It's all about the pizza!

So there are a lot of crazy theories flying around the internet and Reddit about the content and hidden meanings and symbolism of what has been released so far in the emails of Hillary Clinton, Huma and John Podesta. The most disgusting is of course the one regarding human trafficking and the sex trade specificly related to Jeffery Epstein and pedophile Island. The place where Bill Clinton went 20 times with sometimes leaving his Secret Service protection behind. Also Hillary went there about six or seven times as well.

Podesta has been the subject of speculation because of the "Spirit Cooking" involvement with Marina Abramovic who is the popularizer of this practice.  "Popularized by Marina Abramovic, Spirit Cooking is an occult practice used during sex cult rituals, as explained in the book “Spirit cooking with essential aphrodisiac recipes” by Abramovic." There is a post by Mike Cernovich which details this entire theory. 

Wikileakes: Excepts from John Podesta's Email to Hillary Clinton

John Podesta: I can't help what I do! I can't help it, I can't...

Hillary: The old story! We never can help it in court!

John Podesta: What do you know about it? Who are you anyway? Who are you? Criminals? Are you proud of yourselves? Proud of breaking safes or cheating at cards? Things you could just as well keep your fingers off. You wouldn't need to do all that if you'd learn a proper trade or if you'd work. If you weren't a bunch of lazy bastards. But I... I can't help myself! I have no control over this, this evil thing inside of me, the fire, the voices, the torment!

Huma: Do you mean to say that you have to rape children at Satanic rituals?

John Podesta: It's there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following me, silently, but I can feel it there. It's me, pursuing myself! I want to escape, to escape from myself! But it's impossible. I can't escape, I have to obey it. I have to run, run... endless streets. I want to escape, to get away! And I'm pursued by ghosts. Ghosts of mothers and of those children... they never leave me. They are always there... always, always, always!, except when I do it, when I... Then I can't remember anything. And afterwards I see those posters and read what I've done, and read, and read... did I do that? But I can't remember anything about it! But who will believe me? Who knows what it's like to be me? How I'm forced to act... how I must, must... don't want to, must! Don't want to, but must! And then a voice screams! I can't bear to hear it! I can't go on! I can't... I can't...