You've seen a corner of this before -- a card or two on the home page, maybe more if you've read our history. This is the rest of it. All eight, laid out properly, roughly in the order the Society itself recommends: start shallow, keep going as long as you're comfortable.
Two of these you might already know -- we told the full story properly on the History page. Consider this the recap, not the retelling.
A whole civilization, gone, and the official story is 'it sank.' Sure it did. Every one of these places has part of the answer — we just haven't found the pizza-adjacent part yet.
The disc. The ice wall holding it all in. The dome up top they call the firmament. Look at a globe and tell us with a straight face that's not just a really committed prop.
Twenty years of real, government-funded mind-control research -- then most of the files got shredded right before anyone in Congress could ask hard questions. Redacted is one word for that. We've got a few others. Order a slice while it's still declassified.
A real classified test site, a real 1947 'flying disc' report, and a cover story that changed twice before settling on 'weather balloon.' Sure. We believe that as much as we believe our sauce recipe is 'just tomatoes.'
A real research facility in Alaska, officially studying the upper atmosphere. Unofficially -- depending who you ask -- it's weather control, mind control, or a machine for something nobody's bothered naming yet. The purpose is boring. The theory is not. Order accordingly.
A real Air Force project that investigated UFO reports for over twenty years, then closed the case in 1969 and called it settled. Funny how 'closed' and 'answered' aren't the same word. The files are at the National Archives if you'd like to check. We'll be here with the pizza either way.
A capstone with an inscription nobody's fully explained, murals nobody's fully explained either, and tunnels underneath that reportedly go further than any airport actually needs. Then there's the horse out front -- 32 feet tall, glowing red eyes, nicknamed 'Blucifer' by everyone who's ever driven past it. The dedication plaque even name-drops a 'New World Airport Commission,' which, as far as anyone's found, doesn't otherwise exist. We just think it's an odd way to greet a flight.
A real, classified postwar program that, per the paperwork, turned a group of German rocket scientists into American ones almost overnight. Funny what a change of address and a fresh security clearance can do to a resume. We're not saying more than that. We don't have the clearance either.
That's the whole wall, for now. If you made it this far without quietly reconsidering at least one official narrative, we're a little worried about you. Go order a pizza. It helps.
