Bob Lazar was the first great UFO / Area 51 insider to explode onto the scene back in 1989. Now, 30 years later, he has resurfaced in a must-see new movie — Bob Lazar, Area 51 and Flying Saucers.

No one had heard about Area 51 and reverse-engineered spacecraft before Lazar. In many ways, he is the godfather of the disclosure movement.

Heavily attacked and defamed, Lazar retreated into obscurity, never profiting off of his claims and making a living running a chemical supply company.

It is very interesting to see Lazar finally be willing to face a new round of extreme hatred and public scrutiny in pursuit of the truth.

A movie recently emerged from Orchard Entertainment cataloging Lazar’s stunning re-appearance on the UFO scene.

We are still working on an in-depth article about the California wildfires, QAnon and the impending defeat of the Deep State.

Events are rapidly unfolding at this time and each day brings new surprises. We hope to have the wildfire piece out soon.

[UPDATED Tuesday… Look for red headline on Anthony Sutton in Wall Street / Ford / GM section midway down.

UPDATED Wednesday with MUST-SEE Larry King interview with Bob Lazar that was just released! Disclosure is at hand.]



Bob Lazar electrified the world in 1989 when he came forward with mainstream TV host George Knapp, first anonymously in May and then publicly in November.


I first got turned on to the UFO subject in 1993, and bought as many new books as I could afford, while also devouring the triple-zero stacks in the library, where paranormal was filed in the Dewey Decimal System.

I bought most of the new-release UFO books straight through until about 1997, when the internet essentially replaced published books as the hot-spot for new intel.

Nonetheless, in those first four years from 1993 to 1997, it was nearly an absolute standard to hear the Bob Lazar story re-told in each new UFO book I picked up.

So prevalent was this information that after a while I would judge each author based on how thoroughly and informatively they engaged the Lazar material.

This was the origin of all UFO research for me. Now, after all this time, seeing Lazar come back to us is a true mind trip.

It feels like the “alpha and the omega”, the beginning and the end.

To me, it also feels portentous, as if disclosure is soon at hand and this is one of the last stops along the way.



The awakening that led me careening headlong into the Bob Lazar mystery began from intensely painful roots.

All of this discussion is very relevant to how I started reading books about Bob Lazar.

The “set and setting” I found myself in was bizarre and disturbing, and taught me lessons that catapulted the awakening.

I applied and got accepted to a college that Rolling Stone had dubbed one of the top-ten “party schools” in the nation for 1991.

No, I don’t remember how high New Paltz made it on the list — but her top-ten victory strongly influenced my decision.

It definitely helped that it was right next door to Woodstock, New York — geographically closer than any other school.

Both of my parents were very, very strict, and like others I was ready for a full-scale rebellion as soon as I was “free.”

I spent a year embedded with hordes of drunk, vomiting students, and dealing with the insane effects of living with them.

Life in the dorms ended up being far more intense than living with my parents and dealing with high school.



We had a freshman class of 2000 and a graduating class of 200. Nine out of ten of the people stumbling around me wouldn’t make it.

You could tell who they were in any given class. They were never there. The non-stop partying was far more interesting to them than education.

Everyone had gotten good SAT scores and survived high school in order to get accepted, but it quickly became you and about ten others in the classroom… if that.

The classes were easy enough. If you could show up, remain half-conscious and write some things down, you would pass the tests.

As far as I can remember, there was virtually no homework whatsoever, other than last-minute cramming for tests.

The professors invariably told you everything that would be on the tests out loud in class. Any instructor who didn’t was quickly stigmatized.

The textbook was an unnecessary relic if you wanted to go deeper than what you were going to be tested on.



So much beer was spilled on the floor of our suite that you had to peel your shoes off of it to walk, which I guess gave us better exercise.

The greasy ripping noise involved with moving from point A to point B meant no one could sneak up on you.

We had fully co-ed dorms. Guys’ suites on the right and girls on the left, in the same hallways and floors.

More than once I helped nurse one of the girls down the hall through terrible episodes, holding their hair back from the water as my mother would have done for me.

In many cases I was the only person willing to help anyone.

I tried cutting my own hair to save money, only to do such a bad job that we decided to shave off the back and sides, immediately earning me the new nickname “Beaker.”


I ultimately found out from campus staff that my particular suite of four rooms in 212 Dubois was the most problematic and drunk area of the entire school that year.



Knowing how few of us were going to graduate, and living through the non-stop party going on, I started seeing the hidden truth of the New York State (SUNY) college system.

The freshman dorms felt like cages for crazed animals. As long as we didn’t blow up the buildings, they got their money. Business was business.

The state was providing an “insane asylum” for fresh high-school graduates who had been broken by the system.

Everyone was ready for a full release of sex, drugs and rock and roll.

We were effectively locked up together in a building and campus with virtually no rules or controls on our behavior.



I don’t ever recall anyone getting arrested, except maybe for committing violent acts in town or trying to break into a soda machine.

We had no bills to pay, no adult responsibilities, and were doing the same things we could have done if we were in a homeless shelter — except the rules would have been stricter.

With loans we would repay for years, grants from the state taxpayers and money from our families, this was truly a very expensive party to attend.



Let’s say you’re there for three and a half months per semester, and it all adds up to about 10,000. That’s almost a hundred dollars a day. (10,000 / 105 days = $95.24 a day.)

Providing shelter buildings for hordes of partiers at a hundred bucks a day could be a pretty good business, if you think about it.

The state authorities would clean it all up at the end of the year and start over with new tenants a couple of months later.

It was a government business. Provide cheap, short-term housing for crazy people who party now, pay later.

One out of ten actually turned it into an education.

I almost qualified for the Equal Opportunity Program due to how poor we were. My family’s income missed it by just a thousand.

If so, I would have gotten all my partying money from the state, as well as taxpayer money to finance the whole thing.


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