Yahoo reporting on this? What? Yahoo? Leftist putrid duplicituous Yahoo? Its because this is bubbling & Makis & myself & McCullough & Risch are raising needed questions (& Thorp); pilot dies in flight
Yahoo reporting on this? What? Yahoo? Leftist putrid duplicituous Yahoo? Its because this is bubbling & Makis & myself & McCullough & Risch are raising needed questions (& Thorp); pilot dies in flight
This is the mRNA technology gene based COVID vaccine with the mRNA technology made by Kariko, Weissman and that other fellow, you know who, & vaccine made by Sahin, Boula, Bancel, killers!!!!
It could have been a lot worse if the pilot hadn't been jabbed. LATAM's record speaks for itself. Before this incident LATAM had not had any safety incidents for many months and in the most recent of last year's two incidente none of the 40 passengers who were injured died and there were only three fatalities.
Dr. Paul. Please bring up the issue of informed consent. Companies imposing the mandates hid facts from employees so informed consent was literally impossible. DOD sourcing of the shots is one. In Aug ‘21 inspection carried out in Japan showed metal particulate contamination in vaccine vials.. It has been a UNIVERSAL assumption by citizens that the shots are produced by good manufacturing practices expected of Pharma companies. But these are NOT Pharma product and the assumption remained UNCHALLENGED to assure compliance. 100% noncompliances would have forced companies to change their policies. No one on their right mind would take the DOD garbage if they knew. Another precious fact is the BLANK package insert. Not a word to employees. Safety bulletins are supposed to appear on the insert ... the blank page means no safety data from the manufacturer that would have at the same time revealed who the manufacturer was! So far AGs will not touch this because the issue is national. The violation of the EUA and consumer protection laws in 50 states is CRIMINAL. I’m shocked! Shocked! (To paraphrase a famous movie line).
This is all beside the point. The employer is responsible UNDER THE LAW for obtaining informed consent from employees. THEY must provide adequate information to make this judgement. Regarding published results that weigh against the “safe and effective”. messaging that are never mentioned by mainstream media, a vast swath of the public will never look 1/16” below the surface at alternative sources. They were cheated by employers who let them take the Jim Jones KOOL AID shots to gratify their own interests. And they do NOT get to say “we didn’t know” even if they didn’t: the laws governing medical malfeasance do not accept that excuse when they SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. A suggestion: Let’s rent out the ancient pyramids in Mexico and hire some Aztec priests qualified to carry out the old fashioned Sun worship ceremony with CEOs lined up on the steps waiting their turns. A dark joke. But even if all government agencies are immune from prosecution, the corporations that broke the laws behind the veil of “company private” are liable. The evidence is in company records available with a law enforcement investigation. They had loads of legal and medical advisors who should have known.
This comment is for black comedy purposes only, and I believe the only way to deal with pain is through the catharsis of humour.
I recently published a fiction novel called "Big Jon Harry's Revenge".
There is a scene in the novel, where the main character, Big Jon, picks up a woman in-flight and passion overwhelms them both, and they land up making love in the airplane toilet.
I always thought - for me - this would be the perfect way to die.
Not the way this poor pilot did - all alone - in the airplane toilet cubicle with his broken heart exploding.
Seeing that it's Friday, and I feel only slightly suicidal, I thought perhaps some of Paul's readers might be interested in reading the scene, so here it is:
"The overnight flight from His City to the Big City was packed. Although he definitely had the money for a business class, or even a first-class ticket, he preferred the hustle and bustle of an economy class section of the plane. Plus, this was where the easy pickings of travelling-alone-female insomniacs were. All he had to do, was to use his unique concoction of an innocuous offbeat mid-flight conversation, some throwaway humour, and his gorgeous smile – and the effect was almost as good as Rohypnol. He had used Rohypnol once, not on any anonymous female, but on True Love – not that he told her either before or afterwards. He simply told her she was “terribly over-worked and exhausted, and it was her overactive mind telling her body to rest”. He had always had this weird fantasy of wanting to know what it would feel like to sleep with a real dead woman. But sadly, it did not do it for him, because he enjoyed the bow and arrow of sex, that hold and release tingling, that Sagittarius archery of bullseye.
Three and half hours after the plane had become airborne, after having skipped the simply unidentifiable main meal, and having already thrown back three double vodka Bloody Marys, his keen infra-red sense of awareness was switched on. With the excuse of trying to avoid deep vein thrombosis on the tip of his tongue, in case he was ever asked by a fellow passenger why he was doing laps, he commenced his up-and-down-the-one-am-aisle predatory trawl. After two full laps of the economy class area, he had already identified his victim – an attractive Muslim looking lady with her overhead light switched on, who was reading a brochure about what appeared to be the Palm Island property development in Dubai. With no time to waste, he walked slightly past her, then looked back and made like he was squinting at the title of her brochure, which she was holding with the cover facing up at forty-five degrees.
“I wouldn’t buy there myself, I hear the Palm Island structure is sinking” he said to her, convincingly with his gorgeous smile.
She put the brochure down immediately, looking curiously up at him, feeling like she had been struck in the head by some metal pole on account of his instant gravitas.
“Can’t you sleep either?” she said.
“No, I never can. Flying unstabilises me. My name is Jon. My mates call me Big Jon”.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Yasmina. My mates call me Mina” she said laughing ever so slightly, “would you like to sit down – this seat next to me is empty”.
He already liked her instant friendliness.
Shuffling past her, with his back against the seat in front of her, with his face looking at hers, being very careful not to bump into and wake up the passenger in front of her, she smiled at him suggestively.
Him getting comfortable, he dug into his pockets and pulled out four miniature bottles of brandy.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, I shouldn’t really, I’m not supposed to” she replied.
“I’ve spent my entire life thinking that” he said, ignoring her protest and handing her two bottles.
She felt an immediate sensual naughtiness come over her, this unknown attractive man taking her right back to her days as an international fashion journalist working for the Big Magazine in the Big City. There was a pulling force to him, a magnetism she simply had not felt for years.
“Ok, bugger it. Let’s do it” she said, opening both bottles, leaning her head back and letting the gold liquid from both bottles glide down her throat, without even flinching, nor shaking her head to counteract the after-burn.
She then watched him as he downed the two miniature bottles of brandy in quick succession, him keeping his eyes on her, him imagining them on a king-sized bed in Cuba, in the bedroom of a huge semi-run-down Spanish colonial style villa with large shuttered doors opening widely onto a terrace leading to a private beach, a ceiling fan whirling slowly above, the air sticky with humidity, an overhead camera shot of her beautiful feminine back, her black long hair luxurious, her leaning her hands on his shoulders, straddling him, as he held her hips.
“Have you ever?” she asked
“What?” he replied.
“Come with me” she said, getting up and yanking his hand hard, leading him past the rows of snoring passengers, all comatose – some from alcohol, others from sleeping pills, or genuine fatigue, some locked into their own worlds of fear and dread – of all things ritualistic about life and dull daily drudgery, right as she pushed him into a claustrophobic empty airplane toilet in the middle of the economy class section, bolted the door shut, locking her lips onto his like a leech, kissing him hard, them both tasting the brandy, him locking his fingers into hers as real lovers would do, feeling her wedding band on her left hand, her kissing him harder, almost sucking his tongue out of his throat, his mind on the speedboat he was starting up from the quayside of the Cuban semi-run-down Spanish colonial style villa, him holding out his hand to her, helping her gently to get onto the boat, her wearing a beautiful one piece 1980’s style Duran Duran “her name is Rio” white bathing costume. Pushing the throttle up now, he whispered “I love you” into her ear, kissing her romantically on her soft cheek, as the boat started picking up pace now, entering the open water, “are you ready?” she said, without waiting for his answer as he pushed the throttle further up, the boat accelerating, bouncing firmly on the ever so slightly choppy water, them both cantering with the rhythm, her pushing her soft delicate hand, over his huge paw, saying “she can go faster, much faster” as she pushed the throttle up all the way, he held her waist tightly, their velocity increasing to blinding white light as the speedboat lifted off the water like a hydrofoil, her small hands tearing through the back of his expensive silk shirt as they soared together, red-lining at full torque, until they both howled into each other’s mouths still locked into each other at this 35,000 feet altitude kiss of life. She gently slowed the boat down, them trying to catch their singular breath, still kissing very softly as lovers would do, her looking him in the eye, knowing she never would, never had or never could come close to this ever again, him falling in love, again – his big heart breaking and shattering on the claustrophobic filthy airplane bathroom floor.
An entrance to this rabbit hole is "FAA Oct24 2022 Changes to ECG/EKG" Excluding this data point is becoming, well, unfortunate and sad. Many with large platforms are not mentioning this FAA Oct24 2022 change. Pulling on this thread properly provides path towards lifting up many honorable causes all at once.
If the PILOT, was sick three hours into the flight, what was the timeframe of getting the plane to
emergency land? A nurse who rendered help said there wasn't necessary equipment to save his
life, if they could. I wouldn't be flying that airline. I would never fly again anyway. You just don't
know what the cabin air could be circulating.
It could have been a lot worse if the pilot hadn't been jabbed. LATAM's record speaks for itself. Before this incident LATAM had not had any safety incidents for many months and in the most recent of last year's two incidente none of the 40 passengers who were injured died and there were only three fatalities.
Maybe something spooked the pilot and caused a rush of adremaline. Did anyone hear him him say "Those motherf-----s back there are not real?"
Informed consent implies the opposite of what happened here.
Were the passengers the beneficiary of informed consent.
Was the pilot. How about the co-pilot. Anybody?
"Nope, you must get this shot or you are finished as a pilot."
Dr. Paul. Please bring up the issue of informed consent. Companies imposing the mandates hid facts from employees so informed consent was literally impossible. DOD sourcing of the shots is one. In Aug ‘21 inspection carried out in Japan showed metal particulate contamination in vaccine vials.. It has been a UNIVERSAL assumption by citizens that the shots are produced by good manufacturing practices expected of Pharma companies. But these are NOT Pharma product and the assumption remained UNCHALLENGED to assure compliance. 100% noncompliances would have forced companies to change their policies. No one on their right mind would take the DOD garbage if they knew. Another precious fact is the BLANK package insert. Not a word to employees. Safety bulletins are supposed to appear on the insert ... the blank page means no safety data from the manufacturer that would have at the same time revealed who the manufacturer was! So far AGs will not touch this because the issue is national. The violation of the EUA and consumer protection laws in 50 states is CRIMINAL. I’m shocked! Shocked! (To paraphrase a famous movie line).
This is all beside the point. The employer is responsible UNDER THE LAW for obtaining informed consent from employees. THEY must provide adequate information to make this judgement. Regarding published results that weigh against the “safe and effective”. messaging that are never mentioned by mainstream media, a vast swath of the public will never look 1/16” below the surface at alternative sources. They were cheated by employers who let them take the Jim Jones KOOL AID shots to gratify their own interests. And they do NOT get to say “we didn’t know” even if they didn’t: the laws governing medical malfeasance do not accept that excuse when they SHOULD HAVE KNOWN. A suggestion: Let’s rent out the ancient pyramids in Mexico and hire some Aztec priests qualified to carry out the old fashioned Sun worship ceremony with CEOs lined up on the steps waiting their turns. A dark joke. But even if all government agencies are immune from prosecution, the corporations that broke the laws behind the veil of “company private” are liable. The evidence is in company records available with a law enforcement investigation. They had loads of legal and medical advisors who should have known.
This comment is for black comedy purposes only, and I believe the only way to deal with pain is through the catharsis of humour.
I recently published a fiction novel called "Big Jon Harry's Revenge".
There is a scene in the novel, where the main character, Big Jon, picks up a woman in-flight and passion overwhelms them both, and they land up making love in the airplane toilet.
I always thought - for me - this would be the perfect way to die.
Not the way this poor pilot did - all alone - in the airplane toilet cubicle with his broken heart exploding.
Seeing that it's Friday, and I feel only slightly suicidal, I thought perhaps some of Paul's readers might be interested in reading the scene, so here it is:
"The overnight flight from His City to the Big City was packed. Although he definitely had the money for a business class, or even a first-class ticket, he preferred the hustle and bustle of an economy class section of the plane. Plus, this was where the easy pickings of travelling-alone-female insomniacs were. All he had to do, was to use his unique concoction of an innocuous offbeat mid-flight conversation, some throwaway humour, and his gorgeous smile – and the effect was almost as good as Rohypnol. He had used Rohypnol once, not on any anonymous female, but on True Love – not that he told her either before or afterwards. He simply told her she was “terribly over-worked and exhausted, and it was her overactive mind telling her body to rest”. He had always had this weird fantasy of wanting to know what it would feel like to sleep with a real dead woman. But sadly, it did not do it for him, because he enjoyed the bow and arrow of sex, that hold and release tingling, that Sagittarius archery of bullseye.
Three and half hours after the plane had become airborne, after having skipped the simply unidentifiable main meal, and having already thrown back three double vodka Bloody Marys, his keen infra-red sense of awareness was switched on. With the excuse of trying to avoid deep vein thrombosis on the tip of his tongue, in case he was ever asked by a fellow passenger why he was doing laps, he commenced his up-and-down-the-one-am-aisle predatory trawl. After two full laps of the economy class area, he had already identified his victim – an attractive Muslim looking lady with her overhead light switched on, who was reading a brochure about what appeared to be the Palm Island property development in Dubai. With no time to waste, he walked slightly past her, then looked back and made like he was squinting at the title of her brochure, which she was holding with the cover facing up at forty-five degrees.
“I wouldn’t buy there myself, I hear the Palm Island structure is sinking” he said to her, convincingly with his gorgeous smile.
She put the brochure down immediately, looking curiously up at him, feeling like she had been struck in the head by some metal pole on account of his instant gravitas.
“Can’t you sleep either?” she said.
“No, I never can. Flying unstabilises me. My name is Jon. My mates call me Big Jon”.
“Nice to meet you, I’m Yasmina. My mates call me Mina” she said laughing ever so slightly, “would you like to sit down – this seat next to me is empty”.
He already liked her instant friendliness.
Shuffling past her, with his back against the seat in front of her, with his face looking at hers, being very careful not to bump into and wake up the passenger in front of her, she smiled at him suggestively.
Him getting comfortable, he dug into his pockets and pulled out four miniature bottles of brandy.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
“No, I shouldn’t really, I’m not supposed to” she replied.
“I’ve spent my entire life thinking that” he said, ignoring her protest and handing her two bottles.
She felt an immediate sensual naughtiness come over her, this unknown attractive man taking her right back to her days as an international fashion journalist working for the Big Magazine in the Big City. There was a pulling force to him, a magnetism she simply had not felt for years.
“Ok, bugger it. Let’s do it” she said, opening both bottles, leaning her head back and letting the gold liquid from both bottles glide down her throat, without even flinching, nor shaking her head to counteract the after-burn.
She then watched him as he downed the two miniature bottles of brandy in quick succession, him keeping his eyes on her, him imagining them on a king-sized bed in Cuba, in the bedroom of a huge semi-run-down Spanish colonial style villa with large shuttered doors opening widely onto a terrace leading to a private beach, a ceiling fan whirling slowly above, the air sticky with humidity, an overhead camera shot of her beautiful feminine back, her black long hair luxurious, her leaning her hands on his shoulders, straddling him, as he held her hips.
“Have you ever?” she asked
“What?” he replied.
“Come with me” she said, getting up and yanking his hand hard, leading him past the rows of snoring passengers, all comatose – some from alcohol, others from sleeping pills, or genuine fatigue, some locked into their own worlds of fear and dread – of all things ritualistic about life and dull daily drudgery, right as she pushed him into a claustrophobic empty airplane toilet in the middle of the economy class section, bolted the door shut, locking her lips onto his like a leech, kissing him hard, them both tasting the brandy, him locking his fingers into hers as real lovers would do, feeling her wedding band on her left hand, her kissing him harder, almost sucking his tongue out of his throat, his mind on the speedboat he was starting up from the quayside of the Cuban semi-run-down Spanish colonial style villa, him holding out his hand to her, helping her gently to get onto the boat, her wearing a beautiful one piece 1980’s style Duran Duran “her name is Rio” white bathing costume. Pushing the throttle up now, he whispered “I love you” into her ear, kissing her romantically on her soft cheek, as the boat started picking up pace now, entering the open water, “are you ready?” she said, without waiting for his answer as he pushed the throttle further up, the boat accelerating, bouncing firmly on the ever so slightly choppy water, them both cantering with the rhythm, her pushing her soft delicate hand, over his huge paw, saying “she can go faster, much faster” as she pushed the throttle up all the way, he held her waist tightly, their velocity increasing to blinding white light as the speedboat lifted off the water like a hydrofoil, her small hands tearing through the back of his expensive silk shirt as they soared together, red-lining at full torque, until they both howled into each other’s mouths still locked into each other at this 35,000 feet altitude kiss of life. She gently slowed the boat down, them trying to catch their singular breath, still kissing very softly as lovers would do, her looking him in the eye, knowing she never would, never had or never could come close to this ever again, him falling in love, again – his big heart breaking and shattering on the claustrophobic filthy airplane bathroom floor.
Guess they better get them one pilot mandates in effect before the public catches on to what's happening.
An entrance to this rabbit hole is "FAA Oct24 2022 Changes to ECG/EKG" Excluding this data point is becoming, well, unfortunate and sad. Many with large platforms are not mentioning this FAA Oct24 2022 change. Pulling on this thread properly provides path towards lifting up many honorable causes all at once.
It was climate change 🥹