While professing a life of suffrage, those that suffer do so without legs to walk on. The Buddha is not
really sufferings, if he is up and walking around the street, talking shit. Right? The message of "your
particular experience of suffering, is not that bad;" remains true, still, but for the exceptionally
different reasons. Right? Well all you prison bitches cry-out, old-timey feminine; "His living address
is right there; GET HIM, SHOOT HIM!" I figure, I would try a touch of Mind Control Ultra of my own, a
little finger wagging at Alex Jones. 9/11 was an insde job afterall. Anyone can do this MK-Ultra
password; but it is directed at Alex Jones. And just to be fair, to all those thirty something, blonde
Israeli redbone bitches: I'ma make you want to quit, walk away and honor the sworn oath to The United
States Constitution with this one. You think I was born with a little slit between my legs? Fuck out of
here. This is what a feminist looks like! Shalom.
Go ahead and call Alex Jones a "Liar!" In order to watch Alex Jones weep like a woman. Alex went and puffed one too many Thai sticks and lost his mind ever since he took Zeeko. You are welcome, thank me later. Believe me, Alex Jones from Infowars is very much worse than a liar. Better not come around no more! Bet that one hurt the heart.
That last ICA was far too long, to like, be able to save any souls from eternal damnation. Shalom. I know, no one reads any of my shit. I will try to dial it back down from here on out, for Newsom's reputation at the party. America's freedom is at stake and all. Steak knives out. Who's for dinner? I'm really out here and I hear all your thoughts. Simply observing. What year is it? I love Christ so deeply...That I went ahead and canceled Christmas. I know you Christians love the attention of not having Christmas. Gives everyone something to cry about.
I once wrote a unpublished NOLA Bounce track about an immigrant from Africa, who comes to these United States to start a new beautiful life and found that, after receiving oral sex from American girls the experience was less-than exceptional. Because the American girls don't pull all their front teeth out. So the newly minted American Citizen became a crack dealer. So he could meet woman and voluntarily, have their front teeth fall out, exposing the gums from inhaling cocaine; so that he could get his traditional tribal gummer blowski. You gotta find what works. That song was defiantly set in Chicago. Respect everybody.
Armenia was founded as a type of penal colony for everybody with black hair from all over the middle east. I know what you Klansmen are thinking: "If only Klansmen could kidnap all the white women and send them to Lithuania into white slavery; that would buy two more off-white incarnations before everybody realize the joke: Klansmen like to get fucked-up the ass." The Armenians and Siamese started Bonesmen from a bowling club at Yale. Done in order to be the wickedest guy in the room. Back then, as now, all organized crime money goes through some form of gambling. A kind of plead for your soul to G-D, "I was a gambling addict. Not a demon. What level of Hades do I belong to?" This gambling will include slush accounts at investment firms, FOREX, one-armed bandits, pharmaceutical manufacturing, horseracing. Just, whatever is hype. You know? So the major crime families all over the world have representation in these United States and they all love horseracing. I imagine, because it fuels an inner instinct for developing civilization, like a "look what we did." Horses didn't take away anyone's livelihood, but domesticating horses meant landowners could send all their black-haired serfs to Armenia, because black haired people are too difficult to breed into toe heads.
So each crime family and I literally mean family; I mean diplomatic families, not loose association of cousins; had their own horses, stables, and munchkin jockeys. But they all bought services from the same trainers, veterinarians, horseshoe makers, even stable monitors in these United States...Or people would get whacked overseas. And they all sort of bet on each other's horses from time to time, because that is the appeal of wagering. Spread love, it's The Brooklyn Way. That is a type of socialism, I suppose, sharing veterinarians in these United States while far away, overseas.
So The German Death Cults (Yule Society) who eat The Christmas Mushroom and tear people apart as giant lizards, for fun; showed up and saw how wealth was being transferred within these families. And basically, that some wealth was being siphoned off from embezzlement during each transfer of wealth, you just couldn't avoid it; some servants from Lithuanian would run off with $30m and go back to the old country. That is a serious crime in those families, so the idea was proposed by the Yule Society to let the horses carry the wealth through for the families. Afterall, none of that money really had a home in these United States. It was just a pot being laundered and sent overseas to pile up and buy real assets like land, diamond mines, and slave colonies. The families already owned these United States on paper ad in the streets, by hook or by crook.
So, each Champion racehorse would hold wealth as a corporation, by 10+ families. Well the Yule Society had another great insight, people are poor enough in these United States to each racehorses in time of need, so each racehorse would have to have a suiter, who would represent and protect that wealth in physical form, as it get annually syphoned off overseas to its shareholders; as well as invest and maneuver it in the market. Is this world becoming clear?
The Secret Society at Yale 'Scroll and Key' works on similar principals but for Commodities. Yawn, right? Each Society gets their own Crypt: A clubhouse at The University of Yale and slave girls in the system to keep them in line and occult specialties. Skull and Bones may in fact be above prosecution, but have all forms of blackmail against them and live a type of Chicago-style simulated gangsterism.
They didn't need to predict the future. Only that people would eat racehorses, and did they ever. So Skull and Bones Society was formed for this function, as well as avoid people eat racehorse meat; because these families owed racehorses, a lot. To this day, you can ask any old Bonesman what racehorse he (or she) represents and they cry and tell you, something like 'Mistletoe' 1886 Winner Of The Kentucky Derby, or something. Shalom. As if, comparably, the different dynasties all, bet on a single one-armed bandit in their network of gambling machines and divvy out the annual winnings depending on fractional investment, sounds like the Federal Reserve, Fractional Reserve Banking System right? Because it is; exactly that, and I can whatever the fuck I want! I am Chair of The Chicago Outfit, Head Choir Director to the CIA and have never had a deal with any Government. Uncle Pete just wrote my name down, down in Langley and it's been Bed Nobs and Broomstick sever since. Most Hated. I have more branches than a Hickory stick! I arrested Prince Andrew, because Prince Andrew left a $7 tab for a unfinished, chilled American light beer at a private Irish Social Club in Charlestown, MA and expected me to pay for it! You sir, are not a Gentleman...Don't tempt me! This system is far superior when dealing with vice, murder, white slaving, and all sorts of crime because there are no particular books that can topple a dynasty. Everyone's money gets pooled and washed, everybody's Pony's run, and if one of the suiters is killed or arrested they all lose that pool, presumably, and it goes to Lithuania...Literally. Hunter S. Thompson has illuded to this history in his writing: 'The Kentucky Derby is Decadent and Depraved' (June, 1970)
In this example, of American large-scale economics, liability is pooled and balanced, and money begats more money by investing pooled funds and controlling; systemic market shares. There, I said it, systemic market shares. That is illegal to say. My only crime is literacy. It is called a Monopoly and you have to be braindead, fucked-up tripping up on acid to get caught for it; it is literally too easy to hide on paper. They don't audit your writing desk in Albania, The Queen of England already knows your share and who would want to take that money out circulation for Lithuanian thieves in The US Government to frenzy at? A lot of people die in that scenario.
I've been paid three times, since taking position Chairman of The Chicago Outfit during Beltane 2018. I'd like to say it's the CIA paying me, or The Crown of England but it is always Mossad. Never money though. I have refused. Besides they always skimp and murder. It is unethical to do business with the Government. We all drive cars with license plates on them, paid for to the American Government because no one wants to get gang raped on the side of the road by Lithuanian banditos! That's all there is, does it make you feel flirty or dirty? It's not my opinion, it is fact. So I have been conglomerating OC in across the US, NYC, Canada, and overseas and saving a lot of money for Mossad.
The first time I got paid it was by the CIA releasing West African Black Leopards into the wild of New England, so I could have someone to hangout with during my personal contemplative walks in the woods. You don't know how mind bending it is to be an apex predator, especially at this level. This keeps me sharp. I know over six generations of wild panthers now, all born in my back yard, effectively. I can call out to them like a leopard, because they taught me. They mark territory for me with scat, even in the city. You can see video of them in the city walking around upstate New York down the street on the News, they even visited Joe Rogan in Texas. I can send them to your house, they are always listening! They are my free roaming, semi-wild 180lbs feline pets, Mi Familia de Panthera.
Better to leave them alone, all of you! They are The Chicago Outfit. I choose a few skunks that are not-to-be-eaten by Mi Familia de Panthera and those skunks will grow to be three feet tall and roam the city, because all the other skunks are dead. I have marked deer and moose to be left alone and then reneged, because the deer or moose is too arrogant. They get whacked, like a finger snap! That is Governance. Black Cube did that! Mi Familia de Panthera mostly eat coyotes and the coyotes know me, of course. Call to the coyotes if you are in an area with wild coyotes and ask them about me. Tell the sparrows what they said, because they don't talk to each other and no one believes you are all so silly as to be without a thought in your head! That is Governance. It is rad. I can do whatever the fuck I want and technically, David Lynch and I were French Legionnaires under THE LAW of The Jekyll Island Agreement and could do whatever the fuck we wanted since the 1980's but, you know, everyone always welching. And what is there to do? Pay the kid no mind.
The second payment I took of off CIA, ever, was wild Great White Sharks, also from Western Africa; released into the ocean off the coast of New England; like, for fun! Blow off some steam. Ya dig? There are still less than a hundred just swimming, swimming, swimming. They have eaten a few people by the water, this is all Official Government Ordinance. This is CIA in action. I Paid The Cost To Be The Boss. Ya dig? I've been speaking openly, during the last six months in person, about key parts of my life; now that I have been Chairman of The Chicago Outfit for 8-10 years, depending on whether you count the two years CIA tuned completely away, about four years ago. The FBI women say, I am "not even that bad anymore!" I've been a player since the womb, bitch. I am not trying to hurt anyone, a guy just has got to have a social life. I'm a real live wire. You can hear about my sharks on The News. They are my wild pets, they are The Chicago Outfit. Australian Great White Sharks were too people friendly to release off of the coast and these wild West African Great Whites are more impressive sharks anyway. Ghana being the slave capitol of the world! Hey Africa, why is your country shaped like a giant cock and balls? That is some uptown weirdo shit.
Then, it was wild Wolves in California; the news reports the Gray Wolves coming back in droves to US from Canada, but they are not. They are The Chicago Outfit. And lastly but certainly not least, most recently; The Crown's Royal Ravens from on top of Big Ben in London...England released into the New England wild. Those poor birds had their wings clipped so to sit up on Big Ben and they couldn't fly away. The Wolves and Ravens too, are all my wild pets, non-invasives species. That is CIA in action. What'chu know about that? Recently my wild Crown Ravens are on video tearing apart the Disney Rapunzel ride. Because this is Chicago, and Chicago doesn't give a fuck! Those birds can speak and problem solve. They are The Chicago Outfit, there is only one. Snitches is a dying breed. Hear that jake? It takes two. Mack a bitch into a coma. You can tell a Raven by its gnarly, deep 'caw!' They are larger than crows and I have run into them once or twice in the woods.
We already had Wild boar up here in the wild a hundred years ago, imported from The German Black Forest into Corbin Park, a private game reserve near my grandfather's real estate development. Lightening stuck on the mountain there and the fences were damaged and razorbacks escaped into the wild. I have never seen one, but I have been close to them in the woods, once. 400LBS wild pigs, roam in packs, as smart as an eight year old with four-inch tusks that gore you in the groin and eat you alive! Someone ran over one in Massachusetts back in 2007, it was only at 200LBS; an adolescent. New Hampshire is alright, if you like fighting.
Now, dear reader, you are wondering: Where do these investors get their Bonesmen from? They can't exactly be from any family loyalty, because they represent so many ultra-rich, ultra blood-thirsty overseas dynasties. It was cost too much money, it is an odds maneuverability operation. I will take a moment now, to point out that, if this scenario is not coming to you as a surprise, you are going to wish the police were there to haul you off to jail for your crimes, when the American public finds out what you did. They kidnap them, of course. From middle-upper class families, off of sledding hills, amusement parks, rural swimming holes. These people could do whatever they want. They burned down the Governors house in New Hampshire, because he said "I kind of agree with Abe Lincoln on this one" and left it a vacant lot to this day, on main street! What do you know about power? Power is not power to do something. Action is delegated. Power is, power, not to do something. Like rebuild on the Governor Pierce's Manse and rename some other building six blocks away the Governors Manse. You have heard the parable; 'History is written by the winners" well, what you don't read into in that is, for instance if the United States won The Indian War, they US would say THEY were the Indians. Are you laughing?
Imagine. If you would, for simply a relaxing-enchanted moment, you ae an orphan kidnapped from your adopted family at the local sledding hill across the street from their home at the park; by an old crusty, heroin addict in a brand new black and gray "Tudor Noir" Rolls Royce. This old man schools you in economic investment and discipline, foreign nationalist embankments. You become a Freemason because why not? It is your privilege. One day you get accepted to Yale University, not because of your grades, because of your connections. You get tapped for Skull and Bones Society at Yale and give all your blackmail items and pledge your life to privilege.
You climb up-up, to become a captain of industry; you make $10k/day. You collect coins and stamps and can afford anything you want. Literally Royalty Higher than The Crown of England. You sire 4000 generations of orphan children in the Hell Pits. You schtup every FBI woman in the country. You make and break industries. You own the News. You own the mines. You own the prisons. On paper but you heart is still not fulfilled. You grow old, you grow up; your circle tightens, your fortune attains unsurmountable heights. You are The Badman in the street. You cut apart victims at Hostels for $4,000. You own small countries. You argue with people at the car wash, because they overcharged you! But you heart remains unfulfilled. Where is the action? Where is the superb connection? Look at you, in your PJ's.
One day you receive a phone call. It is a young woman from Jamacia, she listens to your worries; a heartfelt, compassionate friend. She placates your esteem. She speaks softly to you and firmly about others you know. She is kind. Unknowing to you, she is your long lost, 45th generation grandchild from the white-slave rings. Something in her voice sounds so familiar and tender; it fills the halls of your mansion with an energy you hadn't known, ever: Affection. It drips from the Rembrandt paintings and echoes in the Rachmaninoff vinyl recordings.
Up until now, your life was devoid of meaning. There was no routine for you, just a rotating merry-go-round of people displaying varying degrees of disappointed at your presence. Where is the love? You ask. This woman...No, this angel, she is a real friend; she calls you everyday, no matter how you are feeling, for five consecutive days, right at four o'clock PM. You have begun to anticipate your daily interaction with her. You move your day's itinerary around to better accommodate her, if in case she wants to speak to you, longer than the typical hour or less on the phone. You begin to plan what you it is you anticipate to talk to her about. You begin to subside in you daily interactions, your performance isn't affected of course but behind your eyes, you are prioritizing what you will speak about and ask this woman about this afternoon. Maybe, build up the courage to ask her to call you again tomorrow at the same time. You think about how the price of Lamborghini tires is skyrocketing because Iran is flooding the market with cheap second-hand rubber, you think to yourself she will say something cheeky like, Iran is 'thrifting rubber' for new tires and you know the wiretaps on your phone know you didn't say it but you get to chuckle about it all through dinner with the wife that night! Breathe easy old boy, she will call. You have expectations, of yourself and other s and they are always met. You think about how the cost of 'Kate's Butter from Maine' is rising because no one is buy veal anymore. You blood pressure rises for moment and then reside, perhaps, those weal calf's will bring the price down and quality up in leather car seats and you will have to treat yourself to two Bugatti's this summer, Bugatti never skimped on rubber tires at the dealership. You think about how Gino invented the Bentley truck with a rap song with Lil' Wayne on it in 2012, who could predict that Bentley would make a truck to be armorer from the factory? So what. You missed an investment. There is only one the first that makes a life imperfect. You are thinking about selling a single one of your thousands of rare coin collections. Get this, in order to buy another rare coin collection.
Something has happened. Somewhere in your heart, where you previously scoundrel employees and destiny swap with them, stealing their heart rhythms, and use them to replace a piece of your own broken heart. Where you used to upset three white-slave children, then LAUGH in their face and destiny swap with them, stealing their heart rhythms, and use them to replace a piece of your own broken heart. It is important to show yourself timely compassion, you think to yourself. Don't fret, she will call. Now something there, something there right in your chest has been replaced I can feel it. Where there once was a patchwork, Frankenstein heart made of many broken hearts; a heart that shuddered in a frigid water when a servant observed your only soul and demanded retribution! Somewhere, deep inside, something changed. Your heart was mended, no replaced by the considerate heart of this young Jamaican woman. You only confidant. Your only possession; a heart, a friend. Fret not, comrade, she will call. Your heart will grow stronger. Your heart will grow more willing. Your heart will grow better. With every breath of this new life and you will squeeze the blood out of the diamond mines in Western Africa.
There is no stopping you. It is they who were arrogant, you will grow stronger, with this passion you feel. Day seven. She doesn't call. She lost her phone, you think privately, to yourself. She misdialed you number that afternoon, so you didn't pick up on the other end of the line. She was too busy that day and missed her 4PM EST New York Standard Time phone call window and doesn't want to be an inconvenience to you. You are such very, good friends. I am computer, Watson. You are the man. Your wife notices the unfettered anxiety pulsing below your pale, crusty paper thin, off-white Afrikaans skin tonight at your evening meal, that you took together, instead of a dinner tonight. She's dining-out, she, of course, has her own network for support. And you, have this Jamaican woman on the phone everyday. That thing is yours, and yours alone! She will call. And one day, perhaps you will have her attention in person. Intimate, sweating, drooling blood strapped to a metal chair, which is fastened to the inside of a 40' shipping container in Southern Spain and will steal her heart for once and for all! She will call, good friends, always call. Everyday at 4PM EST New York Standard Time. We love Mina so much, to hold onto a thought of her; could be classified as a circulatory disorder. Mina is innocent! We are not going to leave you here to rot in Hell, Holy old friend. I kiss your trembling hands.
And she does call! This Jamaican woman; on the eighth day. She calls! She calls! Something has happened. She needs money. You speak for two whole hours on the phone that day. She needs money! Did you hear that from her? You fork over a quarter of your fortune, and never tell a soul. It has happened, we can only heal for it. Heal better, feel better. A week goes by and she needs more money! You fork over another quarter of your fortune, it is your fortune and your fortune alone, after all. So there will be only be one Bugatti this summer. Breath a sigh of relief. For you know, friendship and what your friendship will cost everything it touches. I love you, so much, my dear old friend.
Another month of calls go by like u just watering the garden with this Jamaican woman and it is gone. You entire fortune to this woman and her tears. You pass peacefully in you mansion, defeated, alone; in a bed you only inherited, surrounded by demons and snarling orphan children who barely know a name to call on you with other than blood cuddling screams. Call a lifeline, old friend. Let them all know, how you feel.
What yours will be ours. What am I going to do with all of those gold rings?
Good luck with you, Robert. I would never tell. What am I going to say? Your name is Robert and which house you grew up in, across from the sledding hill in this town? That CIA used to broadcast your Hollywood story, every Christmas eve for 24 hours straight?! That you are CIA and above every law? That you have been riding with the my "Mad Biker Gang" like King Charles says it? We both know you own entire countries where there is no extradition. I would never give you the satisfaction. I was done flailing a long time ago, old boy. I would never tell.
Listen, listen, listen! I brought you all together here, now; to discuss something really, very, very important. And that thing is...9/11. 9/11 was an inside job. 9/11 was an inside job? 9/11 was an INSIDE JOB! But, Curb Your Enthusiasm about 9/11 being an inside job. It weren't that bad. I mean, it could have been better..? It would have been bigger...It should have been badder! If only those three greedy Bonesmen didn't have to pull-it, pull-it, pull-it...Pull the WTC-7 building in a controlled demolition on Live NYC TV into a pile of rubble, all for a pile of plundered NAZI gold in the basement of WC-7! Contrastingly, have you seen the VIEW from inside the Freedom Tower? "Constitutional!" I wouldn't get caught standing on the roof, though! Whoo! Whoops, who knew Epstien was a girl? George Bush Jr. spoke on Live TV about setting the explosives in WC-7 in a genuine terroristic way, so everybody dies. That wasn't a touch football; so you know we are playing with a full deck of cards, over here, Muhamad. Who do YOU think is doing it?
I mean, explain it to me: This is an Inside Job..? But you are gonna pull-it? Like "pull-it, pull-it?!" Sometimes, 'you got to pull it?!' I'd like to pull my dick out on a fireman's wife! Explain it to me! Because I am of the unpopular, opinion; that Syria coulda, woulda, shoulda done a better job at 9/11 THAN, NORAD DID! A mean, POLICE could of KILLED MORE FIREMEN! We could have loaded up all the firemen, who's wives were once gumar of the boys in the 49th, the OFFICIAL COP KILLER PRCINECT of the NYPD; filled their pockets with all the cursed NAZI gold coin tbeh could carry and given those firemen blowtorches and other flammables. We could have captured that cursed image of a single spinning computer chair with a flame dancing its the arm, rolling down a lonely hallway, and then, FIRE DID 9/11...Then you got to pull it, player. I said, THEN YOU GOT TO PULL IT! PULL-IT on those EVIL FUCKERS! WHO ARE THEY to WIFE OUR WHORES?! We are going to PAINT the WALLs in THEIR BLODD! We are going to grind up their bones into TINY LITTLE SHARDS; we are going to FILL HALF THE POTHOLES IN LOWER MANHATTAN! This the 49th and NYC ain't San Francisco!
I mean that first tower....That tower was ENGULFED IN FUCKING FLAMES!! And we all saw a jet plane crash deadpan right into the second WTC building with a straight face, but that third one, that third tower; that third building? Oh, the WTC 7? Eh, that one got a little fire on it; 'gonna has to pull it.' Building owner had to pull it on Live TV right on the NYC Local News! NYC are all in on it! Brick City over there 'cross the river, burning little minuscule black and red ants in the sun with a magnifying glass like, "it's gonna be worth it!" Meaningless! WE.ARE.THE.GREAT.SATAN!!
OR, IS THIS DEATH TO AMERICA?! Because; POOPING STILL FEELS NICE! Let's talk about 9/1...2...1991 the formation of Mara Salvatrucha (MS-13) down Bushwick, Brooklyn. Now that was the terror strike that keeps on giving! Like your grandpas after a few glasses of egg-nog with brandy in them during Christmas. Let's talk about 9/13...2013 James Bulger, James Appleton, and the Polish hermaphrodite walk into a bar at Buffalo Wild Wings...Mario Carcetti was 11 years old, it must have been really.fucking.scary!! Who Mario going to tell? Nintendo-Luigi? Marconi? Scagnetti? Maybe Tarantino and the rest of The Scottish will make a movie about him? Come on mange, that'll be 10% for the "Big Guy, Little Man!" Send condolences? To Mario? You want Mario to hear you? You are going to have to talk a lot louder than that! 1987 was a bitter year for me. It settled down by winter of 1989 when blood was carving off Haseed woman's faces on the streets of Brooklyn like "Blat!" Opening up them gashes hot-and-steamy, like giant cunts in the frigid winter air. Block-to-block! Hood-to-Hood. This Big OX. $till. Say my name. "They say, they Queens (borough) and they don't play!" Player-to-player. Pimp-to-pimp. I run shit here! You just live here! Honk-twice if you remember that, shit! They made a TV show about it, it is called the 'Simpsons.' Longest running TV show in history. Get it? That's why I never shake hands, in case I have to give you a phone! You more than likely lacking what it takes to Kill All Rats, but you can make sure to mark 'em for later. Ya, dig? Mossad poisoned and killed George Bush senior at dinner on camera in 1991 in Japan for this reign! You think you got dice to roll, son? Kiss the ring! You couldn't find your dick with both hands!
Now I am not saying I am the guy who did 9/11; on the contrary. But I did run into one of the guys who did 9/11 just a couple of years back. He was standing looking over a bridge, innocently, in broad daylight. I yelled at him, "don't jump!" To which he replied: "You are no Boss of me!" That was really, fucking relieving, not like that; but to hear! Pause. Then I asked him, about what happened to the more than TWO METRIC TONNES of NAZI gold stolen from the WTC-7 the day before the 9/11 attack? He said, "hadn't even looked at it" since that morning. It is good to laugh! Da. It feeds the fucking soul, right? But, I digress. I AM SAYING that I AM THE GUY who stole the jet fuel intended to be used for two, out of four of the planes in the 9/11 attack, right there on and off the tarmac, suki. You are all my Moshpooka, now. Just for reading this. I mean, come on mange. You cannot just leave four jet worth of the WORLD'S MOST EXPENSIVE oil derivative with a sesna plane FULL of the WORLD'S INEXPENSIVE COKAINE on the same fucking landing strip and JUST expect she NOT gonna do business!! What was they wearing? A jetliner bra in heels? Just standing there, shivering? Right on the tarmac? Idling!? Come on, mange. She everybody's girlfriend. We call that outfit a Tijuana mistletoe. Ya dig? We ain't petty player. We by the whole thang! I went ahead and let them gas up the two planes that were left, by the time we had a deal, with nothing but fumes really. Just enough to get off the tarmac. Because you got to let those planes leave the airstrip, or Bonesmen just kill everybody and send in a new tanker like "send in the clowns, Bozo" in order to fill-up the two remaining jets with. Call it a whole Trust Fund! You picking up what I am putting down, suki? Fuck Israel. Why couldn't Hitler have given them Budapest, instead of Palestine? Have you ever sat through a Hungarian winter? Those little skullcaps only provide so much warmth. You funny.
Everybody got a taste. I took care of err'body! Everybody, except for everyone of the Bonesmen and Yale. Not even George Bush Jr., the sitting President, got so much as half a Zanex bar. They already make $10k/day, let them fantasize. France would kill me for paying them, and so would have I, in the hypothetical, for that matter. How much Social-Political International Finance have you studied, before, kid? Saudi Arabia still launching napalm scud missiles into Hamas, with that very same jetliner fuel from 9/11! Did you just laugh? You are a tainted jury! Ask the jury if they got secret spy phones or use someone else's secret spy phones? We can clear the whole books of all the cases. America: Everybody is dirty. Everybody is dirty: America loves that! Did you drive a car or ride in a car between the Y2K and 9/11? Explain that to G-D. I knelt down on one knee, before the one true G-D Jesus Christ and slandered you: Chef's kiss. How many licks does it take to get to the bottom of a fucking Tootsie Roll Tootsie Pop, Mr. Owl? And besides all that, on that day; that day...I solved a murder...I solved a murder! Well, a murder down in Mexico, but still a murder is a murder, none the less. I mean, Spanish people exist, right?! Roma shat them out, all over the world after the last tidal wave that canceled The Ricky Lake Show. See the moment that tanker truck of stolen jet fuel crossed the Mexican border, we "pulled-it" (that stings-right?), just right after it crossed that imaginary line; me, the Federales, did.
Turns out, someone has absolutely massacred a Cuban family during a quiet, afternoon dinner at home down Mexico. A family, who was leading CDG Mexicali since the 1980's, then got stuffed the whole family in that same forsaken 9/11 oil tanker truck, prior. Shell Company ended up carting that crime scene around for over a year, refueling the gas station pump(s) all over these United States. So, the American public can traffic themselves to work everyday burning those children's face-flesh up in their Hyundai combustion engines. Ya dig? I got my face burned off twice with sulfuric acid because I wouldn't marry to Israel, you all just needed to go to the liquor store. Like, as in, it's all one Big Family in this hemisphere. Drink Milk, everybody. CIA made a movie about it called 'Sicario' (2015) starring a Spanish actor, acting lead who especially despises me, worse than anyone. Guy literally gets on the Red Carpet and starts silently, mouthing "fuck you, Gino...Fuck you, Bael... Fuck you, Lucky!" I hear you, Shalom. Ask that curd, if he still "enjoys his COS tattoo?" Well, everything I ever did is DARPA and I kneel before, none. Go USA! You heard that Scarface quote; "No women, no kids?" That's for Holy-Fucking, Hollywood Fuck Fests, Batman. You got a wife, we kill, the wife. You have a child, we kill, the child. You have a maid, we kill, the maid. You have a dog, we kill, the dog. You have a gold fish, we kill, the gold fish. I sold my soul, signed a contract with The Devil on paper in my own blood, with the Columbian Government present in 1994 to become 'Narco De Columbia;' I was only twelve years old and Columbia gonna ride for me, cuz! I don't give a fuck, actually.
Did I offend you? Well, I tell you that, to tell you this: You got to let me son Geovanni off on this 9/11 thing. I will, tell you, the kid practiced everyday for a month, then the day of the recital, a guy called us up and says "we gonna do a third." Like, what a the fuck a third? A third of the building? We are not physics professionals: How do you do a third of a building? What is she, wearing skirt to work that day? Laughs in Sicilian. Geo hadn't practiced for this. A third tower? Programing the second plane with his jump pack on, the high-winds, probably HAARP, probably just another jest; had blown us off course. It was a windy day in the dessert! It ended up being a funny angle; it took him a moment to program the plane; he jump-packed in a frenzy, HIM drop PASSPORT; he MISSED HIS FLIGHT! Hey lady! Pick a spot, stay there! Tough-guy, huh? We got 47 cop-killers from the 49th PCT at this very venue and they zooted and booted, ya dig? Out of their eyeballs on Bolivian blow, grinding their teeth into a powered dust, looking to blow-off some steam! We get to fuck start'cha head: You ever blown a fag!? Twelve gauge turn your brain into fine.pink.mist. Shalom.
The worst thing you can possibly do is be is a cuck. America be looking mad gay right now, homie. We got to get back in the saddle on this homegrown terror thing! Lucky for you, know I got a plan; starting this year, at the Super Bowl Halftime Show, we are going to have; twice The rapes of women and children at the Rape Rally in the catacombs beneath the Beer Tent. Now, I know, you say; Gino, how are we going to have twice the rape? There...Is...Only...So much time within the scheduled Super Bowl Halftime Show. You got to take your little sissy boy to get a sodi-pop, whistling Dixie between his two buckteeth with his cowlick looking like Buckwheat in his engineer overalls; hit the bathroom together, have the Government teach him how to wash his hands; get the misses a hotdog wiener-schnitzel and go choke down a 1100 beers over at the Beer Tent until your worries turns into furies, and you get fucked to the Rape Rally with Ratman to grind your gears! Before returning to your seats where your wife is waiting and catch an eyeful of Beyonce shaking her breasts! Kiss-kiss, bang-bang.
And, I will tell you...But you's got's ta get-up and, get-in real close. See? About this: I can only whisper. It is this litty. This shit is right here pure fire, blood. Wet-wet. Ya dig? See? Like... I'm saying. I got this thing, with the Japs. Me and Japan, we are like two sausages frying in a frying pan. Sometimes, like, this. Sometimes, like, that. This thing, I got working out; it's this full-sized turnstile like with, a little QR Code reader on it. You step through: DOUBLE-DICKS! That's what it is going give you is "Double-Dicks!" You are going to obliterate entire royal Ukrainian lines, grandmothers and great-grand daughters, in one.felled.stroke. So redeemer, this year at the Super Bowl, when you see the Mason in the field. with his little grand chessboard shirt on nipples al hard in the ice-cold air lifting his arms above his head, it means "9/11 was an inside job." And when they lower their arms, it means: "Double-Dicks!" And not the kind your mom likes, "because it doesn't count as cheating." That's right, beginning this year at the Super Bowl...Beer Tent, still only $750 dollars; Rape Rally in the catacombs beneath the Beer Tent: Double Dicks! And, I canceled Christmas: Go Ask Siri. I leave you with this little bit of negro wisdom to part ways with; don't drink the water. #GoUSA
RIP Pimp C
RIP Biggie Smalls
RIP Scott La Rock
There ain't no coming back. Fly high!
$igned Sincerely,
Ricky Ricardo
"I'm still a Westie."
