A suspicious logic for the corona outbreak clocked to “Out Now” comes directly from the Trump Administration, but the Boston Globe admits in spring of 2020 that research journalists are having their lives threatened by the regime.  Congress isn’t going to investigate.  The prior Impeachment was a plot to say: you might not like this, America but the joke’s on you.  Police abandonment is in gear full steam, recklessly endangering the fabric of The United States of America   Meanwhile Trump is roundly given high fives at the secret, slide-away wall Council of Dictators; a scene as much resembling the old-time Man From UNCLE as it does the newer Star Treks.   The war in Vietnam, as a function of rhetoric measured in body counts, has been brought home.   

     The hotwire attaches of Penis Gabriel continue to bang on and assassinate online and off, but always on the air, prisoners of their own hate and the day that never was.   For them, the success of the AIDS attack was so overwhelming a grounds to rejoice that the covid monster is just bonus.  They are cutting, cutting, cutting, cutting and pasting together the fabric of their plastic reality road, advertised by still another murder of Kennedys, daring you to violate Obama’s Political Correctness injunction.  Even the Boston Globe, still wounded in Dominican Republic, kowtows.