It usually begins for me with Timothy McGuire, at NASA whose sister let out such a screech when she met me and bellowed:  He’s so weird!.  McGuire, like Molly Maguires, and Timothy McVeigh was there for the Challenger but also of all the people I knew he lived closest to The White House replica where the stolen Beetle tilted on its axis, a feat that Bobby Callow’s father could duplicate.  From there I remember how MisterRogers’ gang depicted The Story of the Bird, my search for the truth about AIDS, as being right in my own backyard.  So many threads are like that bluebird leading to a little grid of turncoats enjoying that the klan controls all from Pittsburgh.

        I’ve answered grueling details unpaid a long time and am badly injured by the interrogation but did you know that Jane Thomp, my sister from the Gus marriage of dad before WW2, in Iowa, the half sister, lived in Penfield Downs?  Doesn’t that sound like a war game.  Punt or gain?  Penfield Downs.  They controlled how the Beatles records came to be played, in her partnership, living across from each other, with Nancy Jane.  It was in that house that Jeff Thomp, who had the mysterious bodybag thing in their attic, set me off on learning about Mitsui who arose from vile intimacies in the rival warfare that grudged him.

         Jeff Thomp took me, a clone from the Donaldson Family, and drew for me the industrial patterns of the Steel Industry where he worked plenty.  Part Injun who built dams in Japan.  He and Jane obviously helped design the pit at Kings Estate, but importantly so did the local NAACP.  One of the things you learn about the wry jest from Death in the Family Joe Biden about klan work is how clever the jest in turning over the property of a child of a human rights author’s little boy to The Indian Community.  Indians, hmm?  Honorary the Black Men like John Heinz?  And there was ku-guy, Joe Young, whose mother told us to bring her alllllll the Kennedy halves dated 1964.  So much for sentiment.

          Penis Anderson of developmental stages in the atrocity let us know that Gretchen Thomp of Greenwich Village was in on the mouth poison crime while Sinfield’s townies worked Penfield Downs syndrome extruding text under double names of Hanna, to make clear the real estate.   Carrie, who was present at the mouth poisoning, gave me an email with carriebird, from Ryland’s old refrain Canned Canute Canary Bird sold his wife for half a turd, evidence as I suspected that batshit crazy was put into play by the Obama machine who covered for the AIDS attack working with Joel Caplan, the Jew, who managed to get a poet name Joel to load me down as a tribute to Shulman’s poetry thievery.  Having nothing else but my legendary verse, and a curse from Elmira, where Twain Mark Mark worked off his debts, what else is the son of a pawn shop tycoon gonna put the hex on for grab?

         Thos. Gordon liked to poach with great anger, Larry won’t like it if he hears you stole his line.   No one had to start a rumor that I was being blamed for the Tree of Life massacre, the murder of Saoirse spoke for itself, but of all the places the NRA seemed most welcome it was Caplan’s pawn shop, the one place on earth I actually felt I could buy a fire arm so easily they were practically trying to shove one into my pocket, over by school, where Caplan pimps virgins for the earthy Catholic types.

           The Kluck of Ku Faithful and their Ku Blackery are despicably irrational when grabbing the pot of someone they monger to own.  Study of the covid fratricide yields a kinkaid of interesting war work, kin kills and of course the hillbilly presumption of whose marriage is respected and whose the Union lays waste.