbook warehouse, firing something like 3 shots from a bolt action rifle in six seconds. The story is absurd on its face. Not the least of the absurdities is that Oswald's target was obscured by the foliage of a live oak tree as it made a diversion only decided upon that morning from the planned route into Dealey Plaza.
But the shots that rang out that morning was just the beginning of the drama. Oswald was able to flee the scene, but was arrested later that day for sneaking into a movie theatre without a ticket. Some hours later, allegedly identified as the assassin, he was then shot and killed, while news cameras were rolling, by another gunman, who was quickly buried in obscurity in the prison system. Meanwhile, conflicting reports and rumors circulated. And witnesses who claimed to have seen shots fired from the legendary grassy knoll began having untimely deaths at an alarming rate. And back at the autopsy scene, bullets magically appeared on stretchers, while brains disappeared.
What should be obvious to anybody with ten brain cells is that the conspiracy was not being hidden. Rather, the lies were being flaunted. But why? The answer is simple: The Kennedy assassination is riddled with lies and red herrings so that researchers will be busy trying to find the ultimate who and why and so keep chasing their proverbial tails rather than asking the bigger questions. Instead, they will speculate that Kennedy was murdered by the Federal Reserve because he was going to issue silver certificates, or that he was murdered by the Central Intelligence Agency because he had no interest in escalating the potential conflict in Vietnam brewing at that time. Others, citing his famous speech about conspirators who operate as snipers by night, and professors by day and calling upon the press corps to rout them out, think he was murdered by a cabal of mafiosi, corrupt politicians, and foreign communists.
Very few, apparently, have consider the notion that the assassination, the executive orders Kennedy signed shortly before his assassination, murder of witnesses, the famous Zapruder films, the Jim Garrison investigation, and much more may have been just a trail of breadcrumbs leading the newshounds in circles around the target, but never clearly comprehending it. And not a few see Kennedy as the hero surrounded by villains, and have the mistaken impression that, somehow, a man of integrity and good will can climb the political ladder to an office of real power. But, more to the point, they become enamored in the details and are looking down at a pavement littered with bullet casings, blood spatters, tatters of documents, rather than looking up at the overall landscape, and seeing the big picture.
So let's use Kennedy as an example. And let's just start with one simple question: How did this man become the youngest president in United States history?
Many of you will rightfully exclaim that his rise to fame began with the famous story of the PT-109. But what is dysfunctional about many so-called "conspiracy theorists" is that, while they can spot the obvious bullshit that is splattered on the wall for all the world to see, they have difficulty seeing other things which just do not pass the proverbial smell test, and we have an excellent example here.
John Kennedy had a rather famous dad, Joseph Kennedy. Not so much what Joe Kennedy did made him famous, but who he knew, from New York Politicians to Bishop Spellman to rumored mafia bosses. And so he was able, apparently, to pull strings so that his scrawny son could join the navy.
Kennedy was given a desk job suitable to his talents and background, but, allegedly, he wanted to be where the action was. So he purportedly pulled strings and ended as the captain (not by rank, he was a junior officer) of a patrol torpedo boat, essentially a plywood speedboat equipped with some torpedo tubes and some quad-mounted anti aircraft pom-poms. He was ordered into action during World War II to the Pacific Theatre, specifically the Solomon island campaign.
Many know the famous story. Kennedy's boat was part of a "squadron" of similar vessels tasked with interfering with the operations of the Japanese "Tokyo Express", the ongoing effort by the enemy to keep their occupation forces supplied. That night, the by the US forces attack failed spectacularly. And then the anomalies begin.
For some reason which makes zero logistical sense, Kennedy's boat, having spent its supply of torpedos, is, along with the other boats of the squadron, just floating in the Pacific in the middle of the night with engines at low idle. (You would think, if they did not want to be noticed by the enemy, that they just might turn those engines completely off.) Then, out of nowhere, a Japanese destroyer collides squarely with his boat, breaking it in two and just as quickly, traveling at about 35 or so miles per hour, disappears into the inky Pacific blackness. At least two of Kennedy's pack see the explosion which briefly lights the night, but, inexplicably, the respective captains both assume nobody could have possibly survived that event and, despite being a mere one hundred or so yards away, refrain from doing even a cursory search for wreckage or survivors. Instead, having floated out here for hours, seemingly without purpose, suddenly the time has come to head for base.
Aboard Kennedy's shattered craft, two men are killed instantly, while the others are injured. Strangely Kennedy himself, who one would assume was standing in the command area just forward of the middle of the craft which took the brunt of the impact, was only dazed, and apparently not for very long, because his first stint of heroism was to jump in the water and swim to rescue a comrade who had been thrown overboard.
Come dawn, obviously exhausted by lack of sleep, this rather scrawny individual with a back problem from athletic injuries now is not only able to swim three miles, but, according to official sources, also tows two injured mates, holding the line with his teeth. Leading his twelve or so men to a desert island, he quickly concludes they will quickly die of thirst here, and must swim another mile or so to an island populated by a smattering of coconut palms.
From here the story becomes rather convoluted. My personal favorite is the rather handy canoe that is found loaded with seventy or so gallons of potable water and victuals, that the Japanese just took into the wilderness and then abandoned for no apparent reason. Meanwhile, although none of the purported ten thousand Japanese troops infesting the area spotted Kennedy and his band, some natives doing intelligence operations for the Australians do, if you can believe that.
Let's face it. There is not one story of heroism or valor in the Pacific during World War II that even comes close to this one in terms of enigmas, lack of standard operating procedure, and just dumb luck.
In his alleged note to his parents, young John strangely does not talk about the providence of God nor how glad he is to write home nor how he suffered in this desolation. Rather, he acts as though he just won a championship, and says that "they misjudged the durability of a Kennedy," and goes on to say that "as soon as possible, I shall try and give you the whole story." One can safely conclude that he is not going to divulge any details here, because the narrative has yet to be formulated, and he does not want to say anything that might have to be embarrassingly walked back later, lest another crew member say something blaringly contradictory.
No, the whole presidency of John F Kennedy, and his assassination, was choreographed years in advance, complete with all sorts of worm holes and false leads so that future researchers would be baffled and puzzle over conflicting facts leading to conflicting theories. And the whole point is to keep those seeking the truth sniffing for clues like a hound dog, his nose to the ground and completely oblivious to the knife his master brandishes, while the circling vultures wait to swoop in and pick at the discarded carcass.
Our Lady of Fatima, pray for us. You are our only hope.