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Brittany And The Beast

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It was the older women who organised it. I was staying at an older couple’s house just outside Fremantle when we heard about her.


But since arriving we’d already heard several terrible stories.
Out there, somewhere in the suburban streets of Perth, was a teacher who had triplets—all boys.
A believer, she had taken one of them to get vaccinated. Why just one was never revealed, but what was known was that this boy had quickly developed heart issues. Myocarditis.
Her doctor told her it was extremely rare and that the other two boys would be safe, so she had them done too, and then they also developed myocarditis.
We wanted to talk to her, because statistically her boys proved the data was wrong. But she wouldn’t talk. The last we heard was that she—obviously not coping—was driving her students mad by making sure they all wore their masks separately.

A few years later, in a drab dining area at a caravan park in Bendigo, I interviewed another man who had three kids in their twenties. Thanks to the jabs, they were now on pacemakers. But while he came to me wanting to share his story, I couldn’t discern any anger in him.

Brittany was another story.
After being reluctant at first, once we began she was articulate, even though her story was heartbreaking.
The most astounding part took place in the hospital.
Only twenty-one, she had a heart attack there. After being left in an ER cubicle, waiting for a heart monitor—none were free because several other young people in ER were already using them—a nurse came in and told her it was time for her second shot.
When she complained that she’d just had a heart attack, the nurse got offended and sent in a doctor who got stuck right into her.
Brittany stood her ground and even pointed out that the ER was full of young people with heart issues.
He replied, “What’s your point?”

Was this blindness? Fear of AHPRA?
How could doctors not draw a correlation between all these injured young people and the jabs they’d just had?

Years later the ABC ran a special on the astronomical rise of cancers in young people. Not once did they mention the jabs.
What is it about us that we protect these vaccines, even after they’re killing our loved ones?
Are we just scared of being labelled anti-vaxxers, or do we fear being seen as whistle-blowers? In this country we’ve all seen what happens to them.
Or is it that we love something more than our children—something we see as so necessary that we will risk our children’s lives to placate it?

Recently Kennedy released data showing that the CDC knew—from their own studies—that the Hep B vaccine increases the chance of developing autism by over 1000%. Instead of pulling the vaccine, they hid the data.
You’d think, given how many children we now have on the spectrum, there would be a global outcry. Instead the silence continues, and I bet that even today babies are being born, and—despite their tiny, perfect bodies being only minutes old—they will be injected with this vaccine. And if the child develops autism, well, what?
Nothing.

But from a human perspective how does “nothing” make sense?
Yet it’s not even that mysteriously simple.
If you dare stand up and challenge the system, you’ll be labelled an anti-vaxxer, and they’ll use the word with the same derision the Romans used when they persecuted the first Christians.

Does it all come down to this label?
Are people so frightened of being categorised that they quietly take up the role of their injured child’s carer, knowing all the dreams they had for them will now never come true—dreams stolen by Big Pharma and the State?

In Australia, rather than trying to fix it, we’ve set up the NDIS. Now we have a booming industry built—largely—on the tragedy of these children. It’s so profitable that, to sustain it, we need to keep replenishing the client list with more injured children. So why stop jabbing them?
No jab, no play.

We’ve even got an mRNA factory pumping out over a hundred million vaccines a year.
Maybe we should turn that factory into a church.
Because it seems we love these vaccines more than our children, more than ourselves, more than God.

And while the God statement might piss people off, think of it:
If you’re a believer, God has gifted you a baby—a new human being—but in this dangerous society God has failed to make the baby perfect, which is why, when it is only minutes old, we fill its tiny veins with our miracle products, with the juice from our new God.

Kind of like chickens getting on their knees to worship a fox.

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