It could be fun to speculate on what triggers the delusion.
. . . the delusion that some perspectives are evidently construed by those holding them . . .
. . . to be worth more than the tissue wiping the standard indiscreet and usually quite uncomfortable probe . . .
Alas, the best guess is the usual outrageous arrogance fostered by gross insecurity fostered by a terminal degree of REACTIVE ATTACHMENT DISORDER in their early years.
Though I suppose chronic and persistently galactic levels of cluelessness could arise from being genetically out of their depth.
Or maybe a genetically altered wasp stung them in their egos triggering a very troubling cell division gone wild in key synapse centers.
Or maybe some sort of strange contamination occurred from an unfortunate series of falls face down in slug slime from slugs from some secret biological nuke experiments. I hear that stuff can take over sinuses horrifically . . . and progress rapidly and voraciously from there.
Some cowboys insist that a similar delusion seems to arise from greenhorns arrogantly running and jumping on their horses without being sufficiently careful to remove some very tough and sharp pine cones first. I’m not quite clear about that one but it supposedly has something to do with resulting pains capturing so much brain processing time and resources that coherent thought is not a frequent event for a good deal of time taken for healing.
Then there’s the allegation that some ET’s keep a stable of frequently visited naysayers quite stocked up in their blood levels of a perverse hallucinogenic that convinces the hapless victims that THEY are uniquely in possession of the sacred secrets of the hidden structure of reality. I hear it’s basically a huge galactic put-on for the amusement of the ET’s watching the hapless humans make persistent fools of themselves. Kind of like some Chinese merchants feigning ignorance of English and good sense all the while taking the hapless customer to the cleaners price-wise . . . Then guffawing to the max with all the relatives in the back room.
God alone knows, the truth, of course.
It is occasionally amusing to see them dance their compulsive dances bouncing to and fro upside down on their pointed heads.
Bravo!
Does that mean you're not going to address why The Object™ was broadcasting in the FM band?