A lot of tears just get put behind you in publication.  Collective memory then becomes a market for prefered tributes.  The Black Power Movement has made historic guilt into their bullhorn for silencing freedom of the press.  Militants are creating a secret police state of what they claim to be matching depravity.  It is the logic of G. Gordon Liddy, so it isn’t surprising that one of his Jewish friends mingles with Christians of great infamy in Seattle Clubhouse.   Liddy always says eye for an eye, be beneath contempt before they can be.  Swastikas start showing up to be sold as sacred African symbols by the meanest sharks of Black Power ever summoned from the bosom of Queen Elizabeth, and her lesser cow, Yoko Ono, in Shitsburgh, PA.

        The current state in the last days of Trump is a pretty sorry reckoning.  Joe Boideon reminds me of Bob Barker.  Hello good people, sells his 400,000 dollar tax free Vice President of duh people.   Meanwhile, the assassins tattooed me with a C in a Star of David daring me to copyright against the Pitt revenge on Ryland Crary, starring the horrid Yoko Ono, she beast of London.

       Many people who have been told and shown evidence for atrocity by Paul McCartney claim that they don’t know.  Obscurity for the gobblers of prog rock is like the secret sauce on a Big Boy hamburger.   One of the constructs that JFK’s murderers used in the first episode of Outer Limits is that they built a parable about hanky pank which they used again when they entrapped me in a shack with their Italian mafia boss from the Union for permanent outcast status.

       The double agency notion that my father knew and that this was a CIA joke to which he was privy rather than happened behind his back is a toxic question from the Hollywood of Donald Trump..  America needs a shrink.  When I arrived in Seattle for the rookie year of Ichiro, Kinokuniya Bookstore in Chinatown had a magazine for sale that read, “Would We Be Better Off Today If Hitler Had Won?”  Would we be better off without Japan?   America is being held liable to attackers who define themselves by who they exclude.  Curiously, their sharpest allies, the Blacks who cut deals on the ham radio with Branch Davidians, are Black Power Pennsylvanians who hated my father not for any double agency but because he was a white who tried to advocate for fairness towards Black people in schools.  They called it interference.  They took me to the cleaners for writing about divestment from South Africa.

          My desperation over Rosa, about which they made great sport, was in reality because I was trying to prevent the covid bomb.   Her goal however was to ensure that the Crown Predator, Penis Gabriel, stayed in power after Mt. Desert Island.  A swami with a complex catering to swamis with a complex, he was their doll.  Ryland, they united to scorn, was an unworthy builder.  Better to work with John Shulman, they ruled.

           There’s no one that can be trusted.  The problem of the celebrity superstate, even with their sad, scary, token losses in the covid monstrosity, has never been more obvious than the cardboard people crowd at baseball.    Our High Command, while catering their their flatulent egos, has been creating, all over the world, huddled masses who revile us while chirping up a fashion culture in honor of that hatred.  It’s hardly true that as a child I had no defense.  Although, like me, her vestige is shorn by the sad and revolting mistreatment blond kids enjoyed in a holocaust survivor ward, she was a liberated woman young.  Their example is what made me queerbait.  

      Family Law doesn’t bother with actually getting anywhere when it comes to me.  You might  find me gawking over the hidden pun of how the D in stepmom Adkins is pronounced a T, but the sad fact is that I wake up to The Radio where the truth about the AIDS attack is never hidden:  RICHARD STARKEY IS LAUGHING HIS ASS OFF.  America is an abnormally passive lobby on the score of evidence.  Lithely plodding with deceit about treason so he can answer by the art of it that those who don't are doing it themselves is a surfing technique of Piter Gabriel the viper.  Who can resist that lisp of facelies?