According to the Evidence
They called him “The Witness.” Real name: Clive. A retired electrician with a fondness for instant noodles and conspiracy forums. He wore a silver jumpsuit stitched with patches—“Galactic Ambassador,” “Certified Contactee,” and “Von Daniken Was Right.”
Every Thursday, Clive held court in the back room of the Dog & Drone pub, where he lectured on ancient astronauts and cosmic balls. “God is a spaceman,” he’d declare, pointing to grainy slides of Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and a suspiciously saucer-shaped pothole outside Swindon.
His followers—mostly bored retirees and one enthusiastic teenager named Darren—nodded solemnly. They’d memorized the creed:
"God flies in UFOs. His prophet is Von Daniken. The tombs and temples? Built by Them from There."
But one Thursday, a stranger arrived.
She wore tweed. Carried a clipboard. Introduced herself as Dr. Miriam Holt, archaeologist and fraud investigator.
“I’m here to audit your evidence,” she said, smiling politely.
Clive scoffed. “The truth is self-evident. Look at the angles! The alignments! The cosmic geometry!”
Dr. Holt did look. She examined his measuring rod—actually a curtain pole with stickers. She reviewed his “proofs”—mostly photocopies of 1970s paperbacks and blurry photos of rocks.
Then she asked questions.
“Why do none of your sources cite peer-reviewed studies?”
“Why does your ‘Cosmic Ball’ resemble a weather balloon from 1958?”
“Why does your ‘Superfreak the Saucerman’ sketch have the same face as your passport photo?”
Clive stammered. Darren looked uneasy.
Dr. Holt continued. “Stonehenge was built with antler picks and human sweat. The pyramids with ramps and thousands of workers. Your theory erases their ingenuity.”
“But the angles!” Clive protested. “The mystery!”
“Mystery isn’t proof,” she replied. “It’s marketing.”
She opened her laptop and showed them:
- A breakdown of Von Daniken’s claims, debunked by scholars.
- Satellite data disproving “alien landing sites.”
- A receipt from Clive’s online store: Galactic Truth Merch – £12.99 per ‘Certified Contactee’ badge.
The room fell silent.
Darren raised a hand. “So… God’s not a spaceman?”
Dr. Holt smiled gently. “God may be many things. But selling saucer-shaped theology with glitter and pseudoscience? That’s not divine. That’s deception.”
Clive deflated. His jumpsuit shimmered under the pub lights, suddenly less majestic.
According to the evidence, you see, this little world of ours—so small—was not visited by Them from There in a Cosmic Ball. It was built by people. With hands. With hope. With hard slog.
And the only thing truly alien was the idea that mystery must mean fraud.
They called him “The Witness.” Real name: Clive. A retired electrician with a fondness for instant noodles and conspiracy forums. He wore a silver jumpsuit stitched with patches—“Galactic Ambassador,” “Certified Contactee,” and “Von Daniken Was Right.”
Every Thursday, Clive held court in the back room of the Dog & Drone pub, where he lectured on ancient astronauts and cosmic balls. “God is a spaceman,” he’d declare, pointing to grainy slides of Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and a suspiciously saucer-shaped pothole outside Swindon.
His followers—mostly bored retirees and one enthusiastic teenager named Darren—nodded solemnly. They’d memorized the creed:
"God flies in UFOs. His prophet is Von Daniken. The tombs and temples? Built by Them from There."
But one Thursday, a stranger arrived.
She wore tweed. Carried a clipboard. Introduced herself as Dr. Miriam Holt, archaeologist and fraud investigator.
“I’m here to audit your evidence,” she said, smiling politely.
Clive scoffed. “The truth is self-evident. Look at the angles! The alignments! The cosmic geometry!”
Dr. Holt did look. She examined his measuring rod—actually a curtain pole with stickers. She reviewed his “proofs”—mostly photocopies of 1970s paperbacks and blurry photos of rocks.
Then she asked questions.
“Why do none of your sources cite peer-reviewed studies?”
“Why does your ‘Cosmic Ball’ resemble a weather balloon from 1958?”
“Why does your ‘Superfreak the Saucerman’ sketch have the same face as your passport photo?”
Clive stammered. Darren looked uneasy.
Dr. Holt continued. “Stonehenge was built with antler picks and human sweat. The pyramids with ramps and thousands of workers. Your theory erases their ingenuity.”
“But the angles!” Clive protested. “The mystery!”
“Mystery isn’t proof,” she replied. “It’s marketing.”
She opened her laptop and showed them:
- A breakdown of Von Daniken’s claims, debunked by scholars.
- Satellite data disproving “alien landing sites.”
- A receipt from Clive’s online store: Galactic Truth Merch – £12.99 per ‘Certified Contactee’ badge.
The room fell silent.
Darren raised a hand. “So… God’s not a spaceman?”
Dr. Holt smiled gently. “God may be many things. But selling saucer-shaped theology with glitter and pseudoscience? That’s not divine. That’s deception.”
Clive deflated. His jumpsuit shimmered under the pub lights, suddenly less majestic.
According to the evidence, you see, this little world of ours—so small—was not visited by Them from There in a Cosmic Ball. It was built by people. With hands. With hope. With hard slog.
And the only thing truly alien was the idea that mystery must mean fraud.
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