It's December 2017 and Elon Musk is on Twitter, promising flamethrowers if his tunnel company sells 50,000 hats. By January 2018, The Boring Company is taking pre-orders for $500 flamethrowers, and Musk himself is filmed gleefully test-firing one. The hosts draw an immediate and striking parallel: back in 1996, The Simpsons introduced Hank Scorpio, a boyish tech billionaire who also wielded a flamethrower and harbored world-domination ambitions ^{[1] — Carter Roy "In 1996, The Simpsons introduced Hank Scorpio: a boyish tech billionaire who wielded a flamethrower and dreamed of world domination. Two de…" 01:23 Play} . The similarities don't stop at the hardware — both figures share a distinctive blend of humor, charisma, and unsettling ambition. This opening sets the stage for the episode's central question: are these coincidences, or something more intentional? The Simpsons has been doing this for nearly four decades, and the list of apparent 'hits' is astonishing.

The hosts rattle off the hits: smartwatches, civilians in space, three Super Bowl winners, and most famously, Donald Trump's presidency — predicted in March 2000, a full 16.5 years before he won his first election ^{[1] — Carter Roy "Trump presidency predicted 16.5 years early: The Simpsons episode 'Bart to the Future' aired in March 2000, predicting Trump's presidency 1…" 06:30 Play} . Then there's the extraordinary case of Homer's blackboard equation from a 1998 episode, which science author Dr. Simon Singh later determined came extremely close to predicting the mass of the Higgs boson — a particle CERN only confirmed in 2012 ^{[2] — Carter Roy "Homer's equation near Higgs boson mass: Science author Dr. Simon Singh found that an equation Homer wrote on a blackboard in a 1998 episode…" 07:33 Play} . A snippet of the actual CERN announcement is played, adding weight to the claim. The hosts also mention the 2014 Ebola outbreak, a three-eyed fish near a nuclear plant, and Fox selling to Disney as examples. By one University of Albany professor's calculation, the show has made 1,224 correct predictions. The lucky-guess theory, the hosts note, is starting to sound less plausible.

After building intrigue around The Simpsons' predictive track record, Carter Roy steps in to formally introduce himself as host of Conspiracy Theories. He extends a welcome to new listeners, notes that the episode discusses death and to listen accordingly, and invites audience engagement on Spotify and Instagram. It's a brief beat before the theory that explains everything is unveiled.

The first ad break features three sponsors: a promo for Anne Rice's The Vampire Lestat airing on AMC and AMC+; a pharmaceutical advertisement for Tremfya, a prescription treatment for moderately to severely active Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis in adults; and a playful Carvana advertisement pitching their car-selling service. Standard commercial interruption before the theory gets underway.

With the 'lucky guess' theory undermined, the hosts pivot to the core conspiracy: predictive programming, as articulated by author Alan Watt ^{[1] — Carter Roy "Predictive programming isn't about psychic powers. According to theorist Alan Watt, a shadowy global elite plans every major world event fa…" 08:56 Play} . According to Watt, a shadowy elite — referred to variously as the Illuminati, the New World Order, or 'lizard people' — has been orchestrating every major societal change since ancient Greece. From the invention of DNA forensics to 9/11 to COVID, the hosts explain, these events were all meticulously planned and executed on schedule. The elite's challenge: they can't simply spring these changes on an unsuspecting public. They have to prepare people first, introducing the concept through movies and TV shows so that when reality follows fiction, citizens accept it rather than revolt. This is the mechanism of predictive programming — not a psychic gift, but a deliberate psychological inoculation of the masses.

The hosts apply the predictive programming lens to COVID-19, pointing to the 2011 film Contagion as an eerily accurate roadmap for the pandemic — depicting a deadly virus, global quarantine, and the collapse of social order. If the elite planned COVID, the hosts reason, Contagion was part of the conditioning ^{[1] — Carter Roy "From the 2011 film Contagion mirroring COVID-19 to The Simpsons Movie's quarantine dome, predictive programming theorists see a pattern: th…" 10:40 Play} . The Simpsons Movie is also cited: in 2007, the entire town of Springfield is sealed inside a government-imposed dome — a scene that feels uncomfortably familiar to anyone who lived through 2020 lockdowns. Theorists argue that without this pre-conditioning, the public would have responded with riots and complete social breakdown rather than largely complying with stay-at-home orders. The hosts note this is an uncomfortable but internally consistent part of the theory.

The episode takes a sobering turn with the story of Max Azzarello. On April 19, 2024, amid live CNN coverage of jury selection at Trump's Manhattan trial, Max approached the courthouse and set himself ablaze, scattering pamphlets into the air before police rushed to contain the flames ^{[1] — Carter Roy "On April 19, 2024, Max Azzarello lit himself on fire outside Donald Trump's Manhattan trial, scattering pamphlets claiming The Simpsons was…" 12:12 Play} . The pamphlets directed people to his Substack, where he outlined his belief that Americans are being conditioned by a government-backed totalitarian con. Harvard University, he claimed, is an organized crime front that produces both billionaires and Simpsons writers. The show, he argued, is used to normalize our servitude to evil billionaires — he cited the famous 'Don't forget you're here forever' sign that Homer transforms into 'Do it for her' as a government message telling workers they have no choice but to comply. Max died from his injuries. His story is a stark reminder that for some people, predictive programming isn't an entertaining theory — it's a conviction that demands action.

The hosts highlight two of the show's darkest apparent predictions. First: The Simpsons Movie, released in 2007, depicted the NSA listening in on citizens' private conversations — years before Edward Snowden's 2013 revelations confirmed the agency was doing exactly that. Second: a 1997 episode showed Lisa holding a travel magazine advertising New York trips, with a large '9' positioned next to the World Trade Center silhouette in a way that resembled '11'. Some viewers believe this was a deliberate subliminal reference to 9/11. Showrunner Al Jean dismisses the latter as an insane coincidence. The hosts then pivot with a loaded observation: the government actually has been rewriting Hollywood scripts for decades — which means the line between coincidence and coordination is blurrier than most people realize.

A brief mid-episode ad break features two sponsors: The Home Depot, promoting up to 15% off select storage solutions including HDX totes; and State Farm, encouraging listeners to bundle home and auto insurance through one of their 17,000 local agents as part of their Personal Price Plan.

The hosts make a crucial pivot: what's about to be said is not conspiracy theory — it is proven. The U.S. government has been controlling Hollywood since cinema's earliest days ^{[1] — Carter Roy "The U.S. government has been quietly editing Hollywood scripts since the birth of cinema. Want to use military tanks? Hand over your script…" 17:58 Play} . The mechanism is straightforward: studios want to use real military equipment — helicopters, tanks, aircraft carriers. The government agrees, provided the studio hands over the script and accepts edits. Scenes depicting soldier suicides, Vietnam references in Iron Man and James Bond — gone if the military deems them unflattering. The CIA partnered with Paramount in the 1950s to ensure African American characters in films referred to themselves as 'free men,' countering Soviet propaganda highlighting American racism. From the 1930s through the 1960s, the FBI pressured studios to cut scenes showing their agents conducting wiretaps or behaving unprofessionally — not because of security concerns alone, but because they needed to look like heroes. The hosts note that studios comply for a simple reason: they want their films made, and working with the government is the path of least resistance.

By the 1990s, the CIA's informal Hollywood relationship had evolved into an official division: the Public Entertainment Liaison Office ^{[1] — Carter Roy "In the 1990s, the CIA formalized what had been an informal relationship with Hollywood by creating the Public Entertainment Liaison Office.…" 21:43 Play} . Its star consultant, former CIA operative Chase Brandon, worked on high-profile productions including the Jack Ryan film franchise — featuring Alec Baldwin, Harrison Ford, and Ben Affleck as a CIA analyst who battles global threats in cinematic style. Brandon later told The Guardian that the CIA had 'always been portrayed erroneously as evil and Machiavellian' and that it took the agency a long time to find projects that showed it in the light it wanted. The hosts note dryly that this is A+ propaganda — a relatable, heroic American figure who happens to work for the CIA, making the agency look indispensable and cool. The existence of this office means government-Hollywood collaboration isn't speculation; it's institutional policy.

After 9/11, the CIA allegedly saw an opportunity. A traumatized American public craving vengeance might be receptive to accepting harsh interrogation tactics — if they were made to seem necessary and effective ^{[1] — Carter Roy "Fox's 24 aired two months after 9/11 and glorified torture as a necessary counterterrorism tool. Zero Dark Thirty — with unprecedented CIA …" 24:10 Play} . Enter Jack Bauer, the hero of Fox's 24, which premiered just two months after the attacks and featured torture as a routine and effective counterterrorism tool. By 2005, the Bush administration's actual post-9/11 torture program had been publicly revealed. The hosts wonder: did 24 make Americans less surprised, and less outraged, by that news? Then came Zero Dark Thirty, which received extraordinary CIA cooperation — including access to the floor plan of CIA headquarters in Langley — and depicted waterboarding as instrumental in locating Osama bin Laden, despite torture not being officially used in the real operation. By some accounts, roughly a third of the film's runtime is a single extended torture sequence. The hosts observe that Homer Simpson torturing someone would have been played for laughs — perhaps the most effective kind of normalization of all.

To test whether hidden messages in The Simpsons could actually influence viewers, the hosts describe a 2002 Princeton University study ^{[1] — Carter Roy "In 2002, Princeton researchers secretly inserted Coca-Cola subliminal frames into a Simpsons episode. The result: viewers were 27% thirstie…" 27:40 Play} . Two groups watched the same Simpsons episode: the control group had white flash frames inserted, while the test group had frames showing a Coca-Cola can and the word 'thirsty' spliced in. The test group reported being 27% thirstier after watching — while the control group felt less thirsty. So subliminal messaging in The Simpsons does produce a measurable effect. But here's the catch: it's modest and transient. Nobody ran to the fridge for a Coke. Nobody became a soda zombie. The hosts draw an analogy: Simpsons fans aren't robotically saying 'Yes, Mr. Burns' when their boss emails them. The scientific consensus, they note, is that subliminal messaging can nudge people slightly but cannot produce lasting behavioral change — which is a genuine problem for the predictive programming theory.

A third ad break features two more sponsors: a spirited Pepsi advertisement set around soccer match day, claiming Pepsi 'just tastes better'; and a prescription Botox advertisement for adults with chronic migraine, defined as 15 or more headache days per month lasting four hours or more each, with accompanying safety information.

Far from being a government-backed brainwashing machine, The Simpsons spent its early years at war with the government — starting with the First Lady. Around September 1990, Barbara Bush told People magazine that The Simpsons was 'the dumbest thing I had ever seen.' The show's writers struck back by publishing a letter in Marge Simpson's voice, chiding Barbara for calling her family stupid when she was supposed to be teaching kindness ^{[1] — Carter Roy "Barbara Bush called The Simpsons 'the dumbest thing I have ever seen.' The show's writers responded in character — as Marge. Then President…" 31:06 Play} . Barbara's mortified response — thanking Marge for 'speaking her mind,' while noting that Marge was animated — was equally published. The feud escalated in January 1992 when President George H.W. Bush declared in a Washington, D.C. speech that America needed to be 'closer to The Waltons than The Simpsons.' The line landed badly with middle-class America, which identified far more with Homer's job, mortgage, and family than with the Depression-era austerity of The Waltons — as Jay Leno acidly pointed out. The hosts suggest the anti-Simpsons crusade may have even cost Bush some votes in his loss to Bill Clinton.

The hosts make a pointed observation: The Simpsons has always been fundamentally anti-authoritarian. Springfield's police are bumbling idiots. Principal Skinner is a mama's boy. The writers regularly skewer Fox, the very network airing the show. This is not the profile of a covert government propaganda outlet. And yet, predictive programming theorist Alan Watt has an answer for this: the show's writers are irrelevant. The elite communicate their plans through the producers and directors at the top of Hollywood. The writers themselves, convinced they're 'sticking it to the man,' are the perfect cover. The man, in this reading, is actually calling the shots from above — and the show's rebellious reputation makes it more effective as a conditioning tool, not less.

The episode's most grounded explanation comes from cognitive science: hindsight bias ^{[1] — Carter Roy "The most grounded explanation for The Simpsons' apparent prophecies is hindsight bias: the 'I knew it all along' phenomenon. Once we know t…" 35:15 Play} . Before an event occurs, we entertain multiple possible futures; afterward, we convince ourselves the outcome was always obvious. The Simpsons doesn't need a crystal ball — it needs 30+ years of satirizing everything, and probability will do the rest. Simpsons writer Jay Kogan put it plainly: 'If you make fun of everything and make impossibly silly jokes about everything, well, it turns out 30 years later some of them turn out to be true.' The Trump prediction is the perfect illustration: the writers originally wrote 'President Blank' and filled in Trump's name because he was already floating a presidential run in 2000. They weren't prophesying — they were making a topical joke. Similarly, Dr. Simon Singh explains that the show's writing room is packed with mathematicians who have hidden math jokes throughout the show's run; Homer's Higgs boson approximation is their craft, not clairvoyance.

The hosts broaden the lens to Star Trek, another franchise long cited as prescient for its communicator devices that resemble modern smartphones. The explanation is less mystical than it might seem: the show's writers worked with a consultant from the RAND Corporation, a government-funded think-tank specializing in policy and technological forecasting ^{[1] — Carter Roy "Star Trek's eerily prescient communicators weren't pure imagination — the writers consulted a RAND Corporation researcher to brainstorm pla…" 38:10 Play} . The consultant helped them brainstorm plausible futures grounded in real research — which is why the technology feels prophetic rather than fantastical. In a neat feedback loop, the creator of the first real mobile phone later credited Star Trek as inspiration. Art imitates life; life imitates art. The hosts close the loop with a Simpsons Easter egg: a 1994 episode features a joke about the RAND Corporation, saucer people, and reverse vampires controlling Springfield's adults — which either proves the show knows more than it lets on, or proves that even when The Simpsons mocks a conspiracy, it gets cited as evidence of one.

The hosts resist drawing a definitive conclusion. Is The Simpsons priming us for a master plan? They genuinely don't know. But they point out that at 37 seasons and counting, the show isn't slowing down — and neither are world events. Whatever the next pandemic, political shock, or piece of transformative technology turns out to be, The Simpsons will probably have been there first. And for millions of viewers, the show's greatest gift may not be prophecy but catharsis: a way to process the absurdity of the modern world through laughter.

Carter Roy signs off with the show's signature line — 'The truth isn't always the best story, and the official story isn't always the truth' — and credits writer Brandon Rizzuto, editors Alan Siegel, Mickey Taylor, and Justin Sales, fact-checker Sophie Kemp, and engineer/video editor Alex Button. Sources cited include 'Stupid TV: Be More Funny' by Alan Siegel and The Listening Post episode 'Covert Operations: How the CIA Works with Hollywood.' The episode closes with a promo for The Snare, a new ABC Audio true crime series about the decades-long investigation into the murder of Angie Dodge in Idaho Falls.