Why David Icke and Alex Jones are Disinfo Artists

Maybe you’ve noticed the appearance of insane ninja shooters is increasing exponentially, a disturbing trend nowhere so prevalent as in the good old USA? My theory is this unfortunate situation is the result of a perfect storm of three trends: pills for all, violence media for all, and guns for all. With the possible addition of some MK/Ultra-style experiments in mind control.

A sideshow to this problem is the way the Tin Foil Hat Patrol jumps on all current events as being created by sinister forces. The world is filled with coincidences and you can connect dots all day long that don’t really connect, so that’s an easy game to play. The disinfo machine ignores real info and diverts people into rabbit holes leading nowhere while helping brand researchers as kooks who believe in nonsense. That’s the purpose of disinfo, which is really a well-practiced art the FBI and CIA learned from the Nazis and British intelligence.

To give a specific example: When Sandy Hook happened, it was immediately branded by David Icke and Alex Jones, the two biggest disinfo artists in the world, as an example of a government-inspired plot. According to them, more than one shooter was involved. Initially, they claimed the event was orchestrated to pass Obama’s assault weapon ban. But then, a few days later, it turned out there were no assault weapons at Sandy Hook, just four hand guns. So how does that help pass an assault weapon ban? Just another case of reality blowing a giant hole through a pet theory advanced by Icke and Jones.

And please don’t make the mistake of thinking either one of those two dudes actually knows what’s going on in the world and is on the inside of the real power structure. They only understand one thing: paranoia sells. And that’s really the only aspect of conspiracy theory banksters are willing to bankroll. Secret societies will always seek to control dialogue by inventing extremes. Somebody big in England is behind Icke, just like somebody big is behind Jones in the USA. It could even be the same person, although you can see major differences in their approaches. Icke is pushing the “Rothschilds rule the world,” essentially the same course charted by the John Birch Society in the 1960s. Today we know the JBS was set-up inside Freemasonry and was involved in the JFK assassination cover-up. The JBS was created as an extremist group to hype the Cold War and they promoted the idea the Rothschilds were secretly running Russia, as well as the State Department. In reality, the Rothschilds evolved as the court bankers of Europe.

Jones, on the other hand, talks about the elites but avoids discussion of both Zionism and Opus Dei, two of the primary forces orchestrating world events. You cannot understand what is happening in the world today without studying those two powerful movements.

Antony Sutton, one of the few deep political researchers I trust, claimed the Rothschilds hold about ten percent of the world’s wealth, and the majority is in the coffers of the old money families of Europe and North America. Researching the truth of this is beyond my ability, but I believe anything promoted by the corrupt John Birch Society is far more likely to be a rabbit hole than the actual truth. Yes, in many cases, the man running the bank is Jewish, just like most basketball players are black, but that doesn’t mean Jews own all the money in the bank, any more than black people own the NBA.

The most important financial secret in the world was the recovery of over a trillion dollars worth of gold stolen by the Japanese during WWII. Once recovered, this treasure was hidden inside the world banking system and that crime seems to have been conducted jointly by Opus Dei and Skull & Bones, neither one of which has anyone of Jewish heritage inside the upper levels of its power structure.

The Mysterious Saul Alinsky

In 1971, I suddenly found myself back in Urbana, Illinois, pretty much penniless, and the town had sure changed in the two years I’d been away. There wasn’t much work listed in the paper, although my former employer, The News-Gazette, had an ad for distributors. You had to have your own vehicle and several minor routes were up for grabs. I set-up an interview, but when I showed up, I found myself talking to Frank Sowers, the same guy who’d hit my buddy Doug Blair with a baseball bat, and been one of the toughest dudes in my class (although he was a greaser and I was a longhair). If Frank recognized me, he certainly didn’t say so, and I knew he was never going to offer me a job.

Saul Alinsky.

The only other option was working as a community organizer for a new group that was canvassing the area. They welcomed me with open arms and gave me a just-published book to read: Rules for Radicals by Saul Alinsky. It was their bible. I really enjoyed this book immensely and it was the first time I’d ever heard of the Dutch Provo movement that had been a wild success in the Netherlands. One of the first things I’d do after becoming editor of High Times was to commission the first history of the Provos written in English.

This community group was a bit strange, however. We were traveling around to targeted communities and squeezing small donations by going door-to-door. The main pitch involved lowering the electric bill, something the group had already managed to do in other areas. I remember hearing the names “Ralph Nader” and “Mark Green” a lot from our supervisor. Mark arrived one day and gave a scheduled pep talk, before retiring to a private corner to have a long, whispered conversation with our supervisor.

I instantly became the star fundraiser, which meant I was also making the most money since everything was based off commissions. The easiest touches were widows who lived alone and who were obviously starved for human companionship. For them, an hour of conversation was worth a $20 donation. The photo on the left was taken during this period and shows the outfit I wore, so you can see what I looked like while I was shaking loose change off these ladies.

There was a strange, predatory vibe to this operation and I soon began to feel like a Moonie. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I decided to bail after two or three weeks, despite the easy pay, which really upset the supervisor. He had some higher-ups to answer to, and without me on board, I guess he didn’t think he was going to make his monthly quota. He even tracked me down at my parent’s house and begged me to come back, which made his operation seem all that more creepy to me. I had a strong feeling the “green” movement was being hijacked by the FBI or CIA.

There was one thing about Alinsky that really bothered me: he preached the ends justified the means. In a way, he was the Ayn Rand of the socialist movement. When I saw Obama and Hillary both track back to Alinksy organizations, it really makes me wonder if he wasn’t operating on another level, dancing through raindrops, just another spook on a secret mission with a hidden agenda.

Alinksy was a poor Russian Jew in Chicago when he unexpectedly got offered a fellowship at the University of Chicago to study criminology, and since he had zero background in that field, one wonders how he landed such a cushy deal? I guess you know the University of Chicago was created by the Rockefeller Trust, and also birthed the warmongering neo-conservative movement that fomented wars in Iraq and Afghanistan that bankrupted the nation.

Right after getting that fellowship, Alinksy spent two years hanging out with the Al Capone gang, then being run by Frank Nitti, as Al had income tax problems to deal with. Alinksy was allowed complete access to the gang, including its financial secrets. “Once, when I was looking over their records,” he told Playboy. “I noticed an item listing a $7,500 payment for an out-of-town killer. I called Nitti over and I said, ‘Look, Mr. Nitti, I don’t understand this. You’ve got at least 20 killers on your payroll. Why waste that much money to bring somebody in from St. Louis?’ Frank was really shocked at my ignorance. ‘Look, kid,’ he said patiently, ‘sometimes our guys might know the guy they’re hitting, they may have been to his house for dinner, taken his kids to the ball game, been the best man at his wedding, gotten drunk together. But you call in a guy from out of town, all you’ve got to do is tell him, ‘Look, there’s this guy in a dark coat on State and Randolph; our boy in the car will point him out; just go up and give him three in the belly and fade into the crowd.'”

I don’t know about you, but I find it odd Alinsky, a criminology student at the University of Chicago, was given this sort of access to information, not to mention his lack of morality, even to the point of not understanding the morals of the Sicilian brotherhood of death he was studying.

I’d have to do a lot more research on Alinsky and his organization before I could come to any conclusions, but I do find him to be a somewhat mysterious character.

My Favorite Anti-War Protest

The Illini Union was my home away from home during the 1960s. The original building had recently been renovated and greatly expanded, although my favorite hangout remained The Tavern, located in the basement of the original building. The Tavern had a sort of bohemian coffeeshop feel to it and was a magnet for counterculture types like me. I spent most of my time in those days navigating between Turk’s Head, House of Chin, Union Tavern and Red Herring, all of which were within a block or two of each other.

I loved hanging out at the Union bookstore because they let students sit in chairs and read any book without buying it! I’d spend hours in there reading paperback novels. One of my favorite moments came when I walked out and just happened to bump into Carl Ellis and Timothy Leary, who had just crossed paths for the first time and instantly recognized themselves as long-lost comrades-in-arms. I think it began with Carl making some Oriental display of respect and offering his hand, but it ended with both of them embraced in a bear-hug. Leary was in town to give a speech later that day in one of the Union ballrooms.

After the Vietnam draft heated up, several anti-war organizations sprouted on campus and draft card burnings became a regular event on the south deck of the Union. Eventually, this deck became officially known as the “free speech area,” and impromptu rallies began happening there that alternated between folk songs and speeches against the war. At this time, however, most people in the community still supported the war and a local fraternity responded to these anti-war efforts by holding a blood drive for soldiers overseas.

My favorite anti-war event happened when a big muckity-muck of the draft came to one of the ballrooms to deliver a speech on how the new lottery system was going to work. But after he’d been speaking for only a few seconds, a cue was given and a couple dozen people, including me, put on black hoods with skull faces and stood up on our chairs. Meanwhile, the double doors flung open and a casket paraded into the room. As the casket wound around the room, the black skulls lined up behind it in a silent death march. We ended up marching out of the ballroom pretty quick and planned to exit the building in an orderly fashion and go to the Turk’s Head. But as we left the ballroom, we saw campus police rushing towards us, so we quickly veered into a nearby elevator and pushed the “up” button.

Knowing the cops could see which floor we were headed for, we exited the elevator asap and ran down a long hallway to a different set of elevators, got inside and pushed the “down” button, returning to our original floor. Meanwhile, cops were running all over the building, trying to locate the casket while we stayed one floor and one step ahead of them, laughing all the way. It was a scene right out of the Keystone Kops.

Finally, the cops did corner the casket, and a kid from Uni High who was a year younger than me jumped on top and began delivering a passionate anti-war speech. He was standing under a portrait of Red Grange, the galloping ghost himself, and I remember thinking, “I wonder what Red might think of us now?”

I never see any references to this protest online, although it was my favorite action of all the ones I participated in. Later, there’d be a brief riot in the Union after the school tried to do something about the fact that out of 30,000 students at the U of I in 1967, less than 300 of them were black. After the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., statistics like that were especially revealing of the institutionalized racism that afflicted the state. So the U of I hastily set up a program designed to bring 500 black students into the school for the fall semester in 1968. Unfortunately, many of them quickly decided they were being treated like second-class students and demanded to see Chancellor Jack Peltason immediately, not in his office, but in the Union Art Gallery, where hundreds of them had assembled for a sit-in. Peltason was told the situation was too unruly for such a meeting so he decided to close the building instead. That’s when a few of the students began slashing paintings. I wonder today who those slashers were and what the point of attacking that artwork might have been? Today, that sort of activity seems more like the work of an FBI dirty tricks informant.

We knew the FBI was sending dirty tricks specialists to infiltrate our anti-war scene, as they could often be quickly identified as the guy demanding some crazy violent action, like trampling the Morrow Plots, the country’s oldest continuous agricultural research center, as if the Morrow Plots had something to do with the War in Vietnam? Despite knowing the FBI was orchestrating the violence, we were helpless to stem the tide, as radical actions got increasingly violent, finally erupting in full-scale riots in 1970.

It was strange for me to see these people getting hostile with Jack Peltason. To me, Jack was just a nice guy, a good friend of my family and the father of my brother’s best friend. Many of us had grown up together in Stadium Terrace, a low-cost housing development built as barracks during the war on the west side of the football stadium and later transformed into cheap housing for married graduate students. In the early 1950s, polio swept through the community, and Bugsy’s dad was one of the unfortunates who contracted that terrible disease. Many of the families that went through Stadium Terrace remained close long after the barracks were torn down.

After I graduated with a degree in playwriting, I sent an application to Yale Drama Graduate school, including a copy of my play that had been performed at the National College Theater Festival. Jack Peltason wrote a letter of recommendation for me. I remember going to his office for the first time to ask him for the letter. He was really shocked to hear I was applying to Yale. “Isn’t that the very heart of the establishment?” he asked me with a wink, well aware of my radical activities. As could have been predicted, however, Yale didn’t want me, so I took a year off to travel in Europe and then applied to get a Masters in Science in Journalism from the U of I.

I recently noticed the department was hiring an associate professor and sent a letter indicating I might be willing to move to Urbana, even if it meant a pay cut. I never heard back though, and I have a funny feeling the U of I Journalism Department isn’t exactly trumpeting the fact one of their graduates became the most successful editor in High Times history and author of a number of conspiracy stories.