I’ve written about how Ian Wattenmaker liked the Crawford film Berserk and that mother Nancy seemed to know about his joy in the spike through the head scene, but Wattenmaker’s favorite scene in all cinema was when they kicked down the door in Bullitt.  There’s reason to review these matters, he not only targeted birds with be be guns and bragged of groping in Jerusalem, not only used a nerve agent and had comments like, “idea has struck the mind,” blowing up a water balloon (his brother did) all over my face by surprise attack, he showed me a gory picture of the last life in a fatally shot soldier, drawn like their mimic of the King Crimson album whose shadow fell over my life.  We know about Wade Beebe.

       The term Bernard, his father, the Marion Doctor in history, is central to the index code and provides the usul for the totality of the language idioms in stark deployment, so review of Wattenmaker’s charms is in order.  Let’s Mrs. Coburn.  I was present when she learned of Dr. King’s death and she and my sister wailed in frustration, grief and pain.  Mother for some ridiculous reason delivered both her, by recommendation, and me, evidently by prior arrangement, to the home of this fascist Israeli who was a psychiatrist in Attica for neuro-experimentation.  If Ian really said to her, Francis you are a big ball of shit, she must have hated me because I tried to mollify her by saying to her exactly what I thought he was saying which was Francis Kentucky Fried Chicken.   He also called her Co-bean-ya.

          After the covid bomb and when the surrounders agents put semen in my coffeee at Red Elm I did got very sick and have developed immunological issues of uncertain nature, jock fungus, a finger rash, and there is no doubt this was a monstrous continuance of the British HIV test war game and now antibody test war game, the decree that uncertainty is a mandate and that if you wash they will be offended.  All of their subtleties and terrible art contain inside jokes that have the mystique of cinema allusions, like Hitler’s film makers famous mirror scenes recurring in America.  There’s a bunch of junk online about rainman but the Auburn gang did hold me in a downpour.

          As leader of the Moguls of Evil Elixir, Inc. Sir McCartney has never been anything but an odious embarrassment to the human race, strutting pompous humbuggery and making comments like, oh someone said you saved me, one hears so much of that, you know.    While his ripper hatter attache Penis Gabriel turned the whole world into a metaphor for abortion, abusing or using the name of Shonen Knife to justify murder of Shannon by knife, the killer wove allusions to Eye of a Cat, and Wait Until Dark, into his theme of stalking to kill in the name of Lennon’s shade.

            These people have no more respect for this country than John Shulman did for the museum he robbed so gravely it is a top article in Smithsonian, yet bankers helped, Kiva Han was right next story to him where JFK, Jr.’s assassins broadcast from as they railed the rain of war upon him, and both Wen and Ono brought in Bala’s crowd for the Warhol.  Shulman was literally a franchise agent for No. 9, complete with Samuels’ Ono tapes for James W. Child and O’Bannon carpets.     They brought in a wrestling champion and a girl named Jennifer Craven to call Creary crazy in love.  Now as they dissect the soul of their persona with Ultrahigh they want to consolidate the shadow from their secret world while odiously sniveling that it is the light.