The Wrong Band and the Wrong Girl

     Brain injury was inflicted to ensure mimicry and allow lewd derision.  To lose my love for King Crimson and my fiancé in one Genesis backstab loyal to child mutilationists was a lot more than I could bare.  I have lived 20 years in crying, broken pain.  Wave after wave of hate crime and irreparable injury was inflicted in a JapanFest of sadistic mayhem and malpractice.  I’m sure there is no hope for recovery with the sort of vultures Seattle unleashed in defense of Peter Gabriel.
     Robert Fripp had chosen a sort of high dauphin status as stroking sadist without portfolio in the Hitler ship of Reagan.  He pranced to a standard of cynical accommodation glorifying dirty tricks that Nixon would have choked on as nauseating syphilis from the 30’s in Germany.  Fripp found no end of mean-spirited slovens to carry out his murder wish.
     While press children giggled at brutal rape, the politicians downgraded child mutilation to having fun.  The child raping sadist is prone to mood music, so we are treated to his pulings, so like the tears of the Green River killer.
     Who would take away the love a deaf fan’s life and then castrate them?  After he had been dragged through the glass of so much Manson ordeal?  Only King Crimson, child raping pigs in their mania and self-glorification, putrid baggage of an overthrow attempt.
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