Neither Randle nor Pflock produce such seductive tinsel, but Randle does save the evening from complete boredom by resorting to cheap theatrics. He pulls out a tape dispenser and stretches out a few feet of tape. I've got wood. The crowd roars with laughter and applause. Pflock looks perplexed, deboned like a fish in a frying pan.
Many people get up and walk out.
The debate continues, but it's all downhill now. It no longer matters what happened 50 years ago. All the publicity has made it impossible to discern fact from fiction. What matters most, and what will endure long after all the original witnesses and researchers are food for worms, is the quality of human stubbornness, that strength to stick to your convictions, allow little or no room for opposing views, filter in only the information that are essential, pore over the details, think about all of the lies and corruption that prevent your views from achieving final, incontrovertible truth and settle in for a lifetime of simmering, unresolved unfulfillment. After listening to the debate's continuous stream of UFO minutiae, attempting to connect the dots and solve the puzzle, I give up and wander over with a few UFO friends to the lounge of the Roswell Inn.