Orange Is the Color of Our Dying Race

by Steve Raymond

A neon-orange menace stalks our unsuspecting planet. Boldly flaunting themselves on our streets and sidewalks, they pass unnoticed. Their evil handiwork is everywhere, yet human beings "choose" to ignore them rather than confront a truth so terrifying it would surely render them insane. Sure, you can laugh about the UFOs, the Illuminati, the Mafia, or the secrets of the Hollow Earth—it's all "funny" to our corrupt society, sagging into its final lap before the millennial finish line. However, there is a real and secret struggle going on that no one should be laughing about: the eons-old war the cones have waged against us. The cones are out there, and they've got us dancing like marionettes.


Did you see that? It's VIBRATING!

The cones in question appear to humans as unassuming traffic safety cones. They are usually orange, and range in size and markings. The cones do have one thing in common—a burning, alien hatred of the human race and a desire to enslave us and steal our territory without our conscious knowledge. This thing is bigger than any of us could ever have imagined.


Who's REALLY driving?

Evidence of cones tampering with human history is abundant. Chip away a few corners here and there, and the pyramids suddenly resemble giant cones. What about Stonehenge? Linguistic researchers have recently revealed puzzling evidence that indicates the ancient Celts called it "Con Hannaigh," which translates into the modern "Conehenge." Conical elements adorn the highest spires of the ruins of pre-Columbian civilizations, on which archaeologists have recently carbon-dated traces of orange pigment of an advanced chemical makeup unavailable to any Aztec. Conical forms are evident in ancient cave paintings and even within the mysterious, aerially visible characters of the Nazga Lines. So start connecting the dots. Page through a history book and look at any human achievement of any relevance, and there's probably a cone in it somewhere.


Another invisible fortress.

Today, the cones have adapted new techniques of blending in while still broadcasting an aura of subliminal fear that recalls our primal race-memories of older days, when humankind quaked before the mighty power of the cones. The main cone weapon is the aversion field. When humans are confronted by cones or their minions, they naturally avoid them. Look for a cone compound in your area and watch as the unwitting humans and their vehicles blithely swerve around the nonexistent "barriers" described by the cones. Normal humans will never even touch a cone. The cones prefer to be moved around by people whom they have already established total mental control over, hapless human drones who unwittingly shuttle the cones wherever they desire. These humans wear the cone colors on their vests and hats.


A blatant reminder that we are unwitting slaves.

Why do the cones need humans? Although there are many variations on this theory, there is one resounding central motif. The cones are psychic vampires who feed on sentience. Cones perform in collective groups called conolies and require a general ratio of one intelligent slave being (called a "Conehort") to feed a group of up to twenty cones. When a conoly reaches maximum size, it grows collectively "hungry" and begins to seek a new "Conehort." When this new human slave is finally adopted, the conoly divides and parasitically encourages the new slave to transport its members to a new site, where they can begin to build a new compound. This viral pattern allows the cones to secretly annex larger areas of human-occupied territory as their control of the general human population increases. So where is this secret recipe of symbiosis finally headed toward?


BAIT.

Some conologists venture that our terrestrial cones are only the lapdogs of a larger threat. They are but the flag bearers—seeded on biologically ripe planets to evolve potentially intelligent life-forms into rare delicacies of sophistication. The King Cones lurk somewhere in interstellar space—bloated, cyclopean gods who gobble young space-faring races like free mints in a Chinese restaurant. Why should the King Cones even deign to visit our backwater planet when their children assure them that we will deliver ourselves to their cosmic harvest tables? It's no coincidence that our primitive spacecraft incorporate conical shapes. Someday, after the earth cones have finally fooled us into finishing off the natural resources of our Mother Earth, we'll arrive at the maws of the space-borne King Cones in ships that practically scream out "Eat Me" in neon letters. As our ships drift into their gullets, the last thing these future humans may see is the giant cluster of earth cones, which has secretly followed them into space, assuming a breeding swarm formation from whose ecstatic union a new King Cone will be born.

Foolish humans, be warned. You are not the masters of your own destinies you imagine yourselves to be. This insidious cycle of conevolution has swallowed countless races. Yet you need not take this news lying down! You have been warned; now you must take up arms against these orange intruders—for once revealed, they can easily be crushed. Join the struggle, good people, and the next time you see a cone, don't bother avoiding it. Hit it head on.   </end>

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