The girls of the Wuhan Tea Injuncy Party of Code Red College were expert at Chinese lore. Though a third my age they could trot, trot, trot, in triglossia, down the tales of Kisan and Lin Zexu. From all the evidence, Oliver Stone worked out the Covid attack in advance with China’s new Mao, Kim and that plutocrat Putin. Greta was interdicted by Attenborough for Inslee’s assurances to the global welfare, and Black Lives Matters took to the streets to herald the coming of Yoko Ono’s lewdious squint collecting for Gretch Haw. dOno had followed the Kennedy doll house with the fingerprinted accusation of Hiroshima where Duke Edward lost a diva by name sacking the queerbait Creary to induction by the Wattenmaker klan of Shiono. The name was Wattenmaker was telltale. Riback tipped me off in the 70’s that the Israeli push for Trump meant zuklear powers over the nattering liberals playing all big.
The buddhists of self-immolation watched Foucault work his brethrenship over the pukes in Seattle. Amazons with AIDS are now for hire to Tulsi Gabbard’s mission house who cut the throats of Saoirse and two more of her immediate kin who disappeared in a code red Chinaman’s poof after the hit squad led by Andrew Cho manufactured their excuse by the murder of Donnie Chin. It was a manufactured excuse. Yojimbo Moxy is the whole tea kettle of Ringo Starr going off for Ted Cruz. Keep hitting both sides til they make some riot then make peace.
Chop and the Insurrection are the same exact deal. This one Seattle queer godfather of SAM explained with great relish the way Metformin was described to him as tearing away the carbs from molecules, he made the gesture hard and ruthless I could see him imagining it was like tearing the clothes off little boys, he gestured thusly again and again.
Traitors? Who defines them as that after the Beatles Trojan Horse has conquered? The Trumpytune imbeciles who have shadowed me since childhood are so easily taunted by intellect and non-violence that they mass slew their own grannies and came out quacking like Pittsburgh Penguins, wanna make sumfin outta it? The stupid liberals ran for the pee closet at the first sign of trouble What’s next, penis Hawley? Boxing matches in the Senate? Get your feet off my desk you cowardly, child mutilating Republican piece of shit.
It’s pointless to deny it. It was all done openly in cold blood. The rabid kept signaling you deserve it, you deserve it, prove me wrong. When genocide is at work the problem is proving the reporter wrong, sir. Well, here came the bonus attack. Proved me wrong, eyh?
The rabid make suckers out of men. This is the moral of the story of Jimmy Crary’s love for King Crimson, too. Instead of wanting to help public safety and protect Gays from the criminally insane, Midori Goto went to Texas to incite them as a Trumpytune and now dreams of securing Yoko Ono’s violent dominion through a Jericho Project marriage farce, legendary Tive working the Black Panther / KKK car thieves against the white! THE WHITE!!!!! Seizure by marriage, well known since Jackie killed JFK for McCartney, is the least of it. Oh, the Jackie card, well, yes, you don’t hafta tell me, poor old Jimmy Creary, let’s play Saoirse by spider code on the cover of NWAsian Weekly.
Dacoits of the moniker junta are dopplegangsters, as we see from Andrew Cho and Andrew Chen whose Code Red College is a breeding ground for Tulsi Gabbard’s unimaginable British fascism. Threats to poison me by food supply come everyday. It wasn’t enough to advertise the covid bomb by batshit in the mouff, they wanna me to to anal kisser.
The dead for Tacoma are stories but not stories, cardboard stories you might say. I always wondered why Cathy Hoog with tabs in Olympia would listen to me go through the Burstyn letters detail by detail agreed what they meant and do nothing. Inslee had more up his sleeve.
Of course, Ming Wen was in on all of this all along with Ono, Gibson (who lit the Aussie fires) yes you did Mel, see you in court, and Lucas / Lucarelli, the Chinaman, as some people like to say. Fripp and Wen raped me in the Shulman neuroplasm for Ringo, raped my deaf advocate, killed Saoirse, we get the picture, correctness huns of extra-judicial corrections. They would lisp at me “piece of mind” and “thanks for opening my mind (not enough)” and follow people around who helped me with the bar room casino soldiers of McGravee. The police hookers in Pittsburgh all had Burstyn’s trademark way and instructing their john in how to rub the button. CMU, said Wen, ate your brain, which is why the Burstyn mesmer at the Wuhan Injuncy Tea Bash knew I would shudder when they closed the door, as though locking me in the kitchen with Lewis Lapham’s fave rave Kasperoski.
