Science really flew out of its belfry on this one. My master is happily married, and judging from her wonderful and zany poetry he is just the man to endure her terrible jests, standing by her through thick and thin, as any man would, I’m just sorry my own girl wasn’t so undaunted.
If there’s any chance of leaving a record of Jesse Jackson’s criminal conspiracy with Donald Trump in the AIDS attack I propose to try. The recycling of neurological medical mystery from torture and as torture recycling, an attack even worse, to cause neurological whipping for adultery to punish testifying had practical results in forcing me to pay for the gas I was gassed with, apologize to a representative of Yasukuni Shrine for Hiroshima, and serve Adolf Hitler’s emissary tea. This is the meaning of trump in cause or having a charisma that outhighernesses shattering sadism.
The fallacy is very dark underwriting this neurological lashing the very possibility for execution of which proves involuntary child neurobedience during hostage taking, but by making it a matter for slander they intensified my risk for such things as profound future neurological deterioration, so the slander was for them so excellent and as devoid of contest as it was devoid of merit, which is easy to prove, like the neurological implant, though nothing matters less. Opposite of the twisted situation where a Judge said a boy convicted of rape should be treated leniently because he came from a good family, the Judiciary laughed that a person who was tortured and known to be innocent should be convicted without a victim because his father was a humanist.
The crime is performed by a collegiate glee club tracing to Queen Elizabeth’s use of name signifiers, like Elizabeth Taylor, Elizabeth Penrose, Elizabeth Blumenfeld (attache of Gail Burstyn) and by necessity Elizabeth Mymaster. They turn my zone of travel into a hazing showcase of their behavioral basketball game. One of their crimes was the cold-blooded claim that their planting of an Onassis virgin in my bed did not really, they lisp, show and prove they already knew that date rape phobia from torture trauma was at work not defiant sexual trespass. In addition to every other terrible injury they inflicted they taunted me for years in heartbreak.
So what really happened in their pornography circle of fiends in the AIDS attack isn’t what a girl named Miles (indexed to the MK agent of WQED) claimed, being that I am a jealous possessive. Mymaster complains about abandonment and not wanting children while Miles catcalls the queerbait was tryna control her. From this we see how Queen Elizabeth got Onassis to do it. The grand-daughter of J. P. Morgan, also a servant of the Crown Music Franchise, used to allude to Ian Fleming’s star by saying she was driven insane by the Scottish guy laughing at her. Phyllis Schafly and Queen Elizabeth didn’t like the debonair laissez faire about cheating. A woman only has one after all. They wanted the sweet cheat gone and set up the Warren Pontiff as their cheat sheet. If women walking out didn’t hurt the great man, they would find a way to make it hurt and turned to neuro-chemical brainiacs in frankenstein laboratories of human child vivisection so then, when they tampered with impacted coma-trauma, they could shout, “TILT!”
Deafness is a quarantine, so I go about my business, a state of what Greg Karl lisped was “purposeful exclusion.” It’s a very Frippian Orwellianism, to sneer that cooperating with women’s whim and granting them safe passage to leave is proof of date rape.
The idea had NAACP poachers while I was still in the crib, contracted for by a lobby who figured they could eugenically create a Mark Twain for civil dissection in a global gang crime. They made me a secret prisoner of the black reich, targeted by Sgt. XE Iron Witch playing a Federal Cosa Nostra game of To Tell the Truth, led by the case of mistaken identity in a recognizable mask conveying that he thinks you know what he is saying. The plan was a never ending social orbital with eyes welded open demanding they you look into the pit of child sex neuro-compulsively having suckered you with DD of Neva Manson cinema as a little boy. Entrapping the purposefully miseducated they like their storyline metanarrative of detecting micro-aggression against the good kind. You made them twist their ankle!
That is, except for Mary, of He’s Dead, Jim.
Not exactly Christian Education, this object of Special Ed. being used by the Isis Terror Cell at the Dakota in New York City, but it does raise the question of whether Donald Trump is a corpulent emanation from my ulter-zen and scenario USA just a hologram from Pentagon-Allah’s illusion machine, because the reported death of John Lennon has been proven one as a point of fact in his genius gamble of the AIDS attack. You can’t blame me, he snickered, I’m already dead, hahahahaha.
