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'The Emanuel Code'

Editor’s note: Jim Rutz’s latest book, “The Meaning of Life,” takes a fresh look at heaven, hell, human history and the church. Order it now at ShopNetDaily.com.

I have just discovered a long-suppressed history of intrigue, lust, violence and secret cabals, and boy, is it ever going to make me rich! There’s a proven market of 60 million intellectual featherweights out there (P.T. Barnum would have wept with joy to see them), and they’re going to line up en masse to buy my book, just as soon as I write it.

The story starts on the lost continent of Atlantis. Now, I know that may put you off if you hung in there past the fifth grade, but trust me, I’m talking real history here. Note my cool hyperlink, which will show you I’m a true scholar.

Just as Atlantis was sinking under the waves, Queen Semaphore, seeing her cruel fate, launched a tiny basket sealed with pitch and holding her infant son. The basket, divinely guided through the straits of Gibraltar, soon found its way to the bulrushes of the Nile, where Pharaoh’s daughter discovered it bobbing along in the usual morning rush of infant-laden baskets and adopted the kid as her own. (The traditional story of a Hebrew Moses is an obvious later interpolation designed to punch up the role of Jews in history. We scholars are not swayed by phony anachronisms.)

Anyway, this Atlantean Moses grew up in Egypt and married the dark-skinned Queen Nefertiti (Hebrew name Zipporah), thus establishing a whole bloodline of rulers that came to include King Solomon, who sired (with the Queen of Sheba) Menelik the First, so called because he was the first African, as well as the ruler who brought the Lost Ark to its present hiding place in Ethiopia. (Yes, the Ark! If I can sign up Harrison Ford for the movie version, we’re looking at a blockbuster hit for sure.)

My book will reveal that this bloodline grew to include Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar, Charlemagne, Francis of Assisi, Joan of Ark (see, there’s the Ark popping up again), Columbus, Pachelbel, Napoleon, George Washington, Henry Ford and Jessica Rabbit (honorable mention).

No, wait! Here’s where it gets really interesting. Do you see who is conspicuously missing from this list? Henry VIII! And Princess Di! In fact, there are no Brits on the list at all. That’s because they’re the heavies of my forthcoming best-seller novel, “The Emanuel Code.” All of history, as I will show, has been a struggle between Queen Semaphore’s bloodline and the bloody Brits. They’re responsible for everything bad.

Ah, but I won’t ask you to believe all this without concrete historical evidence. So for proof, take a careful look at Emanuel Leutze’s famous photograph of “Washington Crossing the Delaware” below.

German-born photographer Leutze was so desperate to reveal the insidious presence of Tory spies in the Revolutionary Army that he sneaked out to the river in the dead of night (when, as everyone knows, Washington had to make his crossing) and took history’s first flash photograph, which reveals the shocking fact that the point guard for Washington’s skiff, the Basset Hound, is none other than Aloysius Darwin, grandfather of the evil British naturalist, Chuck Darwin.

Look closely, and you will see that while everyone else is busting his gut to get the Basset under way; Darwin is clearly jamming his pole into the mud to keep it stuck ashore. And he’s even pushing back with his left foot against the ice. How surprised he must have been when history’s first flash photograph illumined his dark deeds!

Under the guise of preserving an historic moment, our great benefactor Emanuel Leutze has encoded forever the hidden presence of an age-old evil lurking in our midst. Small wonder that Wikipedia notes the attempt in World War II by the British RAF to destroy Leutze’s photograph.

Oh yes, you may object on the grounds that my historical research may be a bit loose in spots, but trust me, dear soul: I’m not an inch further from the truth than Dan Brown on his best day. Anyone who has ever passed within six feet of a textbook on ancient history, even on a cloudy evening, should not be able to read Brown’s comic novel without breaking out in hysterical laughter.

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