Like an 80’s Harpers editorial I brush off the prospect my readers don’t understand English and cut right to the memoir tone in search of some answer to the British map of totality where the NAACP normalize inhuman acts towards me. As a child I was forced to sit through the for me nauseating and dull, dizzying film, Stop the World I Want to Get Off. Knowing what I do now about how I was contracted for by Andrew Peckham’s father in Pitt vivisection, who called the preferred model, a black friend of his, “Ku-guy,” I can’t imagine the sickening experience wasn’t meant to rub in my face the idea of my life as futile against the grinding wheel.

In 1984, Jesse Jackson said of the Reagan machine, “Let those who had the party pay for the party.” But I wonder in looking at the reality of what the NAACP pulled if he has any thought of living by his words. Don’t doubt it, he doesn’t. Using AIDS to occult the right to life of a golem, Muhammed Ali made a Godlaw decision for every last one of us which suppressed the Right to Know Laws, common sense and decency. Calling it in the name of Africa at best is Temple University saying they are Hutus, not Tutsis. America First has a strange sound when doing the bidding of South Africa’s Secret Service.

The reason why Ming Na Wen laughs at the Greta Thunberg in me is because of a perplex allowed by widespread silence about what she and Obama pulled for Geffen. Oh, why do you have to do all these stupid things, her agent from Sicily crowed at me from a gang called Feral Family, of whom the resemblance to the feral pigs of Texas is no sidebar. In trying to get help from public attention the NAACP and Wen’s Hollywood held all the cards over me. They knew my brain was frozen shut in certain areas by a Tin Drum coma-trauma susceptible to taunting with a lover’s rejection, a Greg Karl parochial formula to render suspicious the privacy of an earmarked manhood. Gail Burstyn was actively trying to change my gender so they could get away with making me contagious as a trajectory of pure spite in the attack, a failure of which Ono loyal transvestites in Seattle have never forgiven me.

The Charly side of me, the flower of Algernon, the Islamicists of Black Philadelphia derided as “the deteriorating European,” on its way to becoming a “hound.” This derisive take was a contribution to Wattenmaker made his chum of long-standing, Spike ole Lee. Gail Burstyn, speaking for the crowd reading the newspapers of Shaky said in print, “Thanks for opening my mind (not enough).” Speaking for everyone, while splitting JFK’s head “wiiiide open” at Babyland, there’s not enough. Andrew’s father at Pitt, or Cuppy as we called Andrew, was on a schedule of discourse that replaced Shock in the Dark at Kennywood with Noah’s Ark. When the Graham Family addressed me they signed it, “Mary Precup,” which conjured, I believe knowingly, the films Gail Burstyn took me to, “Prick Up Your Ears,” and “Kiss of the Spider Woman,” which ends with a drive-by, as Ian Wattenmaker predicted for the golem.

UW on high love it. Wen long ago Dx’d the scribbles the desperate golem was keeping as he strode the streets of homelessness in dismay, they looked with mirth on the loser’s surreptitiousness. Insane consequences were prescribed as a tactic, the death of Saoirse was expressive of derisive rejection of cause. You say Ron is Ron? So then we say Joe is Joe, hehn, just hehn.

Back in the days of Donald Gruber, Robert Lee was a friend of (p)Eisen and today the name of a major smut merchant from Neva in Midori Goto and Justin Chang’s L.A., where we never see David. The abuse of a white liberal symbol in the form of a child takes shape into proper perspective about the smirk among Seattle’s worthless worthies over the play they got in the head of the golem by persona impingement.

Masquerading as an inner-city race feud, the European Ark of Kolorz like nothing better than to throw the Molotov of the Kennedy Curse at cherubim like Greta Thunberg. The syphilis of Pener Gabriel is the most despisable thing going and against which words mean nothing, but you all love it, don’t you?

So how much are Wen and Ku-guy worth these days?

also written 12/16/2019: https://www.storychecksoutannex.com/with-hitler-as-wet-nurse