© MMIX V.1.0.2
A lie is like a beautiful sweater, with at least one loose yarn.
A sweater can be a splendid garment. It can be knitted from brightly coloured yarn. It can be knitted from plain yarn into intricate patterns like an Irish fisherman's sweater. A sweater can be a lovely fashion statement.
Like a sweater, a lie can be very attractive. A lie can be fashionable too. People often want to believe a lie more than they want to believe the truth. The truth may be ugly.
But lies can be unravelled whatever anyone wants to believe. Every lie has a loose thread. When that is pulled, the lie starts to unravel. Soon nothing is left but the liar's naked chest and belly.
The events known as "9/11" are a good example. The official story has only one thing going for it, it is the official story of the officials. Nothing the officials claim happened could have happened. They are scientifically impossible. Almost anything else is possible, but not the official story. Is it possible that the officials do not know this? Impossible.
Once one lie is unraveled, everything else the liar has said becomes suspect. When a pattern of lying is uncovered, the burden of proof shifts to the liar who is no longer presumed innocent until proven guilty. The liar becomes classified as a congenital liar — one who has been a liar from birth, perhaps whose genes predispose him or her to lying.
As comedian George Burns once quipped, "Sincerity is everything. Once you can fake that, you've got it made." Successful politicians fake sincerity well.