by Jon Rappoport
March 17, 2021
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Anthony Fauci steps off a small boat floating in a river at the bottom of a great cavern.
A lamp cuts into the darkness and illuminates a small table and two chairs. Fauci walks to the table and sits down.
He is joined by his old mentor, whose name is unknown.
Itís been a long time, Anthony. Remember me?
Of course. But why am I here?
You need a refresher, Anthony. Youíve been wobbling badly. Apparently youíve forgotten our first lesson.
I was in medical school then.
Thatís when we promised you significant rewards if you performed well for us. That day, I told you: you need to lie with CONSISTENCY.
Yes, sir. And Iíve obeyed your order.
No you havenít. Youíve cooked a goose and a cake in the same pan. Youíve said it was raining and not raining. Youíve worn only a jock strap and spread sunscreen on your body in the Arctic, and youíve bundled up at the Equator. Youíre a mess.
I didnít mean to be a mess.
Iím not interested in excuses. Iím going to straighten you out. I want you to pay close attention. Otherwise, you go in the Lake of Fire.
Iím VERY sorry, sirÖ
You said masks were useless. Later you said people should wear two. You admitted the vaccine was experimental, implying the people were guinea pigs. Then you said the vaccine was absolutely safe and effective. You said asymptomatic people never drive an epidemic by transmitting a virus. Then you said millions of asymptomatic people who merely tested positive were a major source of transmission. You said running the PCR at 35 cycles or higher yielded meaningless results. But labs all over the world are running the test at 40 cycles. Youíve turned into a buffoon. A clown.
Iíve made a few mistakes. Iíll correct them.
Itís too late. The cat is out of the bag.
Then what can I do?
Ignore your past contradictions. As if they never happened. Youíre a matinee idol to millions of soccer moms. Theyíre bubble brains. They canít think their way out of a wet paper bag. Climb back on the straight and narrow. Claim the test is very accurate, the case and death numbers are alarming, more lockdowns will be necessary, new mutations of the virus are here, and people must take vaccine. And THATíS ALL. Donít try to EXPLAIN things. Thatís when you screw the pooch. Youíre not a medical genius, Anthony. Youíre our agent. Just do your job.
But I love explaining things.
And thatís your flaw. I wish we had spotted it sooner. We would have used someone else. Redfield or even Birx.
Redfield? That two-bitó
Two-bit is good, Anthony. Two-bit works.
I have theatrical qualities.
Yes, you do. For low-budget Hollywood B movies. Cary Grant youíre not.
But Bill told meó
Forget about Bill Gates. Iíll be talking to him soon. He thinks he has to throw money at every influencer in the world. His ego is out of control. Heís a nasty little poisoned pastry. Anthony, listen to me. Youíre a low level gangster on a cop show. In the first ten minutes, detectives drag you into the station and question you. They find out you were in the hospital having gall bladder surgery on the afternoon of the murder, and they let you go. Got it? Youíre not doing Inherit the Wind or Hamlet.
OK, all right. But Iím disappointed.
Now let me remind you of the truth, so you can make a clear distinction between it and what youíre doing. Perhaps thatíll give you much needed clarity. Viruses are basically fictions. Nobody isolates them. When technicians perform genetic sequencing, theyíre cobbling together strips of DATA and using computer programs to smooth out the wrinkles and the gaps. Fairy tales. There is no pandemic. The people who are dying are dying from traditional lung infections and pollution and toxic vaccine campaigns and pesticides and medical drugs, and all this is relabeled COVID. The virologists in their labs are clueless. Theyíre true believers. Little egos depositing paychecks and publishing papers and angling for promotions. UNDERSTAND?
Yes. But listen, a friend of mine is developing a screen play about the life of Albert Schweitzer. His clinic in Africa. Saving lives. Great humanitarian. The Disney studio and I have been in talks. Donít you think I could play Schweitzer?
AGAIN, Anthonyóyouíre a small-timer on cop shows. Youíre running a protection racket forcing shop owners to come up with cash every week or else. Thatís your level, Anthony.
I feel depressed.
Youíre probably bipolar.
Iíll stick to the COVID script. But at very least, Iíd like to win the Nobel for Medicine.
Promotions are based on performance.
Are you the Devil?
Donít make me laugh. Iím a bureaucrat in the chain of command. You have zero chance of ever speaking with the Devil. He gives orders to the people who give orders to the people who give orders to the people who give orders to the people who give orders to the people who operate Twitter and Facebook.
Does the Devil ever watch me work?
Donít be silly.
With due respect, siróI feel like the victim of blackmail.
Try to imagine how little concern I have about your feelings. And blackmail occurs when the participant is unwilling. You signed up for this job. You were eager.
And there we have it. Vanity. Of all the sins, it has the most tangles and traps. One tries to escape its consequences by asserting greater vanity.
I donít understand.
No, you wouldnít. But unless you somehow come to your senses, and soon, youíll pay the price.
I object to this whole conversation.
Little man, you have no standing to object in our court. As presently configured, youíre an asset, a disposable piece of property.
I wasnít aware I was involved in a legal proceeding.
In my domain, EVERYTHING is a legal proceeding. Thatís why they call it Hell.
Iím ANTHONY FAUCI.
Can you feel the heat? Youíre coming closer to the Burning Lake.
Go back to your life. You have one more chance. And if you ever show up at a baseball game again without a mask, weíll give you a stroke.
Joe Biden had two brain aneurysms in 1988. You see how he turned out. Do you want to be a Biden?
Hell no, sir. Absolutely not. Iím sorry.
Then mend your ways, Anthony.
I think I need to see a psychiatrist.
My secretary will be in touch. We have a list of solid professionals.
Iím going up and down. Maybe I am bipolar.
Anthony, lean closer. Actually, just between you and me, there are no defining lab tests for any so-called mental disorder. Youíre just a moral coward. Why do you think we chose you?
Because Iím photogenic?
Sure. Letís call it that. Rather than self-delusion.
Hillary Clinton told me Iím handsome.
Have you taken a good close look at the specimen sheís married to?
Why am I such a big shot in my life and such a disappointment to you here? Iím not used to being treated this way. Iím the head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases and the chief medical advisor to the President. Iíve advised every President since Ronald Reagan. The New Yorker and The New York Times have described me as one of the most trusted medical figures in the United States. Iíve developed therapies for polyarteritis nodosa, granulomatosis with polyangiitis, and lymphomatoid granulomatosis.
Youíre quoting your Wikipedia page.
Iíve memorized it.
Anthony, people look at your reputation. I look at YOU.
Itís not fair.
Really? Thatís what youíre going with? Fair? Think of us as a production studio, Anthony. We took you on. Granted, we gave you a significant role. But when an actor canít keep his lines straight, when he wanders off-script, when he endangers the whole project, we enact harsh penalties.
All due respect, sir, you want me in my role. You need me in my role. Thatís the truth. You canít handle the truth. Iím bigger than you are.
This interview is over, Anthony. Iíll write my report and forward it to my supervisor. A piece of advice: when you go to sleep at night, make sure youíre wearing asbestos pajamas.
Frankly, my dear, I donít give a damn. Go ahead, make my day.
óSuddenly, the doctor finds himself sitting in a police station. A grim cop is hovering over him.
ďOK, Fauci, your story checks out. You were in the hospital the day of the murder. Youíre free to go. Get the hell out of here. By the wayóone of those little stores your boys collect protection money from? The owner couldnít pay up. He just committed suicide. Left his wife without a husband and his kids without a father. The DA is looking into it. No doubt heíll be filing charges against you.Ē
In a daze, Fauci stumbles to the exit and opens the door. Itís raining outside. He looks down. Heís about to step into a puddle. He scrutinizes it for any signs of fireÖ
He hears a howl. It sounds like a lone animal baying in the forest.
Itís coming from his own mouth.
People in the street look at him.
ďDonít worry,Ē he says quickly. ďIím DOCTOR FAUCI. Get tested. Take the vaccine. Itís perfectly safe. Wear two masks.Ē
(To read about Jonís mega-collection, The Matrix Revealed, click here.)
The author of three explosive collections, THE MATRIX REVEALED, EXIT FROM THE MATRIX, and POWER OUTSIDE THE MATRIX, Jon was a candidate for a US Congressional seat in the 29th District of California. He maintains a consulting practice for private clients, the purpose of which is the expansion of personal creative power. Nominated for a Pulitzer Prize, he has worked as an investigative reporter for 30 years, writing articles on politics, medicine, and health for CBS Healthwatch, LA Weekly, Spin Magazine, Stern, and other newspapers and magazines in the US and Europe. Jon has delivered lectures and seminars on global politics, health, logic, and creative power to audiences around the world. You can sign up for his free NoMoreFakeNews emails here or his free OutsideTheRealityMachine emails here.