A Leap Year Skeptics' Circle

It's late at night, and dark. The scene is a little different than the last time a Skeptics' Circle was hosted by the Conspiracy Factory. Oh yes, it's rather a lot different.

A few days after the lunar eclipse, the day before February 29th, is the perfect day to observe some evil. You're hidden in the bushes, in the dark. Peeking over the hill in front of you, you can see a small group forming at the base of the hill. It's a group of men and women in black suits, carrying torches, and they're filing towards what looks like a circle of barrow mounds. They're not speaking. They're preparing to meet the Master.

They quietly file into the circle; it's quite easy to make them out, as their torches are putting off a fair amount of light. They stand in a circle. They wait. You wonder what they could be waiting for, but they're not saying anything.

One by one, they start to fidget. One of them shifts his weight from one leg to the other. And they start to whisper to each other in hushed voices.

"Where's the Master?"

"The last Skeptics' Circle was compromised. People witnessed it. It was all over the internet. I'm sure that the Master is ensuring that no such thing happens again."

"Oh."

There's an awkward silence.

"I met a girl on the internet."

"Again? Is it another Russian bride?"

"No. This is the real deal. She's from Thailand."


"Shhhhh."

The circle of men in suits stop fidgeting. There's a low howling noise.

"What the hell was that?"

"Maybe something trying to force its way into our world."

There's a small pinpoint of light in the middle of the circle that slowly tears open into a bright doorway. There's a sound of rushing air, and the Master steps through.

"Welcome, Master.", they all chant in unison.

"What is the first order of business?" he croaks.

"Oprah." one of the men squeaks. "She's teaching women how to be more manly. Letting them know that they're weak."

A woman steps forward, "I'll take care of it. I'll discredit her survey, and make it look ridiculous."

"Excellent, Rebecca." the Master croaks, "What is next?"

"Well, Master," says another suited man, "We always have the problem of magic medicine. They cure too many diseases, and siphon away our profits."

"Crush them."

"We'll put archaeologyknits on it."

"What about the anti-vaccine crusaders? Which of our pharma-shills is discrediting them?" croaks the Master.

"Pal MD"

"Excellent. Give him more stock options in Pfizer and Merck. What have we done with that super secret satellite that the Troofers put up to spy on our activities?"

"We've had to shoot it down. We've mostly discredited any other hypotheses. "

"Very good."

Another man steps forward, (are the men clones? they all look the same?) "We've started a project to get people to buy more stuff. It uses some reverse psychology to get folks excited about free stuff. Then we fleece them."

"Excellent, you will be rewarded." The Master pauses, "While we're talking about making good little consumer sheep out of the American public, you know what our biggest competitor to selling stuff is? Sex. Sex is free, and people having sex are not shopping, so we need to work harder to make sex boring and plain. We will pathologize sex. "

"Yes, Master. We're still in phase I, pathologizing fetish sex. When we're done with that, we'll pathologize all sex."

"Excellent." croaks the Master.

"But Greta Christina [in 2 parts] is on to our plan."

"Finish her."

The clone smiles, then quickly looks more somber and continues, "Someone figured out our old deal about the X-raying kids feet to fit shoes."

"Did he figure out about the alien implants?" asks the Master

"Not yet."

"Keep an eye on him. If he gets closer to the truth, finish him." Again he pauses. "How are we doing on getting our training manual out for new agents?"

"Very well, Master. I've written Part One, and I'm working on the next part."

The Master makes a clenching motion, and the clone falls to his knees clutching his throat. The Master growls "GET. OFF. YOUR. ARSE. AND. WRITE. PART. TWO." He releases his grip, and the clone falls to the ground, gasping for air.

"Yes, Master."

"Ahem." another clone speaks, "I'm also writing a part of the manual. But, I'm mostly done my part. No need for the crushy, necky, thing. I'll need my neck in two weeks when I host the next Skeptics' Circle. You can get directions from my blog, or e-mail me (Bing McGhandi) littletinyfeardemon self-circling-a-thing yahoo spot com. I would greatly appreciate it if you left my neck alone, Master, sir."

"Very well." says the Master. "You're safe. For now."

And with a flash of light he is gone. The clones look at each other, amazed that there have been no deaths at this meeting (and perhaps a touch disappointed). And with that they file out. As they file out, one of the clones says, "I wonder what we should do with this fellow?" He points to a file folder labeled Beef. "Is he one of ours?"

They continue to walk up over a barrow hill, and disappear from view.

And you are left alone on the hill, wondering if you really saw what just happened.

---

Edit added later: Two links that I never received (perhaps caught up by my spam filter? lost in cyberspace? *cue Vader music* stolen - by them?)

Bug Girl's Blog

and

TANK Vodcast

Sorry, to those of you I missed, it's likely due to the fact that the Skeptics' Circle was assigned to me after another host dropped out at the last minute.