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Art Bell Scares Us


Lions and Tigers and......Aliens?
Oh My!

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There's a guy, Art Bell, who used to live in Nevada -- a dusty, depressing little town called Pahrump. It's such an inconsequential place that we're not going to even bother to see if we spelled it correctly. We've been there many times. Passing through. Quickly. We tried not to look out the car windows too much. Fortunately it was over in seconds.

Art Bell runs a national radio program from his home, formerly in Pahrump, now in the Philippines. Art specializes in "woo-woo" stuff (aliens, UFOs, occult, etc.) and works hard to bring a balanced, logical viewpoint to areas and topics that are fraught with irrationality and sometimes even hysteria. We have a problem with people who see aliens under every rock, behind every couch, and between every pair of stars. There may be aliens, there may not be. But we doubt they're very common in the best, or worst, -case scenario. They're probably SO rare that not more than about 1 in 100,000 people who claim to have seen them, really have. As far as we're concerned Whitley Strieber, author of Communion, and his ilk, are about as uncredible as it gets, witless hacks taking advantage of susceptible minds yet not providing even low-grade entertainment for the rest of us. Shameless fakes. We watched, embarrassed for these people, as seemingly all of Phoenix reported huge space ships above the city, just floating along here, or there. We watched the video feeds and instantly recognized military flares dropped from aircraft. We've seen them many, many times on rustler patrol in the cool, clear skies of Nevada near the Fallon air base. One of the so-called UFOs over Phoenix that night was, we promise, guarantee, cross our hearts and hope to die, a set of flares dropped on a training mission. Really. That's what they were. The fact that there is any more than 1.7 seconds of controversy over what those lights were, makes us slightly nauseous. How can so many, be so gullible? It's shocking. And it's scarier than the damned aliens themselves. If the whole of Phoenix, Arizona can make such a blatant mistake, and have that mistake replicated and perpetuated over and over and over through subsequent news feeds and woo woo alien documentaries for years, how many other alien sightings can be easily explained if the FACTS (you remember those pesky, inconvenient things) were known? It happens that folks also say they saw a giant triangular craft moving over the city at or near the same time. Initially the media ran interviews from people who had examined that particular nighttime phenomenon with telescopes, and stated they could quite clearly see "little airplanes". In other words, ultralights. Curiously, those people were only interviewed early-on, and when it was discovered by the ever-breathless media that there wasn't much interest in truth, they stopped interviewing those folks but kept on interviewing those who SWORE they had seen little green men inside those "ships". Talk about a biased investigation! Why are we so sure those were ultralights playing a prank on the city, flying in formation with lights? Because we've done the very same thing in the Northwest. The Very. Same. Thing. And it worked marvelously. We've also, as a prank, filled rubber sex dolls with catsup and rolled them out of our ultralights so they'd splat impressively in people's yards. Woo! THAT was fun! We used to bombard friends with eggs from 5000 feet. Then we discovered that was kind of dangerous, but since we got lucky and never actually hit anyone, it was still kind of funny and luckily not tragic. We used to have our spies tell us when friends were heading out in their boats for the weekend, and we'd climb out to about 10,000 feet and loose dozens upon dozens of streamers of toilet paper rolls, allowed to unwind from a pencil held out the window. The streamers would float down across the course of the boats, and a few would ultimately end up in their rigging. By that time, of course, we were 50 miles away and they never knew what hit them. That was GREAT fun until we did it on a drizzly day in an old '46 Luscombe 8-A, and about 15 rolls stacked up on the leading edge of the horizontal stabilizer, making the aircraft react oddly for a few minutes and scaring the hell out of us. But the point is, these types of tricks and stunts and practical jokes are done every day. Why do you think we ended up running a website like this? Because we're cracked, and thankfully our peers number in the millions. Are ALL alien sightings nonsense? Is there ANY such thing as aliens? We can't say. We wish we could say. All we know for certain is that some aerial phenomenon seems to defy explanation. Here's a story from the owner of this biz, pasted in here in his own words, in blue:

I was probably eight years old. I was a scaredy cat. That can sometimes come from being small, and skinny, and insecure. Alien movies scared the hell out of me. It didn't take much. There was a period in my eighth summer in which our family spent most weekends at a relative's rural house in Sumner, Washington. We kids would run and play and chase the bull and get chased by the bull and play hide and seek, or Monopoly, and the adults would barbeque and drink beer and laugh and tell stories and pretty-much ignore us to do what we wished until the wee hours of the morning when they'd find us asleep on the floor and cart us off home. It began late in that summer that the adults started to notice some odd lights in the sky. It was discussed, everyone marveled at them. They'd zoom and swoop and make high-speed, right-angle turns. I didn't really know any of this to be true because I was afraid to look at them. I was pretty-sure that the moment I did, it would send a signal to the otherworldly heathens and they'd zero in on me and land and eat me. That'd be an ugly scene, one easily avoided by simply not looking up. It just didn't pay to let them know you knew. For the next several weekends this process was repeated for every evening's barbeque. Each weekend the lights seemed to get more brazen, making lower passes, zipping faster, reversing back on themselves without slowing down. The adults began to surmise they were sort of showing off, and they began to time the routes of the lights and finally determined that they were executing some types of patterns over and over again. But I didn't really know, because I was still afraid to look at them. I don't recall how many weekends were spent in this fashion, but they became a burden to me. I learned to loath the announcement that we were going to another barbeque that Saturday night. My God! Why tempt the odds! We had so far escaped unscathed, unmolested and un-eaten! How lucky could we really expect to be if we continued going out there on weekends? But for some unknown reason we kept going back. On this final weekend of the summer, sure enough, the damned things were back. They apparently became SO spectacular that the adults finally became alarmed and started calling McChord Air Force Base, the local Sheriff, the Tacoma Police, the Fire Department, anyone who'd listen. But no one did listen. It was felt that something really stinking big was going on in the skies above Sumner, and while the women were nervous, the men were determined that SOMEONE should know! But no one cared. No one at all. That perplexed the men. And me. Finally, that last night, I decided to take a sneak peek. I was lying on an old webbed chase lounge, next to the barbeque, and I'd been listening to horror stories passed back and forth between the adults -- missing crewmen off of Navy ships, told by the Navy man in the group, and tales of airmen who'd been found freshly dead. Of fright. A year after their aircraft went missing. You know the types of stories half drunk adults pass around the campfire at midnight, for the express purpose of doing extreme and irreparable damage to their skinny, scaredy-cat kids. But I finally did look up into the night sky from the safety of my chase lounge and here's what I saw: I saw a sky full of stars. And a few of them were moving. They were of average brightness, and they moved at about the same speeds as would the aircraft that came and went out of McChord AFB every 120 seconds. Each light consisted of one white light only. They moved gracefully. Except sometimes they didn't. They would cross the sky from south to north and then--- with the abruptness of the little white dot in the old game of Pong, they'd reverse right back on their course. Or they'd make a 90 degree turn, or a 140 degree turn. It was as though they'd fly until they hit a giant, invisible brick wall fifty thousand feet high; they'd bounce off it and continue on at their same original speed as if nothing happened. Nothing at all. I saw perhaps 3-5 of these lights, and watched them for maybe 30 seconds. This was the very end of the light show. Right about then we had to go home, and I don't recall ever having another barbeque there again. The lights were real. They defied any known laws of physics or propulsion. They would defy them today. We never have had a technology that could even begin to do what those lights did, night after night after night in the 1950's. It so happened that, about two weeks later, that same family of relatives was having another barbeque, luckily without us. It was 10 p.m., dark, a bit foggy, when all of a sudden two huge, dark, extremely muscular LEGS, and legs alone, came walking up the road in front of this family's house. The legs were grotesque, rippling with muscles, walking upright as a human would, but the hip was at the height of a tall man's shoulders. The woman screamed. The MEN screamed, and everyone bolted for the house, the men to fetch their guns and the gals to jam the bathroom. About then the car headlights that had been illuminating this hideous creature from quarter of a mile away bounced upward and finally illuminated the rider in the saddle on the horse that had just made its way through a mud bog down at the neighbor's pig farm. Damned scary stuff though. Goes to show what things can SEEM to be.I had another experience at a rock concert at Red Rocks state park outside of Denver. It's a magical place. High, red rock cliffs, which seemed to claim one or two drunken hippies who fell 300 feet every damned concert. I'd been drinking. The music (Three Dog Night) had been electrifying. I was up in the rocks with friends. My God it was a night. Then someone shouted that there were huge, bright-as-the-sun lights just rounding one of the sandstone bluffs about a thousand yards away and maybe 150 feet in the air. I looked up, and sure enough. Two or three HUGE, blindingly bright lights were making a slow sweep around the bluff. The lights emitted by these craft were far, far brighter than anything I'd ever seen, ever imagined. And just when I was willing to write them off as stupidly-low flying airplanes I realized that they were silent. Utterly, totally, deathly silent. The band was packing up its gear. The amps were off. These things were well close enough to be heard. Yet there was nothing. My mind went kind of blank for a few seconds. It just wouldn't compute what it was seeing. It was racing through its memory banks, trying to put an identity to this phenomenon, but nothing fit. They were not remotely familiar. And finally, the stunned and near-panic brain clicked on an identifier: Space ships. That explanation fit perfectly with what we were seeing. The mind snatched at the possibility and hung on tight. I was seeing real, REAL flying saucers. And they came closer still, and STILL they were absolutely silent. There was no way on earth that any aircraft could get that close without the sound of their engines or turbines becoming deafening. Yet there they were. My brain did go into panic mode then. They were still coming straight at us. Everyone had stopped, frozen stock-still, and were watching. Should I run? I waited for broad green rays to pierce the night and begin mowing down swaths of drunken hippies as the global annihilation began. I was really, truly scared. It felt as though I'd been hit in the head with a baseball bat and I could taste the blood. So this was it. The end.Then the quirky wind that was blowing through the huge sandstone pinnacles and bluffs changed and you could clearly hear the whine of the helicopter turbines. They were just scanning for strays out on the bluffs. Well bite my ass.I had one more inexplicable experience, for a total of two. I was doing the hippie thing, hitching across the country. I didn't just do it once on a lark like the children of yuppies did. I did it for years. I never do anything half way. But on a particularly irritating trip, I was coming back to Denver from San Francisco (out there doing the Haight-Ashbury thing), and I got stuck in a Godforsaken little burg called Winnemucca, Nevada. It was a cowboy town. Now it's just another damned yuppy town. I made it to the eastern outskirts of town (long before there was an I-80), and sat there on my backpack for four (4) days and three (3) nights trying to get a ride. I'd have taken a ride with Satan to get out of that town. There were a bunch of hippies out there with me for the first day. Long hair types. Hard core, seasoned brethren of the highway, like me, so I thought. None of us could get a ride. Cowboys hate hippies. I can't count how many times the cowboys came along in their pickups and flattened the duffle bags and backpacks of these other guys. Ten? At least! Each time these long hair bastards would have to dive into the sage as the cowboys did donuts on their gear. I didn't really like seeing that. I was never bothered, because I was a relatively short-haired hippy, and had actually spent some time working on a ranch by then, and was good with wild horses, and maybe I looked and moved like I was good with wild horses, and the locals probably weren't 100% sure if I was one of them or not. I could honestly go either way. But they left me strictly alone. Finally these other poor schmucks came up to me and announced that they'd had enough, they were walking back into town and were going to charter a plane to go home. I chortled. They showed me a pack of credit cards and laughed when they said they'd be home beside the pool in Santa Barbara by nightfall, eating vegetables and sipping flavored mineral water. I've no doubt they were. Lightweights. I spent three more days and three nights there, never again molested by the cowboys after the hippies wimped out and went home. I slept in the scrub a hundred yards off the road the first night. The next night I slept 50 yards off the highway, after discovering that I had, on the first night, gone to sleep five feet from a major railway, and the westbound freight that came through at 3 a.m. took 3 years, 5 months and 16 days off my young life. On the morning of the 4th day, perhaps as late as noon, a semi picked me up and I thanked him from the bottom of my heart. It was an overcast day, gray, looked like it might drizzle, but of course it never drizzles out there. It was cold. We talked a bit and headed east, toward Salt Lake City, hundreds of miles to the east, a solid seven hour trip on the old road, in a heavily loaded semi truck. Since this was before the freeway, the old highway was a slow road, winding through cow towns and villages and four-way stops that are now all major off-ramps and towns. At least, the highway meandered thus. We did not. About 12-15 minutes east, out of Winnemucca, the driver announced that it was so bright he just couldn't see. I then realized that it WAS so bright he couldn't see, and neither could I! I couldn't even see the road. I shielded my eyes and tried to look out the windows, but I couldn't see a damned thing. I couldn't see the road, I couldn't see the desert, I couldn't see the sky. I could only open my eyes as slits; even that hurt. Must have been one hell of a bright sunny day. We had slowed down from about 50, to 20 mph, and were just creeping along, the driver looking for a place to pull over. I glimpsed another car, coming at us, apparently doing the same. We both pulled off onto the right (southern) shoulder.About three minutes later, maybe five, I noticed a road sign as we cruised along at 55 mph. It said, "Salt Lake City 17". I laughed out loud. Pretty good trick! Some yokel had gone to Salt Lake city and ripped out the highway sign and brought it all the way back here to the outskirts of Winnemucca and had planted it to throw off the unwary tourist. Ha! Served them right. That was a good piece of humor. A tidy little practical joke. I appreciated that. A mind just like my own had pulled that off. Kudos to whomsoever. I kept chuckling as we rumbled along. I discussed it with the driver, and he chuckled too, though he obviously didn't fully appreciate the mind that had pulled that off. Still, it was an ok joke. Then we came around a slow bend to the right, and out across the flats, to the right of the Great Salt Lake, off in the gray distance, was Salt Lake City. Huh?I know my mouth fell open. My mind raced to identify the situation. The driver was speechless, and, preoccupied with this, he let our speed fall off to about 20 mph again. HUH? What in bloody hell was going on? I hadn't a clue. Nothing. Nada. Zip. We were hundreds of miles farther along our course than we could possibly have been. About two hours had passed. I realized we had never, ever gone through any of the little towns I knew so well, having lived for some time in Ely and being familiar with the region. We'd never gone through Elko. We had most definitely NOT crossed the Great Salt Lake Desert. I loved that place, and was always excited to cross it. But we hadn't. We had NOT. We. Had. Not. I promise. We somehow skipped the entire Great Salt Lake Desert. We skipped it! The driver and I just kept looking at each other. We raised our eyebrows. We shrugged. We shook our heads. We each started to open our mouths, then shut them. What comment can you possibly make? In Salt Lake the driver stopped where our paths parted, and I got out of the truck and hefted my baggage, and I just stood there with the door open, looking at him, and he looking at me, and several times we started to speak, but again we couldn't. After a minute I shut the door and walked away. After a long minute I heard the truck grind into gear and pull away too. I didn't look back. Oddly I didn't see that story as important enough to mention to anyone for perhaps 20 years. I told it to my wife. After that she went around making woo-woo noises. I never once had a nightmare about that event. I never once suspected I'd been abducted by aliens, and I still have not the slightest, smallest reason to think that's what happened, or even MIGHT have happened. I don't see alien faces in the night, in my dreams, or anywhere else. Just because I can't explain how an event occurred doesn't automatically mean that extraterrestrials were involved. I think 9 out of 10 so-called "abductees" are quackers, attention seekers. I don't know what the other 10% are. I doubt they're abductees. Probably they're just, well, somehow misguided. I think there's a "good chance" that alien life exists. Is it visiting us? I'm just not prepared to say that I believe it is, and I'm the guy who IS positively convinced that factions within our own government killed Kennedy. Still, aliens? Abductions? I'm just not there. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I'm open minded. I hope I won't be TOO shocked if I ever discover that they're really real. But so far.....I just haven't seen the EVIDENCE. SHOW ME THE MONEY! Show me an alien foot. Show me, well, anything concrete! I'm happy to believe then. Hell, maybe I even WANT to believe. But I ain't there yet.I had one other inexplicable experience that I'd forgotten about until an old crew member read this page and reminded me of it:This ocurred in about 1980. I was piloting a tug in Puget Sound. It was winter, about 1 a.m., in dense fog with visibility less than one boat-length. We were pushing a barge ahead of us and could only see to a short way down the barge. We were running on radar, set to the highest resolution, so that the entire screen showed an area of about 200 yards in diameter or less, with us in the center. We came to a narrow pass over which a bridge had been built. There was room for only our barge to pass beneath the bridge and between the abutments. As we approached, still about 200 yards out, radar showed a vessel also approaching the passage from the other side, headed toward us. Seeing this, I reduced speed to a crawl and waited for the other vessel to come through the passage. It continued to a point directly under the bridge, then stopped. We waited, still edging slowly toward the passage, maybe 150 yards out now. But the blip stayed exactly under the bridge. We figured it was some pleasure boat -- the blip represented a vessel of probably 25-30 feet in length. It was a perfectly round blip -- no elongated shape to it at all, but it was a clearly defined bright target, absolutely solid. As we came to a point about 75 yards from the passage under the bridge, I stopped the screws and simply drifted, waiting for this blip to clear the passage. However it didn't move. We finally tried to reach it on the radio without success. We asked Seattle Traffic if it knew of any vessel that was checked into the system in this area; it did not. We tried a few blasts of the horn, and received no response. We turned a 25,000,000 candlepower spotlight on (powered by its own dedicated genset) and pointed it in that direction. We didn't expect it to cut through the fog, and it didn't. But we hoped to produce a glow that would alert the other vessel to the fact that someone else was trying to get through the passage. This also brought no response and the blip remained stationary. By now we had drifted fairly close to the passage, and I was concerned that if the other vessel was also looking at us on radar, he might think that there wasn't room for him to get through the passage with us being there, so I backed off and maneuvered around to the side of the channel, yet not inside the passage under the bridge. In this way the other vessel could see that we were fully clear of his course and he would move on through. But he did not. Finally, a little exasperated, I decided to edge the barge through ever so slowly. I placed a crewman on the bow of the barge with a light and a radio, and I intended to run the barge up and actually gently touch the other vessel if need be, to get its attention. As we came to a point in the center of the passage, about 50 yards from the blip, the blip suddenly reversed backward in a straight line and vanished. Since it should have remained visible to our radar for many miles, we were perplexed when we could no longer see it at a distance of about 150 yards. At that point I poured on some power and proceeded to move through the narrow passage. However we had not built up more than 3 or 4 knots when the blip came straight back at us. A collision seemed imminent, so I put the tug in emergency reverse, and we backed completely out of the channel again. By this time I was pissed. We assumed this was some dumb-ass in a pleasure boat who was simply playing with us. He was obviously capable of maneuvering around in zero-zero fog, and could certainly find his way to and from and back to the channel, so it was certain he could also see us on radar. As we backed out of the channel the blip moved in to exactly where we'd just been, and remained stationary. Again we played a waiting game, and after a few minutes, the blip slowly backed out of his side of the passage and vanished again. This time, determined to get through the passage before he returned, we made all haste for the passage and managed to get halfway through before the blip came back and blocked our way. Over the course of perhaps 20 or more minutes this or something similar was repeated 3 or 4 times. At last we backed out into open water (a wider portion of the channel) again and simply sat there. We put a skiff in the water and were going to guide a crewman by radio and radar to the offender, and once and for all find out what the hell he was up to. We had no sooner started the motor on the skiff when the blip finally came deliberately through the passage and headed straight for us. I wanted to be able to yell at this vessel and to hear any reply, so I shut down the main engine of the tug and the outboard. The fog was absolute, with visibility 40 feet. It was no more than 30-40 feet from either side of the tug to the beach on either side of us. It was now utterly silent. No one spoke. You could hear the cigarettes of the crewmen crackle as they drew on them, and you could hear the tiny whine of the tiny electric motor that turned the open array radar antenna clear up on the mast. An oar in an oarlock, even wrapped with greased leather, would have been heard clearly. Had someone on the beach gently cleared their throat the sound would have been crystal clear to us. We watched the blip come ahead at us at about ten knots, and it appeared it was going to just brush by our port side. Everyone went out to the rail and waited. We waited and strained our ears to hear its engine -- there was not a breath of wind and no vessel could have sailed by us unpowered. We waited, and waited, and watched the blip, and when it was exactly abeam of us, and almost merged with us on radar, we realized that there was no sound at all from this shape moving through the fog. Not the faintest whisper. Not even the gentle swish of a slippery hull moving through calm water. The blip continued past us, and we strained to see a wake. There was not even the wake that a passing rowboat would have made. The glassy water was absolutely undisturbed. The blip continued past us and at a point about 150 yards astern of us it disappeared off radar. We continued through the passage uneventfully, and that was that.

With the above in mind, realize that the owner of this company has run across an intriguing little piece of....well....of "something". It's not an alien turd or video of Paris Hilton getting banged by three siamese aliens, though that wouldn't surprise us one damned whit. It's just the ramblings of a, well, a lunatic. On tape. --Phoned in to the Art Bell show some weeks back. We're pretty sure we can air this small segment here under the Fair Use umbrella. We're not selling this. It's a short excerpt, it's being used for educational purposes and we're soliciting public comment and interpretation. Art can sue us if he wants to, but we're pretty sure we're safe.None of us in the shop has ever listened to an entire Art Bell show. His callers are almost always just too wacky and irrational, and Art lets them ramble on far too long. There's probably some very thought-provoking content in there, but it's too hard to fish out and separate from the old boots and rotten stockings. We'd love to listen to an edited version of his show. In the meantime we'll stick with the Sci-Fi channel.This clip REQUIRES that you listen to it ALL THE WAY THROUGH (it's only about a minute and a half long). --All the way through the minute of dead air. Only then will you really understand what has happened. Remember, all the way to the end. If your significant other starts fidgeting, smack 'em up alongside the head. Five across the eyes. That'll get their attention. At first you'll hear a man call in. We wrote him off in the first five seconds as just another Art Bell Whack-Job. You'll come to that same conclusion. But we've gone back and done some layman's analysis on this situation. Listen to the tape, then read our thoughts on it below. And below that, please cast your vote. There's no way we (the people) will EVER know the truth of this thing, but we're curious how YOU (the people) feel about it and what conclusions you've come to. On the surface this clip is nothing. But dig deeper, and it's intriguing. Irregardless, it's chilling. Even if the poor guy is just another schizophrenic who lost his meds, it's still chilling. This clip is about four megs. We've left it in this format because it's clear, and you need to be able to hear it clearly. Allow it time to load (just a few seconds on broadband). NOTE: At about 25 seconds into this tape the sound goes dead. To understand what has happened you must listen to the tape all the way through, even through the 20 seconds or so of dead air, and all the way to the very end of the clip.

Listen to call

(When you click the link above a new window will open and you MAY be asked if you want to OPEN or SAVE the sound file. If asked, choose OPEN; your browser should then start its default sound player and you'll hear the recording play out). Okay. You've heard it all. Have you assimilated that? You listened to the entire tape, right? Now let's analyze this a bit.We're convinced this guy was genuinely scared. That's a given and we give it to him without reservation or hesitation. Whether that fear is the result of something real or something imagined we're not sure, but we believe it to be FACT that he's scared.We believe that people who would call in to Art Bell to tell a fabricated story that only he knows would be primarily of the personality type who would be looking for attention. In order to attract the most attention such an individual would most usually make up a story in which he is perceived as somehow more powerful than he really is, smarter than he really is, more capable than he really is -- in other words, he wants to place himself in the best possible light. Here we have this poor schmuck who calls in and right off the bat announces that he's been let go from Area 51 (doesn't make him look good) and that he was let go for "medical reasons". No one wants to reveal weakness from poor health (mental OR physical), especially not a flawed personality who's looking for credibility so he can pass off a fabricated tale to make himself look good or cool! The person wanting to tell a lie wants to look good, strong, not weak and suspect. Yet this guy had no qualms about just stating that right up front and revealing his weaknesses to the entire world (a - can't hold a job; b - can't hold a job because he's sick and/or weak). Also, if a flawed personality is looking for plain old sympathy, they would tend to try to talk about their affliction, maybe enhance it a little, work up some sympathy for it. But this guy seems a bit put-off by his medical weakness, and is not interested in talking about it further. In fact, he never even brought it up; Art asked him if he worked at Area 51 and he said no, not for the past week due to a medical problem. He didn't elaborate, and he could have at that point. It could well be that he's going nuts, and THAT was his "medical condition". But even if he is, did he go nuts from "natural causes" or did something at Area 51 DRIVE him nuts?The guy rambles on and then mentions that he doesn't have much time, that "they" (you know -- THEM, the government) would be able to "triangulate" on him soon. As it happens we know something about "triangulation", as we used to be involved in the marine rescue field and often had to triangulate on the signals of sinking ships to find them and get their crews off. Triangulate is the right word, and with good equipment it can be done manually in maybe 15-30 seconds, or electronically almost instantly.Regarding Area 51 and this guy's employment there, we know that workers at Area 51 are finely screened. It's unlikely that a mentally disturbed individual would ever be hired at Area 51, not even as a janitor. It's almost as unlikely that anyone who is even remotely PRONE to going nuts would be hired there. The background checks are more thorough than you can imagine. So. Where does that leave us? It means that if this guy actually worked at Area 51, the odds are he went nuts (if he is nuts) WHILE in the employ of the Area 51 program. But how could that be? The government says all it has out there are airplanes. --Secret airplanes may be, but still just airplanes. Airplanes aren't likely to drive people nuts. Still, a certain percentage of the population does "just go nuts" from time to time, with no apparent warning and no determined cause. So it could be this guy just naturally went nuts and was laid off due to being nuts! Could happen. But if he just naturally went nuts, why would he be fixated specifically on the threat of interdimensional beings? Well, every fantasy has to start somewhere. Maybe he just spontaneously thought it up.Or maybe his fantasy is based on reality. Or maybe his fantasy isn't a fantasy after all, but a direct reporting of things he's seen? We have trouble with that scenario. But there's more.In "alien lore" much of which is suspect and biased, but much of which is also corroborated by identical tales from around the world spanning nations and cultures and continents and generations and centuries and eras.....there are many reported cases of beings appearing to be "interdimensional", which would explain their apparent ability to move without ever going from point A to point B. They just vanish and reappear a mile away. There are also many, many reports, again spanning nations and cultures and eras in which some supposed abductee has been told by "the aliens" that he/she has been "given an instruction" which will be made known to them only "at the right time". We'd like to know what in THE HELL that instruction is! And does it involve damage to our persons? So there's plenty of suggestion regarding "interdimensional beings". Has this guy, Art's caller, read every alien abduction book, then gone crazy, then decided to start spouting his irrational beliefs on late night radio shows? Perhaps. It's certainly possible.We sense genuine fear and, well, agony in this man's voice, especially at the end. It's as if he KNOWS how crazy he sounds, and he hates it, but he has no choice but to just let it purge. At this point we're pretty skeptical of this whole scenario. The guy SOUNDS genuine, but lots of cons sound genuine. He sounds sincere, but we've been fooled many, many times, and if we saw God himself descend to the peak of a mountain and start tossing out lottery tickets, we probably wouldn't pick one up. It just HAS to be a scam. But there's one thing that nudges this guy's credibility in the direction of credibility just.....a little. It's the fact that Art's transmitter went down at almost the precise instant it SHOULD have gone down if some secret bureau had been listening in, obtained an instant electronic triangulation, obtained permission from some shady source on the other end of a hotline, and were given permission to nuke Art Bell's transmitter. Better yet, if WE were the government, and we knew a bunch of heinous, disturbing alien stuff, and we wanted to keep it secret at all costs, we would have, years ago, set up several means and devices capable of shutting down Art's transmitter instantly, no questions asked, at the push of a button. Hell, it was done in Kecksburg and in Roswell, and those are facts. Imagine the government's capabilities today.We suggest that if the guy was for real, we're all in deep doo-doo (toast, as it were), and that if the government didn't get the poor guy right then and there, they will soon. But if he IS a nut case, in desperate need of therapy and incarceration, there's not a psychiatrist in the world who could help him now, now that he knows, and has been given irrefutable PROOF that the government is after him and will stop him at any cost. After all, it took out Art Bell.



UPDATE July 2008:

There now exists an informed concensus that the force that knocked Art Bell's transmitters offline that night was an artificially created EMP (electro-magnetic pulse). Does anyone have documentation of this?


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