The Cold War Administration had an aptitude for assessing how Christians would feel about various citizen dilemmas.  Calling upon Hollywood, who could provide anything, the trick [Thos. Gordon] was by Drama Club to secure a situation of a sort that allowed their Minutemen to “wear their horns proudly,” [Barry Chad].  Chad also, by the way, had Kurosawa’s autograph who used doubles for trickery in films about misleading people concerning their leaders. According to this representation what is right is what is popular and what is popular is popular because it is right.  Surprise, surprise, coming from the Zappa elite who dragged on through the seventies promoting shock jock rock as holy because a popularity disaster.

      My suggestion if there are nutters, Hollywood types, Seattle Queers from Warhol who are after the big, big money or slashering for McCartney over a penny or whatever is just to let them knock themselves out because it’s time consuming to understand the issues and they aren’t about to help on that one.  In those kinds of circles everybody don’t know nothing about no nothing, it’s a poker situation.  

      My guidance in the matter is a few points of what to look out for.  For example, the collaborationists use as their point of departure for working with the Hitlers behind the attack the idea that it should be done becuzz it was there, and the queerbait fit the role too beautiful to neglect.   This gets to storylines all bogus with louder mouths announcing that Keanu Reeves is a bad muh huh when he wipes out everybody who was involved and war is just the American way. The evidence shows that these sort of lines being represented come from the mind of the attackers themselves, using popularity processing, and their aptitude for misleading Christians and pandering to their power. They have no intention of wiping anybody out but the innocent and their whole claim to an assortment of entertainment industry representations of the script is a direct assault on the idea of AIDS Nuremberg and any sort of mission to defend our society from the attackers which means them.  They have engaged in terrible trickery, hitting both sides to make it look like a feud, using suicide bombers so they can claim victimization and threaten with biological contagion anyone daring to review their acts, misdeeds, script, power and premises, all of which, by the way, is underwritten by British exceptionalism and scorn for such quiet gestures as my father’s refusal to take the Presidency of the University of Georgia when he was offered because they would not de-segregate.

     Which brings me to the good kind.  As a child, a remarkable older young man, still a boy himself, a few years older than me, demonstrated, I believe he was Nigerian, fantastic ability as a dancer.  When I tried to do it, he said, no no no not like that. I didn’t feel put down at first, I just wanted him to teach me. I was starry eyed, he was impressive. Soon I met an older black man named Jim, who was a very angry fellow, with my stepmother and father, and was set upon by a black kid named James who terrorized me, told me to take off my glasses in a scene reminiscent of the murder in Oliver Stone’s Salvador.  You look at the murder of JFK and realize that the people who did it were subordinating him. He was their puppet show. When you look at the film, Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, from a Hollywood that knew Hitler escaped and see how wildly more attractive Sidney Poitier was than the other stars you can’t escape the feeling that egotistical, supremacists, real Mr. Biggs had woken up and were letting special blacks like Mr. Tibbs into their inner eugenic circle. That’s how we ended up with race pussyball clocked to the AIDS attack by the good kind in an Ark.

        Riback, who showed me nuclear documents, has a name that suggests two things:  Lie back, which is to say lie to those who lie to you, an interesting idea when you look at the way abortion was used, and get Ry, my father, back, probably the origin of the Bush machine’s targeting of me as an automatic jinx because Bush seems to have blamed daddy’s voice for the loss of his plane, which might explain the voice from beyond idea.  In closing, the ditto master mind of Ringo Starr, indexed cutely by Starkey to Keystar Carrie Gister, gassed her by kissing her, in this strange word play from the Seagoat Socrates of melting minds, overlooks that if anyone had told me about the idea of using the script being real and good for use as a plan I would have tossed it into the crick as worthless and inhuman.  These terrifying buccaneers failed to warn, blamed a child they mutilated, and now want the dough.

       You really have to pause and distance yourself from poor old Clint Eastwood if his wrapped up throat in Where Eagles Dare meant he approved of Reagan du’un all the talk’n.  Now there’s a hurdle to get over. I said if. Failure to warn and using me isn’t my favorite endorsement even when coming from a very excellent person.