The Passion of Hillary Skywalker

Celebrity ego politics came before everything during the AIDS Onslaught and played right into the hands of those who released AIDS by service of their myth-making machine and no one knows this better than Hillary Rodham Clinton and Donald Trump, a front-runner tag team playing up the ignorance of the American people in promotion of Star Wars Hollywood. If you ever thought the legendary adage: you can’t fight City Hall was expressive of the frustration battered people feel in trying to pursue justice without the benefit of a machine lawyer, you will feel the great wash of futility hearing: you can’t fight Hollywood, but yes you can fight Isis, so be uplifted.

Gil Scott Heron, who died of AIDS, had a poetic record title: The Revolution Will Not Be Televised. In catering to Black Nazis operating in the margins of our cities by the mystique of gangster doctrine, and Colin Powell’s penetration for Robert Fripp of Death Row Records, the AIDS Combine (pussyballers) wooed the ghetto by offering their message, repackaged by Bush, as adoption of the plan, gratifying their egos and libidos, with the idea that their drug-addled intuitions were Top Sacred. The magnitude of these perverts, many of them former leaders of the Civil Rights Movement including John Lewis, and their bloodthirsty program of serial murders, meant as balm through human sacrifice, has not been televised because the Beatles don’t want it getting around.

The Beatles will make you a whore. Anyone who doesn’t like it is the enemy. Anyone who thinks a gigantic corporation teaming with private technologists, ultraclass call girls, gifted with screams and serums, private killers, etc. is what the Supreme Court says, just the same as one unique person, has never had to fight one all alone and poor; yet the law allows the Geffen Corporation command and control over the moral sensibilities of a throng they certifiably poisoned. The extreme reluctance to admit what happened has discredited our entire society.

As strange as CIA-related folklore can be to people who are unfamiliar with categorical thinking of the sort that goes on in library science where books are arranged in fixed categories for easy location, the basic issues: drugs, gun-running, attack prostitution (le femme Nikita) and assassination, such as the murder of Allende whose murder that barking mad so-called Jewish progressive Bernie Sanders extolled during the debates, are staple diet issues of research, deranged experimentation, and insider fascination. Professionals of that career along with a few amateurs interested in the obscure topics of spycraft, learn to be familiar with: MK-Ultra, Walter Langer’s plan to make Hitler’s mustache fall off (now called the metamorphosis to androgyny, or Joko Midway) cyanide cigars, pistol umbrellas and agency psychiatrists government planted to make their patients worse, not better.

Russian involvement in the AIDS onslaught has a very distinct and defining characteristic. The Russians involved themselves as Bush-admiring, curiosity observers through the secret diplomacy of James W. Child at Carnegie Mellon and the Alternative Conflict Resolution office of Martha Harty Schienes. The presentation was entirely on-topic with the most elementary aspects of CIA spylore: encryption, mind control (in this case visibly Frankenstein by an impacted neurotrauma) and what Vaclav Havel, that skunk, called, “The Art of the Impossible.” Macabre fascination with the mind and hypocrisy, the fashion infallibility, and sadism of John Lennon, as well as his gift for enthrallment, were the heart and soul of Nazi Germany’s revenge and reassertion of power over the West. This essay is to help you gasp at how cleverly the abomination was hidden in plain view by those who realize that no place in America is darker than the broad daylight of Gailletters at United Way, Zell and Paul Buncher in downtown Pittsburgh and the ignorantization that forbids you to see what they have organized and executed.

Hillary Clinton mentioned in the political debate promoting her Presidential Campaign that Isis, a renegade Islamic Army conjured like monsters from the Id by American brilliants in the Pentagon, had been effective in some areas of the Middle East recruiting people to their cause. Clearly, it is not in the interest of the United States of America to give those people arms and legitimate reasons to hate the U.S. Donald Trump has contributed mightily to Isis recruiting by making clear to the world’s Muslims we hate them, will deny them Constitutional Rights, will forfeit our dignitary status at the United Nations lobbing spitballs at them, and will do any harm we can to them; they are not to expect, in other words, from him or his mob scene of voters, any of the niceties they are used to when enduring Hillary Clinton’s facelies, a woman who is still giggling from fomenting strategic hysteria about my political views to cover for the abomination of torture, kidnapping, child mutilation in an abomination of psychiatric exampling by deranged, horrific entrapment, telling the truth about for which I was classified a paranoid schizophrenic, while the coward Fripp gnashed, weaseled and tunneled in quest to have the evidence destroyed.

Peter Gabriel, whose viciousness is so rabid he embarrasses everyone he has ever touched, remains in untelevised, unsupervised revolution as godfather of Queer Sabbath, a pervert operation of suicide troops catering to his fetish for evil. His triumphant slanders were wired up to guerrilla attacks through chauvanist character assessment and mean-spirited political libels where the grand facade of Lennon affinity and andro/gyny so soon shall burn when you dip and Putin your thingee for the cameras.

Our media tyrants cannot summon the courage to grapple with the crackling nest of Palace Attorney Amanda Harcourt’s fragmenting megatonnage collapsing on their heads with Isis, Fukushima, AIDS and global warming, another perfect storm from the carrion Francos of Oz. All of the lies Mercy Hospital put together regarding the damage control operation they launched for Reagan, targeting me in a terrible and criminal fashion right in an invisible head injury, with the surgical precision of Mengeles, a neuroplasm impacted by Wattenmaker’s dacoits for the psychiatric refrigerator at his college, to cover for and justify, through ignorantization, the deranged war game on Mt. Desert Island as Drama School. They staged liberal sexuality as spectator investigation, deserving of assassination (der prude zap) which they filmed for police pornographers still fighting over the records of little Jimmy queerbait, George Romero’s starling, much bawdlerized by Mt. McCartney.

The murderers in this case, contrary to what you’ve been told, are not just criminalizing sex. They are using it to propertize their prey. The leers of the Civil Rights Movement allowed Dr. King’s statue to be graven as a tool to foment Black rabids, earning him pride of place at the gates of himmelsweg (Hitler’s Auschwitz ramp to King’s heavenly estate) for his utility to hattered haters in the Palace of London. Gurgling with such b;ackmail and black markets the horrible Franco gargoyle Ringo Starr told lies for Zell and Mt. Desert Island that are exactly like the story Germans told the Jews about the ramps at the camps to the showers. They were just going to the showers. Just ask Rusted Root if you don’t believe me, and David Luca/relli, at Fox, not Lucas Studios.

Lennon called himself a genius on Tom Snyder’s television show. He was a leader of lemmings’ politics. A few, heroic, confused individuals followed him to the edge of the cliff, looked over and thought twice about talking his lyrics quite that seriously, but Pitman and the Quarrymen barked at their ears, “You have to!” He could have as easily just started over, like Hitler in Argentina, safe in a Federal Witness Protection program while his double identity served the makers of R2D2 (RR, DD, Tutu) for double fantasy wars against King Crimson, ahem, I mean Isis, and their exceptionist in the Talented Tenth, Youssou N’dour, still fanged from raping deaf Jeannie for peace.

  1. Don’t say Rich Lebo.
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