Donald Trump’s wife says that if anyone hits him that he will hit back. Funny thing is that I’m not worried that Trump won’t hit me if I lick my thumb at him. I’m sure that good old Donald will drop a sizable bomb upon me if I lick my thumb at him, come ahead and that, so I’m not about to do that one, but I’m not afraid about it none, neither. What I’m afraid of with Trump is that he might hit someone who doesn’t hit him. In fact, what I’m afraid of with Trump is that he and an armed gang of nightriders might start attacking children blindside because their parents didn’t vote for him. They might do slaughtering mentally ill things to children too young to defend themselves or understand, generous spirited young things.
Donald Trump wants to be known as a full-breed American. Sort of makes you laugh in nausea, because if there’s one thing I know that half-Kraut isn’t it is a full breed American. Get this his party’s hegemons-past laid at my doorstep, to make up for their insecurities by overcompensating, they called us communists. My father’s heritage were pilgrims at Plymouth Meeting, fought in the Revolution, 1812, French and Indian. My grandfather on my mother’s side pulled the family through the Dust Bowl with terribly hard work. My uncle was in the forests of French, tasted mustard gas, recovered, went back to the front. Father was a Lieutenant in WW2, all the way to the North of Japan. We got fixed for it, too, by the backstabbers who attack children for no good reason, the Trump types.
I was a very glamorous little boy. Respect for the truth isn’t always a widespread virtue and not many people cared very much about me or what happened. Someone from the V.A. suffering from Agent Orange said to me recently, “if you wanted to control someone would you teach they everything you know then put them in a position to learn more or would you teach them enough to perform the tasks that you want them to perform?” I think they got a kick out of seeing me perform the tasks, now they have in store awaiting for me to go with a Hollywood afterlife. “Some people have a greater effect after they’re dead,” he said.
Victim status in my commonwealth is contingent on being a slave. The gang that released AIDS called it “Clean Up Time” and then sneered, “If you wash we’ll be offended.” Dictatorial personalities tend to be a lot worse where there are a lot of poor people. They stole the life of a fellow mortal as though it was a doll they could smash. My grandfather wanted me to have children, you know? Neurological problems are of course very unattractive in a man, but it didn’t stop the Trump faction from using a hottie to detonate the impacted injury that I didn’t know was there, but they did know. They put it there, slapping five at the Parrot Rabbit Barber Shop. Trump’s type are the kind that assassinate the young. Pharoah types from the Peacock Throne. I was declared guilty to be used for abortion, as a mutilation, in advance punishment and everyone thought it was cool because I tried objectively to ascertain who was using the government that way. You let a little rat from Israel’s hilltop crowd virtually assassinate a glamorous little Prince from Kennedy’s Camelot, while tacking on the President of Klinks, Quislings and Benedict Arnolds, Youssou N’dour of the foreign rabid for gibber satisfy.
Yes, Donald Trump is cheering terrorism. Yes, he is.
I am sure I know what really happened. What John Lennon did by his disappearing act as the Executioner Song writer of the AIDS Onslaught is the scummiest thing ever done. They are the most evil Caligulas who ever lived. Hate them with the bitterness of Bobby Sands as they deserve. That demented crowd of Reagan on their Hitler revenge tour won by assassinating a hero, John Fitzgerald Kennedy and our society has never had the guts to square up about it.
The only question I see about helping Immigrants and Refugees is the lingering question: If AIDS was a deal with the Shariah Law crowd of Ayatollahs should we still care about the ragtag little Islamofascists in their pains? Many of that scene in Arabia are in lands that would be like America if Cotton Mather had been elected President and the Confederacy had won the Civil War. They think they can answer failure to warn with a lottery game for crank draculas and their gazettes, and render imposter retorts on behalf of the truthkillers. What this says about Queers in Holy War is something to believe.
Obviously, being held under the subterfuge of schizoflage, or schizophrenia camouflaging a domestic terrorist cult, to hide the development and deployment of Ultrahigh is dire straits. This comes on the end of a decades long ordeal. I’m too humiliated for Trump to debate. They hit young, and the fear in the eyes of their prey is advertisement for the nature of reality they are selling. Soul murder, and de-realization due to the superwave that they hotwired through theft of my time and life’s blood was a long planned connivance of the Church/ill crowd around Oswald Mosley and John Lennon, his evil twin. John Churchill Tojo Lennon.
We know what they’ve done from study. Yoko Ono and the Neva Corporation planned the rise of Boko Harem. The sort of church mania tribe who plan arrange marriages constructed this cult of the AIDS Onslaught beginning in World War Two. They lay in wait, breeding for their webbings. The New Yorker brays openly of still planning three generations from now, in the cult of ISIS that was conjured by Hitler Houdini for Clean Up Time.
They rock a bye the white suck sacrifice as a token of escort for the dying, and squeeze the last task, providing charity by the tears of a blockbuster movie, it’s enough to make you green, but at least the AIDS infidels get political correctness pins for their rectitude in ripper hatter murder and torments unending in promotional routines by King Crimson.
Something about that name Jimmy Creary just makes so many people hate. Soul murder, de-realization, scapegoat, laughingstock, object lesson, behavioral model, object of scorn, identity crime free smacks, thrill kill div vies, in the presence of my enemies, they are empowered by the insatiable license of Reagan to do swastika from the beyond, under the cloak of the ISIS diversion conjured by perfects storms from the wardrobe of Ringo Starr and Maggy. The search for satisfying symbols that pleasure the dying was wrought courtesy BBC, unconcerned and unaffected by their own admission, they designed the contempt, telling someone they tortured to change because the cyberstalkers are eating.
Police cult slavery as a medium for military overthrow from Bobby Sands hazing gladiator klans, and if you wash, they will only turn on you.
Yes, Donald Trump is cheering terrorism, as the downtrodden rail their claims against abandonment, he advances the keen edge lethally silencing dissent in America to the thumbs up of Putin. Aimed at the mind, they won’t even let you think about it, any of this.
Poor little Jimmy, how he cries.