You would think from listening to skrewdriver intellectuals like the remaining Beatles that a 98 lb. white child wildly hated by the local power structure above and including the Ku Klux Klan in a no man’s land backwater part of Pittsburgh that makes Detroit look safe had nothing to fear from violent black street marauders out looking for trouble with nothing to lose, even when the man in question, nicknamed for a funeral parlor, hovering seven feet tall dwarfing one of the most body-built German-Jewish military antagonists making good and sure of me for the cult of the attack. This goes to show that Colin Powell is not a very big man because a man who would lie to explain deadly blind side attacks on an already vulnerable and going deaf child isn’t big in anything but name.
One wonders exactly how he explains to himself what no one has ever missed. People who play the word games of Reagan and Sinfield immediately recognized in his Call on Paul, colon poop, CP for communist party, and Swid Powell, the index of SPIN Magazine to Suid Afrika. It must rankle his coterie and there with their salvation is cow hooves Zell. Powell doesn’t need me to deride him, he has proven for us all that he is an American Duterte who would have gladly taken Coretta King to a ball for Imelda Marcos. It clearly has never dawned on him in his patriotic duty to reflect that the nation’s laws are specifically worded to protect people like me from people like him.
If Bethany College wants to be hooted as a blow repost, I will be happy to oblige them as well. The rabid are too cute, but the discovery that the Onassis girl was a killer in the Dallas steeplechase, too, indexed to certain factors of arsenic and old Nancies, narrates to history the probability that some of the woman of the West were disinclined to admire Hiroshima. There is a puny cocksureness to the freshman capable of taking seriously their role in a deceit. Since I know that Hollywood acting and Dulles’ acquisition of larger-than-life secret agents was adroit enough that he managed to get JFK killed by the fixture in his doll’s house, I know it can be done but then I can’t do a lot of things other people can, nor would I.
The unfriendly friends of facelie love to ask me, “how’s your mother?” in the Mercy Allderdice hooligan game of steal the inheritance. While pap’s practical joke of disinheriting me was clearly fed by misinformers with their mouths to his ear and fiddles to his reputation, Warhol are loathsome scavengers with prestigious attorneys who use anything they can to manufacture a bad impression of me. If the rabid is going to get his freshman little pukes stoked up all mighty enough to openly lampoon my judgment concerning my father’s moodiness on his deathbed he might show a little of his bigness by admitting what murderous and mysterious forces had damaged my judgment in the first place, but that’s a daydream, we know better than honor from Penis Gabriel. I donohue would put me in such a bad light or buy the wormtongue, lickspittle, lisper campaigns of his killers or believe it an accurate reflection of his true feeling, so I shrugged the whole thing off with a quip that evidently infuriated Pitt. I said simply and nobly, father would have wanted what was best for me. If he stripped me of inheritance, it was because he thought it would be the best for me. I shrugged it off, but it stands pretty big and tall in this Donohue gang at Mercy.
Allen Dulles was no good and up to know good, evidently biding his time with King Edward while FDR was still around. Gangs like Blackwater are specifically the fate for the United States that FDR was determined to avoid. Reagan very understandably believed as though even telling him what was going on was treason. His pun punchlines from friends like Lewis Lapham lay in wait. Jack Ruby’s people at the Post-Gazette who clearly understood the slave auction of flesh traffic menu’d by Tony Cervi and Chas. Biggs as the Car Show came up with a place for observations by Kirsten Triplett, smudging together the scarlet letter and the mark of Cain in the name of pseudo-moralism. In the name of John Lennon they waged war on collegiate sex, encrypting their bed war game with obnoxious, unacceptable, clueswitz steeplechaste signifiers. The war gamers plotted long in advance a fascist reply to citizenship as biracial exchange barter in a holy war society. It was mapped to advance and considered a requirement by violent induction. The poachers mandated the surrender to behavioral review. The very idea that such post-doctoral education as those letters is legally mandatory for a brutally violated battered child being billed as a death sentence for not understanding screams foreign attack. Pricety Mz. Goto the prodigy didn’t have to wrestle with neurocongestive trauma. The program notes like Why Not Swop, and the privilege of Civil Rights being bartered through hooligan sexual capers memorialize the Obama Trump trip as a bi-partisan bash in Kennedy killing.
VW has definitely tried to convince students in secret they should do things to fatally sicken me. It’s not secret. These are the coal miner’s of the HIV found art lobby designed as a Buddhist execution full of meaning.
