Pederassic Park

An Adventure 65 Million Years In The Faking

Special Agent Chad Conner leant all the way back in his chair and clasped his hands above his head. Staring at his words on the illuminated screen, he blew a long sigh through his lips, making them vibrate in the way that horses do. He smiled and thought about how much he used to like horses as a kid. How he’d dreamt of being a cowboy when he grew up. He lit a cigarette. He hadn’t ridden a horse since he was fourteen. But at least I get to carry a gun and shoot people, he mused, chuckling as he exhaled.

It was 10:30 at night. He needed a break. He left his private side office in search of coffee. Almost all of the grey cubicles out here were unoccupied. A few analysts were at their stations, autistically engaged in their tedious duties. Chad had nothing in common with them. He was a designer, an architect, a world-builder. The filter coffee was tepid and stale, like the narrative he was working on. Goddammit, he thought, I need a sounding board. I’ve got to test the concept on somebody else. But not one of these fucking nerds.

At that moment he noticed that the light was still on in Rick Slicker’s office. Rick had worked on the 9/11 script as a rookie twenty years ago. Legend had it that the passports in the rubble had been his idea, but Rick would never take credit. Now, he was one of the most respected and experienced writers in the organisation. So, in theory, the go-to guy in this situation. In practice, though, Rick was the son of a bitch who could get you reassigned if you wasted his time with a pile of crap. All the same, at that moment, the options were Rick, the nerds, or the janitor. Chad dropped his cigarette butt into the coffee cup and threw it in the trash.

“Screw it.” he muttered, and marched towards Rick’s door.

---

“Hey Rick, you busy?”

“Oh hey Chad. I’m working on The Big One. We’re go for launch end of next year. Top Table’s on my balls every day right now.”

“What, December nineteen?”

“The Chinese part. Then we go global in the spring of twenty. No room for error. It’s gonna be tight.”

“Not like your mom’s asshole.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck yourself.”

The two men laughed. Chad tried to hide his relief. They both came from one of the parts of America where male friendships are built on vulgar insults and suppressed homosexuality.

“You’re on the Pedo Op, right?” Rick said, fiddling with a surgeon’s mask he had on his desk.

“Yeah. I was hoping I could run it by you, get your take on it. But if your busy…”

“Hell no. I mean yeah, I am, but I’ve been approving fabricated studies about these fucking things for three hours. I’m losing my mind, coming up with ways to make everybody else lose theirs. Besides, it all blends together sooner or later. You sniff my butt, I sniff yours, we make sure it’s gonna be a beautiful bullshit cocktail. Amiright? What you’re crafting is just as critical as these little bastards.”

He pulled on the straps of the surgeon’s mask like a boy with a slingshot and fired it at the window. Then he opened a drawer of his desk, pulled out a bottle of scotch with two glasses, bounded over to the door, and smacked Chad hard on the ass.

“Come on hot-shot, let’s see whatcha got.”

---

“The idea is it’s been going on for years. All of these dangerous reptilian predators contained on this top secret island. Ultra-high security. Fences everywhere. Cameras.”

Rick almost spat out his whiskey.

“Wait, did you say island?”

“A tropical paradise, Rick. All the famous pedophiles fly to this one, privately-owned island.”

Rick’s expression was a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

“Who’s gonna own it?”

“Top Table said we could use one of the MOSSAD guys. Who’s that finance prick? Goldstein? Bernstein?

“Epstein.”

“Yeah.”

“He wouldn’t have to learn the role. Word is he’s actually like that.”

“Exactly.”

“Ok, Chad, impress me.”

“Picture the scene. Some ambitious young politician lands in a chopper on this beautiful island, so far off the fucking map it might as well be on the moon.”

“WE LOST THE BLUEPRINTS!” they shouted in unison, and clinked glasses with a sinister cackle.

“So this guy steps out onto the helipad and he’s greeted by Epstein, who’s dressed all in white, with a hat, and a walking cane. They get into some kinda golf buggy thing and start driving. The politician dude doesn’t exactly understand why he’s there. He’s been told to accept the invitation because it will help him get ahead. Epstein drives the buggy up a dirt road onto a kind of grassy plateau with a lake. And then he stops. His guest is confused. Why did they stop? Then all of sudden the mist clears and he sees it; A bunch of catholic priests, galloping in the morning sun. Rosaries floating on the breeze. Beautiful. Majestic. Free. He can’t believe it. ‘They do move in herds!’ He marvels. ‘How fast are they?’ Epstein doesn’t even look at him, he’s casually watching P.Diddy and Bill Cosby splashing around in the lake. ‘We clocked Jimmy Savile at four miles per hour.’ The politician grabs hold of Epstein’s arm. ‘What did you just say?!’ Epstein turns to him with a shit-eating grin, ‘Haha. That’s right. We have Savile here.’ And with that, the guy almost faints. Epstein looks back towards the lake and says dramatically, ‘My dear Mr Trudeau. Welcome… to Pederassic Park.’”

Rick Slicker set down his glass and gave five very loud, very slow hand claps.

“Holy shit, Chad. I mean Ho-Lee-SHIT. It’s so dumb. It’s so fuckin’ stupid and obvious. Jurassic Park? But with pedophiles? Hahahaha. It’s PERFECT!”

He sloshed some more scotch into their glasses.

“I’m sold on the concept. Explain the CT in more detail.”

“Alright so we know that the CT crowd talk about how much of this stuff goes on. They’ve figured out it’s Satanic, ritualistic, they’ve heard about the chrome drinking, all that shit. But they don’t know how it happens. They don’t know where it happens. They don’t know who’s really doing it. And that pisses them off. Most of them are so far from working out who’s at Top Table it’s sad, honestly. I feel for them I really do.”

He paused and looked at Rick. They snorted contemptuously.

“So they’ve speculated about Bohemian Grove, secret rooms at Disney Land, tunnels under the Vatican, you know - some of it’s true, some of it’s shit we made up and fed to them through Jones and other assets. The point of this is to make them forget all of that. It’s just been happening in this ONE PLACE. And it’s ALL documented.”

“Documented? Wait, what do you mean?”

“This is the most crucial part. We’re gonna put out the idea of The List.”

“The List?”

“Yeah, so, assuming we use the guy, it’ll be called ‘The Epstein List’. We’ll start it as an internet rumour. That there’s this list of all the famous people who ever went to this secret island and did pedo stuff. And we’ll get assets to suggest who might be on the list. And it will be all the celebs that people already suspect are like that. Clinton, Hanks, Spacey. We’ll say a fat-ass employee tried to smuggle the list off the island in a shaving cream canister, but he got eaten by Prince Andrew. Years later, a team of White Hats reached the island and found the list by sifting through a huge pile of Andrew’s shi…”

“Hold on.”

Rick stood up and put his hand to his mouth in contemplation.

“Just playing devil’s advocate here…”

“Playing?”

They laughed.

“Whatever. But why the fuck would there even be a list? Some guys are trafficking children to an island and then inviting movie stars and royalty to come and do unspeakable things to them. Oh HEY you know what they should do? Keep a register of everybody who ever visits! That’s a great way of making sure nobody ever finds out! I mean shit, Chad. You know I love dumb. But that might be a little too dumb.”

“Ok so we’ll put out the idea that the whole point was to be able to blackmail all these people. That’s why they kept a list.”

“Now that’s retarded. So they get them to the island. They let them do all the evil shit. They see them doing it. These sick bastards can’t get what they need anywhere else, that’s the idea, right? So they own these creeps. Period. Only a total fuckin’ moron would actually document anything. But oh no, the human traffickers unnecessarily risk compromising themselves, and this whole underground world, by keeping a fucking LIST of NAMES? Seriously? Next you’ll be asking people to believe they all took PHOTOS of each other with the kids.”

“Well…”

“Jesus Christ, Chad. This is. I mean this is really… I dunno, man.”

“Trust me, Rick. The CTs will lap it up. Like I said, they’re desperate for answers. It’s hard to see them figuring this one out.”

“I know it’s hard but be careful not to push it too far.”

“That’s what your mother told me.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Suck a dick.”

More playful banter. Then they held each other’s gaze for a moment. Chad’s thoughts returned briefly to cowboys, before Rick broke the tension with a manly cough.

“Honestly though, Chad. I’m not sure.”

“Listen, Rick. You’re working on a Chinese lab-leak story, right?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“Explain the strategy, from our point of view.”

“But you know the stra…”

“C’mon, just humour me.”

“Alright well, at the start of The Big One we put out the idea that the ‘virus’ came from a lab in Wuhan. Chinese deny it. Usual crap. Except this time all the Western politicians and journos deny it too. They call it a crazy conspiracy theory. So the CTs latch onto it. We give ‘em the idea that the US was involved in the lab. Engineering killer viruses. Eventually we’re gonna get the FBI, or some other bunch of clueless assholes, to confirm that it was true all along. Now, by that point only a total dipshit would believe there was any virus or pandemic at all.”

“Or trust anything the FBI tells them.” Chad pointed out.

“Right. Exactly. BUT if the CTs stick to that, they don’t get the win. So most of them are gonna buy into the whole idea because they need the hopium hit. They will maintain the dumbass delusion that the deadly virus, that couldn’t hurt you if you sat down, was real. Just so they can feel vindicated over the lab-leak story I made up while I was on the john last Tuesday.”

“Aaaaaand, how is that different to what I’m doing with Pedo Island?”

Rick shook his head and smiled.

“You’re a piece of work, y’know that? Ok. Point taken. So who are we saying made the list? Just Epstein?”

“Epstein and maybe a girlfriend. I was thinking some British chick with a stupid name that nobody knows how to pronounce. We’ll say Epstein killed himself in prison, all the CTs will say he was murdered. Ironically, he’ll be on an island somewhere, sippin’ on gin and juice.”

“Nice touch. And is everyone on the list actually gonna be a child molesting sicko?”

“Who gives a shit? We don’t have to decide who’s on it until at least 2025, right? So until then, if we want someone to do something for us, we just threaten to put them on our definitive Pedo List.”

“Fine. And we’re gonna make this list a focal point of every truther-conspiracy theorist-MAGA-forum-chatroom out there. For years, right?”

“Exactly, it’ll be like the Holy Grail. The one thing that they believe would bring the whole evil system down, if only some hero could find it, and release it to the world.”

“Ok. I want you to present all this to Pete Nessburger. He’s heading up the DT script. I’m assuming you mean for DT to be the one who reveals the list?”

“Of course. But by then it will have changed to ‘The Epstein Files’, so we can throw in some fake emails, loads of doctored photos, AI video footage, the whole shebang.”

“And DT himself will be in the files, right?”

“Oh absolutely. Trust the plan, Rick.”

“Haha, yeah. Musk?”

“He probably won’t be in there. I think he should be the most prominent voice calling for the release of the list. The files. Whatever. When is the Musk character buying Twitter?”

“Um, shit, I wanna say Autumn 22? Don’t quote me on that.”

“Anyway, whenever that happens he’s just gonna be constantly posting about the Epstein list. And they’ll all be like, ‘Oh, Elon cares so much about PROTECTING LITTLE KIDS’. But then right around the same time, we’ll have Musk standing up in US Congress and literally clapping for the mass-murder of Palestinian babies.”

They both roared with laughter for at least two minutes.

“Oh Jesus that’s, I can’t even…”

Rick fanned his tear-streaked face with his hands and gathered himself.

“Where exactly on the timeline will all of the ‘files’ be released?”

“We might do a kind of false start thing where we hand a load of folders to some Zionist podcasters and it’s just pages and pages of redacted material. Y’know for fun. Then I’m thinking we do the ‘big reveal’ in the middle of the ICE show, few weeks after the Venezuela thing.”

“Oh God have you read Jim’s outline for that? It’s HILARIOUS!”

“Yeah Jim did a great job. A little derivative of the Bin Laden assassination script maybe but…”

“Oh, says the guy doing Jurassic Pedo Park? Really?”

“Fuck you, Rick. Anyway, at that point in the timeline we need to hand the CTs a big win. They gotta feel like everything’s being put right. Like loads of these Disney villains we’ve dangled in front of them are finally gonna go down. I don’t need to tell you how crucial that is for what’s gonna come after.”

“Alright, alright. This is good work, Chad. Listen, I’ll help you pitch this to Top Table. One thing I’ve learned over the years is that those guys need to love the story. It’s not so much the strategy or the details, it’s the theatre. You gotta appeal to their twisted imaginations. So give me another scene from your Pedo Island we can use to reel ‘em in. Then we can both call it a night.”

Chad stubbed out his cigarette as he sat down at his computer. He scrolled back through the text until he found the right passage, and began to read aloud.

“The kids have been told they’re going to a theme park, and at first that’s how it seems. There’s a visitor centre, merchandise, cake and ice cream. They go for a ride around the island in a brightly coloured jeep. It’s awesome, they’re having a great time. Then BOOM. Tropical storm hits. Jeep breaks down. It’s dark. Kids are trapped in the vehicle, already scared. Rain pounds against the windows. BOOM. They notice the ripples in the glass of water. BOOOM! Louder, closer. More ripples. Wait, what is that? That’s not the thunder. It’s more like… like footsteps. But these aren’t ordinary footsteps. It’s almost as though… they’re going forwards and backwards at the same time.”

Rick pointed a knowing finger.

“Moonwalk!”

“WE LOST THE BLUEPRINTS!”

Clink!

“You got it. Michael Jackson suddenly emerges from the jungle and lets out a feminine shriek that turns their blood to ice. They find a torch and shine it at him but it just makes things worse. He’s drawn to the light because he thinks it’s fuckin’ Tinkerbell. The kids are huddled together on the back seat. Jacko shuffles over and presses his nose against the windshield. It shatters and falls to the ground.”

“The windshield?”

“His nose.”

“Ha.”

“He’s rattling the door handle. He’s almost got it open. Then one of the kids notices something moving in the trees. Peering into the shadows, they briefly glimpse what looks like a pastel purple pullover stretched around a pregnant stomach. CRASH! From the bushes, wailing like Kermit The Frog, comes Bill Gates. He wrestles Jackson to the ground and they start battling over who will claim the prey. Quickly, the horrified infants smash the sunroof and climb out. They flee into the jungle, unnoticed by the fighting lizards, and climb a huge tree. They’re safe. But for how long? How can they hope to survive? And is there any WAY the world can ever find out about this place?”

Chad turned to look at Rick, and they both said together,

“Life finds a way.”

“AHAHAAAAHAHAAHAHAHA!”

“God I love this job. That’ll do it, Chad. Lock it down like Chinatown. Now let’s go to bed.”

“Rick?”

“Er, I mean, let’s go to our separate homes. And get some sleep.”

“Oh sure. Sounds good. Hey, can we get ‘em to keep making more of those movies? Just so, y’know, it’s right there in front of people the whole time?”

“Sure thing. I’ll call Spielberg’s handler in the morning.”