Jacinda Ardern leaves New Zealand poorer, less safe and more stupid.
Simon Lincoln Reader
In February I’ll be attending the Biznews conference where I hope Alec will ask me about conspiracy theories, especially those involving the WEF. I straddle comfortably between conspiracy and cock-up: it doesn’t count as a “conspiracy” when the bloody thing is true – but moreover, I don’t think (and have never thought) that the McKinsey-groomed idiots retching up most of these schemes are competent enough to truly endgame us all.
What was never a conspiracy is that a generation of leaders were identified at young ages and subsequently programmed into (what was then) an emerging narrative (what has matured into today’s “regime liberalism”). One example is Ireland’s miserable Taoiseach Leo Varadkar, who met all the criteria of the emerging narrative: a closet homosexual of mixed race in a predominately white country, his interest in science resulted in a medicine degree, complemented by an easy grasp of greasy Irish student politics. The narrative swooped, and he was parachuted into the White House as an intern during the Clinton administration.
Another is madam horse paste, Jacinda Ardern, or Jacinda Trudeau. For her grooming, she was transported across the Indian Ocean to what was described as “Cool Britannia” at the time, to shadow Labour under Tony Blair – presumably having no issue with the latter’s complicity in an illegal war. Horse paste then went to New York “to work in a community kitchen”, although it’s unlikely that teaching tramps about pronouns is all she got up to.
Over in Canada, Justin Trudeau, or Justin Ardern, or Justin Castro, got the same treatment, though his was much more plain nepotism (at the point where his father Pierre threw his hands up and resigned to the fact he may as well just claim the young half-Cuban bastard as his own).
Yesterday, madam horse paste resigned, and will leave office on February the 7th. In scenes reminiscent of those terrible occasions where pods of cetaceans beach themselves upon New Zealand’s shorelines, horse paste’s own ministerial land whales huddled around her. In the very back of the room, a one Mr. Gayford, kidnapped in late 2013 during a scuba diving expedition, was spotted trembling.
Unlike Australia, whose descendants of Scottish prison wardens meekly submitted before those grotesque coof regulations, there was some resistance in New Zealand to Ardern’s zero-covid zealotry, but I’m a little surprised to be honest: the whole point of the exercise – insofar as Blair, Clinton, Castro jnr et al are concerned – was to install an entirely different kind of control, aided by unelected groups financed by unelected individuals – with an architecture that included rehearsed designs on eliminating resistance.
The opposition weren’t exactly coherent or organized or even likeable either: the Kiwis I know in London are all largely supportive of her.
So here’s where it gets conspiratorial. In one instance, the US is gearing up for confrontation with China. Horse paste loves China (announcing herself as a reluctant participant in the Five Eyes intelligence arrangement / community in 2021 practically sold the islands to Beijing), and if it kicks off she’ll be forced into a reckoning you wouldn’t wish upon Ukraine Azovs. In the other, it appears that Jerome Powell has the WEF and it’s ESG smegma in its crosshairs. Horse paste is also firmly in the latter’s camp, and if the Fed wins, the whole ESG, net-zero, current-thing(s) collapses, quite possibly taking the EU down. So if the butterfly flaps its wings in New York, the subsequent hurricane in New Zealand will strip horse paste of all her pandering and vanity and woke insanity – chief amongst which the idea that traditional Maori folklore be nudged into the educational curriculum with the same stature as STEM or Christian religious studies.
It’s funny to watch her supporters, especially the syphilitic New York Times, predict a ‘great global role’ for her in the future. I’ve finally come to understand what that newspaper actually is: imagine an evil air steward, one who looks like the NYT’s own Editor-in-Chief, who every long haul documents with vivid detail want he’d like to do to some of the male passengers (sexual) and female passengers (torture) then hides these thoughts in a secret compartment. One day he is caught, and all the planes he has worked on are searched. When all the papers from all the aircrafts are gathered then combined and read, well, that’s this piece of shit newspaper for you.