11:01 pm

I do not understand.

That is a picture from a blog. As you can see, it is condemning beloved children's book character Winnie the Pooh as the true sleeper agent he really is. This carries all the telltale signs of complete apeshittery, such as the random bolding of words without context or reason, the connection of completely unrelated things (Friendly cartoon bear + FBI + Winnipeg + London Olympics = Fucked if I know), and most notably, calling Winnie the fucking Pooh a "weapon." Really, a weapon? Of mind control? What kind of subliminal messages could be hidden in the books? Eat more honey? Make friends? All donkeys are suicidally depressed? The onion-like layers of crazy in this are impenetrable, and I say that as a person who tried to seriously read about people who believe in reptilians. Reptilians. Those people are the glue-eaters among conspiracy theorists, who are the glue-eaters among humanity. This man ate so much glue that he has transcended to a new plane of adhesives. Elmer ftaghn.

And you know what? It only gets more confusing from here. It's also bilingual French/English, so if for some reason you prefer your daily dose of Alphabits-crazy nonsense en francais, you can have it, you snail-eating and/or poutine-making masochist. Here's what any given part of the blog usually looks like:

If you're scratching your head, drooling, or getting a Jackie Chan what-the-fuck face ready, good. So am I. Seems this guy likes to write everything as if it's a news ticker flashing by, except it's not because it's stationary text and that's dumb. Everything not pointlessly cut off with an ellipsis is a different colour or size, making the page look like a collage of newspaper clippings written by insane homeless people. Good thing we have NEW MATERIAL, though. Can't imagine what I'd do if the site didn't update regularly.

So the conspiracy theorist version of BRIAN BLESSED over here wants us to visit his art site, huh? I'd love to see what such a mind produces.

Of course. I suppose Winnie the Pooh is responsible for that, too. Not only that, he must be responsible for the image going off the right side of my blog page, the FBI Zionist NWO terrorist scum.


Here's a closer look at one of his posts, which I will attempt to summarize because the things are longer than Ron Jeremy's penis and a National Geographic movie put together.

I have many questions. First, why is "clock work" two words? Is that a stealth conspiracy pun, or is he just referring to working on clocks as a means of gainful employment? Nice to know we at least agree with each other on the "Same Fucking Story" bit. I feel you there, bud; I've been going through a lot of conspiracy blogs lately, and all the paranoia is starting to blend together like wine and the blood of virgins at a democrat party meeting. We will also be discussing sexuality with this man, who I'm not sure has touched any genitalia since Y2K, including his own. "Cynicism Is Greater Than Love" sounds like the name of a Depeche Mode song, numbers 1 to 6 are easy for most people who aren't conspiracy theorists to understand, and SIX SEX HEX VEX sounds like a line from a Sabrina the Teenage Witch porn parody.

Sadly, the video link embedded just below the title card(?) is broken. Shame. Also:

You're fucking right it is, buddy. At least he admits to it. Unlike Winnie.


He starts right on full blast by outlining his theories about the numbers system. Yes, the way we count is now part of a global conspiracy by organized religion to enslave the human mind. We are being led astray like sheep by multiples of ten, and we are too blind to see it. Only BRYAN KEMILA can show us the path of the truth. Just... without any math. Work of the fucking devil, that is. Every time he buys a lottery ticket, he cries. Not because he lost, but because he had to take part in their sick, depraved game.

I should mention that the paragraph is accompanied by this image, labeled "corporate-takeover.gif":

I'd let her take over MY corporate anytime!

Now, as you can see, I have censored the image by replacing the naughty bits with fragments of what I assume BRYAN KEMILA was thinking when he wrote this. Also, it is not a gif. That is a lie. A lie just like Winnie the Pooh's love for honey, which few people know is actually pure, liquid heroin.

Here's a fun game to play; pinpoint at exactly which point this goes from moderately nonsensical blathering to a fatal train accident of words and ideas:

That was a trick question--it was already the latter by the beginning, and it's all downhill in sense and uphill in frightened chuckles from here.

The count from Sesame Street had more numerical knowledge than BRYAN KEMILA, and he's a puppet with somebody's hand up his ass. BRYAN KEMILA may also have a hand up his ass, and that would help explain why he's having such trouble making thoughts work. If anyone can help explain to me how numbers represent gender, light, and religion, please get back to me at whatthefuckareyoutalkingabout@yahoo.com. Also, luciferian egregore isn't a metal band name, even though it probably should be; Lucifer meaning devil, and "egregore" being a term usually used to mean "group mind" in an occult kind of way. Yes, he just said "Devilish group mind group mind" moments after decrying religion as a method of hiding the truth. BRYAN KEMILA's thought processes run like an 80's Jaguar, which is to say they don't run at all. When they do run, as opposed to a connection of firing neurons, his entire brain lights up and he presses the bold button.

When Dorito Illuminati parodies are more coherent than you,  it may be time to stop.

BRYAN really does love his bolds and his italics. He also loves putting his fingers in jars of peanut butter and then sticking them in his ears, or so I must assume due to his belief that life is a 3D illusion created by... Satan? Human beings? Light? Red text? This shit is getting harder to parse by the paragraph, and it started out as morse code delivered via baby screams. First of all, Bryan, black light isn't from Satan; we use it to scan for semen, which you may recognize as the stuff that your father probably should have emptied into a sock instead.

Is it really, Bryan? I may not be a master of science, but I'm pretty sure sexual energy isn't an actual form of energy. If it was, all we'd have to do to solve the world's energy crisis would be to hook up some cables to Leonardo DiCaprio, and bam; free power for everyone! Another plus of Bryan's fictional universe is that learning the truth is a thousand times better than sex, which, as I'm sure you all know by now, is very convenient for Bryan.

If we were all a formless cloud of wisdom--which, incidentally, is what my father calls his farts--then how exactly did Mr. Luciferian Mind manage to make us into stupid humans like the one that wrote this blog? At least our "receiving dish" is working well enough, apparently; not that anybody really has need for it now that we have Satanflix.

Blaming it on the devil makes me feel better about how many hours I've wasted  
marathoning shows I hate!

Now, slow down a bit. Sit down if you've been reading this long-winded petty monologue standing up for some reason. Make sure your mind is secure, because gentlemen and ladies, BRYAN KEMILA is about to blow it.

Holy shit, guys. He means to tell us that time is currently happening as you read this? Or it doesn't exist at all. Or Satan is time, and our clocks are made of sexually energetic light fractured by a pyramid. Either or. Before we move on to his next random explosion of thought, I'd like to say something about a particular sentence:

First of all, fuck you for writing that sentence the way you didn't not write that sentence. Second, I hope your childhood English teacher finds you and knocks you the fuck out. You deserve it. We're only about 10% through this ONE, SINGLE POST, by the way, so strap yourselves in and put on a movie; this one's gonna be long. Bryan continues to talk about the eternal wisdom and the true ascendance beyond self and LUCIFERIAN LUCIFERIAN LUCIFERIAN, until this happens:

I'm having a rather difficult time doing so, Bryan.

Well, that was unexpected. Seriously, even after all the crazy shit that came before, that easily takes the cake. It takes the cake as easily as taking said cake from a 90 year-old blind woman on her birthday. I stared at this section for about a minute straight, utterly uncomprehending and yet suddenly very grateful to the thought process that gave me this comedy gem. I could go on and on as I usually do at the massive leaps of logic, but instead I'll just say that "penis eye soul" sounds like a modded Dark Souls item, and I want one.

Next slide, please!

If I had to choose an "ancient sex symbol," I'd pick one that we didn't discover only 118 years ago.
Also, maybe one that doesn't represent horrible mutations, pain and unavoidable death to most
people. Cancer is kind of a boner-killer, believe it or not.

You almost redeemed yourself when you called Einstein a genius, Bryan, but then you blamed him for further pushing us into the sorry state of not being giant wisdom clouds. Number 8 and 20 are associated with total control, are they? By who, Bryan? Oh. Just you. I thought so. Now we're at last getting into some familiar conspiracy theorist territory, that being the New World Order and its supposed culpability for such atrocities as 9/11 and the following war. The problem with calling this shadowy bullshit organization the New World Order is that it just makes me think of Hollywood Hogan and his evil wrestling gang, which marks the first time in history that something has become more real when portrayed by sweaty men in tights pretending to punch each other.

Bryan, how many times do I have to explain to you that the atomic symbol is, in fact, nothing like an eye? Also--you keep doing this, and I don't think you'll stop just because I say so--but just because two words sound alike does not mean they are related. You should have learned this in elementary school. If I was to do what you're doing, then school = cool = pool and therefore school is a cool pool and also Satan. I'm not sure what exactly the "fertility letter" is, but I'm not convinced it's related to BERT B beta, whoever that may be. His name does sound like a Captain Planet villain, though. So there's that.

THE BLACK PUPIL, coming straight to your local Blockbuster this summer, is the chilling tale of a carpentry student and the benches he crafts--FOR SATAN. [Insert 80's synthesizer hit here]

I'm almost certain I got that in a fortune cookie once.

Here we go, ladies and gentlemen and LUCIFERIAN EGREGORES. This is what I've been waiting for; the point where Bryan momentarily stops making nothing out of nothing and starts denying proven events. This is what pure, undiluted stupidity smells like, kids; savour it like a fine wine made from the spinal fluid that leaks out of Bryan's nose every time he thinks moderately hard. I've heard that 9/11 was an inside job. I've heard that there were never any planes at all. I've heard that global warming is fake. The one thing I've never heard is that these events were programmed by a Satanic group mind to prevent us from achieving gas-cloud enlightenment. It's not every day that something this special--in all meanings of the word--walks up and flops shakily into your lap, like a three-legged dog with brain damage.

Here we have another game of "rearrange letters until they make a word I can highlight with red text" with our five-time champ. There's not much more I can say about this, just enjoy the moment. 

I agree, Bryan. Even your unique brand of insanity can get a little boring after 6,000 words, and there are so many more to go. This is like the Oregon Trail of batshit blogs; it's long, it's difficult, you might get dysentery, and in the end it wasn't worth it at all.

I'm starting to think Bryan made this to one-up the people who say that Freemasons/Jews/the NWO/the Illuminati are behind every negative event experienced by humanity. That wasn't good enough for Bryan; no, somebody had to be behind them. And that somebody is a hazily defined Satanic hive mind. He's the adult counterpart of that one kid who would always say his ship had "infinity plus one armor" in LEGO battles.

So, let me get this straight; clocks are liars, they invented numbers, they're made out of light, have three hands, and count to 144. Why? Don't ask me. Ask BRYAN KEMILA. You can contact him by performing a toaster sacrifice, writing your message in morse code, and sending it to Winnipeg via a vinegar-soaked carrier pigeon on the second Tuesday of the month.

For the last time, Bryan, science is not magic. Science is real. Magic is not real. I know that's a difficult distinction for you. 

Highly encouraged? Bryan, the moment I start actually paying attention to what you write is when I start to hear voices in my head, and most of them are screaming about Winnie the Pooh and betrayal. I'm actually convinced that if your country's intelligence agency detects that you AREN'T skimming Bryan Kemila's literary seizures, they give the order to napalm everything within 300 km of you, just to be sure.

Bryan, when your teacher told you that you got angels and angles mixed up on your math test, that did NOT mean they are somehow related. Also, apparently men and women can only fuck at 90-degree angles, which is both news to me and suddenly makes Tetris uncomfortably erotic. Bonus points to Bryan for figuring out that 90 is a multiple of 10, but I'm immediately retracting those bonus points because he thinks three times three has a deeper meaning than his calculator is letting on.

I hope you're strapped into your gas-cloud denying slavery apparatus (which you may, for simplicity, call a chair), because it's time for round [sudden screaming] of Bryan Kemila's sex ed!

Negative female energy? Bryan, you better stop right there. Me making fun of everything you believe in might be harsh, but the wrath of the Tumblrites is so much harsher. Your patriarchal pendulum-shaming is over with, mister! Right after they finish reblogging that Supernatural gif. And that Harry Potter one. And that completely non fact-checked anecdote about a thingy that sort of supports their views. And another Supernatural gif. 

Also, dear readers, your mom's a square. Literally. Your mommy and daddy created you by fitting a round peg in a square hole at a 90-degree angle and/or angel in order to create a triangle baby. I'll be here if you need a shoulder to cry on.

I didn't know it was possible for numbers to be manly, but now that you mention it, 5 Satans is a pretty masculine number of Satans.

We know all about how Bryan thinks 90-degree polygonal lasers are sex, nothing new there. But kids! Now Bryan gives his opinion on kids. Firstly, they are made out of light by the Satanic hivemind. Secondly, he has five of them. Wait, what? Bryan has children? Someone had sex with this man. Let's let that sink in. 

Someone. Had. Sex. With. This. Man.

Multiple times.

This man, who believes that numbers are lies made out of light, that paradise is a big ol' conscious gas cloud, and that Winnie the Pooh is an agent of the Canadian fucking FBI, has five children. FIVE! I fear that Old Man Henderson would raise saner children, and he smoked part of the Necronomicon. 

Also, by your own admission, you are a bad father for letting the Satanic hivemind steal your kids from the good hivemind. Would it have killed you to wear a condom?

Yes, Bryan, technically the seed would have remained a seed forever if not exposed to light. On the other hand, claiming that the seed becoming a plant is an example of how light kills things is exactly the kind of thing that compels me to viciously rip apart your every sentence. Because people that are as stupid as you are make me angry. You remind me of that one home-schooled kid everyone thought might be okay until they went to his house once and his dad was licking batteries for fun. 

Also, you talk about the "3D sense of things" as if there's any other. When have you ever been two-dimensional, Bryan? When you got really, really high and played Paper Mario for the first time?

Okay, so now you're saying that everyone who believes in reincarnation or the afterlife are "luciferian-minded" and part of the Illuminati. You know, for someone with views as nutjobbian as yours, you sure do like to call other people stupid and/or evil. The old standby of throwing stones in a glass house doesn't even apply, because glass houses would reflect light and you think light is evil, Satan, sex, or pyramids, depending on what day of the week it is.

"Cynicism is greater than love." There you have it, folks, straight from the mouth of a man who believes everything the bees told him during that one bad acid trip. According to Bryan, the definition of cynicism is believing nothing that makes sense and everything your own severely handicapped mind came up with after having Alphabits with milk that expired before democracy came to America. Bryan could fill a whole fucking dictionary with his own very special definitions, and in fact, he tried--but he only got three pages in before he passed out from sniffing the Mr. Sketch Scented Markers he was using to write it. 

The thing about immortality is that nobody has lived long enough to prove it. Bryan, I suspect, despite trying his absolute hardest to scare death away with his crazy internet rants, will die just like the rest of us. The only difference is that Tom Cruise will attend his funeral, and weep for the man he considered his greatest inspiration. "Godspeed, sailor," Cruise will whisper, fondling his own genitalia while listening to 8 Eurythmics tracks layered over one another. "Godspeed."

With the amount of fantastic wordplay in this man's writing, he could be Dr. Seuss reincarnated. Don't tell him that, though. He probably thinks green eggs and ham are both separate but equally insidious kinds of Satan. In future, Bryan, please refrain from saying anything like "in more concise english." What you write is not concise, and it's not really "english" either. It's more like the bastard child of a fever dream and a special needs child yelling out words from a thesaurus.

It's the best word. I have lots of good words. Great ones. Like AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

I didn't know numbers were divisible by triangles. I suppose I must have slept through the "fucking insane bullshit" day in math class. Hey, Bryan, can I copy off you for the test? Yeah? Thanks. So, what's the answer to number 13? 


Bryan, "Evil Jewish Satanic Dick Clouds" isn't one of the choices.

Yet again we have Bryan stating that something is "simple," where in reality even the most devoted mental patients and followers of the conspiracy mythos would take him aside and go "What the fuck?" Charles Manson would take one look at this man and decide he wasn't worthy. If aliens kidnapped him, they'd designate earth a no-go zone for the rest of eternity. They tried to extract his brain, but when they opened his skull all they found was a package of Crackerjacks and a lit match. 

If you read words according to standard English definitions only, you wouldn't wear a complete medieval knight costume made of floor tile and aluminum foil every time you poop, but here we are. Also, it's absolutely hilarious to me that at this point in the article, he decides to call out math equations as buzzwords, which is ironic because a) numbers aren't words, and b) Bryan uses more buzzwords than a 45 year old "cool" teacher trying to gain the approval of his high school class.

I think my brain is numb. I think Bryan's has been since the shovel incident back in high school.

Bryan, you really aren't the guy to be harping on mumbo jumbo, jargon, and mind-altering drugs. If you took every 90's professional wrestler, put them in a room with as many drugs as the world has to offer, and let them loose, they'd still come out more sane than you. New Jack himself crosses the street when you walk by. Your house is the only house in the entire world that Jehovah's Witnesses don't pester. Your form of crazy is so advanced it has metastasized beyond all known boundaries and become... Super Crazy.

"I don't want anything to do with this either. Please leave me alone."

Now this is the part that really hurts, because he comes so achingly, heartbreakingly close to self reflection and perhaps a return to the world of people who don't tie up wild animals and read blog posts to them at 3 am, but then he lawn darts himself straight back into gaga land. 

"I'm not crazy, I swear! The evil satanic light beam numbers are!" he cries to the squirrel which died many weeks ago. 

"Why don't you believe me? Why don't any of you ever believe me?"

His wife watches through a crack in the door. This is the third time this week. Next, he will apologize to it while shoving peanut M&M's up its asshole.

This is the second to last picture on the post. It doesn't really mean anything, but I put it here for the same reason I assume Bryan did; vampire boob.

And this is the final paragraph of his screed. Well, not quite, but the rest is little more than an intro to another one of his articles, and I'll be damned if I'm diving back into this well of cat piss and insanity again anytime soon. I think it's fitting and sort of sadly amusing that despite being a veritable fountain of unique craziness, he ends his speech like every other dollar-store conspiracy theorist. Wake up, sheeple. Math is evil! Now, who wants M&M's? Wait, why are you all leaving?