July Bulk, James MacRyland Crary
Dear Corporate Beduin,
Forgive my beau geste, but the bourgeoisie loaded my mailbox with printed matter as I retired to baseball yesterday, stuffed it in my pocket, it occurred to me that a group answer was called for, in light of the coverage being given the unwanted material that constitutes trolling disguised as junk. To the right is a partial list of recipient, meaning the sum of those who arrived as one beginning with the offender:
Harpers
Verizon
Emerald Queen
Allentown Symphony
United Health Care
CHC
Geico/Smithsonian
A few other unlisted large organizations will be provided copy as gratuity. I have no Ph.D. for reasons that pertain to experimental abuse in which I was deafened so you all can enjoy a slave writing, meaning there is no one to compensate me for the grave abridgement you triggered by incessant gyration. Harpers has repeatedly been asked to remove all mention of my name in their mailing lists, and are not unaware of my hatred for them and the agony that finding their revolting material in my mailbox causes.
Lewis H. Lapham has always been clever as a dumbing down extremist writing womanly columns while masquerading as a shepherd of the American estate. As curator of our nation’s oldest periodical he blind-side attacked one of our nation’s oldest names, a Pilgrim name, distinguished in national service, but an awkward name, my own. The clues were always there in the way he mocked those who cared about the death of Kennedy, and I mean like myself, not the spin off collectors spawned by Oliver Stone. But to find, as I have as a reporter, raised in the good light of St. Louis Post-Dispatch where my grandfather Ward was an editor, and under the fine mission of my distinguished father Ryland, Chair of Philosophy of Education at Pitt (University of Pittsburgh) that this mentality of Lapham was promoted to force-feed us lies about the AIDS attack while covering for assassins is too much and my anger at their presence in mailbox has to be answered by reply. The gyrationist will not stand.
Maxine Waters, a ninny, who evidently still has the last name of her master Roger Waters, recently pouted that she meant no such thing as harm on a single hair of the reputed wig of the horrid butchy-headed Nazgul Donald Trump, entirely missing the point that Trump is guilty of child mutilation abuses and shadowing of the victim with horrible poison crimes, including litter on the obituary of Ryland. Is one supposed to answer in charm school prose? I entirely agree that there is a trap and danger of extra-legal measures when you go looking for a deep game and a risk of vigilantes but failure to read properly what the British and Israeli alliance did to me in Pittsburgh for Trump and his gang-stars is to misread what that danger actually is, so that while Yojimbo or last man standing feudalism has been elevated to an undeclared Civil War in which important liberal Americans like John Kennedy, Jr. disappeared into the void without a tear or a trace, it remains a elusive ellipse for those whose gift is dumbing down. Don’t ask, don’t tell what’s going on is the new American motto. Go Fuck Yourselves. British labor explained with great care to me through Duquesne and the Carnegie that they were using me for a Toni Negri figure (the Italian intellectual whose writing was blamed for an act of terrorism), sabotaging public safety by making my attempts to report the criminal empire emerging to be unsafe, shooting both sides in a rabid appearance of acting out the art of settle-ances which amounts to its own definition of a “taliban”. Amanda Harcourt, the pussyball list estate attorney promenading as a devil from Yoko Ono and serving as go-between for Bush and Lapham, is a vicious media circus clown who spent three years lying to my face before ripper back-knifing me in front of my entire school.
The way the media operate in this country is never refreshing. They hullabaloo all sorts of rowdy dismay at harassment of women so that when a Jewish slur artist, Miles Kirshner, what a name, with a bloated tongue, lasciviously lambasting a victim of horror who in his putrid mindset he managed to have home invaded by an attack prostitute masquerade working a corporation after property and willing to pretend she wanted marriage, constructs a persona, as they put it, of a deaf victim of compound trauma unable to understand what is being said much less protect his reputation and this specific targeting and cold-blooded attack on an American was symbolic, extermination of the 60’s who raised me in their shadow with contempt. You’ve had me chemically castrated and given diabetes acting out your tantrum at your Robert Penn Warren take on Jimmy Creary the queerbait kingfish Huey Long wannabee you invented, what sort of life am I going to have now? Was there a trial? A victim? You had my deaf advocate raped! This was a pussyball game, clocked to AIDS with the vicious cunning of Reagan’s hotdogs at Major League Baseball. Nobody’s fooled, they’re just not talking about it, because of the Christian war of extermination going on in the Middle East.
Of course it proves AIDS manmade, what about this case doesn’t?
At the Pittsburgh campus where much of this went down, not all of it, this was a National breadbasket crafty ordeal, you find doctors of higher learning whose openly espoused hatred of white people comes out in fiendishly exotic lore about the delectations and raking of hot ancient coals of slavery and then they make good on a white zombie being serially mutilated and then spat on as a provincial jest. Is any of that invisible? People who don’t like being around the sick are out of luck sometimes and this issue is the turgid thrust of so-called Black Psychology, who invented a whore-house sit-in to weaponize AIDS through academics. There was nothing lampoon about it. There was an NAACP tag-team in on the whole plan. Duvall, on maintenance at the school said, “I know Bush started AIDS and I support him.” John Eskridge worked with Peg Simons of Hypatia Feminist Philosophy and had access to my bedroom drawers. Their agents for making smut films, including child bondage, contracting for serial abortions to render a cast-out, were working with the white racist movement on Mt. Desert Island by one of their own admission. What’s so clever about the property cult having black agents? They’re for hire. Obama’s merciless hypocrisy is nothing by mercenary character assault. They’ll thieve anything, they don’t believe in rights or laws, they’ve invented their own. White-Black! It’s a 1-2 punch for the booty.
We have a street in Tacoma where Muhammed Ali came to visit on the corner of a big advertisement board for 1122 Apartments called Vassault. This is about a victorious assault, blind-side, on a very frightened and weak child, followed by the snap of a Rip Van Winkle ordeal and then ta-ta coma. In search of the deep game you never have to go far. Meanwhile, Black psychologists rub their snot artsyfied hands on your face, spit in your food, and call it biological linkage when they demand your children be aborted and your sister suck their cocks. That’s a fact of life in Pittsburgh, don’t call it Black Psychology, call it Confederacy to a giant pornography guild guilty of extermination, and the stupids at HARPERS let them pretend they represent John Lennon, well maybe they did, ever think of that one?
That their snide perplex is a very dangerous evil seems to be the whole point, one horse with two heads in a nightmarish life and death race. They lie about it being art and lampoon but if you don’t believe them we’re all dead. That’s the nuclear cats game. So child-raping pigs still get to dump their swinehand shit into my mailbox. How good. While Beatles happy cripes posture in devious delight at the betrayal of the 60’s masquerading as its fulfillment from a Hollywood chain gang at our military friendly school. I remember when Mendel Silverman poked at my penis “just being small” as he set up its lancing for the laughs of Donald Gruber on Winterton Street leading to forked spray for the pun of a fork in the road. Mendel, who Busis, the legendary Holocaust Director, called, “Red,” growled of “unreliable pure tone results,” something like a credibility gap in the quest for virginity, exclaiming as a great zounds, “did you see it come flying out of there?” when a gob emerged from my ear like the head that came off in Platoon under the rifle butt of Oliver North’s and Stone’s crowd before Stone’s wizardly cameo disappearance in a miniature mushroom cloud.
Boy have you sickos ever been had. They didn’t choose an agent named, “Angrist” for nothing.
Mac Crary