After a productive semester of grace at the reputedly “Military Friendly” Tacoma Community College, my situation changed with a downturn in taking classes with Commander Andrew Cho of the Political Correctness Division and Prof. Brian Duchin of Hollywood Public Relations at this charming school. It is my purpose to address the situation as publicly as possible. Any insistence on misunderstanding the situation will eventually be seen for deliberate misrepresentation, but with bias as heavily weighted to disparage my achievements and abilities no matter how well I do, difficulties will no doubt add to the mirth of the aggressor’s advantage. It is important to remember how the casino sharks in our schools, supposedly faculty, operate: openly espousing their right to commission atrocity, want-to-make-something-of-it style. My hope in writing this is to forestall against discovery that either of the opposing teachers intend any aggression, in the hopes of making sure that academic fairness and freedom are extended to me as a gravely injured student; however it is possible to notice the bias in the TCC climate this Spring: for one, Prof. Duchin did not hide that he has sympathies for the very film studio culture that I have exposed for collusion between Hitler and Reagan, in fact, his class schedule of address is frankly providing services nicely for further investigation and review, while making clear he doesn’t want it discussed, as too heavy, offbeat, and against his finer feelings. Commander Cho, too, made clear that he is part of a nation-wide dogteam who brainwash their students to believe auto-hypnotically the idea that admitting ever that any white man could be victimized is somehow siding with white supremacism. This plays nicely in the way that Carnegie Mellon distorted how I was used. Commander Cho’s first lesson was in asking Asian students and Black students to side against white students. The call to arms was perfectly clear, “You are more like us than them!” In this call materializes the very interesting development I have exposed of Japanese adventurers working with the syphilitic hatreds of Black Power guerillas, a key play in the AIDS attack. Further, the legacy of reparations that Commander Cho favors took no notice whatsoever that reparations given to Minidoka survivors was from the hand of Reagan, as though collusion by Japanese-Americans in the AIDS attack is unfit for notice, the answer to which is scapegoating the white child who didn’t understand his own importance, in favor of various tricks of rhetoric serving that hidden agenda. Reparations by Black America to the world for going along with the AIDS attack is never mentioned and won’t be considered by this gang of UW peripheries any time soon, after all, didn’t they provide the Secret Society lessons of African Elders for the benefit of victim tutelage?
The only discrimination I am facing conspicuously at college is that most of the my peers do not hide their closet interest in matrimonial prospects. Finding some other reason than you are ugly to keep undesirables at an arm length, they avoid me for reasons that are different from my handicaps and age, but the underlying message is: you aren’t wanted sexually. Since I have a social liability from past history due to the malicious crimes committed towards me by those who for reasons that are catastrophic in hate crime dimensions simply get away with molesting me, the issue is closed to me as well, and I make a point of avoiding taking up, with persons new to me, an issue of long-standing crime authored towards me by the criminally insane, but it is impossible not to notice that the achievement of the war crime has back up from UW installed at TCC which will not be ousted, certainly not by me.
The assassin committee culture cannot hide that they have hidden the truth, it is much too conspicuous. Instead, they will invent reasons for disallowing the truth to be addressed. This is an old theme, denial of evidence. For early illustration of the obscenity commissioned by my old school, Leslie Katz, when she introduced me to Matt Marcus (leading later to Vince Eirene and Martin Sheen) had a poem on display outside the studio of Marcus reading, “Hide here under my cloak.” Leslie Katz was running a cloak and dagger show. This fact was already perfectly obvious without these messages on the wall. Marcus had one, too, “Beat me, beat me make me write bad checks.” The arrogance of the team-up is perfectly obvious by the way they created conditions for and then misused a letter to her, yet the murderer Robert Fripp says no, and won’t balance his books. This little devil from King Crimson is a fine one indeed to play shadow stalking games about the so-called “Fifth Element” of love and trust, after violating every dignity protecting his freedoms of expression when it came to me. He is criminally deranged, but with government signaling approval, nothing can and nothing will be done. With impunity absolutely certified by the bank, no matter what they do, and no matter what the evidence for terrible crime, you are still at the mercy of their willingness to break the law. No one, anywhere, should have to live with the deadly affront to safety and peace of mind that I do from their constant, blood-curling death threats.
This isn’t really the issue of the day for me, however. I’ve grown so accustomed to addressing murderers in the air who de-humanized me with absolute reptile blood, crafting the most bizarre and evil lies on record at the bank, that it can be difficult for me to address the problem of how I have been used to illustrate a quarantine by reaching out as a person to people who may have once not just been calling themselves friends, to explain what has happened and how it has left me. Saying I am destroyed is a simplification. It doesn’t really evoke the crying suffering in the night, the injustice, the betrayal, or the revulsion of having the sad situation actually used for entertainment by psychopaths. Although there is no record of public consultation, the U.N. have in essence said that Ringo Starr’s bellicose and deranged personal spite and hatred, his relentlessly defamatory mindset, his shattering and hostile abuses, created through the intermediary of Penis Gabriel, was the answer for a generation, despite the straightforward admission to me that they sided with the AIDS attack, that they didn’t care, and that they weren’t affected. The victims prefer them, they utter in solemnity and there is no evidence that the most vulgar treachery is even detected despite these open admissions to hiding what they had done, lying about, seeing it as a market for their purposes only. The rabid have made clear they are in fact using the Military to enforce public musical preferences. You can be shot dead for crossing the Beatles’ monopoly, denial about this takes the form of encouraging low lives who are willing to canvas for their betrayal and deny what really happened in favor of despoiling the name of a victim they used like a doll to divert the ravenous K-9’s they were unleashing.
Denial of evidence is such an old story in the AIDS attack, and of course the taboo issue of freedom of speech. Even with the hidden transcripts in messages like those runes on the wall writ by Katz and Marcus, and the social agenda stylized into the presentation of a whole arc of movies in which they arranged this play by casting in society as real, they are counting on you never to admit what happens to the mind when tortured, or that the evidence of child mutilation is real, or that the casino sharks in the unions at my old school used my deafness and a prior injury about which only they knew shamelessly to deny me love and then subjected me to deadly terror to this hour. The natural selection as a screwball comedy jinx clocked as pussyball to the AIDS attack is gruesome, evident and surreal, but so is the mind behind it, Ringo Starr, a lot like Gary Pitman who kidnapped and tortured me. You can’t reason with their syphilis. They don’t care who likes me. They don’t care who tells them to stop.
The mission announced that I am supposed to accept being scapegoated as an exemplar. Silence about horrific, organized crime, they claim is the only honorable stand. Police trust the CIA and Reagan’s authority, and so the evidence of systematic mockery of process from AIDS to JFK makes no real difference to them in their siding sympathetically with Hitler’s revenge. Well, it’s a joke they say, and you ask after the murderers behind the joke ripper an innocent person, is that a joke, too? They say with a wink that because secretly they know it isn’t a joke that it really is, much as they conveyed that their reasons for the 911 carnage was to prove that they would never do that. Do that to prove that they would never do that means what? The Fifth Element?
They used me among other things as a reaction against consensuality. How did the human traffickers behind organized slavery making public announcements of the extermination program in corporation media pornography succeed in getting campus feminists behind them? They said that the Beatles approved of the game, since Fripp liked Leslie Katz better than me. That’s a whole lot of success in war based on a misreading of a letter to an unrequited lover. Penis Gabriel said that he provided a sex and punishment tour of bedrooms for Reagan’s amusement and victory over a generation. After they were done, they reset the board for millenials to get as get can again. Insidious defamation about my unwillingness to go beyond heavy petting with a coy mistress was played against the neurological agony they inflicted by torture in a method intended to depict consensual sex as a threat to public safety. While they were castrating me for refusal to date rape they also pulled off allowing a premeditated AIDS testing program in broad daylight, a civic light announcement of warfare behind the disease. Having pigeonholed my conscience for a loser, they mocked the idea of conscience as seeking a glimpse of one of their psychopathic rock stars.