It is extremely low for Thos. Harkin’s crowd to bray, on behalf of Ry’s killers yet, that telling the truth about Reagan pretty much dooms me to mal-depiction by Michael Reagan and Moonunit Zappa.  As loathsome as their brutal defense of frightening Manson-pedophiles is, I have trouble bringing myself to tag them as they so richly deserve in their pedophile projection police Gestapoism, but wait, they did load a little girl link to this morning’s usual call at over 18 sites calling it my own image, meaning the putrid rumors the psychopath Fripp spread to stoke up justification for the AIDS cover up concerning Mt. Desert Island.

     The phenomenon that exists is a Tin Drum war crime.  What better way to avenge Hiroshima and recruit the USA to avengement upon themselves than to subvert the code of Little Boy by braying a paranoid pretzel?    

     Deaf performativity with ailing hearing aids or failing batteries always has the ramification of what the priss of lies calls, “losing true,” meaning causing the no longer enthralled hustler freshmen to phase out.  Who wants their attention anyway? Ultimately, however, the Obamas and their ilk go soooo low that pride also forbids not answering. 

     Getting under the hood of the AIDS attack, however this ways has some high yields you must know.   To cover for the rabid lies of Robert Fripp they hid the nerve agent they used and the injury it caused, full knowing I was in the dark and suffering amnesia.  Then they hit below the belt. All this is well established. Sniveling with libels and mockery they continue to domineer by preference and power, but nothing real, which has long been their operating slogan.

        For all that, they have tons of Israeli bullshitters and a homespun cut-a-deal queer candidate for President doomed by saying nothing to tunnel and kick dog dirty style in their humiliating cover up where supposedly I am the humiliated man.  It’s so oppo-world that one immediately suspects the coward Fripp dangerously adroit in weaselry and cunning.

      Intelligence is the capability to grasp the finer meaning of the garble spewn by goblins.   One of the facts well-established about the British goblins is that they punished me without trial where not only am I an innocent person but whereby their own admission this was what mandated punishing me, they wanted a human sacrifice, they made no secret of it, Tracy Chapman brayed loudly of their wheedle while refusing to step forward and issue timely warning.  What were they playing for for keeps? For position in a tiered society, they are Trump monsters, it doesn’t matter that they hide behind Bernie Sanders with their burning slanders.

        The only reason I entered politics at all was for Protection from Abuse.  I was lured to seek it from the perpetrators. The rabid made themselves out to be untouchable, all while using that to make someone like me too unimportant to consider, but meanwhile they knew who I was, knew I didn’t know they were behind the atrocity and attacks, and they suckered me by calling themselves Amnesty International.  They made child pornography and they low and behold, with manufacture straight from Neva Corporation’s dialogue division they provided suspicious voice overs and X-slurs that alarmed me. Switching tune from Warhol Museum to Pitt Psychiatry, they changed the alibi for their pornography.

         Wheedle-philes recall Fripp’s prancing about the difference between mass and popular culture.  Witch Doctor to the Ringo Attila the issue escalation dominances into the snarling cess-pit of drug ogery and mass morbidity.   Truth, they twang, escalates by Nature of Reality to Oppo-World in other words.

       Their carrot tape ONLY implicated Adults, not me, who wasn’t there and suffered impacted neural amnesia about it.  Who made the tape? John and Brian. John and Brain who? John John and Brian Brian Milnes, like millions, from the Y2K HQ of Herb Simon’s machine intelligence.   Natural language laboratories! Oh-ley! And the cartoon on their door, I kid you not, read “Neuro-transmitters take a holiday,” and had a man asleep under a newspaper, Tim Menees’ adaptation of a rag drenched in poor man’s chloroform wrapped over a child’s face by brutal molesters.  Did they facts bother the murderers as they chased me? Raped my loved one? Tortured and poisoned and poisoned and poisoned me some more?

       “Knot on your life,” they raged.

        HAIR promoted sexual utopianism for the stage show and then added a touch of hate at reckless abandon for the film.   It’s easy to see what they did for what it was. They had Lennon, the martyr and the victims supposed to weep and wail and forgive and hate on cue as Ringo designated the salivations.   Smarter people than me should be allowed to work out the facts and angles, but it was a mass death scam that of course they let the killers lead, chopping me up so no one challenged them as is the tradition for Stockwell in the CIA.

      Gellomini and Colucci circulated the story that if someone pulled the fire alarm an invisible oil would spread on them and they would be tripped up by a policeman’s shine.  Don’t get the bug juice, don’t do nothing wrong, and look out for the cops. Did ya git any on ya? Capt. Zappa she-male scare, Zappa puts it in your HAIR then he play all how dat git dere?