Fourword
Super Duper Kaleidoscope Fantasy.
On With His Head
Time to enter the Pantomime Express, a cavernous eternal beast, racked in ruin, through the ages, such in productions. Comedic relief of the bowels of the bowels, synergetic abomination, simile spectacular – like a plumbers snake drain cleaner imitation device of non Q-Tip generic cotton swab ear cleaning headache relief tripling lobotomizing multifaceted quadruply scrubbing a clouded corneal cataract catastrophe of headlong circumcised quintuple brainstem circumlocution anomalous retractable nervous system wide swath uncontrollably tractable in mutably tactile fractious natured stumbling upon a stuttering disorganization hellbent for straightening a sixth sense of relief wiping it all clear and concisely evermore into disintegration extraordinaire.
Or something along those squiggly lines anyways, in evaporative necessitated unrelinquished solitude of bellyached consumption. A regular song and dance as they say, in heel clicking delightedness marching of furtively concealed cha-cha charades stepping decisively deeper into the humdrum beat rhythmic line dancing forth in repetitive movement partnered mimicking. Spinning and twirling, and swirling too in dizzying affect, the regular spin cycle – a cancan cancer kicking it into an unrevealing layered pleating bearing no real peach dripping exposé for the ultimate taking.
And now a dithering ditty none meaningful or witty, yet in capitulated virtuoso perhaps a little bit shitty:
Borne of ancient mixing, mortar and pestle
Squeeze Asclepius’ venom, enter the vessel
So go the ages, debilitating tinctures
Societal movement, byproduct of sphincters
Such in the making, millennia do so pass
Will a new enlightenment sanitize the crass?
In a nouveau alternate delineation of focused assessment, depending upon how intricately and precisely one literally looks at it, some may very well be correct in definitively asserting that the benefit of having friends in high places is none other than the overabundance of sniper rifles in pointed direction. Although, if the scope of such workings, in the twenty-first century hyper-sexualized Topsy-Turvy Crazy Downside-Up World we live, may very well be, a high calibre targeting of the largest luscious melons on the range being the prime retentive objective, then, like a horseshoe in a racetrack environment, one is most certainly none other than shit-out-of-luck; unless of course one has the figurative twentieth century analogy of the metaphorical horseshoe up one’s ass, in which case, what is a little ear-piercing crimson trickle, other than a survived martyrdom braggadocio opportunity extravaganza leading to who knows where. Well, that, and, thinking about hiring the Cub Scouts of America, possibly a motley gathering of octogenarian clouded cataract sufferers, or maybe, to stand a chance of being safe in the future, a slithering horde of Texas Blind Salamanders to front one’s security detail.

“I See Dead People – Globalists”
Like a president Joe Biden and Pennsylvania senator John Fetterman sleepover, it would not be unequivocal to state, regarding Donald Trump’s assassination attempt, that more than one person has definitively shit the bed here. If not some indeed being actors of the American Gestapo Corporation’s contingent of chaos for Throne Troll adornment. Or maybe it really is just Topsy-Turvy Crazy Downside-Up World oozing from the pour of yore hitherto into the abyss. Either way, one must not rule out the future possibility of rocket powered, roller-skate clad coyote’s brandishing anything from hammers and sickles to oversized mallets; rainbow flag adorned Super Duper Secret Service snipers using night vision kaleidoscope glasses in the daytime to hone in on a private battle of the bulge as their earpieces blurt a Taylor Swift best hits playlist; detachable ceiling-fan/drones programmed to search out and explode on the sensory perception emittance of demagogue bluster exhalations wafting into the atmosphere upon a miasmic reek of a near fatal concoction of overpowering hairspray, Big Mac special sauce evaporative excretions, gaseous Diet Coke tummy rumblings, ketchup on steak faux pas pheromone aura, and a simultaneous finger-stink of any willing pussy, no matter the cost – otherwise known as the ‘Eau De Cologne Trailer Park Special Body Spray Half Sister Attractor.’ Although, if Sirhan Sirhan, John Hinkley Junior, and Jack Ruby taught us anything about what seems to be a limited playbook of American political theatre, it is up close, as a patsy or not, that seems to go hand in hand with the rifled from afar marking of JFK and MLK obliteration. Stay tuned for further programming.
And regarding said horseshoe up said orangutang’s ass, it seems that some force, whether accidental, practical, factual, or actual seems to want to have said ginger-bred crevice cruiser around for at least a few more days, perhaps so he is able to comically choke to death on his own words, along with his unbeknownst collection of ketchup etched, rootily tainted, unwaxingly errant windpipe suspended pubic keratin buildup lodgings right in the midst of the Republican National Convention. Or maybe the overarching changeling of universal comeuppance has finally turned the tables in favour of some semblance of sanity beginning to constructively rebuild anew, of which was cosmically flipped when the balance of good men and women having fulfilled their cosmic obligations to productively do something in the face of overt evil smugly displayed for any paying attention to view has finally arrived, where, The Donald has indeed been granted an as yet fully definable role in the razing of the substrate sheep grazing dystopia. I know, Trump and sanity – not hand in hand, unless he is the lynchpin of the societal hand grenade let loose to frag the final tattered remnants of a hideous Globalist “democracy.” What, y’all are cheering for a rocket propelled, roller-skate wearing coyote wielding a sharpened spoon for an eating on the run viral video extraordinaire too!?
So, how do you hide bullets from a Secret Service agent anyways?
Why, you load them into a high powered rifle and put it in the hands of a weak minded patsy, then put said patsy in plain sight upon a conspicuous rooftop where any non dupe could spot him, then give aforementioned patsy a few seconds window of opportunity to ring off a few shots, and voilà, American political theatre upon a Throne Troll stage.
Really, it only takes a few bad actors to bring the enactment to life. Having myself written on the JFK assassination in the past, after which having the pathetic tentacles of the American Gestapo Corporation tickle my surroundings, in the pathetic way it operates in getting weak minded gullible dupes in the network of localized sleaze to prove their affinity in serving ignorance and the evil it perpetrates from a perspective of serving a servile coward a few notches above their own wasted life of true nothingness in the hopes of climbing a tattered ladder, which 99%+ of the rot-minds are not cognizant enough to realize that they are all filthily adorning the bottom rung smeared in Globalist faeces. Sad but true. Oh so true.
Any fool too naive to realize that the American Gestapo Corporation had penetrated countless agencies from its official opening in 1947 beginning with its predecessor the O.S.S, had better go back to watching Seinfeld reruns in building a base of understanding and enlightenment. Question is, as it seems quite evident that the Secret Service, or some selected bad actors within the Secret Service were unequivocally involved in the JFK assassination of 1963, what does one think the American Gestapo Corporation has been able to accomplish for the past six decades in penetrating crucial roles within the necessary agencies and other facets of American society, not to mention workings of Globalist “democracies?” Yeah, scary indeed. As for the Trump assassination attempt, one might hypothesize that this time it was not the removal of the limousine runners (watch video below) by the Throne Troll bad actor in charge, but, in fact the Secret Service snipers upon the rooftops as being witting participants in the few second window that seems to have been purposefully allowed to have hopefully transpired a Trump brain-letting for the ages.
One might surmise that the bulk of American stupidity on display for the world might evolve from the lost in the mire indoctrination fantasy heartily relied upon to be engrained by the Hollywood entertainment machine of shame, though if such was the case, there are so many assassinations on the silver screen to which by the age of twelve, any non mentally retarded, or possibly even mentally retarded boy would clearly think it would be a good idea to station some protection on every elevated position capable of harbouring a gunman within range of the protagonist, especially if whack-job nutters had been threatening unceasingly to crimsonly aerate him for years on end. Nope, that Topsy-Turvy Crazy Downside-Up World seems to always affect the subjects of the main sickly body of the Empire Du Jour the most. Go figure. Out to lunch on a fattened brain diet.
Here you have possibly the most hated (and loved) man in America, The Donald, performing in an open air environment with multiple elevated structure vantage points, of which one must assume that any civilized country would have had at least one member of the military, police, or, if they possessed one, the literal agency designated to head the protection of the Main Man on top of every building within a kilometre as a precaution. But, no, not in good old USA! USA! USA! One question is, what happened to Donald Trumps private security detail? I remember reading something about when The Donald was President he actually had the Secret Service as well as his private detail to compliment the Secret Service.
Would anybody really notice if Ronald McDonald became Trump’s new body double for engagements!?

Fight! Fight! Fight!
Well, now The Donald knows about those elevated vantage points, so be on the look out for a pistol wielding kook to make a go. Or maybe an explosive laden podium that can traced back to Russia with the “onsite collected” evidence of Russian birch plywood stamped by the official Kremlin furniture maker, and to seal the deal, the tattered remains of Vladimir Putin’s personal passport with a customs stamp for the USA! USA! USA! one day before the podium exploded, leaving nothing within fifteen feet intact except for a quivering and hulking, deep furry red headed stiff-bristled weasel still off gassing a miasmic and noxious reek of ‘Eau De Cologne Trailer Park Special Body Spray Half Sister Attractor.’
And there you have it people, the whirled, in the palm of your hand, ready to slap the shit out of anything, anywhere from a minute or two, to a an inverted topsy-turvy week long extraordinaire of nothingness in a short attention span moving on to anything and everything more mediocre than the last which should not be but is because it is not. Hoorah! Rama Lama Ding Dong! Sieg Heil!
Don’t to forget to tune into that self aggrandizing conservative perversion orgy of closeted destruction commonly referred to as the Republican National Convention. Hoorah! Rama Lama Ding Dong! Sieg Heil! About an acre or so of pretentious, servile, reflective-anomalous vampires of devious and defunct personalities publicly flattering an aura of the personification of flatulence in the hopes of blowing hard in order to suck up to The Ronald McDonald in the hopes of getting a minuscule piece of the overly expired and full on dyspeptic diarrhea pie, so that the vast majority to be let in in some shapeshifting creechiness can voluntarily serve evil as they undermine, in Throne Troll fashionability, to so eagerly sabotage and stab in the back, with Hamburglar affinity, The Ronald McDonald and his Quarter McPussy Pounder sensibilities of an already been bought and sold deep-fried agenda, where in doing so, said Troglo-Klingons have all but revealed their delusional vacuum of an existence in thinking that “This time is different,” and ultimately are themselves a hulking mass of mass murderers for the blatantly obvious observation of anyone paying attention that the self-character assassinations are a hideously pitiful service of zero secrecy.
As for the Democratic National Convention. A figurative and literal funeral. Hoorah! Rama Lama Ding Dong! Sieg Heil!