It is a measure of how stressed by and obsessed with the current election we have become, that recently four of the Review’s editorial staff shared a common dream, in which a voice identifying itself as Jeane Dixon, the late psychic and adviser to the rich and famous, intoned over and over, “If you build it, he will come,” while a paunchy, balding figure in a Greek tunic frolicked about, strewing flower petals over a verdant dreamscape and, in the words of one, “barking about chemtrails.” All four dreamers agreed that the dancing figure was none other than Alex Jones, the noted conspiracy theorist and performance paranoid-schizophrenic. By contacting infowars.com, Mr. Jones’s web site, we learned that Mr. Jones himself had had this same dream, though he took issue with our use of the words “paunchy” and “barking.”
That very night, all of the Review’s dreamers and Jones shared another dream, in which a(n) Ouija board and a Magic 8 Ball figured prominently (according to one account, “suggestively”).
So it was that last week, at our invitation, Alex Jones surreptitiously visited Sherman Oaks, where we drew the curtains in our candlelit and incense-fogged conference room and took notes and selfies and videoed the whole schmear as the following discussion played out.
ALEX JONES [AJ]: Despite the whining of liberals and so-called “climate scientists,” I am hoping to reconnect with the spirit calling herself “Jeane Dixon.” And by the way, let me tell you, I have nothing against science per se. But when you have the physics Mafia, the chemistry Mafia, and the meteorological Mafia — all under the control of Rahm Emanuel, by the way — when you have them conspiring to change the hot dog recipes in as many as eight Major League stadiums, in my opinion you have a problem.
MAGIC 8 BALL [M8B]: Concentrate and ask again.
[A Magic 8-Ball is a giant 8-ball shaped device inside of which an icosahedron, or whatever it is, floats around. On each of its faces is printed a different general, all-purpose reply. The user asks the 8-Ball a question, turns it upside down, and reads whatever message floats into the little window on the bottom. It’s very stupid, but also random and, therefore, plausible.—Ed.]
JEANE DIXON VIA OUIJA BOARD [OB]: Never mind, cue ball. I’m here.
[A Ouija board communicates by spelling out words and identifying numbers and other symbols. The operator places her or his hands on a lens on a small stand—the so-called “planchette.” The operator then “receives” “guidance” from “the spirit realm” and, by touch, communicates to the planchette which letters or symbols it should hover over. The extensive answers from the Ouija Board transcribed here were obtained via patient, taxing planchette-handling by several of the Review’s intern-slaves. —Ed.]
AJ: And where, exactly, is here?
M8B: Better not tell you now.
AJ: OK, OK. Can you tell me, then, why are we here?
OB: America. My country ‘tis of thee. The mess in the media, the putrescence in politics. Roles and responsibilities misunderstood and ignored. I’m dead. I should be past caring. But I can’t help myself. This election was just too juicy!
AJ: Hey, kid. Can’t you spell faster? Move that thing!
[INTERN: NO!]
AJ: Wait, Dixon. Did you say “was”? How can it be “was” when the election hasn’t happened yet? Something stinks to high heaven and it isn’t your Shalimar, honey.
OB: Well, to me the election has already taken place. I exist outside of space and time, you see.
AJ: Let’s say I believe you. I’m not saying I do, but let’s say. So? Spill it. Who won?
M8b: It is decidedly so.
AJ: Not you, asshole. Jeane. Who?
OB: Do you really want to know?
AJ: I want to know everything! Even if it’s not true. So tell!
OB: Not yet. Let’s get to know each other first.
AJ: Okay, fine. And as long as I’m asking the questions, why me?
OB: You’re my stooge.
AJ: God damn it–!
OB: I meant Scrooge. Damn AutoCorrect. You know, “Bah, Humbug!”
AJ: Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Scrooge Dickens didn’t believe in Christmas. What kind of an American was he? Don’t ask. But that’s not me. I believe in Trump. Trump is our voice crying out in the wilderness, a strong man for a time of sissies, an Eastwood for the West Wing. Has he done enough to electrify the electorate, to unify the pride and passion of America’s working man? Will he fulfill his destiny to lead America back to greatness?
M8B: Ask again later.
AJ: Alrighty, we can play this your way. What did you know, and when will you know it?
M8B: Signs point to yes.
OB: Oh, the outlook is crystal clear, actually. But tell me, do you want results, or outcomes?
AJ: Don’t get smart, lady. You’re balking on Trump’s triumph because you don’t know! You’re not just dead, you’re a dead fraud!
OB: I am not a fraud. I’m as real as you are. Isn’t that true, Magic 8 Ball?
M8B: Very doubtful.
AJ: You are both wasting my time.
M8B: Don’t count on it.
OB: We are saving [Italics added. – Ed.] you time, and giving you the unfair advantage that all politicians and media relish—the gift of prophecy!
AJ: Put up or shut up. Time to talk swing states!
OB: You’re thinking results; you need to think outcomes.
AJ: Listen, I don’t believe in “political correctness.” Who needs correctness when you’re right?
OB: Well, anyway, I can tell you: only one swing state mattered.
AJ: Oh no! Don’t tell me!
M8B: Ask me again.
AJ: Don’t tell me! It was Florida, wasn’t it?
[Long silence]
AJ: I told you not to tell me. So. Florida. Again.
OB: Again. And closer than ever.
AJ: So who wins? Or won? Or wins?
M8B: My sources say no.
OB: It was too close to call.
AJ: Too close? But . . .
OB: So the Supreme Court mobilized. Then, all of a sudden, the Electoral College found a voice.
AJ: They did? I mean, they will?
M8B: You may depend on it.
AJ: I don’t depend on anything, Ball. Except my ability to connect the dots. Even when they’re not there.
OB: So they decided to settle the election with a duel. It was actually Lin-Manuel Miranda’s idea. ESPN hired him to make up poems about the event.
AJ: What? Wait! A duel?
OB: Chief Justice Roberts designated flintlock pistols. Because that’s what the Founding Fathers intended a duel to be. Apparently he had bought them at a gun show.
AJ: 8 Ball, is she shitting me?
M8B: Don’t count on it.
OB: It happens right on the Mall.
AJ: Hmmm. And Trump and Hillary have the same military experience! They’ll be evenly matched.
OB: They put up bullet-proof glass for the spectators. But their seconds and all the commentators are fair game. Oh, and that man from the NRA was there…will be there, too. Wayne La Pierre. He’s a special guest of the Texas delegation. And he looks nervous. I think he was trying to stay out of range of Hillary.
AJ: Enough foreplay! It’s un-American! Give me the bullet points on the outcome! Give me my angle, my lede! I need a coup de grace!
OB: Like a head shot? Remember, Alex, I predicted the JFK head shot.
AJ: Seriously: What happens?
OB: Trump should have seen it coming; I certainly did. They’re about 15 paces into the walk-off, when all of a sudden, that pretty girl from Fox News—
AJ: Which one? Who’s left?
OB: Megyn Kelly shouts out, “I’ll show you bleeding!” She throws a bundle of papers out onto the Field of Honor.
AJ: Serving Trump with another lawsuit? I knew it–
OB: No, they’re Trump’s tax returns.
AJ: No!
M8B: Yes!
AJ: But . . . such fabrications . . . surely can’t stand the light of day!!?!?!.
OB: You will be amazed — but not surprised any more, thanks to me. When Trump saw that, and when he realized who had done it, he…well…
AJ: Called his lawyer? Called his children? Called for—
OB: He exploded.
AJ: Is that some kind of metaphor? He, what—got mad?
OB: He physically exploded. In a big orange ball of fire. There were no survivors.
AJ: So Megyn Kelly . . . is a suicide bomber? I knew it! Well, I didn’t know it. But I almost knew it.
M8B: Ask again later.
OB: So there is your story.: ISIS will claim credit. Kim Jong-Un will claim credit. Roger Ailes will claim credit. Putin will say nothing — but he did it.
AJ: So Putin is in cahoots with Megyn Kelley to destroy Donald Trump. I knew it!
OB: And so, it will be the best of times, it will be the worst of times. History is written by the survivors. So far, that includes you, Alex. Better stay away from the Mall.
AJ: Copy that, sister. I’ll be broadcasting from my home studio that day.
OB: And now I feel—
AJ: But I’m sure telling Glenn Beck he should go.
M8B: It is decidedly so.
OB: –losing the connection…Good-bye!
AJ: And God bless America!
OB: No. God help America.
[Italics hers. You could hear it. End of transcript.—Ed.]
