Lennon’s Theme Park of Double Fantasy on Mt. Desert Island to punish the two-timer with trauma of AIDS was long pre-planned, a Trump intellectual heritage to make a Gold Rush on the Texas Schoolbook and Romero’s zombies out of Kennedy researchers goaded into tearing the flesh of the kill, raking the forensic coals in a lewd Federal metaphor for abortion honed by Hitler’s hatters and this barfbag archaeological fistfight by quarrymen in a heritage of Pitman and Stone is why John Lennon put into spin the awful sexual violence of the hip word for approval, dig it, dig it, dig it, dig it. King Crime Crimson have shot at my feet, allowing me no safety or home, selling hippy whaz effects as dog’s flesh to Nugent, John Cash and Franklin Graham in the name of King Edward, the Eternal Jesuit’s unsayable pussyball game, for a pat on the glittering behind from Elton the Chocolate magnate of the Tropics.
There is more than a hint of rivalry in the bad blood. I remember being in Philadelphia when Mishima, a Black Muslim, asked me, “whatcha doing with the good book brother.” Asking, “wanna know why youze white?” I said absence of melanin, he said, “Nah, ain’t none of that shit, it’s cuz you the deteriorating European and in the next life you will come back as a hound.” This served the Pittsburgh NAACP arrangements protecting Wattenmaker. Whenever I see for an instant what they tried to do with the nerve agent to my brain, I am filled with oblivion.
No matter what they say, Ralph, and Fripp and Tony, what they did to James Crary was an attempt to render me invisible to murder in cold blood as a public statement of obedience to Reagan’s authority and the race patrol his bloodcurdling ingenues arranged in the poor districts, called the Green Party.
I haven’t made an issue yet of the indexicality in Nordstrom, but Nordenberg is the poison crime magnate of Pitt and Nancy Moore, the mother whose senses suddenly banished her son to the arms of child molesters, is a namesake of Strom Thurmond’s so it is entirely in keeping with the wheel of turnaround that began in 46 as AH to 64 that None Dare Call it Treason neuroprompted in the head of the golem on cue to None Dare Call it Poison, again the unspeakable meaning unsayable in Catholic Worker’s partnership with Noam Chomp-sky, and darn it, I now have a problem, it seems, with my mouff.
Lennon taught the children what to do which is what not to do and Lazarus came back from the dead where they used to call him Hitler in Franklin Graham’s contra band. Counterfeit became real and the Confederacy rang the cracked brass bell for Ono the Yakuza announcing that she will set you free through inhuman slavery. I was horribly molested. Ono and Ming Na Wen have sure been inspiring (sarcasm) in the way they have humiliated Chinatown. Why, the legend of Donnie Chin from the wings of Penis Gabriel to notarize their claims from Warhol.
The winner was really Lew Karl and Judge Pechman. They were both indexed to the monkey experimenter Peckham. Lew announced that saying there was no absolute is still an absolute and Pechman forgave the rioters for doing the right thing to the queerball. Seattle belongs to the Graham Family, it was on loan for the prescribed counter-performance, the dung mouth scene of the alienists who served by automatically saying 666 when they were asked if they belonged to Jesus, it was the negativity prompt from the salvationists using Lennon as Rabelais in permission to do evil routines, promising forgiveness when they became proper hellraisers for the brass.
Mancine, the Warhol dacoit, not only took me to Cannibal Girls and proverbially shit in my head, he had me read a union media story about murderers where the news team was instructed when to arrive and what to say. This is an ongoing thing with the rabid and part of a larger, sadistic, semi-acrostic, with signifiers like DF for Donald Finnegan and big men overlooking failures; Donaldson and Donald Crary of Dallas City, Jane Jane and Norma Jeanne. The Counterfeiteracy is the truth beyond evidence and once you subscribe you may lie in its names. We are trapped in Beelzebub’s tales of the Kennedy assassination by Edward the Immortal Jesuit and his klan of Gen. Edwin Walker and Oswald Mosley.
Queerbait served the bosom of Ultrahigh who found his number to the impacted plasm. Queerball was afraid about Leslie Katz because he had been tortured by Kasperowski and this was infinite bliss for the home wreckers at Sound Mental Health. You won’t have much left to enjoy it with if you win, they sneered.
The wicked Trump had leaned over his crystal ball with Obama and said, the queerbait schemes to reach people just as we prophecied by encroaching on the Midori ham in the name of hippy freedom to tell, watch as we anticipate this. They announced the vicious Wilma Cooncast from Warhol in camera of the Rosa blitzkrieg, making snapping Turtle Creeksters of the Seattle eccentrics more interested in the dig than in protecting public safety. They even called it Ewart at EW Circuit Road, at the edge of a Jewish Holocaust Survivor community where Wecht, who stole Kennedy’s brain, lives.
Unable to man up about failure to warn and save lives, the insidious gerbils of the KKK beholden Green Panthers snivel and rant, “of sex, of sex, hahahaha, give us access or we shalt suredly slay,” yammering fiendish vows of ISIS from Penis Gabriel’s Real Worlds in the whorehouse sit-ins.
In Dealey Plaza’s Death Valley the discrete upload of RRTHRUS from http://themepaper.webs.com was beamed down with Dan Rather to smother it in cordiality, but the pigments of verbiage are telltale. Our people have been stripped of hope and all that is left is a mad quest for gloat. One can only revel in the vizdum of their buccaneer (sarcasm). Defsukke, we alone are different. We shall rape you, rape you and rape you and rape you. They mutilated me, the man who wud be duh walrus, as a barometer voodoo doll from Captain Beyond.
