The essence of Peter Gabriel’s sickening, pro-hazing fraud on behalf of the AIDS attackers in the nightmare war game Two Virgins Pussyball executed by the Reagan regime during the blackout and evil hour at Pitt is easy to sum up.  Gabriel sneers that a non-violent, deaf, badly battered victim of kidnapping, torture, peer abuse and abuse by organized feminists as a sex toy, being called queerbait could not possibly have gotten the message and decided to use himself as predator bait in a desperate attempt to secure irrefutable evidence that would have to be heard even by the most corrupt, cynical police department, that of Seattle.  Peter Gabriel holds that the whole world owe him subordination for this sale.

       Mt. Desert Island is the locale which Peter Gabriel avowed was a stage setting.  Perhaps you are unfamiliar with a place that in 1988 still had four digit phone numbers.   It is where, for example, Caspar Weinberger lived in his military mansion, a place called Acadia, where one of the most noxious white supremacists, Carleton Putnam, wrote his tracts, Race and Reason and Race and Reality.  It is where a mouse experimenter named Calhoun conducted his overpopulation leads to cannibalism production. It is where an agent for Gurdjieff kluk named Zell praised Josef Goebbels, which Peter Gabriel seconded on behalf of his Reifenstahl found art Isis object Youssou N’dour in Geffen-Obama Martial Pussyball law war gaming, snickering Reagan didn’t know, … about Donaldo Gulligan, about pills that cause measles, about 74 being the best number...Leslie who looks like a mouse, or a guinea pig named by Gail Burstyn Billy Jean Guinevere, one upon a time.  Instead, Gabriel laughed, what could we have been thinking of, and said that in his Experiment Park nothing is real.

        Gabriel praises Goebbels by his ventiloquism fluxus through Zell’s agency representation because he lives by transfixion.   He is an impressario of the auteur film-maker responsible for all that Hitler pageantry. As Kasper, Gabriel’s favorite at Warhol and Mellon Bank, said of himself, if you come after me you better kill me because I will not stop until you are dead, speaking for the Friendly Ghost of Argentina, King Edward’s Royal buddy.  Gabriel pulls penis to concentration camp films, while growling his vivisection ingenuity in making a neuroplasm in a semi-coma hostage grunt like a pig (“snore snore,” wrote Gabriel Burstyn) so the plastic women of the universe could call the Tin Drum golem found guilty zombie in a Jewish neighborhood as congenital regressive infantilist.

        Therapy, he lisped. Call Security.