In American politics the fingerprints of organized crime come in my forms.  Hillary Clinton, a gob of nuisance, used to double as an Alice in Wonderland glee club ripper hatter in State Policy meetings about undeclared (unprovoked) wars around the world, tapping the table impatiently and shouting, “Off with their heads!” with a giggle for  being so pleasing to the assembled. Nobody who knows her has ever considered for a moment that the victims of her policies, on either side of the body count, were anything other than conveniences for her position in power. It’s the purpose of the tools to remain invisible.   If anyone, like Gabbard, balks, the Epstein-North Division know what to do. Politkovskaya used to report these matters in Russia, shaming American journalism into building an Iron Curtain against ink devil, independent reporting. It isn’t an Ironic Curtain anymore. America has abandoned ship and been rescued by the Axis.  They know who their friends are now.

       One of the slogans Black people learned from Goebbels is calling unprovoked hate crime an eye for an eye.  That makes sense as they smash the innocent to the ground, leering their hatred in pummeling bloodlettings, oofing like tigers at the kill.  People like Hillary Clinton see this as the show business side of their necessary evils. There is something particularly revolting about reading Colin Powell lacky and Reagan lickyboot Robert Fripp’s brays about accounting and personal integrity as he shreds evidence, pimps on the traumatized and disabled and replays old tapes of his cheap tricks.  Still, it’s worth knowing how this reveals the cold blooded face of Hillary and the NAACP.

        The game at work is part of a very large metanarrative impinged on our society by those who allowed JFK to perform for us in capacity of his Guest Appearance as Mr. President before the Royal ripper hatter Excellency whose ideas will work out better because they had it planned.   One of those comes through in Mark Lane’s baiting, but it’s important to place Mark Lane in his index as a harbinger of the marked lane designating Kennedy’s evasion into the guillotine of Jesus. Lane was in Jonestown the day the Twinkie Defense killed Harvey Milk for Harvey Meieren and Sean Strub, later announcing the decree, “Don’t cry over split milk,” for Penis Sinfield and the Ruling Stones.   Jonestown was run by a Fripp type known as Jim Jones, whose legacy was praised by Franklin Graham in a series of vignettes including one about Lazarus who he announces with tears of glory to be Hitler back from the dead. Jim Jones wudda liked the John Bennett Circle of Catholic Synod rhapsodies, “the universe has a requirement of man that is analogous to man’s requirement of cattle for their meat and their leather,” which Bobby Werner found a very Russian idea.

        Lane and Werner are as one with Fripp about the most important thing, that Wattenmaker is a hoot.   Wattenmaker can be construed with veritas as the Federal Judiciary’s take on the nature of reality.   Terror pays off. You keep tapping and tapping away at the hidden neuroplasm, while the coward Fripp bangs on about his killer kook calm, until the bodyguards of E. Howard Hunt hafta intervene at the Clubhouse Program to protect the poisoners from the impotent rage of their puppet.  Tapping, under the tea kettle shatters. Everyone knows that for the master ass kisser, furiously demanding his boot be licked, that Reagan’s favorite scene will never be enough for Tony Levin.

       One of the Key Concepts of Kennedy’s allowance of Guest Appearance as Mr. President was the frustration and rage of wife stealers taunting from the high privilege they attained.   As FOCUS Magazine of CMU and Hypatia Alternative Feminist Conflict noted in Pencilboy Billboards, the Alpana scam was an Epstein-North Production from the MASH Hotlips direction. While mocking the Civil Rights Movement quite justly as a Whorehouse Sit-In demanding sexual services from Green Card slaves, the NAACP Veterans rammed through Two Virgins Pussyball in support of white eugenics behind Race and Reason on Mt. Desert Island, HitlerReagan’s wreath at Bitberg-Belsen and Two Virgins Pussyball, while deceiving by Yojimbo feudal stage management.  An Ark that thrived under cloak of race war, courtesy the brilliants in Seattle and intellectual giants of University of Washington sociologopathy.

          To find the proof of all this doesn’t take much work.  It’s called WQED in Pittsburgh where Ark/Artek who built India’s Parliament and Salk Labs covered for child mutilation and gangrenous scarification under rubes of African Society for MisterRogers.   Marcus Welby marking us be well for seven foot tall Schugar Bear who wudda killed us if he didn’t git to sleep in our last house de leff before we moved in.

        Pittsburgh NAACP like nothing more than it does slapping five over de trusting white.  Proctor devotes a long monologue to the laugh the Black women git over lying to and setting up the trusting white.   For whom? For the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette who put Mt. Beatty in an article of mine protesting Apartment and injected parochial values for the German Green Party of Seattle Ku Blackery on my dead father’s ultimate diploma of service to Bush, signed Donohue, the anonymous, his obituary.

         Here comes a good Gore, sniffin’ up the rear, just like a good Gore should.

        And for Mr. Douglas, who insisted, while Marcus and his son were getting it together with McPherron, that if you try to help Blacks they would only turn on you.  Try denying it and see what happens. KDKA mouthpieces for Yoko Ono liked to laugh at Jimmy’s letter and say that stranger things have happened that jealous boyfriends saying, hehn, and messing up a cuckold Valedictorian’s peer review sessions, but the truth is that Leslie Katz’ famous complaint had a LOT MORE to do with Pittsburgh NAACP designs on Midori Goto, and Spike Ole Lee’s famous work with Gail Burstyn, acknowledgement to eerie art of D.T. (Sibyl Nostra) than Abira Ali’s Dominican advocacy for a Hollywood society dressed up to portray broken souls as the hanky of Oprah.