Katrina's Journal, 11 January 2022
Operation John Thomas goes mainstream
It’s come to my attention that a lot of you dearest subscribers are simply not interested in hearing about the intricacies of my sports. Well now that’s a relief.
It’s also quite understandable. Clearly, Substack is somewhat more highbrow than that. I say it’s a relief because it means I don’t have to explain any of that stuff to you anymore. I think it was important to at least give you the basics, though, partly for self-justification and so you do actually believe me rather than thinking me some kind of fantasist (which would be equally understandable), and partly to as it were set the basic narrative scene, so to speak. My journal, after all, is the place where you get to know me. And I am absolutely certain that once I come to public attention with these future sporting achievements of mine then I shall be embarking on a series of misadventures, for which you need the necessary preparation. Vain and arrogant, moi? Perish the thought.
Another reason why I shouldn’t have to bore you with my sports is because my future sponsors couldn’t give a flying monkey’s about Substack. Nor, even, what yours truly raves about on here (at least I hope they won’t). Like I may have said elsewhere, for a sponsor, the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about. By the time they approach me with their offers they will have done their research and they will already know I am a controversial figure, not to be sponsored lightly. So if they do take me on, they should know what to expect. But, more importantly, their target customer base doesn’t particularly congregate anywhere near Substack. Rather, being somewhere in the let’s say 12-25 age range (I think you call that ‘Generation Z’ – you do realise those generational terms are just marketing categories, right?), they would hang out at places like ‘Instagram’. So I will have to get me an Instagram account and start posting a stream of posing photos of me looking sexy in a series of designer swimsuits. Accompanied by some of my cool indie pop demos (I’m still working on them, by the way). And that’s not exactly Substack highbrow. And you wouldn’t be interested in that in the slightest now, would you? Still, if you are perchance interested then, well, you’ll have to go lowbrow and follow me on Insta, innit.
See, I’ll be honest with you here. What I really want to do with my life is be an actress again and make movies. But that requires publicity and making a name for myself. It’s also a matter of self-protection. See if I’m a nobody then the cabal will have no qualms whatsoever about eliminating me because you won’t know and you won’t care. I would simply be another statistic and there certainly wouldn’t be a revolution just because of what happened to lil ol’ me. Then again, you clearly don’t have our democratic deterrent so there wouldn’t be a revolution even if I was a national treasure, like your Princess Diana.
Two million of you marched on London to protest your second Iraq genocide. You made some pretty speeches and waved some banners around, chanted some slogans and maybe kicked a few cans all over the place singin’ we’re not going to rock you in the fucking slightest, but then you obediently marched back home again, despite having more than enough numbers to take back control over the country and liberate yourselves, not to mention saving what, a million Iraqi lives in the process and hell, maybe even bringing down the Anglo-American Empire along with it. As soon as you marched back home again, the cabal finally knew for sure that you would never do a revolution, because you don’t have it in you, that you are truly subjugated and obedient, and they could do whatever outrageous crime they wanted to in full view and you wouldn’t ever do a damn thing about it except, I don’t know, sign a fucking petition or write some strongly worded letters perhaps. And then continue to vote for the motherfuckers.
So from that perspective, the dissident likes of me are absolutely not safe. [That depends on your capacity for following orders, Katrina. Grrr. Haven’t you got work to do, Guy?]
Of course I am being deliberately provocative. Of course I am! My very survival depends on my public persona, you know. If I am universally loved then I will be universally taken seriously and if people take what I say seriously then yeah, there really would be a revolution. So, as long as I don’t ferment such a revolution, I shall be safe. So, don’t listen to a word I have to say about politics and conspiracy theories and all that. Or, rather, do listen, but just think of it all as a great source of amusement, or something. Don’t take it seriously. Otherwise you might just make yourself a utopia, and you wouldn’t want that now, would you? I mean, it would entail taking some fucking responsibility and having to rely on yourselves for a change rather than remaining in a state of infantile dependency. Hah! Yes – my name is Soma! Be amused by my antics! Be amused!
So, what I meant to say was that my sports are a stepping stone. Along with those sports I shall be hopefully getting a band together and those two roles will contribute mutually to my public success. I’ll sell more records, in other words. Likewise, I will garner more sponsorship money. And once I have enough sponsorship money, then I can set up my business again – it’s called PAWS, to you and me – and attract some rich investor to give me the money to film one of my scripts. Starring and directed by me, naturally. On that note, by the way, I am already typing up some of my old screenplays from my world (to the best of my memory – although it’d be ironic if they turn out even better), and I’ve even started writing a few brand new ones. I shall tell you about them in due course, minus spoilers, naturally.
So that’s my plan, anyhow.
Ah - in the meantime, please enjoy the latest sultry spy I successfully seduced.
So, here’s some of my controversial stuff. It appears that Operation John Thomas has gone mainstream. Specifically, there was an article about ‘Lia Thomas’ in the Washington Post yesterday. I believe your version of Bezos owns that paper? Well, clearly this is all designed to further this ‘culture war’ shit.
Here, read this excerpt:
“Since she obliterated two school records and posted nation-leading times at a meet last month, Thomas has garnered attention from across the swimming community and right-wing media. Credentialed media at Saturday’s meet included Fox News, Newsweek, the Daily Mail and ESPN. Tennis icons Martina Navratilova and Chris Evert have publicly said Thomas has no business competing in women’s swimming, as has Olympian Erika Brown, who said last month it’s “time to start standing up for women’s sports.”
“A few years of testosterone blockers and estrogen doesn’t change the fact that she will have more powerful muscles, a larger heart and greater lung capacity [than] a biological woman,” Brown, who won two relay medals at the Tokyo Games last summer, wrote in an Instagram story post.”
See what I mean? I knew this was going to happen. Apparently it’s also in NBC, which is some other American outlet. Although a little bird from my swim club has just pointed me towards a Guardian article from December, which may have gone mostly unnoticed.
However – I have noticed a few suspicious things in that WP article. Most of you non-sports people wouldn’t notice, but for me it sticks out like a pair of maternal boobies. The article is in lieu of some college meet on Saturday, in which Lia competed for the Penn State women’s team and won the 200 yards freestyle and the 500 yards freestyle. Except here’s the suspicious bit. For the 500, she was a full 23 seconds behind her personal best (this is her ‘post-transition personal best’, I should add). Her PB is apparently 4.34, but she only managed 4.57.
Well, I call out bullshit on that. No one swims that slow unless they’re doing it on purpose.
Rather than bore you with the intricacies of swimming it’d be better if I illustrate it with something you’d be more familiar with. Take that guy Usain Bolt. Let’s say normally he strides across the line for the 100m in about 9.7 seconds, right? Well, Lia’s 23 seconds slower is, by my math, something around 8.5% slower. So, if that was Usain Bolt running 100m 8.5% slower then he would end up with a time of around 10.5 seconds. That wasn’t even the fucking world record when they did that Chariots of Fire shit. And that was some posh white bloke in 1924! Hmm, wasn’t he also the scion of a rich financier?
The women’s world record at 100m, by the fucking way, is 10.49 seconds.
We are all aware of the concept of an athlete ‘having a bad day’ but if Usain ran 100m in only 10.5 people would automatically assume he’d either been food poisoned or something, or he was deliberately throwing the race – and, indeed, doing a terrible fucking job of disguising it. A ‘bad day’ for Usain would be, I don’t know, 9.95 or something. That you could believe. But 10.5? I don’t think so. That’s like David helium-voiced ball bender Beckham booting the ball into row Z for that crucial free kick in injury time. It doesn’t happen.
Or it’s Federer flouncing out in the first round of the French open with a touch of the Roland Garroses. See what I’m getting at here?
Also in that article it reveals the scientific fact that the difference between male and female elite sport is around 10-15%. Equally, Lia’s new post-transition PBs are apparently around 2.6% slower than pre-transition. So, let’s add that extra 8.5% or so and, well, well, well, now we have it within that 10-15% ‘natural’ range.
Still, as the article also says:
“Though Thomas’s times Saturday were well off her season-best marks, they probably won’t quiet any dissent.”
You don’t fucking say.
It gets even more of a ‘we are definitely fucking with you with our Operation Cock, baby, because check this out:’
“Thomas also lost a pair of races: the 100 free and the 4x100 freestyle relay. She finished sixth in the short sprint, nearly three seconds behind Yale’s Izzi Henig, and then found herself struggling to chase down Henig’s Bulldogs in the anchor leg of the relay.
Henig is a transgender male on the Yale squad but has put off hormone therapy for now and continues to compete on the school’s women’s team.”
You fucking what?! Can you believe this shit?!
Yeah, that’s right, Lia ‘lost’ to a trans-man! Who was competing as a woman! Yes, this Izzi hasn’t been taking any testosterone (good for him, I say – he apparently delayed it because he wants to keep being eligible to swim – see the difference in attitude with our Lia?), but is it even remotely believable that Thomas would be three seconds behind!
I call bollocks on this one. I call set-up.
I’m not saying this Izzi was in on it – he seems like a decent chap. But I can definitely reiterate this for nothing – you don’t drop 3 fucking seconds for 100 yards without trying.
If I had that kind of ‘bad day’ then my coaches would have questions to ask. Sure, I might respond by saying ‘it’s my fucking period you bastard!’ but Lia doesn’t have that excuse. Mind you I don’t do any sports on my period, for obvious reasons. My period is my monthly extended rest when I ‘consolidate my gains’ (and put the ‘do not fucking disturb’ sign on the door). So I wouldn’t be using that excuse either. I couldn’t even say ‘it was one of my alters swimming, not me’ because we can share each other’s abilities. So, basically, I wouldn’t have an excuse.
And so neither does Willy.
Well, if I’m going to get famous and start exposing this John Thomas shit, then I’ve got some serious work to do. Like I said in my earlier journal article about this psyop, they have their collegiate competition third weekend of March, and I have my first proper swim competition in Edinburgh second weekend of March. So there’s a bit of drama for you. In the meantime, I’ve got some athletics stuff to do. Winning something there, or at least making a monumental show-off of myself and sexily attracting a sponsor or two, will greatly aid me in my noble quest.
So although I will not bore you with the sporty technical details, I will obviously let you know how I get on in my competitions from time to time. You don’t need to watch the match, in other words, because I’ll just tell you the result.
But in the meantime, I do hope you can understand why I do all this, and that you can, with good will, wish me well.
Next time I write to you my dearest journal readers, I shall be doing so from Norwich, which is a fine city. It happens to have a 50m pool, you see, at the University of East Anglia’s Sportspark. I’ve swum in that pool in my world quite a lot and it’s lovely. And I do like Norwich, and in particular it’s got one of my favourite restaurants in the whole wide world, a cosy little family-run affair called Don Pepe’s, which Jools Holland put me on to, and like him I shall be eagerly patronising those premises regardless of what my coach, Andrew, has to say about the consumption of rich food like pheasant washed down with yummy Spanish red wine.
It's good for the soul, darling, I told him. And you simply can’t win a race without a good soul…