Clouded Minds, Inc.

In the mythic annals of war for some societies the brutal practice of rape is considered fitting tribute to the right of conquest. Bigoted war machines are the worst in this respect and rape is normalized by societies like Ringo Starr and Nazi Germany. While the troops under Eisenhower held themselves to a gentleman standard which was in precious little need of military censorship, the war in Vietnam, baked in the Asian jungles of passion and conscription was a turning point with respect to this in our affairs. Israelis in particular have turned our society into one that dare not look beneath the mask.

Whether in the massacres of Sabra and Shatilla, the cruel bukkakiing of little Jimmy Creary, the serial assassinations by the forces of Gail Burstyn converted by pornographic sale into a farce about Leslie Katz, we see the hidden (if obvious) answer to the coward Fripp’s beastial misconduct in the name of his sick and evil claim that Jimmuh Creary is to blame. The brutality of Israeli defamation slur-dogged the impacted trauma of a terrified child shatteringly beaten and gassed then held enthralled, pre-lingual, to the demented confusion-mongering of the assassin guild operating in musical agency, spitting death seeds of spite at the rhetoric of innocence.

One cannot help but see in this scary situation, devoid of humanity, the premeditated convictions of HitlerReagan in his primary goal of sowing scorn for liberalism. It is certainly that power that derided my father’s murder in a public trial as a Red Witch at the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette. In the partnership of Dubya and BeatlesPaul we have been treated to a kinder, gentler gang rape, multiple criminal abuses of the disabled in sick, prolonged, and harrowing ordeals of extreme situation. The Clintons have sought to punish and incapacitate testimony by biological mutilation, attrition by body part, taking my ears for their war belt in gradeschool, torturing my face, chemical castration, diabetes by medical brutality in an Iowa jail, the rape of my deaf girlfriend, to name a few of their virulent acts of Southern sadism.

King Crimson and Leslie Katz brokered a generator of prior drama, straight from the illicit school of spy drama at Carnegie Mellon for all the world to see, laughing as they tore their own clothes and rended the air with terrible screams. Seattle malcontents, heaped with the lure of the stupidities arose to spread the doctrine that we were beaten before we began as a smokescreen behind which Greg Karl and the U.S. Army got New York City railing about Lennon while they uploaded the program of the New Way.

As foreign English lisped, “So?” at an urgent public health situation, Attilla with alien yammers, they moved with sinister directness and prurient beastiality to sabotage recovery and trigger mismanagement of correspondence, but even this cruel and despicable backstabblery of the sort for which Penis Sinfield is legend, cannot completely shroud the burning trail of their extermination crime.

The magnitude of Rosa’s criminal purpose at the Community College I have been attending is endorsed by the ludicrous monotone of Administrative zombiedom. I am probably facing expulsion on the superficial grounds that the mentally ill dare not write love poems, but this vicious company collusion in extermination politics goes deeper. AIDS has been proven a scientific, eugenic program, and a psychological strategy engineered in a backstab by British rock stars professing that they were victim. Obama seeks to enforce an identity crime using my name for Hitler’s revenge. His future colleagues stand to fetch a pretty by degrading my journalism into a utility for the atrocitarians, African storytelling from Pentagon-Disney.

That mysterious day Reagan waved to me on route to his rendezvous with Hinckley lays bare the infinity of The Great Backstab. He had me there on a dare as though to snarl, you tell you die and no one will be the wiser.

John Stockwell and Pener Sinfield worked together empowering the poison of spiteful peers prior involved in slavelike trafficking of the hate object and example. For Bill Wheeler, Greg Karl prosed of me, “the persona is subjected to successive degradations of the X-motive and then subsumed into a larger structure dominated by its adversary.” As foreign slurmeister and ringleader of a vanguard of police pornographers, Penis Sinfield couldn’t get enough of it. In titillated delight at his papal license as Pope of British Rock Music, to do ripper backknife, the coward Fripp and its sister got away with this by cementing their alliance building skills with the power of Trojans who weren’t going to care anyway. The nostrils curl at the sulphur of the saccharine memory of Nancy Reagan electing to confer dishonest sympathy for poor lost John. Thanks to British perverts, the Holy Executive is getting away with a monstrous crime, all fledged out by the traces of Mt. Desert Island and the laughter of Hillary, “No Wonder! No Wonder! Woo! Woo!”

Hillary is a corpulent, lurid madame. Yoko Ono, her disgusto partner in high finance hate crime is a cruel personality capable only of abuse of power. They control a media that spits, “LOVE,” at their victims, with the logic of support groups as their iron claw, slashering their way to satisfy of Bowiian death fetish, calling their failure to warn by the dismal sanctimonious hymn of faith on nameless graves. Art defeated hope.

Rosa was put upon me by police pedophiles covering for Don Ostro in an attempt to alibi Mt. Desert Island for Hillary’s klan. She came from Amanda Harcourt of Pener Gabriel Real Worlds who crowed in the early days of evil hour, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts,” and whined in illustration of her loyalty that Hero didn’t meet Archimedes and cudda averted the population boom by founding the principle of efficiency and thus saved her parasol-spinning, syphilitic puppetmaster McCartney so much remorse as he whipped up parochial derision towards sexual privacy and brutally attacked an exculpatory head wound always on behalf of the true assassins, lie after lie after cowardly, cowardly, cowardly lie.

My father was too far remote from me to identity the Trojan Horse of Beatlemania as the Dark Lord’s mothership. Thus Obama prevailed by dint of King Crimson’s monstrous acclaim. His pervert Oval Office screams to immortals beyond, “Toady!”.

Louis Black, like me.

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