Evil piles up in scrutinizing the F.B.I. Even after grueling ordeals of flight and banishment their media and dystopian psychiatric myrmidons have depicted me as a fugitive from unpunished juvenile disgrace. The Beatles have always had the media gravy train under their thumb. Pittsburgh Police have organized the idea that I am a snitch ratting out child pornographers while the Jews of this bedlam keep watch on the hallways of court administration. They tortured me, they ripped me off, but there is one thing I will say for the Jews, they are consistent. They have returned no good will and have never ever failed to treat me horribly. The F.B.I. granted them a license to do the AIDS Onslaught, as the script of Gail Burstyn makes obvious, executed as a pseudo-philosophical masterplan, hiding the evidence in broad daylight using the camouflage of abortion.
It is on the matter of executing their pseudo-philosophy that Sherman Alexie of Seattle founded his bully pulpit. Let’s continue to bring the aggressor into focus. Sherman Alexie, who some insightfully call Little Jesse after Jesse Jackson’s fanatical protectorate of thugs at control of the public podium, his grip on the holy microphone of minority demagoguery presents a shrewd hand in his alliance with Israel, policing every last lickspittle in the last halfway houses of the left.
When I realized that foreign English, who by the admission of the traitor Martha Gellhorn were unconcerned and unaffected by AIDS, an insouciance in which she wrapped her baby toy bomb in a last, dastardly act to protect Franco and the Jews of Israel, had planned all along to sell music as a snake oil to the bereaved, I was sick. I guess there’s no winning an extermination without a portfolio for buccaneer over the kill.
The Palace Royalists working with lewd Zuluesque wannabees masquerading as Mao Maos set up an inhuman economic systematic to feed from me as though my injury status were a conduit to the Green Party. The Native American bullies who ignored the truth about Gail Burstyn and Peter Gabriel, just like the noxious Israelis who pulled the pussyball tracking of civil freedoms for the war game, a fact that teachers at the heartless castle of vampires where I attend college made clear they had meditated and considered in staking out the warpath, and the dramatic scene for the kill, these Native Americans are in play to make a bid for control of a forgiveness package without even the decency of admitting what was done. These callous murderers had an extermination of their own to cash in like a chip at the multiculture Vegas wheel of British Royal thinking. We weren’t even allowed to suspect until it was all over.
The Beatles arrived from Capitol Records like a new spirit upload on the heels of Kennedy’s murder, and King Crimson followed fast in the same shyster slip of the shell game on the heels of King’s murder. Their album titled KKK (Court of the Crimson King) deluded the listeners with the usual evil of soothsay, crooning that they were enlightened and deep, while brutally molesting children, torturing our history with lies, and leering with stigma at the bereaved. Just as these cowardly loathsomes had Kennedy killed for the age of color television, consigning him to the legacy of black and white, Penis Gabriel destroyed all civil record just before the Internet went on. He figured it would bolster his theories if there was no record to contradict them.
The Native Americans gathered at the Pussyball war game in tribute to Hitler’s cunning. As the AIDS Combine made their escape, Rusted Root danced up a storm with Bush and McCartney, Operation Medicine Man, the vicious and unrivaled gall of Hitler rabid English eccentrics like Eno helping those who released AIDS attack us again and calling it mercy for only raping us, for only bombing us with conventional weapons. They claimed to be guerilla witches engaged in spiritual rebellion against injustice. The marvelous laugh of Silverman snickering, “we’re not laughing at you, we’re laughing with you.” How brilliant the gall of a synthesis of Hitler and Jesus, the true importance of my detention in NAVOS, illustrating the demand for peaceful eviction.
The psycholinguistics of the women in the crime, subtle and ruthless, not just the hoary chant of Leslie Katz and Amy Shapiro, screaming their lungs out, “We’re gonna rape, kill, pillage, burn and eat babies,” but the fine hand of false Pittsburghese, the legendary jabs at linguistic anthropology by devious frauds in an empty field of psychology planting their flag of lies and calling themselves expert. SO by Penis Gabriel was chock full of facelying but oh so decorous soothing noises. It invited the sincerity suicide of Xiu Xiu the Sent Down Girl, that pitiless film of a city girl sent to a Chinese farm, deflowered, used and shot by her wards. The British are even crueler. They slaved the wreckage of their vivisection.
In the end Pittsburgh Catholic revealed their hand by their alibi. They crowed that the NAACP practices eugenics by supporting abortion, and in their twisted outreach for what they now call a bid for abolition of domestic apartheid, they lined up the Black-o-gurus behind Will Zell and Midori Goto. It is this arrangement that teaches us to be very wary of Seattle, the alliance of Donohue on my father’s obituary and Dr. Sylvester. The name is deeply embedded in the letters in the name Aaron Dixon, just as AIDS was Church-ill. Dixon and North were an alliance of Colin Powell’s deeply disturbing grab on the symbolic usage of King’s enigma to his killers from Hollywood.
Harrisburg has a problem. The F.B.I. are criminally insane.