David Icke and his Conspiracies (And Conspiracies)

[DangledTeeth]

American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit: David Icke, welcome once again to London Real.

David Icke: Thank you, American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit. I quite like that cloth strawberry hanging out of your breast pocket.



American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit: Thank you. I'm going to start off by saying my views and you can prattle away with your loopy thoughts on the situation. I don't think the coronavirus was manufactured. Science is my friend. Vaccines are great. I've decided to obey our governmental tyrants on the pandemic. I don't think the virus can be controlled in the western world. Devil's advocate be I. We also shook hands, ha ha ha ha. Statistics. Not look good. The Chinese have an ancient saying: oh-er missus. Who gets interviewed in a room loike this? David, it's uoveh to yooou...

David: RRRiiiight. Glance at the ceiling as I gather my thoughts. Raised forearms. Yes, my right hand's fingers seem a bit droopy, and my knuckles appear distinctly slanted and chunky - it's arthritis, mate. For the past thirdy years, I've been writing books and warning people about the dangerous government shrouding everything in a metaphorical smoke screen. I shall not quote a single sentence from my books, you'll have to purchase my books to find out this profoundly valuable nugget of intelligence for yourselves. This world is controlled by trillionaire bankers; they rule everything and everyone. The Rothschild family possess a lot of things. I mean, you could call them the core owners in this disease of a society - the core owner virus HA HA HA HA!

These affluent rulers are all in cahoots with each other. You might be wondering: 'How can a world so vast have people falling in line to the merry banger of a one-world government? What about staunch supporters of diplomatic socialism? Middle Eastern theocracy? Laissez-faire capitalism? Alt-right nationalism? People also have different religious beliefs entrenched in their culture and everyday lives, so how does this work, Mr Icke?'' The answer is more straightforward than you think: they are all branches of the same tree, mate. These apples have worms and the shape-shifting lizards expect you to eat both of them. Tilt my head back briefly for dramatic effect. Etceteraetceteraetceteraetceteraetecetceteraetceteraetcetera.



What have I said, in this thirly years, that this cult wants? George Orwell's 1984. Not a physical copy of the book, no... the totalitarian system. A global police state. cameras everywhere. Televisions telling you to exercise. Covert rutting in a field. You name it, it's been gradually happening. I refer to this as the Resident Evil 3 society: ill people are shuffling about and groaning, most of the shops are shut, while the non-infected civilians must quarantine themselves in a safe location. This NWO government is nothing more than an eight-foot-high bin liner bursting, at the top, with a failed yet ambitious lasagne - and it has a rocket launcher and flame thrower. What this government does is launch rockets of chaos while spreading the flames of deceit across the cities.

Very much like the fictional Umbrella Corporation, big pharma has a monopoly on people. These nefarious people are bankrolled by associates of the Rothschilds and Rockerfeller conglomorates. At the bottom of the pyramid of this RE3 sociedy are the rest of yumanity - yes, my enunciation is crap. And the police-militchry state prevent the proletariats from overthrowing the super-rich minority, The 0.45458%. And this Resident Evil sociedy isn't entirely classic fixed camera angles, no (although there is CCTV watching you at all times, don't forget). It has evolved into a linear free-roaming third-person perspective game (not in the pineal gland 'third eye' sense), where people succumb to this technocracy. It's a society (yes, with a 't' this time) defined as one which is controlled by bureautwats, shite-entists, enginerds and technocunts.

There are staged set-piece distractions like the rainforest crisis in the Amazon, which diverts our consciousness away from the real issues, like when's Jorker coming out? I mean, come on! The rainforest in the Amazon?! *exasperated expression* That's the talk of the week?! More like Amazon's Alexa wants your soul - that's what worries me, mate.

Everything will be connected to AI. If you listen to the nerdy cunties in Silicon Valley, in the year 2030 we will live in a time when the yuman brain (I'll get it right eventually) will be connected to AI. And thus, whoever drives AI will be connecting er-er-er-er the perceptions of yumanity. Global smart-arse grid, mate. Generals gathered in their masses. Just like witches at black masses. Evil minds that plot destruction; sorcerer of death's construction. In the fields, the bodies burning, as the war machine keeps turning. Death and hatred to mankind. Poisoning their brainwashed minds.



American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit: Really?

David: Oh lord, yeah! They also want to do away with cash discs and monetary bumwipes; it's all going to be chip'n'pin. Well, I'd much prefer Chip 'N' Dale, thank-you-very-much. I won't hold my breath until animated, anthropomorphic critters rescue us from this globalist nightmare. Actually, repeats of Supermarket Sweep where Dale Winton speaks about chips and peas is more preferable, well erm, before he was dead and not presenting the National Lottery - which is nothing more than a staged 'gameshow' inside a hologram of a space station moon.

*Waves arthritic hand in a circle* It'll be about a one-world currency called the bitdollar. In the same 30 years, I've been saying there are two major techniques. Number one is technique number two: problem, reaction, solution. Where you come up with a load of old bollocks, use the downright insipid clungedribble that is the mainstream new media - who employ a cavalcade of dick'eads, by the way - to tell the gormless gaggle a dishonest version of the problem, then comes stage two: FEAAAR! - the opiate of compliance. And then people will demahnd action or they will furnish me with money to hear me horn cobbled-together rhetoric in a prestigious sporting arena. Then the amphibian politicians covertly create solutions for the dimwitted chaos they've formulated, and they use an understated bloke who's endearingly stern and forthright, with no record of credentials as a means to intimidate people with 'the truth'.

And this will inevitably lead to that Resident Evil 3 sociedy. And there's the other one called 'no problem, mate'. Weapons of Mass Destruction? Not at all moved in the inchest - that's how the masses react. Then they, the globalist Illuminati, can implement their society-changing solution with this distraction. There's totalitarian tug-o-war: you start off with 'eh' and then the party begins when Zed arrives. But if they overstep their boundaries too far, people will vacate their telly-watching schedule by turning off Anton Deck or whatever Simon's cow has produced and say ''What's going on, mate!?''. What they want people to believe is everything is random. There's no possibility in concidences. There's never anything disorganised in a convoluted and ever-changing world. No.

Life is fun. It's a wonderful life, in fact. So wonderful, the Argos space reptiles have orchestrated these events since the ages of the Coptic architects, who hired the tongue-flickers to build big triangles, essentially celestial compasses for their intergalactic Lamborghinis. I have this phrase I so often use: fuck! It is an exclamation I utter whenever I stub my toe if I run up the stairs too quickly, or I restart my computer when I really want to shut it down and it takes about 10 minutes for the bugger to come back on again and then properly turn off. If you don't know what this devious cult is doing, I guarantee that plenty of 'fucks' will be emitted from your gob. Let me tell you, this is one fuck we could do without.



David: Coronavirus - random! Climate change - bbbbollocks! Economic change - staggering wankjuice! But when you know where the destination is, you'll know where you are going. This Resident Evil 3 suhsiedy, the randomness becomes a pathway towards that destination. The final destination. Coronavirus? Tick the boxes? Coincidence?! Do me a semi-quaver, Helen.

Two maahssiv (wickedwicked) groups of The 0.45458% - one, in fact, six weeks before this brouhaha commenced in Chinatown - had produced an enactment of this exact scenario. A featurette of committees discussing what they'll do; people buying excessive amounts of cleft hankies and meeting up in grass & bench world. Every. Little. Detail. The video was uploaded in Oct 2019. And do you know which foundation has backed the video? Bill and Belinda Gates. Who's recently stepped down as head of Microsoft? Well, I think we know the answer to that question *nods* it's not Stephfven Jobbs, by the way, as he was with the Appled Max before he carked it. Who gave a TED Talk about not being prepared for the next virus? Bill Gates. And his Gayvid program of his aims to put everyone down on a register so that he can track whether you've been vaccinated or not. Bill Gates? The bloody flood gates have opened up for a tsunami of tyranny, more like. Bill indeed - dollar bill. US dollar bill. Funky dollar bill. We're now living in a time when it's not about bankroll, it's about toilet roll.



My son and I had coronavirus well before Christmas. I remember because we're rarely ill, and the lead-up to Xmas is memorable, too, because all the corporate sheds showcase the festive fuzzies and gaudy hang-ups a month too early. And we had every-fucking-thing on the symptom checklist: sweaty kneecaps, punctured arse, arachnophobia in Chislehurst, fibroid of the armpit. You name it, David Junior - namely Gareth - and I had a mild cough and a bit of a hot forehead. This leads me to believe this strain of the coronavirus has been loitering Britain for weeks, looking to jab an unsuspecting denizen of Britain on the hooter before it emerged in China. Or more likely, it's another illness with precisely the same symptoms, like unwanted rash of the haemorrhaged scrotum syndrome.

American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit: Are you unsure about the figures?



David: I-I-I-I question everything the lamestream medire spout on the old HD. I don't listen to some bellend in a suit *ahem* on television who parrots numbers for the delectation of the imbeciles who think they're free and don't realise The Matrix preceded Big Brother as the first reality show. I've been investigading mainstream everything for thirly years, and so far, I'm still talking about it and they haven't put an arsenic horse head on my pillow... yet.

Now, the underhanded blighters we call the rulers of sociedy control the news media. They give the newsreaders and newspaper editors a template based on what to say and write about. The aim is to instill fear into the sheepy-peeps, but a certain level of subtlety is used. The scaly-skinned NWO globalists simultaneously want us to be scared and reassured in equal measure. They achieve this by putting emphasis on the frailty of the elderly, including people with underlying health conditions. The elderly?! Gaahlic Bread?! They couldn't give a dragonfly's cock snot about the elderly! They give them shite food! They give them shit air to breath. An outrageous consortium of low-life psychopathic cunts. I am, of course, referring to the slobbering iguana space-aliens, not the decrepit still-alives. It's a disgusting sequence of affairs how these anarchic, no-soul socialites and technology behemoths of high status and influence dab the cloth of inadequacy on our boncelognese, massaging our minds so that we succumb to their dishonest version of developments on this planet. I'm not having any of their diluted truths in my coffee, mate. They couldn't tell the time in a museum of blindfolded clocks.

I had the coronavirus symptoms yet I was typing away on my computer. *ironically grimaces* Had a cough, but I soldiered on, son. I'll use an analogy, Snazzy Suit. You remember the weather? Wharra tha' all uhbout, eh?! There used to be... wind... erm, and rain. And the shiver invisible, merely wind again. And we used to call it 'weather'. When that happens, it's climate change ''Oh, fuckity nipplesticks, vicar! We shall be decimated by evil science!'' And now we have the coronavirus version of that. We don't know if the people who've had it actually ever did, excluding myself and my son. We definitely had it. I have the evidence. *Snort* Ha ha ha ha! These symptoms are similar to thousands of other things. Who's telling us this person has got it or hasn't got it. We. don't. Knowwwww. Worrying about nothing, all of you. Why destroy the economy because of the flu?!



American Bloke in a Snazzy Suit: But I th-

David: I'll tell you whhhhyy. The idea is to demolish the economy and replace it - problem, reaction, solution. That's why! Stock up on red and green herbs, and don't forget your shotgun and shells, mate. I like to wish you happy painting. God bless, my friend.

[DangledTeeth]

Snazzy Suit Bloke: I like to welcome David Icke on London Real once a-fucking-gain. He's emerged from his tent, and he's the world's leading conspiracy theorist, best-selling author of several tomes and lectures to millions of people per year. It's great to have you on the LR again, David.

David: It's a tremendous pleasure to chat once again, Snazzy Suit Bloke Brian.

Snazzy Suit Bloke Brian: I've heard of this conspiracy relating to the NWO slash Illuminati and that their emblems and prophetic visions of 9/11 have been included in entertainment and other societal functions. I'm not so familiar with this subject, so David, it's oouver tuh yyooou...

David stoically tilts his head backwards and quickly inhales through his nostrils.

David: Well Brian, mate. As you will know, but for those not au fait with the Ickester, I have been investigading the mechanism of politics and its relationship with corporate interest for thirly years now. I'm going to gesticulate with my arthritic hand - do not gawp, please. The entertainment industry has been surreptitiously whacking their insignia and squeezing in subtle trinkets of propaganda into movies and video games for the best part of forly years. The most chilling and well-known one is The Matrix, specifically Neo's passport with an expiry date of 11 Sep '01. Now, the debunkers will try their best to logically explain a 'coincidence' *derisively speaks in Michael Caine voice*. ''Oh naoh, we cawn't handowl the horrable trauth after years of havin' sheep's waool pulled ovah our-wah ocular bollocks''.

They will say that there's a one in twelve chance where months are concerned, and it's merely a combination of three ones and a nought. But when you put the month in with the numbered combination, it makes it less of a coincidence. I mean, are these people shitting stupid or what?! It's an expiry date too, all about the most catastrophic event on Earth (aside from rebooting Crossroads). Get with the program, mate. Question the system and reality you live in. Or the other load of claptrap they'll try to pathetically say is there have been many forms of ID documentation and dates shown and mentioned in films and literature, so there's bound to be the exact date depicted at some time, and expiry dates of passports and ID cards perhaps usually occur at the end of summer. But we don't need all that logical mumbo-jumbo-Columbo-Dumbo, nnnooo. We need a sedative dose of conspiracy, mate. Make mine a double.

Snazzy Suit Brian: What about video games?

David: Ah, yes, I'm about to come on to that. *Dramatic pause* Video games have essentially been hijacked by this PSYCHOPATHIC CULT OF PSYCHOPATHS who love to give the lamestream snooze me-dire a soapy handjob. Before I get into one particularly ambigious game as far as symbolism goes, you're familiar with freemasonry, aren't you, Brian? *Brian nods as David gathers his thoughts* Well, mate, in masonic secret sociedy with lodges and what have you, there's always a checkered black and white floor. It is seriously no coincidence that motorsport racing events are concluded with a flappy checkered tea-towel. Bernie Ecclestone is a freemason who drives a Porsche 911, or so I've heard. I mean, he didn't create the sport of racing in any shape or form, be it yuman or engine-wise, but his forefathers of the lizard lineage did create the exciting pastime dating back to the ancient Greeks. Yuman running, mind. No Ferrari and McClaren chariots back then.

And-and-and veering somewhat away in terms of athletics and television, have you ever noticed some barbershops have checkered black and white floors. I'll tell you why that is. *Davids reclines a notch with an air of profundity* In the early years of the Illuminati, when some ancient lizard bastard had this notion of weaving out carefully-constructed sequences of calculated world domination, the King of the Lizards commenced the first ever ritual of yuman child sacrifice in order to appease the Moloch devil god... of course, appearance was of great importance in order to appease the stringency and unusual desires of their ethereal deity who is a psychopath with a voracity for anarchy. So, what the servants, henchman and lieutenants did as part of Blood Splashmania 1000BC is they sliced away the follicles of the sacrificial yuman's head as they believed it gave the cranium more purity and thus made the brain efficaciously plump for their palate.

This practice known by sociedy's flock as 'hairdressing' soon expanded into a lucrative, low-level venture, and was used as a front for trafficing unsuspecting youngsters into being used as yum fodder at Bohemiam Grove. Of course, they weren't clever enough to refrain from being so overt about it and people begin to notice a literal trail of cut hair and speckles of blood and soon challenged the amphibian crimpers' enterprises and misdeeds. Once the 1700s came around, the lizard people became more interested in becoming a devastating whirlwind of chaotic anarchy in the realm of politics and economical endeavours, so the common yumans started to take up this profession and inherited the traditional appearance of a barbershop floor, which is modelled on the grand hall of sacrifices. What the twirling thing on the outside means or what its derivation is, fuck only knows, Brian. Oh, hang about, do excuse me, I've got a nostril tickler brewing. *BbBBrRLlLlllpPpPPpp*



David: Sorry about the stench, Brian. It'll float away. I bet it's a challenge for Gandalf. Oh, and never microwave a Findus crispy pancake. So now I arrive at video games. It's interesting to note that the world-renowned Japanese entertainment and arts company Nintendo started off making board games. And, quite suspiciously, they made the enormous leap from luddite-esque boredom alleviation to electronic gizmaloids sometime in the 1970s when an energetic visionary joined the ranks. Have you heard of a guy called Shigeru Miyamoto?

Snazzy Suit Brian: Hmm... yeah, I think so. Creator of Mar-rio?

David: I believe he is, yes. Well, his dad is part of the shape-shifting cabal, a Komodo dragon to be precise, mate. That's a sort of lizard. I-dunno. I'd ask a mainstream scientist, but I'll only champion their facts if it hugs my confirmation bias. So yeah... Miyamoto! Oriental lizard of the East, mate. A big-time player in the Illuminati. The Western department of the Illuminati needed a covert 'outsider' to convey their insidious communications to the masses without raising any suspicion in the States. Miyamoto, a promising businessman and heir to a toy manufacturer, developed the character 'Jumpman', who, in a spin-off game along with brother Luigi, was a terrorist that hammered things in construction sites - a nice little cryptic wink at what was to come. He had squabbles with a gorilla called Donkey Kong. Now, this is very interesting, because the original Japanese name for the 'Donkey Kong' translates as 'Submit Your Soul to Baphomet'. But the English version of his name, as we know it, is still quite remarkable because the initials are the same as 'Don't Know' and are also the initials of Dorling Kindersley, the NWO-backed publishers of informative literature. And oddly enough, Danish people used to have it as stickers on their cars

This simplistic and short arcade classic symbolises the ignorance submerged in western tradition of the common man. We are all too much like Donkey Kong: pounding our chest, lobbing barrels of beer around, lusting after blonde women, standing on girders, getting plumbers to sort our domestic appliances out. But the most eerie aspect in the DK saga is the final level presciently alluding to the final report on how 7 WTC blew-up - sorry - ''collapsed''. Mario removes the supporting bolts of the structure and down goes Donkey Kong, and down goes our dignity and freedom in this draconian police state. It's also worth noting that the first 3D Kong adventure game is known as Donkey Kong 64 - as is the first three-dimensional Mario romp, another masterful creation of Miyamoto-san. If you swap around the two numbers and flipped the six, you will get the number 49. '49 was the year George Orwell's Nineteen Eight-four came out - a seminal expose of totalitarian fascist communism. The plot indeedeth thickens.



But what thickenserer the, erm-mehm-muhm-erm, plot in this untold truth is Miyamoto had a significant hand in the Legend of Zelda franchise. Quite suspiciously the most successful, much-loved gaming franchise of all time, mate. This audacious game laced with incredible, flagrant iconography and references to the NWO illuminati freemasons is actually great, if you ignore the subconscious propaganda. The most glaring of them all is the Triforce. The Triforce is nothing more than a sneaky tip of the hat directed at The All-seeing Eye, essentially the Illuminati's equivalent of the Nike Swoosh. Eyes are a prominent feature in all the Zelda games. I mean, you only need to look at the box-art of Link to the Past, mate, Lookadiz eye! That's a viewbulge of a scaly cunt if I ever did see one. Look at that Gohma boss in the Deku Tree dungeon, festering inside the now-dead tree of wisdom and common sense, which is an insulting representation of the 'conspiracy theorist'.

The Temple of Time has masonic floors, and the Master Sword rendering is exactly the same as the gut-slicing instrument they use at Bohemiam Grove when they have cannibal chasseur. And it's no coincidence Ganondorf - a textbook caricature of the average shape-shifter - suddenly wields power from the Hyrule family and controls the underbelly of demonic forces, unleashing pure evil across Hyrule's fields and plateaus. Just like the Illuminati have done to the banks. It wasn't all bad, though. That ring around the Death Mountain crater and brooding atmosphere was ffffucking spellbinding when I first laid my peepers on it as adult Link. Shame the 3DS version of the ring doesn't appear menacing, but they at least fixed adult Link's face. Tip of the scales, I guess. Reptilian scales!

Oh, speaking of volcanoes and reptilian scales, do you think this is a coincidence or did they just arbitrarily include lizards?



Going back two games previous to the aforementioned is the aptly titled 'A Link to the Pahst'. The game commences with a succinct backstory about the ancients and that a sinister figure had taken over, kidnapped royalty and staff then made them vanish, except for the lovely Princess Zelda, of course. The central villain in this RPG tale is the wizard Agahnim, who's actually modelled on an Arabian royal connected with the amphibian NWO fraternity. I used to think Agahnim was a white bloke with a veil over his eyes but is actually a shadowy figure with a headband for where the 'mouth' is.



The normal realm of the world is picturesque and full of life, and is backed by a heroic soundtrack. Further into the game, you'll discover the Dark World, which is the evil and dilapidated version of the normal world, i.e. the Light World. Upon succeeding in your first confrontation and battle with the elusive wizard, you end up being transported to the centre of this Dark World on top of a big pyramid, which is where the triforce is contained - another reference to the All-seeing Eye.

In order to touch the Triforce, one must defeat the warthog demon called Ganon, whose spirit was enveloped inside the wanker of a wizard. I believe Miyamoto and his writers were under orders to terrify helpless gamers with a vision of the future by depicting a ruined land filled with bomb-throwing cyclopses, i.e. Middle Eastern terrorists, and the 'dessert' swamp foresaw the Deepwater Horizon oil spill, but he used his creative licence to convey to the player that good overcomes evil. Or maybe Link losing would have outraged gamers into never purchasing future sequels or prequels. That's something I am admittedly uncertain of. But one thing is for certain: Illizardnati!

Quite curiously, there is another RPG game which was produced by Sony Imagesoft and they - as Sony Pictures - have quite a significant influence in the world of cinema. And it's a game called Equinox, otherwise known as Solstice 2. Each area of land is connected via bridge, and each bridge is guarded by the spirit of a huge creature that dwells in an underground dungeon. One of the bosses is Quetzalcoatl, and subtle nod to the Mayan prophecy of the world ending (which it didn't, if you were wondering), assuming Quartzakettle or something originates from that region, wherever the Mayan's lived. But the most obtrusive of all it the boss called 'Eyesis'.



David: What's even more of a concern is this unfriendly psychopathic pyramid produces large and harmful Brussel sprouts which trundle quite isometrically, but the hue was altered to a livid one, i.e. blue-grey, because having them appear green is too obvious. What a majority of people don't know is the Brussel sprout has a profoundly negative effect on the yuman brain, specifically the gland that secretes chemicals which help us to see and connect with knowledgable spirits scattered throughout the world - it's very real, a scientist down the Dachshund and Wheelbarrow pub told me. It's also worth considering this: out of all the wide range of vegetables available in the yuman world, it's always - always - the Brussel fucking sprout that people emphasise you must eat. They say it's because it's 'rich in iron', but what they don't say is the cult has a firm grip on the supermarket industry and Food Advisory Council, and they want us to scoff green balls of shit because it makes us more susceptible to the dishonesty they project in every facet of sociedy and we'll have fewer chances of connecting with cosmological power.

Snazzy Suit Brian: These in-game references are mindblowing. Are there any more instances of covert promotion in television and cinema?

David: Oh yes, no question about it, Brian. I mean, there's the classic Simpsons ones. I won't get into too much detail as they've been covered plenty of times. But one of them is shockingly insightful, specifically The City of New York vs. Homer Simpson. Lisa and Bart are set on visiting New York City, and they promote this with a travel brochure. A simple graphic of NEW YORK and the price of $9 is juxtaposed with the Twin Towers. Unbelievable! A coach trip with a fare as low as that! Oh, and not forgetting the blatant 9/11 prediction, a concept formulated by psychopaths!

Snazzy Suit Brian: Oh yeah, I've noticed that before. If you look to the left, you can see the Empire State building (I think), which would actually display 1911. Did anything interesting happen in the year of 1911 or on the 19th of November?

David: Brian, mate, I'm the king of conspiracy theories, okay. Please don't spoil it.

Snazzy Suit Brian: No-no, I wasn't try to ruin your theory. I take no exception with anything else you said. And I suppose the Empire State is a little out of the way of the 9.

David: It's fine, Brian. It really is. So, moving away from the Simpsons, we focus on an old Porky Pig short from the 1940s which includes a hysterical Charlie Dog, who seems to be intensely concerned about busy city life before exclaiming ''The towers! They're falling!''. Of course, those daft debunkers will say that there are lots of towers, or 'towers' is a synonym for 'skyscrapers'. And they'll also say that Charlie's description of mayhem isn't about choking on dust clouds or traffic being erratic as a result of the Twin Towers' destruction, no, it's supposed to reflect Charlies anxiety over a typically congested road in a city before 'the towers' are falling.

Brian: Yeah, I've seen it. It came out in 1949, the same year the plans for the WTC were put on hold.

David: Ah, so they say, Brian. There's also a super hero cartoon clip 'Iron Man' I watched on YouTube. Do you know what was destroyed?

Snazzy Suit Brian: No.

David: The Twin Towers and - wait for it - the Pentagon. Both buildings were attacked on 9/11. How do the debunkers explain that?! Well, they have tried and been completely unsuccessful in their efforts. One of the things they bang away about is that NYC is the most popular location in the US. Yeah well, there's Los Angeles, Chicago, Miami, Las Vegas, I could go on but they're the only ones I can remember. And they said the Pentagon was coincidentally selected as it's an excellent target for fictional, megalomaniacal, animated psychopaths. Oh, reverting to the Twin Towers, they believe that they were selected in the cartoon because they're landmarks and there's two of them, makes it more devastating. I mean, what are they on about 'landmark'!?!? They became a landmark after they were decimated, not before. Why not select both the Chrysler and Empire State buildings?! Or make a statement by blowing up the Statue of Liberty?!

Snazzy Suit Brian: I guess it's because the Twin Towers were more recent and perhaps not as stylish as the Art Deco ones you just mentioned. And um, despite being a cartoon, maybe propelling rockets at the Statue of Liberty would be in very poor taste, would seem very an-tie American. Who knows, maybe the hijackers watched the cartoon and copied it.

David: You're sounding like one of those debunker people now, mate. Ha ha ha ha. Well, perhaps you have a point. But lizards are very real, Brian. They're everywhere and it's time we stopped hitting the snooze button for these fuckers. We ought to get out of bed, put our clobber on and sip the coffee of reality.

Snazzy Suit Brian: David, as always, it's been great talking with you.

David: Thanks once again for having me, Brian. Oh, there's something I've been meaning to ask you... if somebody tapped your head with a toffee hammer, would your entire fizzog shatter?

Snazzy Suit Brian: W-why did you ahsk that?

David: Well, your face looks like a matte clay vase. And what's up with that prominent wrinkle at the side of your mouth?! I know you have two of them, but the one to your right is like a Grand Canyon for ants. How did that come about?!

Snazzy Suit Brian: Erm, genetics combined with the stress of being a former banker, I guess.

David: Okay, good answer.

Brian (V/O): To continue watching this conversation, please head on over to the website to see the full two-hour episode.

Viewer: What!?!? You mean this 45-minute interview isn't all?!

[DangledTeeth]

Brian: Hello, good evening, and welcome. Once again, I have David Icke seated opposite me. Do you have a conspiracy for us today, David?

David: Yes, I cerdainly doooo.

Brian: David, it's ouverr tuh yeouw...



David: Now... are you a fan of heavy metal, the music genre I mean?

Brian: Yeah, I'm partial to Kiss and Poison.

David: Kiss and Pois- *shakes head*. Anyway, mate. Have you heard of classic English metallers Iron Maiden?

Brian: I have, yes. I listen to them sometimes. Noooo, don't tell me! They're not!?

David solemnly nods

David: Illumi-ffffucking-nati, mate. They're fully fledged members. Verified, confirmed and fact-checked. Even Snopes sucked my cock and called me their landlord. And here is the evidence of my research...

Brian: Really????

David: Yes, so prepare yourself for convoluted proof in the age-old format of dot-connecting, Brian. It's about to get a whole lot convoluteder from this point onwards, mate. Iron Maiden, a modest metal outfit formed in the arse-end of East London Town in the vicinity of Bows Bells. Steven Euclid Dominic Harris teamed up with his chums Adrian Leamington Smith, David Spencer Murray and Janick Grobebaum Gers. There used to be - past tense - a front man called Paul Di'Anno. Whatever happen to this talented warbler formerly of Iron Maiden, the English metallers hailing from good ol' Londinium? It's very straightforward: Di'Anno was 'fired' by a puppeteer at NWO Inc. And who replaced him? It was the multi-talented individual called Bruce Dickinson. Better off with Punch and Judy.

Brian: But why Bruce Dickinson? And why did they need him?

David: Heavy metal, since the early Seventies, had been gradually rising in popularity. By the early-to-mid Eighties it started to gain bad press for being satanic. Now, I'm not one to nod along (not headbang, by the way) to what the lamestream snooze me-dire churn out, but in this instance, they showed journalistic integrity and were incisive in their inquiry into such questionable lyrics and themes. Rob Halford and his Judas Priest were innocent in all this, I think. Just naive guys singing about things that sometimes strayed into the occult. But Iron Maiden - particularly Bruce Dickinson - are the worst for this shit, because of his alignment with the Illuminati and delicate references to disastrous consequences, injecting people with the notion that it's natural for secret sociedies to do these atrocious, psychopathic things thus making it 'cool'; it desensitizes people into adopting an insouciant frame of mind when the catastrophic occurs.

You asked 'why Bruce'? Well, it's because he's a charismatic Englishman who speaks with a clear middle-of-the-road accent - the major labels know this type of character goes down particularly well in the States and Commonwealth nations, and poor old Paul Di'Anno didn't meet their requirements. Not only that, Bruce is multi-skilled. He's obviously a singer - a good one at that, admittedly. He apparently can and does play guitar. He's meant to be a champion at fencing. And apparently has written a play. But most of all, he is a pilot.



I'll come back to the pilot bit soon enough. Let me take you through their most worrying content. 'Two Minutes to Midnight'. You can see from the screenshot I did that there's a customised cuff and the 'sponsorship' eye-pyramid in the background. I mean, some of the lyrics - which are mainly penned by Steve Harris -  are fucking horrific beyond measure! Dickinson essentially tells us the Dunblane massacre was going to happen: ''Kill for gain or shoot to maim. But we don't need a reason. The Golden Goose is on the loose and never out of season. Blackened pride still burns inside. This shell of bloody treason. Here's my gun for a barrel of fun, for the love of living death.''. Of course, it was all carried out by a sleeper agent under the orders of the Illuminati as a plot to get rid of firearms so that we, the defenceless herd, can't ever revolt against the police state.



David: There's also spine-tingling references to 9/11, specifically the poor and unsuspecting office workers who burned alive in the building; the military-industrial complex that's synonymous with it; a little nod to the Illuminati's satanic rituals, and a prediction of the Gulf War and round two in the early 2000s: ''The Napalm screams of human flames of a prime time Belsen feast... YEAH! As the reasons for the carnage cut their meat and lick the gravy, we oil the jaws of the war machine and feed it with our babies. The killer's breed or the Demon's seed. The glamour, the fortune and the pain. Go to war again, blood is freedom's stain. Don't you pray for my soul anymore''.

Again, Steve Harris didn't pen all the lyrics (perhaps the Illuminati credited and paid him to act like he did), but Bruce did write and perform his song as Iron Maiden. The bloke makes a very, very obvious reference to the crimson rituals at Bohemian Grove, I'll read them out to you: ''Honey it's getting close to midnight. And all the myths are still in town. True love and lipstick on your linen. Bite the pillow, make no sound. If there's some living to be done. Before your life becomes your tomb. You'd better know I'm the one. Unchain your back door, invite me around. Bring your daughter, bring your daughter to the slaughter. Let her go, let her go, let her go. Bring your daughter, bring your daughter to the slaughter. Let her go, let her go, let her go''

Focusing on 2 Minutes to Midnight again, according to fans, this song is about the Doomsday clock. It ain't. I can fucking assure you, mate. It foresees 9/11. It may seem unusual at first, but let me gesticulate how absorbing this all is. What is the hour before twelve, Brian?

Brian: Eleven in the 12-hour format.

David: Well done, Brian. Gold star for you, hah-hah. So we have 11:58pm. Now, the 'two minutes' minus the eleven equal nine, as in September, and if we keep the eleven we still have the eleventh day. But that's not where it ends, mate. You're probably wondering, 'what does fifty-eight minutes have to do with anything?'. In this context, it's everything. Bruce Dickinson, born on the 7 August 1958 or '58. Oh... that's not the conclusion, not by a long-shot. If we add the 'two (minutes)' to the 'seventh day' it would become the ninth, but if we had another two minutes it'll become the eleventh. And the one-hour difference between eleven and twelve can be added to August to become September.

Brian: Get the fuck outta here!

David has his hands gripped on the arm rests as he haughtily nods like he's competing with a metronome

David: One other video and song which concerns me is 'Be Quick or Be Dead' from 1992, written by Bruce and Janick. Basically, it's a song that glorifies the dodgy government, like the NWO Illuminati - 'Covered in sinners and dripping with guilt. Making you money from slime and from filth. Parading your bellies in ivory towers. Investing our lives in your schemes and your powers. You got to watch them — Be quick or be dead. Snake eyes in heaven — The thief's in your head. You've got to watch them — Be quick or be dead. Snake eyes in heaven — The thief in your head. Be quick or be dead — Be quick (quick, quick) or be dead (dead, dead, dead). See... what's ruling all our lives. See... who's pulling strings. See... what's ruling all our lives. See who pull the strings. I bet you won't fall on your face. Your belly will hold you in place. The serpent is crawling inside of your ear. He says you must vote for what you want to hear. Don't matter what's wrong as long as you're alright. So pull yourself, stupid, rob yourself blind.'. He's a dreadful man, and Bruce Dickinson is no better, either.

This is where it gets deeper. Now, this next thing I'll say might puzzle you to a degree. Have you heard of the wrestling personality called Paul Heyman?

Brian: Yeah, is he the baseball cap and ponytail guy?

David: Yep. He's another servant to their cause. And I think you know what I mean by that.

Brian: ...no.

David: He's a lizard, mate. And guess when Paul Heyman's birthday is. Yep, the eleventh of September. *Nods with crumpled lips* Paul Heyman - according to a trenchcoat-wearing reliable source holding a brown envelope whom I met down a steaming alleyway - has been a talent scout and booker for years at the WWE before his tenure at ECW. It was around this time when Maiden were at the height of their fame, so Illuminati henchman Bruce Dickinson and his mid-tier pal Paul Heyman arranged for Maiden guitarist Dave Murray to become the wrestling sensation called Marty Jannetty.



Dave didn't perform as a wrestler for a long period of time or that regularly compared to other household names, as he had his commitments to the band and their tours. The point of his stint as a wrestler was to run a popularity trial to determine how potentially popular the mid-90s 'rival' WCW stable called the New World Order would be, which of course was formed by stalwarts Kevin Nash, Scott Hall and Hollywood (Hulk) Hogan. It was vital the King of the Lizards desensitized Generation X towards the future orchestrations of 'terrorist attacks' and mass-shootings by ramming home the concept of the NWO as being nothing more than a gang of half-naked men 'fighting' each other for a bit of tin to decorate their waist.

In 1993, psychopath Bruce Dickinson conveniently left the band for 'personal and creative differences'. Oh, the enlightened few know precisely why he 'left' the band. Do you remember the North Tower bombing? Well, Bruce and his Lizard masters planned it, and he stood down from Maiden to keep a low profile in England, because being on tour across the north-east of America after it happened in February would've raised an eyebrow. Oh, but here's another interesting slice of information for you: Bruce came back to Iron Maiden in 1999 and 'Brave New World', a negatively subversive 'homage' to Aldous Huxley's inspiration to Nineteen Eighty-four, was recorded and became a huge success the following year. Then in 2001, the first live tours with Bruce (since 1993) commenced, and old Brucey had a new haircut where his left and right 'Twin Tower' locks were no longer there; it's yet another clue as to what was to transpire later that very year. And as I mentioned earlier, Bruce is an airline pilot; he had a significant hand in training the hijackers and 'passenger' actors, who all parachuted out the plane and were 'rescued' several miles away from Liberty Island via a stealth naval ship. Bruce has acting credentials himself and can easily teach people. After all, he was the original Roy Cropper from 1995 to 1999.



Brian: I'm completely staggered by what you've told me. It's gonna take a minute to process it all.

David: Well, that's the bulk of it, mate. But there is one other element you won't have heard until now, and if you find me sprawled on a street in the Isle of Wight with a poisoned dart in my neck, you'll know that I was correct all along. Ideally, they don't want to make a martyr out of me, but they've been waiting to strike all these years, plenty of time to make my death as a 67-year-old seem normal. Now, what I can reveal to you is Bruce Dickinson is a co-founder of the Whatsapp company, which is co-owned by Lizardbook, and it's no coincidence the initials for 'Instant Messaging' are exactly the same as 'Iron Maiden'. They're all gathering personal info about you, what pubs you've been to; where you took your holiday snaps; they've got photos of your hardened nudger and your partners baps, petals and puff. You name it, they own your virtual arse. Be vigilant and never accept cookies unless they have chocolate chips in them - certainly not electronic chips, though.

Brian: David, it's been a huge pleasure to have you on London Real again. Are you going to sing a song for us before you finish this discussion?

David: I am, yes. Let me whack on my faux-leopard skin suit and I'll get the jaw in motion



I saw the lizard on the night when I passed by a Winnndsorrrrr
I saw the flicking tongue of love on her blind
Sheeeee was my woman
As she deceived me I watched and went out of my miiiind

My, my, my, Dubyaaaaaa!
Why, why, why Diaaanaaaa?
I could see, that lizard was good for the Illuminati
But I was lost like a powerslave that no man could free

At break of day when that man in black drove away I was waiting
I crossed the street to her house and she opened the door
She stood there licking
I felt the knife in my hand and she licked no more

My, my, my, Dubyaaaa!
Why, why, whhhyyyy Dianaaaaaa?
So before the C.I.A. come to break down the door
Forgive me Delizard I just couldn't take anymore

She stood there licking
I felt the knife in my hand and she licked no more

My, my, my, Dubyaaaa!
Why, why, why Dianaaaa?
So before the C.I.A come to break down the door
Forgive me Delizard I just couldn't take anymore
Forgive me Delizard I just couldn't take anymorrrrrrreeeeeee

[DangledTeeth]

Brian: Hello, I'm Brian Rose, founder and host of London Real. Today's speaker is... *slowly nods as he rolls his wrist* David Icke, professional conspiracy theorist. This is the fourth time you've been here.

David: Fourth time?! I've been camping here since the coronavirus.

Brian: Are you going to speak about conspiracies or will it be insight into your peerless understanding of science and nature?

David: Another conspiracy today, Brian.

Brian: Deyvidd, it's ouevehr toeh yeeou...

David: Some of the subscribers and viewers of your channel are going to be incredibly disappointed once I say this.

Brian: It can't be that bad, David.

David: Oh it is, Brian. People will be dismayed when I say this. *Inhales with trepidation* FFFFuck Only Fools and Horses!!!!

Brian: I have seen glimpses of this sitcom since moving to London, but even I'm appalled at your statement. How can you trash-talk the greatest television programme which I've barely watched.

David: Well, not the entire series, mate. The comedy remains and I still enjoy watching it. I just take exception with key scenes of select episodes.

Brian: Oh boy, Illuminati?

David: Yep, Brian. When is it not about the Illuminati. *Long sigh* Only Fools and Horses is a classic sitcom penned by the tremendous and late John Sullivan, who is distantly related to the Rothschild family, I'm sorry to inform you. He was probably forced into including these cryptic displays of the worldwide cult and they came along and dropped a drawstring sack of money as he typed away.



David: Yeah, I was repulsed when I received a mysterious email as I was viewing my laptop in my dimly-lit luxurious flat, shirt unbuttoned and revealing a wrinkled vest, and my cat slinking past me, with a glass of scotch on my Clas Ohlson coffee table. The glow of my screen illuminatied - illuminated -  my inquisitive frown as I honed in on my inbox.

The new message had the subject heading ''URGNET - DAVID IKCE PLEAES READ THE CONTINENTS OF THIS EMAIL''. After rectifying the grammatical errors and trying to comprehend the premise of the content due to ungainly and excessive ellipses and terrible spacing, I was able to learn that an underling of the Illuminati had contacted John Sullivan to comically squeeze in little subplots, set-pieces and messages into a handful of episodes that communicated the inherent evilness of the cult. Because there were plenty of typos and malapropisms in the email etc etc etc. I'm not sure if John Challis is a vampire or a really contemptible man.

Brian: What specifically is wrong with OFAH in terms of a conspiracy?

David: Well, Brian... The first exception is with the title of the initial episode, Big Brother. Even the Brutalist tower block mirrors the dreariness of 1984 starring John Hurt and Richard Burton. Also, and be ready to write this down before LizardTube removes this video, Rodney and Grandad argue over the correct pronunciation of a black actor. They both believe it's Dennis Potter from Blue Velvet.

CaB Baldy: Heh-heh, nice BrassEye reference to something that's actually incorrect. This thread is worth reading now. I'ma have to check this shit out more than the Pervertson thread 'cause we're still waiting for Jorker.

Brian: Eh?! The only black actor I can think of with a name close to that is Sidney Pwut-tee-yay.

David: Oh yeah, sorry. Well, Del Boy sets them straight by insisting it's 'Harry Belafonte'. Now, this is where the movie web becomes intricate. Harry Belafonte's song 'Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)' and 'Jump in The Line' is used in the 1988 goth comedy classic Beetlejuice. Michael Keaton is Betol Jiuzz, who is also the Caped Crusader in two Batman films - the second of which is Batman Returns, which has several Illuminati references. Coincidences? Jog your arse on, mate.

However, that's not the interesting part. Grandad yearns for an 'emperor burger'. Now, this is excellent shit in terms of getting fucked-out on conspiracies. Many, many, many and lots of years ago there was a German, erm, lizard called Emperor Berger. This devious amphibian with a 'minuscule hat', who belonged to the 2% club, had a taste for the finest foods from exotic lands.

It's said that Lennard Pearce died of an illness. Utter codsbollocks, mate. He was assassinated, killed by an orange covered in cyanide - remember that bit from Homesick? Well, he was given a microscopic dose of it. He knew too much and secretly disliked the Zionist IllumiNWOti. His classic line 'Wendy house' was actually ad-libbed, but because the studio audience viewed it during a live recording and it was a complete thigh-slapping classic line, the producer & director Ray Butt and John Sullivan had to keep it in. 'Wendy house' is, erm, an ''anti-lizard'' code word which derisively refers to that German place located in Poland because, well, it's the opposite of an innocent play space.

Rainbow Wig Frog Avatar Cunt: David is really based. This video will be removed in the next five minutes.

David: Also, Nicholas Lyndhurst grassed up Lennard to Sullivan because Lennard told an anecdote about performing in a stage show watched by Nazi party officials that ended in him shaking hands with Hitler. What the back-stabbing, psychopathic twat Lyndhurst failed to say was Lennard also stated that he 'regretted not killing Hitler'. I'm not entirely sure what Nicholas 'misheard', but a factual rumour had been gliding around the BBC Studios canteen that Lennard 'regretted not thrilling Hitler'. Do you know how the character Mickey Pearce came about?



Brian: No. Like I said earlier, I've not seen a lot of Lonely Forks and Houses.

David: Yeah sorry, mate. I forgot. Well, Sullivan wasn't too keen on the third main character of the series, namely Grandad. And that says a lot in itself - he called him 'Grandad' and didn't want to officially name him because he couldn't be bothered developing his character. All he does is be sneaky and watch more than one television. Well, Sullivan wasn't bothered about Lennard's acting ability due to not being arsed about Grandad and thought he was a 'bit of a cock', so Sullivan came up with a superfluous 'friend' character for Rodney called 'Mickey Pearce'. And 'mickey' means to tease or ridicule someone, and his surname is a blatant dig at Lennard. But the character and appearance of Mickey is wrongly thought of as a 'spiv', an old-time dodgy salesman in flashy suits. It's actually a representation of a freemason concierge. Oh, speaking of freemason, Boycie is openly one of them. Another knowing wink at the audience.

I started to trail off. Sorry, back on track: former ''bank manager'' Harry 'Buster' Merryfield replaced heroic Pearce. His second episode wasn't exactly new; he just filled Lennard's shoes from the Hole in One storyline. Verifiable rumour has it that they actually were going to chuck poor old Lennard down a pub cellar to make his injury seem real. In retrospect, it's good that he died when he did because that would have killed him.

OFAH Expert: Well done, David. Nicely played.

David: And this brings me on to an overt subliminal message about the 9/11 'terrorist attack' and a little nod towards the 7/7 bombings. When Albert's previous lawsuits come to light, the opposing barrister or something questions ''Maybe you're the same Albert Gladstone Trotter who, in 1949, went arse over head down the stock cavern of the Pentagon and Missile, New Cross. MaybeeEeEe you're thuh seyme Awbut Gledstune Trottaw who plummetted in to the booze-swallow of the Bohemian Grove Arms, Catford, on the fourth of April 1973. How about the Hammersmith and City Line, Peckham? Or perhaps the Twin Towers and Boom rings a bellhll.'' Completely shameless and appalling. Oh, it's quite sickening and ironic when Del Boy name-drops Jimmy Savile in a court of law.

A year later there was the Tea for Three episode, where Del went 'loop the loop over the A'lantic' then eventually landing on a courting couple, Del adds ''Fuck knows what the WTC are gonna do me for after smashin' their windah''. Rodney points out that the NHS do not send paralysed patients home by Virgin Atlantic. Del suddenly becomes mobile on his 'Twin Towers' and viciously scolds Rodney. This symbolises how the disinformation agents act towards truthers by employing aggressive tactics in order to silence them.

From 1988 onwards, the references had gone into overdrive, starting off with the Christmas special Dates. I think it's 'time' you scrutinised Del's surroundings at Waterloo Station. LizardTube really is a good 'platform' to upload this video. We must also remember the Hilton hotel scene where Del 'receives a call' from his New York office. A future reference telling us the richest lizards were called to have a day off work on 9/11.






David: Yuppy Love isn't devoid of any 'warnings'. The opening scene inside the flat has an obvious one that even the biggest idiot could see. I mean, I can see it perfectly, mate. Now, closely observe Rodney's computer screen in the provided screenshot I've printed off, Brian



The second reference is the overrated 'Falls Through the Bar', obviously subliminally conditioning us to believe the Towers were ravaged by flames and toppled sideways. A baffled and rotating Trigger is a representation of the astounded civilian who's wondering where the plane came from. Oh, and Sullivan furnishes us with a morsel, when Del speaks to the upmarket women about the commodities market and telephoning his office in New York. Del also questions how to spell Harrod's, which is a sly reference to the IRA car bombing of 1983, orchestrated by the Illuminati. Speaking of bombings, the Xmas classic 'Jolly Boys' Outing' had an exploding vehicle. I mean, it wasn't a plane, but an exploding vehicle all the same. Explosions.

Now, series 7 of 1991 really takes the Mickey Piss, in particular the episode 'He Ain't Heavy, He's My Uncle'. Truth be told *snort*, it's actually a leaked alternative version that was made in 1998, Buster's last unknown appearance as Uncle Albert. It was a warped joke made by the Archon executives and politicians of New York City who planned 9/11. Buster was troubled by the update of a poignant scene - easily his best acting - and he showed his apprehension at the end of filming. Quite suspiciously, he died the following year. So yes, roll the clip, please...

____

Rodney: You alright, beardy bollocks?

Uncle Albert: Wha' you two doin' 'ere?!

Del: We were worried abahtcha, silly aold tit. We've been all over New York looking for you.

Rodney: We fahnd yer note.

Albert: 'ow d'ya knah I'd be 'ere?

Rodney: Lucky guess, Uncle. The note was not significant, other than saying you'd naffed orf on yer toes. You grew up 'rahnd 'ere?

Albert: Yah, World Trade Cen're Plaza. My apar'men' was... sahmwhere arahnd 'ere.



Del: What's this all abou', running away from 'ome at your age?

Albert: A lot's bin gaoin' throo mar mind la'ely, Del. Knock-knock cunted me in the oeye, and I've lied to you abaht the wotch magging. I fel' I le' the fam'ly dahn. I le' you two dahn.

Del: Wha', Bono and 'is mates asked you to a bit of karaoke and you said, 'on your way, son.'? Naooh, don't be so bloody daft.

Rodney: You didn't let anybody down.

Albert: I needed to be alone fuh-uh while.

Rodney: Where were you gonna gao?

Albert: Fuck knows, sahn. *Bows his head briefly* Ar didn't realise things 'ad changed sao much. When I first left 'ome I was fifteen, cahme dahn 'ere an' go' a job on a traahmsteamer and took people on taws ov the Stachue of Liber'y. Life seemed easier then.

Del: Well... things ain't that much differen' now, Albert. You can always come 'ome to Nelson Mandela 'ouse wiv yer fam'ly.

Albert: FFanks, sahn.

Rodney: Yeah, come on, then. Let's go. Our flight leaves in several hours.

Albert: Ya know, once upon a time, businessmen from all over the world used to walk along 'ere. The wa'er used to be cavverd wiv a fihwm ov oil, and when the sun shone on it, it spaw'old in all diffront cahlers. When I was a kid, I used ta think a ballistic missile aimed at the Pen'agon lived in the sea.

Del: So you were a bit of a divvy cunt in them days an' all, were ya?

Rodney: Oi!

Del: Oh, alright. Sorry.

Albert: There were stock brokers wearing Pierre Cardin suits from Canada, eating buhnarnuhs from Jamaicah. The bars and Starbucks were filled with consultants and directors from an 'undred cahnchries. By the time I was seven I could swear in FTSE 100. Used to be office blocks all arahnd 'ere. Loads of 'igh-rise moddun buildings. Twin Tahwahs, they called 'em. Yah. Ragamuffins kicking soccer balls ahp against the walls; receptionists used to chase us off with their 'ole panchah. Uh-hyaagh. Yah. They was rich people, but they was good people. During the millennium sahm of them wro'e in condensation on the office windahs. It said: 'Dear bin Laden, you can kamikaze through our windahs... but no' our 'earts.' Look at wha' they've dahn to it nah!

Del: Yeah... it's terrific, innit.

Rodney: Terrific!?

Del: Hmm? Yeah. I mean, the insurance companies will spoon aht a fortune for this rubble, Rodney. It'll also increase tourism to the area once they start tarting it ahp. I expect Lord Linley and Michael Caine would pop over for a wander. Oh yeah! Makes yer prahd to be Bri'ish in America, dunnit, eh! I could see myself with me old aviators, merchandise slogan cap and Nikon camera. Snapping ahp the delights while ea'ing me 'otdog, 'cause I'm a processed-meat-inside-a-bun-with-Heinz-sauce bloke, me. Eat a currant bahn with a rich Arab. Lovely jubblers!

____

David: Oh, and if you think this conspiracy promotion through Britain's greatest sitcom is far-fetched, well, I request you to watch this...



Brian: David, it's been sensational having you unload this enthralling knowledge for us again.

David: I love being here, Brian. The world and its inhabitants need to hear the truth. Ahh! And before I go, mate. I have another song to sing as an outro to this chat.



We've gotta laugh at crackpot Icke as he smiles and smiles at Wogan's style
E.T.s, BBC and Jay-Z L.P.s,
Football games with knee pain while playing for Hereford
And terror fascists are given a push
By former president George Dubya BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH BUSH.
No low income tax, no low VAT.
All this crap from the Ih-llu-mi-na-ti.
Black and white masonic squares.
They'll cut throats at Bohemian Grooooooove.
God end Washington DC
Pee-off Washington DC
Take a lonnnnng shit on Washington DC.
C'est a lonnnnng shit
on Washington DC
a lo-onnnnng shit
on Washington DC
Washington DC
Washington DC
Washington DC
*plinky-de-plunk*
Washington DCCCCCCCCCcccc

[DangledTeeth]

Andrew Neil: Hello, it's This Week. Ugly studio set with a sleazy backstreet aesthetic. On the other programme, I've spoken with conspiracy nutcase Alex Jones with David Abollockitch, who looks like Andy Serkis after scoffing several sausage rolls. Well, joining me with Michael Portillo and Jacqui Smith is another David, who's a much milder conspiracy nutcase and is currently lecturing to thousands of people. David Icke, welcome.

David: I'm not a nutcase.



Andrew: But you believe the world is run by J-.

David: Sch-tsh-tsh-TCH! Lizards. Alien lizards.

Andrew: Where do they come from? The planet Boobaloob in the Loopy Way galaxy?

David: No, the planet Isr- erm, Iskra. Yeah! From the Xylophone galaxy.

Andrew: Oh, how interesting. Is that the only conspiracy you believe in?

David: No, mate. Climate change is a hoax.

Andrew: Oh, here we go! I'm all ears now.



Portillo: Erm, I think the people who tend to latch on to a conspiracy are intellectually lazy.

David: Oh, intellectually lazy, eh?! Have you read any of my fucking books?

Portillo: Well... no, I haven't.

David: I have written over a thousand pages, mate.

Portillo: That sounds impressive, but it doesn't mean the content is correct. Furthermore, you've written that book to 'educate' people into understanding the finer mechanisms of current affairs.

David: Yeah, I have.

Portillo: As I understand it, intellect isn't about profiting from being a smarty-pants clever cunt. It's about learning things for your own benefit or outside of your field, with no intention of putting your knowledge to any practical use. And that's precisely what you're doing: sharing your knowledge with people through your lectures. Therefore, you're not being intellectual, I'm sorry to say.

David: But you still haven't read my tomes, though, have you?

Portillo: Again, I haven't. And I'm not critiquing material I haven't read. I didn't mean you're intellectually lazy, but I guess you put effort into what you do. I meant people who believe in a conspiracy theory without grasping the history of socio-economical matters are intellectually lazy.

David: But these people are my fans.

Portillo politely smiles as he bows his head and scratches his nose

David: You're so full of yourself, Portillo!

Portillo: Excuse me!?

















Andrew: Erm, l-let's talk about your lecture t-

David: Poncing your Tory arse around these wonderful countryside havens, sitting inside a first-class carriage being pulled by a Flying Scotsman.

Portillo: Flying Scotsman?! The trains of which I am a passenger on are high-speed diesel trains dating back no further than the year 2000.

David: Oh, how awful for you, eh. I guess that executive seat with a napkin stapled into the headrest isn't good enough for you. I bet you'd like a ride on a 'flying Scotsman'.

Portillo: And what is that supposed to imply?

David: Well, you look like you enjoy a gin and tonic in a pub on Old Compton Street. By the way, the Illuminati sponsor Combat-18.

Portillo: I'm not a homosexual, David. Not that it matters if I have a predilection for an erection.

David: Yeah, well, your effete stride and pastel chinos and blazers suggest otherwise. Why do you think it's fashionable to look like a salmon dipped in mustard?

Portillo: How I dress has no relevance to the discussion. Anyway, at least I can remove my salmon blazer, which cannot be said for your ham face on London Real.

David: Has anyone told you that you look like Arnold Schwarzenegger after his hooter was stung by a hornet?

Portillo: Yes.

David: Who whom?

Portillo: You just then. *Presses tip of thumb on his nose and wriggles fingers* PRRRLP! You coach full of tossers!

David: Posh wanker!

Andrew: I think this is becoming quite an intense chat.

Portillo: Yes, you're correct, Andrew.

David: Huff!

Andrew: Let's say no more about it. I'm sure we're all a little stressed about our busy schedules, causing us to say things we don't mean.

Portillo and Icke curl their bottom lips inwards and rigidly nod in a coy way

Andrew: So, when's your next lecture, David?

David: My Nuanced Without Obstruction tour begins on the tenth of April. It'll be at the Wembley Arena. Tickets are available on my website.

Andrew: Eh?! But what about the coronavirus?

David: Oh, it's just the flu, mate. People die from strains of flu all the time and we rarely hear about it, except the government's decided to use this as an opportunity to fence us in like cattle this time. The prescient George Orwell knew this was going to happen. The majority of sheep are bleating and banging saucepans every Friday at 8:00pm just because people on Lizardbook and Twitter told them to. Bollocks to it, Andrew. My loyal supporters will attend yet keep their distance. We're not that stupid, mate.

Andrew: Thanks for your time, David. I understand that you have a song to perform as a close to the programme?

David: Yes, ah cerdainly doooo.

Andrew: And away you go, David...


Yo, BBC, let's kick it!



(Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby)

Alright stop! Corroborate with no evidence
Icke is back to blame the presidents
A headline grabs a hold of me tightly
Amphibian Heseltine is so very unsightly
Will it ever stop? Yo, screw the NWO
Turn off Area 51's lights and aliens' eyes glow
To the extreme, I rock a mic like a lizard
Light up a stage and melt any fucking blizzard.

Dance, go rush the speaker that booms
I'm killing your brain like an atomic cloud of a mushroom
Davidly, when I play a dope party
Anything less than the best when I diss the Pope and Illuminati
Love it or leak it, you know that I'll speak it just like a showman
You better hit bull's eye, I'm more confident that Bowen.
Yo motherfucker, you don't want some.
Just like the critic sucker called Jon Ronson

If there was a problem, yo, I'll go lecture
Check out my book while my DJ scratches the texture



Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby
Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby

Now that the Republican party is jumping
With an SJW's face kicked in; they're not elated that Trump's in
Quick to the point, to the point, they're faking the news
Cooking DC like a pound of bacon (not eaten by Jews)
Trump got his dick out when he was horny
Then he stimulated the clit of that chick called Stormy
And a MAGA hat on a souped-up defender
Another win for Trump when he has dementia
Rollin' by in my 5.0
Zoomed by, saw his peroxide nest blow
The thots on standby, just like my telly
Did my career end? No. But respect to Terry.
The one called Wogan.
You know you'll never stop my flow and
I kept on pursuing to the next stop
I busted a left and I'm heading to the next block
With Alex Jones, all the fans like to talk with us.
I live near Fishbourne - on Isle of Wight, not Morpheus.
Feel the Bern? No. I'm way ahead of that.
Don't matter if you're Republican or Democrat

Merkel wasn't hot wearing a bikini
Rockerfellers driving Lamborghinis
Jealous 'cause I'm out in Wembley
A ledge with the knowledge - I'm real friendly
Ready for the chump who's building the wall
The Trumps acting chill when watching baseball
Explosions were heard right before the Twin Towers fell
Dropped to the floor like last night's pasta shells
Falling on the tiles real fast
Bought more from the nearest station of gas
They'll bump the anti-Trumper - the Archons are packed
I'm trying to get away before the men-in-black attack
FBI on the scene, you know what I mean
They passed me up, confronted all the dope fiends

If there was a conspiracy, yo, I'll jump right upon it
'The moon is made of cheese' said Wallace to Gromit.



Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby
Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby

Take heed, 'cause I'm a spiritual poet
The ace Ventura is on the scene just in case you didn't know it
I'm talking about the former wrestler if you can't tell it's Jesse.
He'd investigate the poisoned burger of Elvis Presley
My town is the city of Leicester
I've sold millions of books - hope that impressed ya.
Yo, you know my style is tight.
Take a Ryde with me to the Isle of Wight.
Conducted and misformed, their hell is a concept
The war continues - the Illuminati haven't gone yet
I'ma keep it real in London with the face of ham
Cut like a razor blade so fast, other DJs say, "Damn."
If my rhyme was a photo, it'd go on Instagram
But that's no-no to data collection. I don't do that with my fingers, man!

If there was a problem, Yo, I won't be a pissed talker!
Check out my book while I shout out Alice Walker.

Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby
Icke Icke Baby, Icke Icke Baby

Yo, Andog, Jacqui Smif n Wessun and Port-Ill-Yo, let's get out of here! *To the lens* Word to your mothership!

[DangledTeeth]

Brian: Welcome to another episode of London Real. I'm based in London, and this is real. Explains itself, huh? Today I'm joined by David Icke. Regular viewers and subscribers will know who he is and what he does. So David, what you does?

David: Uh!? No Loyd Grossman in Through the Keyhole impression?

Brian: Through the Keyhole impression?!

David: It doesn't matter. Oh, I forgot to add that when I spoke about the Belafonte, Keaton and Batman connections, I was meant to say that Denis Lill (Alan Parry) had a cameo appearance in Batman. And when Albert speaks about the amount of people who mugged him, it goes from 77 (7/7) to 911 (9/11).

Brian: Brilliant observations. I suspect you have another sitcom to speak about.

David: Yes. I. Do. Have you seen what it's like out there, Bryonay. It's been staring at me these past 45 years, but I've only recently connected the dots. I knew there was something odd about him. And most sitcoms go beyond two series. I feel like a right... erm... what's-the-word?

Brian: Cunt?

David: No, no... fool. Yes, fool.

Brian: The suspense is making me ask this question - what sitcom are you talking about, David?

David: Fawlty. Towers.

Brian: Noooo! You mean John Cleese from Py-tharn?

David: The very same, mate. The title frickin' says it all! Reminds me of that old saying: the best way to hide is in plain sight. I'd say Cleese was sufficiently naive and innocent in all this, really. Nothing more than a pawn. It makes a whole load of sense now, thinking about how short his and Connie's marriage was. I suppose the footsoldier for the NWO 'Manuel' had a helping hand. Yeah, the enlightened few know that Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand threatened to expose his links to the evil cult of psychopaths in that Sachsgate phone call; then his NWO generals put together a news story about some prank call to do with Brand fucking his granddaughter up her shitepipe.

Brian: WHAT?! Russell has a granddaughter and he poked her rusty sausage roll?!?!

David: No, no, not his granddaughter, Andrew Sach's grandaughter

Brian: Ohhhhh! Sorry, I'm with you now. Weren't John and Connie both the writers?



David: Yes, mate, they were. Their marriage dissolved by the time they wrote series two. More than likely under the orders of the clevercunt department of the NWO.

Brian: Where did you hear or read this incredible information bubbling with substance?

Dvaid: Oh, there were no secret meetings in alleyways with a metal bin, steam billowing out of a sewer grate and an out-of-view Alsatian barking intermittently, nor did I receive a baseless email from an idiot in his twenties. No. I've investigaded this myself... by watching all twelve episodes of Fawlty Towers. I'll take you through each episode, mate, and explain what symbolism or allusions there are.

Brian: Oh-hooh, this'll be exciting.

David: Episode one - A Touch of Class. Aired on the 19 of September, 1975. Veeeery suspicious, mate. Three nines (the second is September) turned upside down is triple six, the number of the Illuminati beast. And you can make '911' out of 1975 -five minus seven is two, and two minus one is, erm, wait-a-minute! One. Keep the one I've used and combine it with extra one with nine = 9/11.

The plot is this: Basil wants to encourage toffy-nosed conduits of ponce to masticate and drinkculate at his Devonshire dungpile once they've booked a fashioned chunk of aluminium to the door clunge of a godforsaken cube in his drab hovel. Then an upper-class divot impresses Basil with a lie that he, the guest, is 'Lord Melbury'. Unbeknownst to Basil, a cockney undercover policeman books a room and...

Brian: How doesn't he know that he booked a room. Did Sybil do it? It's been a while since I watched them.

David: No, no, I mean Basil didn't know that the cockney is an undercover copper at that stage. Well erm, Basil thinks the copper is a dense nugget who cannot speak fluent Spanish, which he later demonstrates that he can, thus teaching us a lesson that you mustn't judge 70s-era men who talk in a London vernacular and wear motorcycle jackets, and that seemingly posh bastards could be con-men who prey on sycophantic hotelier cunts with moustaches.

Brian: Ah... doesn't he have a brick in his luggage?

David: Yes. Now, this is deeply interesting because we all know - or ought to in this decade - that the investigation team deployed to Ground Zero had hoovered up the evidence so that no independent boffins could scrutinise the blow-up. This 'brick in a suitcase' represents the evidence that was swept away, and it's owned by a mysterious liar dressed in black - a very clever yet abhorrent indication of the underhand manoeuvres to come. Oh, and it's no coincidence that this was the actor's last piece of acting work, died the following year.

Brian: Oh... terrible.

David: Episode two - The Builders. Now, this episode is about, er, well... builders - Irish ones at that. Some New Yorkers have Irish ancestry. Interesting, eh. Connecting the dots. Basically, Brian, the builders fuck up the renovation work because - kh-choo! - feckin' puhteytoehs, suh they are! Basil encourages them to do a better job than their initial wrong-up. This is a profoundly subtle yet all-too-obvious sign that alterations to a building were going to occur. Sybil invites a competent English builder to survey the finished task. He examines David Kelly's shoddy work - not to be confused with the biological warfare expert - and declares the doorway 'Atrociously shit beyond my comprehension in all my years of renovation. I bet this was the job of cack-handed leprechauns?'

Brian: How is that significant or meaningful?

David: I'm glad you asked, Brian. Ideally, the American citizens ought to have had independent surveyors, whom they trust, to examine the destruction of the Twin Towers, exactly like Sybil but minus the buildings in her case. Of course, this is all a work fiction and a 'second opinion' doesn't happen in the real world. R.I.P Twin Towers, mate.

Brian: Is episode three next, David?

David: Let's see... what comes after tw- yes! Episode three - The Wedding Party. Basil is envious of a loved-up couple, and later believes the family are having a secretive orgy. it descends into farce, as ever. Erm... Basil is pursued by a French antiques dealer. Hmm... is George Dubya Bush a French woman? Colin Powell? No. Basil looks like he's going to bum Manuel. Did Dick Cheney ram a man? No. What day and month was this aired? third of October, 1975. No. There's nothing. Needless to say, I think it's disgusting.

Brian: I guess that was a 100% John production.



David: Yeah. Mhm-yhm-yhm. Ah! This gigantic Easter egg is fucking great, Brian. You sure you don't want any?

Brian: I'm good, David.

David: This is more like it. Episode four - The Hotel Inspectors. Basil is informed by Sybil via 'Audrey' that three anonymous hotel inspectors will be given the standards a lookover. But he tries to determine who's the inspector. A mousey-looking bloke with a moustache is suspected of being an inspector but is actually revealed to be a motor salesman after getting fucked up by sSsSPpPPPpPpoon expert Bernard Cribbins. Basil comes into contact with 'three gentleman' and recoils in horror. Three lots of three is 9, and two misidentified 'inspectors' - both work in different areas of sales, so that's one and one. And there we have 9/11. *Dusts palms*

Biran: Fucking amazing detective work, David.

David: Thank you very much, Brian. But the episodes don't end. And now... we come on to episode 5 - Gourmet Night. First of all, I want to start off with an interesting fact: Basil's Austin 1100 is very faulty just like the towers. The '11' in 1100 is very obvious, and the two noughts refer to the start of the millenium. Not the most captivating of hints but it'll do, mate.

So anyway... once again, Basil tries to get haughty posh cockends to chew on his meat and imbibe his liquid by appealing to esteemed figures
of society via an advertisement, which is printed in a periodical for the more discerning and eccentric twat. The french chef gets pissed-up and waves his white apron in surrender. Oh deaaaar. Never mind, though, because Basil gets the help of another Frenchman who isn't an inebriated meek torso. Unfortunately, the duck is fucked once it goes slamming across the floor. Shit! Not to worry, for Andre has another duck up his sleeve, such a shame that Basil swipes up a trifle and raises the cloche to reveal no duck.

And that is what accurately symbolises the future wrongness of 9/11: we don't get a thorough invesdigation into the false-flag attack, no... they give us a big fucking trifle instead! Not literally, of course. Although that would be a good consolation present.

Brian: Wow!

David: And to conclude series 1 is the episode Zer Germans. The famous episode where Cleese glorifies the psychopath Hitler. Now, we must remember that Elizardbeth Windsor has German ancestry, and a concussed Basil converses with the German guests in a peculiar manner. This symbolises the clueless mentality of the pro-monarchists who wave their silly little flags for the delectation of absent-minded, layabout millionaires, completely unaware of the plot against yuman and animal freedom. And this episode even stretches as far as predicting today, as the efficient African doctor represents the hardworking staff of the NHS.

Brian: So you believe that Connie Booth was an NWO agent who shacked up with John Cleese in order to influence his writing and make amendments in order to promote their plans?

David: Precisely that. Poor old Cleese has had to reduce himself into being an old caricature of himself for the ocular industry. And what's Connie been up to lately, hmm? Oh, for the past couple of decades she's been working as a psychotherapist, probably paid that Todd 'Doctor' Grande to take the piss out of me.

Brian: Season two?

David: Yes. Series two, episode 1 - Communication Problems. Some animated corpse with lughole impairment has a piece of valuable crockery etc blah. And Basil has a flutter on the horses. The senile Major struggles to remember the name 'Dragonfly' - which consists of nine letters - as they have a one-on-one conversation. Yep, 9/11. This aptly portrays the ignorance of the average sheeple. There are plenty of 'Major Gowans' in this world, mate. Quite curiously, Mrs Richards complains about the view. Basil ironically quips: ''What the bally fuck were you expecting to look at, my dear Mrs Dicks with wrinkly tits? Hmm?! The raging inferno of a destroyed airplane? The menacing dust clouds emanating from decimated buildings of New York City? Wildebeest flocking majestically across the debris-caked plaza?''. It all makes sense now. You know... in some ways - in many, many ways - we're all like Mrs Richards. *whispers* w e  n e e d  t o  t u r n  o u r  h e a r i n g  a i d   o n  o r 
e l s e  w e  w o n 't  b e  a b l e  t o  e a v e s d r o p  s u c c e s s f u l l y  o n  t h e i r  m a s t e r p l a n.

Brian: And episode 2 of season 2?

David: The Psychiatrist. Basil inadvertently looks a bit mental to a married pair - one of whom is a psychiatrist - as he tries to catch out an open-shirted chisel who sneaked a bint into his room. Quite comically (and worryingly) Basil props up a ladder before slowly toppling backwards. An enactment of the first Tower? More than likely, mate. There's also the element with the busty Aussie woman, the one that Basil appears to have a rock-on for. No matter what Basil does to uncover the truth, he appears to be a lascivious pervert. And that's exactly like an overwhelming majority of society; they're all too busy entertaining Mr Snake and Mrs Pink Button over HornPub. It's time to pull the curtain string from these wankers as opposed to being a wanker who pulls his or her genitals.

Brian: I totally agree with you, David.

David: Now we come on to the classic Waldorf Salad. An American and his wife are on holiday, or vacation, and Basil pathetically comes up with excuses regarding the lack of ingredients despite being prepared by Sybil. He further embarrasses himself by trying to account for his incompetence with fictional dishonesty. People begin to complain about Basil's inadequate management, and this causes him to compare their needs with the instigation of the Nazi regime. This is a covert way of causing cognitive dissonance in people's minds in the sense of not knowing who to believe - are the hotel guests wrong or is Basil a right old arse? It's gives the government complete control over what cobbled-together lies they scatter at our feet. Terrorist attack, huh? Hotdog!

Brian: I never thought of it in that way.

David: Dine at my banquet, mate. Feed yourself on my thoughts.

Brian: Yumbo!

David: Now episode four of series two, The Kipper and the Corpse, will shock you once you unearth their implications. A character called Mr Leeman suddenly dies, probably because of that fricking coronavirus. Then Basil shoves the corpse in a linen basket, which looks remarkably like the FEMA coffins from a few years back. Then the 'corpse inspectors' enquire about the recent expiration, but it turns out that they are present to collect Mr Leeman for a meeting. This is the same ploy the FBI use. It's the honest truth. My son told me when he used to watch V.R. Troopers.

Brian: And what's next?

David: Ugggh! *Gingerly rests wrist against forehead* The Anniversary. And what is it every year, eh? The anniversary for 9/11

Brian: ...but there are anniversaries ea-

David: The anniversary for nine eleven-nhn!  Well... my hunch was gotten me off to a good start. *David rises and strides across the room with his hands gripping his belt* And so we enter end game.

Brian: But there's one episode left, I think.

David: Oh yeah!! You're right, mate. So, with ep5 of s2, Basil acts like a bit of a cunt on purpose towards Sybil by acting like he's forgotten their anniversary. She asks him, ''Dearest husband whom I cherish, are you aware of what landmark day it is currentday?'' to which Basil responds: ''I haven't the fuckiest, dear. Ought one give thou a modicum of urine? Could it be Christmas day? Yazz's birthday? Eleventh of September, two thousand and one, when aerial kaboom ruin capitalist monoliths?'' At this point she's visibly upset despite trying to be all stoic about it. Then Sybil's pals drop in for elevenses, so Basil gets Polly to become Sybil. Now, many years ago when I was chatting with my mate down the pub, we got talking to this retired bloke who undeniably was the former chief of the C.I.A. from 1992 to 2005.

Brian: Where and when was this?

David: Rochdale Wetherspoons, 2004.

Brian: 2004?! But how can that be when h-

David: And he told me that they used to make android doppelgangers of important public figures in order for them to be 'assassinated'. Both the Kennedy brothers' murders were real, as android technology was in the early stages during the 1960s. I know this for a fact, as a toilet attendant for an FBI office told me. But one thing that was difficult to get correct was the motion of the eyes. So they supplied the robo-targets with a pair of sunglasses - just like what 'Sybil' wears. I can't think of any assassinations where the victim wore sunglasses, but they more than likely had been shot off.

Brian: What does that have to do with 9/11?

David raises his eyebrows and slowly moves his hand above his head

David: VVRRRREEEOOOOooooww! pppwWWKRRRRHHHKKK!

Brian: Android pilots?!

David: Yep. So moving on to the final episode called Basil the Rat. A health inspector sniffs around the facilities to ensure everything is clean. But there's one problem: Manuel's pet 'rat' goes missing. It scurries into a guests handbag and Basil surreptitiously attempts to pinch it from her belongings. A snooty dandy is irked by Basil and Polly spouts 'bomb scare'. This is a knowing squint and profound nod at the detonation charges used on the support pillars of the WTC. Furthermore, the word 'rat' is a pejorative term used for people who whistleblow on criminal activities. The NWO doesn't like it when the truthers 'rat' on the government.

Brian: David Icke, thank you for coming out to London from the Isle of Wight again.

David: You what, mate?! I've been staying in the hotel d-

Brian: Erm, I believe you have a song to sing for us.

David: No.

Brian: Oh.

David: I've not prepared one, but I'll give it go.

Brian: Dave it away, Takid...

David (Singing): You're cooooold as Icke. You're willing to sa-cri-ficccce, erm... knackered egg fried rice.

Brian: This hasn't been a very good episode, has it?

David: No. Sorry, mate. I saw 'Fawlty Towers' and thought of 9/11 and went from there. But don't concern yourself, I've got a surprise for you.

Brian: Jordan Peterson as Jorker?

David: No, mate. Still in production.

[DangledTeeth]

**SORRY MATE THIS VIDEO HAS BEEN REMOVED FOR VIOLATING TERMS & CONDITIONS**

[DangledTeeth]

Guys, I've just had an in-depth chat with David Icke about shifty billionaires, complete with more scaremongering prattle about the coronavirus and the views were fucking cloud-high. It was viewed by thousands of people on the livestream. But unfortunately, the video was taken down because of violating the terms and conditions. It could be because of other controversies in past videos and we've pushed the limit. Perhaps David's dialogue was libelous trash that was unfounded and potentially damaging to people's reputations. And verified pro accounts have complained about being demonetised or they've had their videos removed for innocuous reasons. Well, these are the things level-headed people would theorise. Truth is, I said to David: ''You must not do this again. It's too risky.'' But he went ahead and did it, guys. He ate another microwaved crispy pancake for lunch, and he had to abruptly end the livestream interview in order to urgently pop to the can for a much-needed shit. Well, some of you probably couldn't tell the difference between what comes out of his front asshole and rear end. But jeez louise, man. Terms of violation?! Turds of violation, more like! My nostrils have been assaulted by the malodorous whiff of butt cigars. We'll be working to get the interview up real soon (pun not intended). By the way, does anyone know where I can find a good toilet brush that can be delivered in the next twenty-four hours?

[DangledTeeth]

Thank you. Thank you for being in attendance at this pivotal and concerning point in history. I greatly appreciate it, mate. This is the Universe Forever leg of the European tour, a subset of this year's tour called Nuanced Without Obstruction.

Now... I want to speak to you tonight about the origin of the Archons, holograms, and the meaning of existence. Firstly, I'll start off by commencing this with the initial subject I want to speak to you tonight about and that's the coronavirus. Oh yeah... we've all read about them from the MSM. No, it's not a mispronunciation of MSN - Microsoft Network. I'm talking about the frickin' news, ain't I. With their cleverly crafted compendiums for the misguided and gullible. Well, we say no, don't we? We don't need a shepherd, thank-you-very-mucchhhh.

So erm, you've all heard about this yuman disease called the coronavirus, eh? The bleating shits won't stop going on about it. Turn on the bastard telly and forget there's no fricking football on because of this manufactured bio-weapon that doesn't actually exist. Look at websites and there's an NHS advertisement about the disease. I even got a text from our lords and masters instructing me to stay home. Now I know how Winston of 1984 felt. Still, I can exercise when I frickin' well can, mate.



Well, we can have a break from that coronathingy tonight. Now, you're bound to be wondering: 'David, why have you got protective peripherals around your cavern and bones when you said it doesn't exist?' Well, I had a lunchtime snack earlier today - and it wasn't a crispy pancake for once. No. I shifted the remnants of a king-sized Pot Noodle Bombay Bad Boy. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough cleft tissues on hand, and the taps on the sink have been playing up, so I've had to cover my fingers up with gloves in order to conceal the Marmite fingerprints. What's more, my breath ffffucking fricking reeks, mate. I don't want the front row to inhale my spicy halitosis.



The Archons - a semi-scaly race who originated from the planet Corneria 20,000 thousand years ago. Their home planet was a very low-res green planet with polygonal inhabitants. They took the arduous trip to earth in order to start afresh and utilise their chameleon powers to infiltrate Earth's sociedy of yumans. The first ever recorded reptilian was Marco Polo, who was a hybrid of yuman and Archon. I mean, did you ever expect that geographically-inclined cunt to explore as much as he did?! He used a hypercruiser space racer.

Unfortunately, the bloodline got mixed up with a multitude of yumans. This was when the royalty of Europe began to emerge and an amphibian, secretive network was born. They're not friendly, mate. They're very selfish and don't care for our interests. They're very elusive. Watch clips of news readers on YouTube when their cloaking devices' batteries begin to wear out, exclusively the ones where the compression of the video is out of whack.

Now, holograms... the world is actually flat but it's projected by the space station moon to appear spherical. There's a Japanese-American scientist -  I forget his name - whose vibrational theory aligned with mine to some degree, and I'm usually very sceptical towards mainstream scientists who know what the fuck they're on about, but at it conveniently merges with my unoriginal theory which came from someplace else, I'll willing embrace what the bloke says this time. Let's just hope he doesn't debunk anything I staunchly believe in.



The yuman nature of existence is entirely based on what you make of your time on this planet, mate. Use it wisely and thoughtfully as possible. The fascist lizards will try to repress us, but with our conscientiously collective energy we can drive back their wicked agenda and utilise our freedom of speech to say no to 5G. We. Are. Yuman.

Who's with me?



*Amplified maintenance sounds*

[DangledTeeth]

Brian: David Icke, welcome once again to London Real.

David: Once again?! I've been here for two hours. I just popped out to change my trousers a-

Brian briefly glares with subtlety

David: Sorry, erm... I was actually playing with two coins in my trousers. It was change.

Brian: Conspiracy theory again?

David: Well, one thing that doesn't change with me is the topics I discuss with you

Brian: Care to add your two pennies?

David: Well no, they're in my other trousers I... left at home.

Brian: Not literally.

David: Yeah, I'm just joking, mate. I'm going to talk to you about a former British mega r'n'b/pop sensation who's emerged once again as a middle-of-the-road musical entertainer. You probably haven't heard of him.

Brian: And who is this musical entertainer, David?

David: You're right.

Brian: Uh?!

David: That's his surname.

Brian: Who's surname?

David: Craig. David.



Brian: Ahhh, I think I know who this is.

David: Yes. The softly spoken r'n'b crooner from the grimy urban streets of Southampton. I mean, that's suspicious in itself. The only hugely successful urban act of Britain and he doesn't sound like or have the demeanour of Dizzee Rasclart and Lethal Bizzies. Hmm... this suggests a lizard at a major record label, with no street credibility whatsoever, selected youthful Craig to promote evil.

Brian: What evil exactly?

David: The catastrophe of 9/11!

Brian: Really?!?!

David (Nods): It all began before the start of the new millennium. Craig and the aptly named duo 'The Artful Dodger' released a chart-topper called 'Rewind'. An ominous indication of what was to come.

Brian: How so, David?

David: Well, the initial lyrics are standard fare, nothing to raise an eyebrow over. What-was-it? Erm... *bobs shoulders and gingerly flicks his forearms* Making moves, yeah, on the dance floor. Gotta something-something real hardcore. From the front to the back, that's where I was at. You know, you know, the Artful Dodger do it like that. With Craig David all over your - Boing! - DJ it's all up to yoooooou. When the crowd goes wiii-ii-iild. Tell me, tell me, whatcha gonna doooooo....



David: This-is-the-dodgy-part - RE-REWIND! When the crowd say, 'Bo selectah'. RE-REWIND! When the crowd say, 'Bo selectah!' Ruh-ee-ee-wind. This one goes out to all the DJs.

Brian: It sounds rahther innocent and nothing weird.

David: That's the whole aim, Brian. They were programming millennials to become dehumanised by their future schemes of manipulation and yuman control. What does 'Bo selectah!' even mean?! Oh of course, they can say it's an exclamation of the youth. But when you know privileged sources of information like I do, you can gain an understanding of where the pathway leads.

Brian: What's the enigma behind 'Bo! Selecta'?

David: Before I tell you the answer to your excellent question, I must ask: when was 'Rewind' released?

Brian: I haven't any idea.

David: It was released on the 29th of November 1999. If you use the two out of twenty-nine and applied it to '1999' you'd get...

Brian: 2001.

David: Right you are, Brian. But not Space Odyssey. And you're also left with 9 as a day and November - 9/11 to us Brits.

Brian: Holy fuck!

David: The Illuminati didn't want to make their master plan too obvious. So they 'altered' the original utterances 'Bo selectah'. And they were: 'Boom September'. Oh, you can 'rewind' the footage of the planes going into the Towers, but you'll never see the detonation of the other building the lamestream snooze medire never speak about.

Brian: Don't fuck with me like that! Get out of here!

David: It's the honest truth, Brian. Makes that bellowing gibberish make pernicious sense. 'Coincidentally', the Artful Dodger retired in 2001. More than likely the result of a lovely payout from the corrupt bank of the Illuminati.

Brian: Is that all there is to it?

David: There's plenty more, mate. Craig David collaborated with Sting - who was a guest star in masonic cartoon The Simpsons - and released the hit record 'Rise and Fall', a snide and disgusting reference to the creation and destruction of the Twin Towers.

Brian: There's no shame with those guys.

David: That's not everything, mate. The comedy series Bo' Selecta started a year after 9/11. 2002 to be precise, a year after 2001 when 9/11 occurred
and one year before Bo' Selecta began. It features Craig David as one of several large and repugnant masks. But that's not where the connections end, mate. Creator Leigh Francis was spotted sipping a pint on the brink of the Covid-19 lockdown. And who did the DJ-ing to usher in 2020 via the BBC?

Brian: Craig David?

David: Spot on, Brian. You might have wondered 'Why is it called Covid-19?'. Well, it's because the virus was co-created with an unknown Illuminati scientist and the aforementioned Craig David - Covid-19.

Brian: What does the 19 allude to?

David '19 of 2019, New Years Eve, when he did that DJing I mentioned.

Brian: It's... madness.

David: They performed at 2018's New Year's Eve bash, hah-hah.

Brian: Your knowledge is phenomenal.

David: ''I'm walking uh-way-ay, for all the troubles in my liiiife, I'm walking uh-way-aaayyy''. I'm sorry, mate, I'm not walking away from this. Since 1990 when I had my spiritual awakening, I'd been humiliated by Terry Wogan and all the blokes down the pub. I've got a Bentley parked outside my mansion, have I? Piss off! I've been going for thirdy years and living fairly modestly on the Isle of Wight. The better day is tomorrow. Tomorrow is the age for the people of this planet and yuman reality; we need to awaken from this ongoing nightmare and let those bastards dwelling in their prestigious headquarters that we are not having it anymore! Freedom of speech is what keeps the world flat.

Brian: David, as ever, it's a pleasure to have you on again.

David: Thank you, Brian. This is like a second home to me.

Brian (To the lens): I'm going to end this episode with a quick trailer supplied by our sponsors. I hope you look forward to it.

[bgmnts]

Tl;dr?

[DangledTeeth]

Rose: We did it, guys! Over a million viewers on the livestream. Triumphant swagger in the street. I also went on a run earlier this morning and felt so ready for the event of a lifetime - and every second was fucking worth it. You, the London Real Army, reached deep into your wallets to donate on behahf of freedom of speech. Thank you so much, guys. We've let the establishment know we are the new media. They can't silence the truth! And we're going to try to release Rose/Icke III really soon - London Really soon. I make it sound like an enthralling boxing event, like Fight of the Century. But it's actually more like Audley Harrison sparring with his reflection. In the meantime, guys, enjoy David's new rap video: David Icke - Dull Role Model.

----

Okay
I am going to attempt to lockdown myself
You can watch this at home
You can be just licke me

Icke check, O2
We be boring?



I'm conspiritorial
Yo the NWO pissed on your mum's memorial
So when I kiss you, you wouldn't want to answer this
Ban my manuscript
And if you responded back I'll prattle that you crapped your pants wit shit
I got banned to death and I and spoke with Rose again
In a secret location in Hull
And break your common sense till your frontal lobes pokes through your skull
You beef wit' me, I'm tell you where the elitists will be
Take you to Jeremy Kyle and laugh heavily while I beat both your arses evilly
I get a high from sin powder, you dumbos
'Cause when I spoke out, 'they' hit the Twin Towers - two jumbos
(Oh noooo!)
They hate and say I speak a pile of shite
And buy a mansion with gates on the Isle of White
That's a funny thing, though
I can't send you the bill for breaking windows
You'll never attack my flat
You're just an internet thug
So if you said you ever did drugs
That would mean you lie and fart more than the President trumps
Hillary Clinton tried to lick my hard-on prick and called me her first kill
I ripped her Archon tits off and fed her Persil
Earth's still flat and that it's why I'm not stressed
Rapped as Vanilla Ice and ripped out Andrew Neil's brown nest
Every girl I ever went out with sucked off the erect dong of Fat Les
Follow me and be as ineffective as Kim Jong's threats



Smoke DMT, destroy 5G, deplore I.D and punch Zionists
And jump in the air like you were electrified by some pylon shit.
I'm dumb enough to walk in an Apple phone store and steal
So I'm dumb enough to ask for a date wit' a Rothschild
Some people only see that I'm a shade of pink, ignoring my cough while
I say the coronavirus is fake and drive off Hasselhoff style
But I no longer wear a kit, y'all represent me as a flick of the wrist
How the fuck can I be dead when Covid-19 doesn't exist?!
I get a clean shave, drive quick from home to go on London Real
Say there's a dictaphone concealed in someone's meal
My middle finger won't go down - is it because of arthritis?
And this is how I'm supposed to teach tits while the news tries to spite us?

Now follow me as I post crap on the app called IG.
Don't you want to grow up to be just licke me?
I chatted to Wogan and spoke doom on TV
Now don't you want to grow up to be just licke me?

Me and Alex Jones went over to see Nicole Richie
Heard the illuminati made her hole itchy
Humped the behind of a whore, called the authorities and put them on hold
Killed 'em all and smeared blood on a drug cartel bloke's poncho
My knee won't work and goalkeeping provides no mirth.
I slapped Garth Crooks out of his Albion shirt
I'm a scientist no more than Brian is.
'e knows I had a breakdown in my brain like Leo Sayer
Big Brother sprays brown air through the BBC iPlayer
I say shit that will shock yer auntay
But I'll still get mocked by Dr Grande.
They say: 'This twit's there wit hair like Ric Flair'
But you won't walk in my shoes
Proves you're a bitch, scared.



Jumped into a Danger Mouse cartoon with an eye patch
And beat Morocco Mole with a popo's pole and kick the guy's nads.
I'm about as normal as Harold Shipman.
How did sleeper agents awaken? An Xmas carol did them.
We're theoreticians, so listen to the info that we've brung
They say that I'm a babe made from precum
Mother, are you there? I love you
I never meant to put your picture in a shed with a shovel
Will someone explain to my brain what evidence is
I don't want to infiltrate the white house in order to obtain the President's piss
Hey, DNA isn't my preference, dick!
I brandish a meat cleaver in Ryde
Believe the theories come out of my backside?
If you think I'm right, neither am I
So when you see your mum with a barometer shoved in her twat
Know that I'm not the biggest cunt when I drink Dom with her
Mate, Drake's 'Moloch' YOLO shit is over wit'
Jay-Z's Hova stint is through Dubya's ownership

I was laughed at in the pub, drinking a Tetley's
Don't you want to grow up to be just licke meeee?
I've been with ten women who were in the Illuminati
Now don't you want me to deny the Holocaust licke a neo-Nazi?
I got a wart on my face and I regale people at the Brixton Academy
Don't you want to grow up to be just licke meeee?
I tried to kill the Pope with my penis then I ran out of Vatican City
You probably want to be a screw-up and be just licke meeeee!!!!

[Bazooka]

Brilliant.