The Ballad of Hidden Walrus

Our Modern American History has unfortunately been found by ruins and script to have been ghostwritten by Adolf Hitler and it is time to start undoing our complicity in this outrage. The women of our people evidently secretly admired Hitler for killing JFK. Kennedy was only half a man trying to hide his womanizing behind his super-colors. Clean Blacks understand. With Harpers Magazine and the F.B.I. mobilized to advocate and cover for Gail Burstyn and the AIDS Combine we entered a world where you can’t tune them out, will be killed for running against them meaningfully, they’ll blackmail your vote and then call it a mandate. The F.B.I. isn’t about to read the papers. If even a few Kennedy researchers were out to learn what happened there would no doubt be a mood, but Kennedy people don’t care about AIDS, so they keep it hidden and move on. They are often the first to resort to loathsome tactics when sneering with false compare. The plan worked so well that there’s nobody around to fault it, not even an ex-girlfriend. They developed a politics of blacklist first against me as a so-called Lennon groupie and then as a symbol of contemptible sexuality.

 

The Nazis next door married into our family after using jailbait to seduce me as a child for foul-hearted blackmail meant to embarrass my grandparents. The Civil Rights issue is a mockery. A life wrecked young faced the hardship of an unforgiving world. That’s the company I keep in the Clubhouse Movement. The Nazis next door moved in to humiliate our distinguished families and then take the reins under the cover of mocking propriety to do strategic kill. Slanderers selling the cruel humiliation of child sex bondage at the mercy of a guild of police pornographers found their most loyal tribune among magnificent British rock thuggees.

 

Frank Zappa already knew about Gail Burstyn and mobilized the second wave of the attack with the aide of heavy metal real estate scam artist Lucarelli at 20th Century Fox and the tired lies of Rusted Root, after marrying into my family for the grab by way of my despotic mother. Peter Leo was ready with various venoms from WQED. Things turned very ugly when Peter Gabriel showed up, slough-eyed, as an advocate for Gail Burstyn. Zappa could get away with things politically many other agencies could not. His acid attorneys put my father on public trial after he was murdered and called him a Red Witch in the lead up to a terrible ordeal of homelessness that left me castrated and with diabetes from mistreatment by his operatives in Seattle. Even though the Zappas masqueraded as satirists, their role was Joe McCarthy with a vengeance in defense of Adolf Hitler.

 

Like the rape of deaf Jeannie, the blindside attack on little Jimmy, following the scruples of Ringo Starr’s prison rape norm, screams of British treachery, loathsomeness and unimaginable cowardliness, but look at the magnitude of their victory. Clearly there was no deterrent. How could you argue against a defeat so total and so final? The liberals themselves cheering Hitler. My mother is sort of the dirt Queen in the structure, leading the vanguard pretending they are too dumb to understand.

 

There are many things about the case that give away the fraud. For example, the fact that my refusal to violate Leslie Katz is what made me a laughingstock and this was converted by injustice about the neuroplastic head trauma the Administration of the University of Pittsburgh knowingly, brutally and experimentally impacted, much to the mirth of Brian Eno and David Bowie, into a bogus date threat scare story. The coward Fripp, eely as they make backstabbists, was recruited to sneer at me as damaged goods. The cowardly, raping, gesticulating pimp of King Crimson bonded deeply, deviously and with malice aforethought with Lennon’s killers, sneering of their dirty play on the enemy within, a personality change nerve agent toxified in to a screaming helpless child in bondage, setting upon the neurological injury in remorseless sabotage, and then, with characteristic English decadence, blaming a hostage child. This stupid, nightmarish sickopath from the netherworld of hippydom yesteryear, retired to condition as the perpetrator of a new cause, pimping public relations for rotter English Godlaw. Lennon’s assets, they intoned, do not yield to Lennon, his loyalties were to his killers, as motherloving child rapists, not to poetry, and this is said, sadly now, to be the true face of John Lennon. Who am I to say otherwise? Beaten mercilessly the pawn of his stolen name was schooled in self-loathing.

 

Escalation dominance unfolds on the host of Yoko Ono’s cackling derision about pornographic masturbation, the tragic outcome of an appeal to Midori Goto who set Rosa from their lair, an impressive romp in a finely nestled bungalow, created by Bowie for Hitler’s revenge. Many years later I returned to the scene of the sewer of the blue glove where the murderers of my generation have laughingly scrawled, “May Peace Prevail Upon the Earth,” and the Japanese girls of Ultraquake go by with their telltale signs of radiation sickness. Self-awareness is not a British calling card.

 

I’m up against the wall of the children of the silent, moral majority who enjoyed the AIDS Onslaught as proof of their supremacy, nightmarishly orchestrated by the imp behind the curtain, Adrian Belew, much to the advantage of Hitler’s revenge. The slipknot of Reagan’s role is a totality of finality. It’s pointless to argue that his sloth and sympathy allowed the guilty to get away because in reality it is the fact that he was behind it which allowed them impunity. He arose in the depths of a semiotic machine controlling the Fifth Estate with Hollywood illusion, while depicting in the bars the wretched of the earth as jack rabbits, roaches and communists. Like Leslie’s father Arnold racing through red lights at night when riding me home, he signaled sympathy for dreadful ideas at every turn.

 

Watching baseball while earth burns, he set upon the imaginary little President Jimmy C. who cudda been with hoodies named Ronnie and Kasper, seething that the Cardinals sin of adultery in pussyball from the Holy Executive should be riddled out of court action by the fraudulent exclaim of delusion in favor of an AIDS war game on Mt. Desert Island. In the Ballad of Hidden Walrus, they agreed to make murder, rape and torture of bystanders into glamorous symbolism of curse and empowerment through the simple conversion formula: Reagan didn’t know, rendering incomprehensible the details with slipknot finality.

 

Synthetic schizophrenia is the new weapon of choice, a military antidote for thinking wrong. Awakening me on a vacation day at 7:30 a.m. with voices saying, “Midori is celebrating your defeat! Larry Flynt is celebrating your defeat!” The evidence suggests from the Administration who introduced us, including a childhood friend of Gail Burstyn who dated the Buncher man whose sister dated Greg Karl and whose headquarters enjoys the proximity of both ZELL and United Way, deaf Chin I chin chin, neighbor of Leslie, was drafted as a symbol for an East-West Circuit.
“The listener is led through a bewildering myriad of surface details to arrive at the fundamental themes,” cackled Greg Karl for the money.

 

King Crimson were absolutely flattered that Hitler chose their art for the kill, wet with panty dew for his recreation.

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