The direct route to understanding how we know the Beatles and Warhol worked on the AIDS attack in advance are by the legal engineering representation that the rock ‘n roll manufacturing cartel behind the mass murder provided their lead ladies Leslie Sanetta Katz and Gail Carolyn Burstyn as a function of the corporate takeover war game, Two Virgins Pussyball, scripted in advance by gangs in University position, clocked to the atrocity, uploaded as a race war by Geffen/Obama and aimed at the United States, putting up a dummy, James MacRyland Crary, brokered by the British as an explanation and fait accompli for the murders of the Kennedy Brothers, as well as providing a lewd non-violence ultimatum masquerading from Star Trek as a plea for noblesse oblige (the noble obligation to die quietly) provided by Martin Luther King, a spiteful premeditation, to which the King Klan confederated over the money when assured by Yoko Ono that the crime was perfect.  She even mongered her mysterian philosophy to say that anyone who wrote the truth was automaniamatically contradicting their premise as traitor to the Spirit of Lennon, which was dubbed Caspar or Kasper in advance, the friendly ghost of Adolf Hitler in Argentina. Notice that Oswald was the signifier name of the leader of the British Union of Fascists and that Liverpool was the seat of the Confederate Secret Service during the war between the states, as well as the hostile inspiration for the American Silver Shirts. The Beatles were named after Hitler’s volkswagon, a fact the Warhols lampooned by kidnapping Jimmy Creary in one and collapsing its wheels outside a virtual White House in Pittsburgh nearby where Maquire of Nasa lived and Judith Resnick went to school. Like the gold coin that Saul Brecher offered Creary when stealing his coin collection, the truly stupid thought it wasn’t real because it wasn’t the one in the book. The intrakit data mania at work is archetypical of the players from places like Genesis.  They collapsed it in multiples towards lewd manuals for knowing. You find their signifiers in Reagan’s films and Japanese pornography, in lyrics and names on the “Real World” set and by place (Pitt), actions built into the city-scape (1025 Liverpool St.), by morbid moralisms in the evolution of hospital records as well as by obscene crimes ranging from arson to ripper. They told the tale as they went along by parable worthy of Agatha Christie who was one of Queen Elizabeth’s Burstyn writers, as widely recognized as her protege Errol Flynn for caustic German sympathies during Nazi tyranny and latterday scorn for liberal utopianism, sneeringly popular at University of Pittsburgh who ranted the stageplay from on high.

       Aw, is the National Guard embarrassed-duh?  The Katz behemoth is bipartisan, shoveling murder upon murder and lurid with racial greed.  It is an American conjob from the Obama era that will never be forgotten, despite the licky chops hex by House of Ono on telling anyone about it, as she labors at the paper shredder, furiously scribbling between the lines and calling down the Ghost of Evil, English patriots enshrined by Samurai in Yasukuni, Hoichi the Earless upon anyone who questions as sacred the script of Gail Burstyn, leader of tribes.  We are one, but no Pocahontas, hahaha, One, hahahaha, One, hahahaha. Penis, Penis Gabriel! He’s King of Kentucky Fried!

       People should question themselves for not seeing what it means.   There is, of course, motor-delusion behind the case demanding recognition as a Holy Cross.  Sean Lennon’s sybil thinks I murdered John Lennon by the satan of high school rejection crying.   The reason Sean Lennon thinks I killed his father, and by sublime dogma of Rockefeller rage will never so be dissuaded, is on account of the lewd fact that his father, a kingpin promoter of the Neva Corporation’s cult of plotting, the suckering singer to the lemmings in the British doublecross, was killed by Jimmy Phimmy Whimmy dhimmy, is that his father was a dirty drug varmint.  He can’t git that loop to stop playing in his ear whether he dissemble floors! No information penetrates. So the world of other innocent bystanders is struck silent by Seattle ripper loyal. He will die clutching the one-ness of Greta Thunberg to his ‘oly Geffen breast, gesticulating like a godforsaken Asian hun king, surrounded by a thousand burial mounds, spewing torrent omojanary curses while the attending nuns wail at the box of ashes, ‘if only they had found peace’!

         One last Senegalese swimmer will gyrate their rastalocks in wild mayhem of love for themself anointing Sean dong phuong grong zong:  Plastic Master of Thou Shalt Not Say.

         The whole thing is an acidhead combo from the zealots of the religious ultra-right who must’ve done LSD, too, such that when I submit affidavit that puts John Lennon in the significant and social light that he deserves it lights up his groupies to infinite poison protests allowing them to escalate the venom and malice behind the suicide pilot attacks:  Foucault, Strub and others, mandating death. Kowtow to the hemlock, Death! Only evil is sublime, Death! Amuse me ‘til I hate you, Death! It plays as an endless loop in his odious, voodootronic, hexagyrationist gizmo ellipse of delusion-promoting therapeutics, spewing death for rebelling in the name of th 60’s, Death! Spewing evil as sacred conformity, Death!  The Spirit of Lennon arisen, Death! Death! Death! Death and Evil to sanctify Dr. King. But you all love it, don’t n’you?

        Kowtow! As one!  Hahahahahaha. One!  Hahahahahahahahahaha.