Why I No Longer Talk To Normies

Obviously that isn’t quite true. Of course I still talk to Normies when, say, I’m ordering food in a restaurant or asking directions or enjoying the vicar squirming slightly as I review his sermon afterwards or inquiring of one of the grooms ‘What do I need to know about this horse?’ or we’ve been invited down the road for drinks and I have to fill what might otherwise be dead air by pontificating about the latest bollocks I’ve had to review on Netflix for my TV column…

What I mean, rather, is that I no longer talk to Normies about any of the stuff that matters. Stuff like, say, that we’ve never been to the moon, 9/11 was an inside job, the Beatles and the Stones were Tavistock Institute psyop and the world is run by Satanic paedophiles who are spraying our skies, poisoning our food and water, murdering us in hospitals and want either to exterminate us like cockroaches or to exploit us like slaves.

This information, when you think about it, is about a gazillion times more interesting, useful, and urgent than any opinion I might care to offer on, say, My Oxford Year in which the handsome but caddish-seeming don wins the young American undergraduate’s heart but then breaks it when he dies of cancer. (Sorry. Should have said. Spoiler alert).

But still I’m not going to squander my pearls of wisdom and insight on these Normie pillocks any more. I’ve had enough.

In fact, I’d already had enough about four years ago when I first had inscribed on the gigantic granite slab at the bottom of my garden in foot-high lettering picked out in black the words: YOV CANNOT TRVTH-BOMB NORMIES INTO AWAKENESS.

This time, though, I (almost) mean it. The straws that broke the camel’s back were two recent incidents in which I tried yet again to engage in a little Normie-red-pilling outreach work for the benefit of the afflicted. And after which, also yet again, I only ended up feeling underappreciated, misunderstood and, worst of all patronised.

The first incident was when I wrote a piece for the online edition of The Spectator on the subject of ‘revealing conspiracy videos which, amazingly, you can still find on YouTube’. It wasn’t necessarily the piece the editors commissioned but I decided, as a special treat, that I’d introduce the readership to areas they probably hadn’t explored before.

For example, I assumed that none of them had ever watched the videos where the late Dutch banker and Illuminati insider Ronald Bernard spills the beans on his former paymasters. Nor the long interview with Kay Griggs talking about what it’s like to discover that your perfect US marine hero husband is actually a mind controlled, secretly gay assassin working for a US Deep State kill squad. Nor the one where film producer Aaron Russo - or should I say, the late, died-quite-young film producer Aaron Russo - tells Alex Jones the extraordinarily revealing things he learned when he got befriended by a member of the Rockefellers.

When I read the comments below, I thought they’d be full of Spectator readers going: “Hey, thanks, James! I used to mock conspiracy theorists and think of them as crazy. But having watched these informative testimonies by people who quite obviously are speaking the truth my eyes have been opened. Thank you, again, thank you James! I now intend to buy loads of Bitcoin and start prepping - and I’ll never get jabbed again!”

But none of them - well, apart from one from some brave soul called Knoxville101 who wrote “Your podcasts are intelligent, articulate and a delight to listen to” - said any such thing. They largely comprised the usual pompous dismissals and desperate attempts at humour (“There’s one simple answer to everything: it was aliens”) and “a grand conspiracy? I don’t think they have the ability to organise it” copes we have come to expect from our Normie brethren.

It was, of course, very silly of me to have expected otherwise. Especially so when one remembers that the comments at sites like the Speccie’s are infested with 77th Brigade disinformation specialists, because they do love to control the narrative, our predatory elites.

Still, I can’t pretend I wasn’t a little disappointed that my playful invitation to join me down the rabbit hole hadn’t resulted in more acceptances.

My disappointment was compounded by a second incident in which I tried, unsuccessfully, to present to a Normie another example of one of those things that sounds like a ‘conspiracy theory’ but is in fact verifiable conspiracy fact. I found myself not merely rebuffed in response, but being given a patronising lecture clearly designed to put me firmly in my place by weariedly spelling out exactly what an idiot I was through the medium of a conventional-narrative history lesson.

I call this behaviour Normsplaining.

Most often you encounter it with people who’ve studied a science at university. They’ll Normsplain with a response that often includes the phrase ‘Basic Physics’, the implication being that you lack the education and understanding to grasp whichever immutable scientific ‘truth’ they’re trying to inflict on you.

“Ah, silly me! What would I know? I’m a mere arts graduate,” you’re expected to giggle with a girlish toss of your head.

What they don’t quite appreciate - because they’re Normies - is that they might as well be citing ‘Unicorn Magic’ for all the difference it makes to the credibility of their argument.

So here was this Normie, trying to impress me with his Unicorn Magic, and feeling - I could tell - really quite pleased with himself as he was doing so. It reminded me of one of those old school headmaster types who gives you a vigorous caning, not because he’s a secret perv who likes thwacking little boys’ bums, but, damn it, because you’ll thank him for it one day because he’s giving you a lesson you’ll never forget.

Traditionally on these occasions, you are supposed to say - on rolling up your trousers - “Thank you, sir!” for the thrashing that has just been inflicted on you.

Probably this would have been the ideal Christian response: turn the other cheek.

Or, in this case, turn the other butt cheek.

Unfortunately, being a rubbish Christian, I couldn’t just shake the dust off my feet and move on. I just had to do something to vent my frustration at being talked down to in this annoying way. So what I thought I’d do - and I hope God will forgive me if this is out of order, but I do think it will bring consolation to a lot of fellow Awake people who’ve had a similar experience - is express myself in this open letter to Normies.

Dear Normies,

First, I want you to know that we in the Awake community love you very much. Well, most of us do. I do hear some hardcore Awake types saying you had what was coming to you when you took the death jabs just so you could go on holiday. But I disagree. You were sold those ‘safe and effective’ vaccines on a false prospectus at the dog-end of a military grade psyop designed to reduce you to a state of panic, fear, confusion and desperation. Of course it wasn’t your fault. And even if it was, just a teeny tiny bit, I/we still love you because most of our friends and families are Normies, and you’re all made in God’s image.

Also, by the way, we can totally empathise with you. We know exactly why you think the way you do because once upon a time, before our Awakening, we too were Normies.

But, Normies, just because we love you and empathise with you and fully understand where you’re coming from doesn’t mean we’re prepared to take any shit from you on what you imagine to be the true nature of the world.

We don’t care if you’ve got a PhD because we’re not impressed by the credentialism of a broken, corrupt and compromised academic system. We don’t care if you’ve read lots of books because they’re mostly, likely, Normie books published in order to reinforce a particular narrative which we know to be false. We don’t care if you’re a high flier at the top of your professional game because we know how the Beast system works and whom it tends to reward. And we don’t care about your ‘science’ and your ‘history’ because we know that most of it is fake. Your entire paradigm, in fact, is bollocks.

You don’t understand any of this, we appreciate that. But we do understand it. And there’s the irreconcilable difference between us.

Love, James