The house that Jeffrey Thomp-son built for his sons out back resembled enough Clem’s shack to raise the question of whether his tutoring me by misuse of a slide rule that set back my algebra study to great tears of confusion as a little boy signified his resemblance to Mancine.  There is no question, given that this oaf of the Japanese, who hammered driftwood to his wall, built dams as an engineer, and gave me drawings for show and tell illustrating magnificently the works of Steel pouring processes (taking me to the Jones and Laughlin fire around the time he lived above a funeral parlor) could have, with my father Ryland, made me the most noble man in the region, had they not had Trumpytune’s ideas of modern education as their fire of faith.  Instead we have a murder mystery, yet again, of the Kennedys from Code Red College, as Bill Gates mongers a sadistic Japanese and Israeli frenzy because he wants that hard boiled egg.  It’s a matter of principle.  No pizza, he wants that egg.

        The Nazis are chewing the carpet because somene left out the O.

         I must mean the R.  Look a moment at Arnberg, the Gestapo of Duquesne who dared to lure a battered deaf man to Inslee’s domain and poison his prey after a series of murders put on by a Rusted Root tribal neuro-Muslim doctor Al-Noori working with Tony Norman and his pornography associates since I was kidnapped and tortured at Clem’s, screaming for my mom, who came and screamed back.

       Then look at Thunberg.  ARTHU nberg.  Arthur’s Nuremberg.  In keeping with the Wattenmaker / Attenborough theme park.

While it’s never been entirely clear, like Veronica Lake, that Greta knew the role she was uploaded to perform for the killers, she’s mum.