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QAnon Adherents are Simply Devastated That JFK Jr. Didn’t Show Up to Meet Them Yesterday

Elvis didn't show up, either.

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There are few comparisons in the history of the world to what has become known as the QAnon movement. The things they believe began with dirty dealings in the basement of a pizza parlor (that has no basement) and have only gotten weirder since then.

From conspiracies about George Soros and Bob Mueller to finally claiming that Trump’s loss to Joe Biden last November was “part of the plan,” Q congregants worship at the altar of the totally insane.

And like churches who declare prophetic events are going to happen, only to shrug when they don’t, QAnon also predicts things that are literally batsh*t crazy and then collectively cries about them when they don’t come to fruition.

The latest was a theory among nationwide followers of Cuckoo Q that long-deceased former President John F. Kennedy and his also-long-deceased son JFK Junior were going to make an appearance in Dallas yesterday, right around the time of day that JFK was assassinated, albeit about three weeks early of the actual anniversary of that day.

Q has been obsessed with the Kennedys since one promoter of the cult, Michael Protzman, used numerology to argue that they were direct descendants of Jesus Christ. The last guy to float such a story ended up writing The DaVinci Code, though, so maybe Protzman could have made a few bucks on the movie rights.

You know how this all ends, though: In crushing despair. Q followers were on board the train to despondency as they waited for some people who are very, very definitely buried in the ground to show up for their little parade.

When the Kennedys amazingly did not show up in Dallas, the crowd of hundreds in Dealey Plaza eventually trickled out like the rain they were standing in as they waited. But not before they had a rousing chant of “God Bless America” and “JFK!”

I hope these people eventually get the help they so desperately need.

Twitter had a field day:

Andrew Simpson
meet the author

Andrew is a dark blue speck in deep red Central Washington, writing with the conviction of 18 years at the keyboard and too much politics to even stand. When not furiously stabbing the keys on breaking news stories, he writes poetry, prose, essays, haiku, lectures, stories for grief therapy, wedding ceremonies, detailed instructions on making doughnuts from canned biscuit dough (more sugar than cinnamon — duh), and equations to determine the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow. A girlfriend, a dog, two cats, and two birds round out the equation, and in his spare time, Drewbear likes to imagine what it must be like to have spare time.

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