Meso-American Culture of DC Comics

 The Remedies to Common Childhood Disorders (The Cabinet of Doctor Caligari):  Childhood disorders, are an old issue, and their correction, has been a common practice of friends who have also suffered from the disorder.  Once one disorder is repaired and fixed, others follow suit, and slowly, a body of work develops, wherein these disorders are repaired time and time again.  It should be noted, that all of these disorders, are inclement on contact with the New World.  Any Meso-American bloodline, has a switch-form, wherein they initiate amongst each other, or with others, by instinct, with a %0.0032 prevalence of the Mestizo genome offering a %98 odds of active capability of genetic initiation in a disorder.  Meaning, each and every Mestizo, once initiation in the shaman form (the homosexual form, actually called, the Gestative form, in Mestizos, homosexual or bisexual, in Polyanders, the term for a non-hunter-gatherer) has occured, it is a simple matter of finding the repair for the warrior form (the heterosexual form, actually called, the Nominal Form, in Mestizos, heterosexual or poly-aggressive, that is to say, a standard sexuality or a rapist, in Polyanders, again a non-hunter-gatherer, an Old Worlder).  Upon this being attained, both are possible, from the warrior form, being challenged, and moving back to the shaman form, for a defensive stepback, into a coercive planning phase, with any other possible allies, particularly other Mestizos.

Adolf Hitler: Calumnate Professor of the Arts in Espionage

Homosexual Form: Gentleman Soldier of Rakish Beauty and Dangerously Diverse Reputation

A royal, is a terrible thing to waste.  Descended of breeding stock of Israel and Rome, the combined personage where the Slavic Huns had rarely touched the Jewish lines and the High Priests of Solomon had to contend with their cousins, the Nebekudnezas of Babylonian ilk, the Roman Senate bred in in the late Middle Ages, creating the European Noble.  But what if one of them, studies the ways, of the Orient, pre-puberty, and converts to a form of meditation, always Ninpo, on some diverse array of fact, that they appear possessed by the Devil, what the Jews call a "Spider", what the Royals call a "Divina", and what the Hussars call a "Noble's Night"?  Why, sir, for centuries, they have called this, a Sociology Don at Cambridge, the man relinquished of fact with arranging the facts of European history, in criminology's form, a Batman if you will say, a true admonisher to the title, but really, the man planted in your society, to this day, that position often empty, held by a Snape, while the true Schoolmaster, a Hairolad, a Bumblebear, remains before you, in the empty eye.  Where are you, Adolf Hitler?  Can you be found?  Where will MI-6 find its Emeritus Professor, the Asshole of the Queen?  Can a card game determine it, or will the Jews always win, and hold in their shit, until they poop, in their rectum, without releasing, their bowels?  A fecus, not a ficus, say I?

Heterosexual Form: Major University Don at Cambridge University, England (We Hope)

Well, if it isn't Batman's oldest foe, Adolf Hitler.  You might be leading Germany in a war against your own people, Britain, or you might be sitting before a computer, watching "Chet", the Spider, type.  Did you read above, good sir?  Is Chet, Adolf Hitler, the Spider?  We never know, shall we.  That seat is still open, but a seat, is just a butt, not a chair.  A chair is a chair, a seat is where your ass is, namely, a seat is your ass, to use proper English.  What kind of fag would say otherwise?  What's a fag?  Why, someone that argues a provincial as formal, when the provincial is correct, and his provincial, is incorrect, however mine, is considered incorrect, because he has selected to be gay, a homosexual, marking himself as thus, out of commonality of term.  A terrible burden, for a professor, to have a gay friend, a homosexual, who prefers to get himself across, as he would say, by appearing to be a moron, hoping to seduce a woman as if she was a homosexual man, a moron, as if a television show to make fun of a cuckold, so the series does not complete, could offer an instruction to love.  Soap operas, Matthew Lennox?  I watched Guiding Light, my mother was vexed by a Vietnamese woman, she worked for INTERPOL when she was 15!  Married old and had a child older, just so her son, could watch her, on a soap opera, already mass produced and overdone in China.

Transformative Synthesis: Mastery of Basic Urban Form of University Campus

The game of becoming a sociology don is simple, once you have qualified by being born into European royalty, and converting to Ninpo Buddhism, by a partially Chinese, not Taiwanese, ethnic Buddhist, age 9, only age allowed, for both of you, no years of division requested or relegated.  If he is older, you have been cheated, his embassy contact is cut off, he has dallied, an improper training, if he has ditched you, you are not Adolf Hitler, you are a pretender, the actual man himself.  This, means, you have to set up a thief's mark, to see if the British Crown, the Court of Owls, will become the Court of Knaves, and take a thief to the right of Sociology Don, collapsing all of Europe, wherein a new dictator arises, as the historical Adolf Hitler, stole Napoleon Bonaparte, from a sociology don.  And before this (proper English, not this, cad-like Americans reliant on negro logic, the term from your textbooks prior to Hillary Clinton's aneuric eye twitch from an orgasm on crack-cocaine methamphetamyl, a topic of substance used by negros for a sperm theft rape to a politician to fake rape victim in court to keep him, Bill Clinton in this case {improper, unless 8th century French logic, not grammar}, from divorce), Napoleon Bonaparte robbed, Von Luftsweig, a German "air commander", artillery test division, from Napoleon's test, the original name of the Rite of Honor, called Yorkshire, after the Gotham District of England, from Young Yun Stalwart, the confusion of his name to an Orient faith leading to the French mocking him in common sin, the mutiny of the Jews common in this age.  Otherwise, once you have qualified and avoided the traps above, simply commit to mind, the algebraic quantity, of your dorm number, and the name, only first, never last, of your first room mate, one semester, not year, a year means you are a drug dealer, campus syndicate, perhaps petty but that is only a semester in Mob terms, not Freemason, any amount is an MI-6, a British exchequer agent (congratulations, sir, you have qualified for spy liaison duties overseas, if you make it to graduation, psychotic break, stateside, drafted, computer lias duties today, deliberate theft of own materials to a Jewish talent brokerage house for a media hustle to a Jewish enemy, British envoy status, relinquished then revoked on first show of anti-Semitism from own father, towards son, as Gentile, otherwise Jewish rites prevail).  Just attend class, make it or don't, they take you, kid.  Otherwise, war's on, someone stole from a cheat, and now they're a thief, and the Queen took him.  Death to the Jews, they killed your girl, and it was a Nube.  A black man wasted your girlfriend, any of them, even one you didn't know you had.  The Queen's Commanded, the Jews did not avenge the black man's blood on their blade, with a public rape trial, an exoneration of the girl, and your court trial, for allowing it, for simple funds, money.  Your father was weaker than they thought, the chink cheated twice, crossways.  You're not Adolf Hitler, now are you, Chet?  Who else is reading this, Snape? :)  Just a Cowboy.  

Alfred Pennyworth: Theft of Manhood

Homosexual Form: Two Souls

The knife, is a flaw in society.  It allows the theft, of a paternal line, passed from father to son, inside the genes of a son to survive the early birth of a child, otherwise sudden infant death syndrome occurs, the biome is inappropriate for the father’s genetics.  These are our early dreams (Editor: Pyrenees, Tours, Martel’s Infantry, Crusader Knights, also Spaniard Inquisitors).  All the symbolism, is from our father.  But it can be stolen, from a genetic flaw in fathers, the illusion of the maternal, the pain of holding the knife, the live blade, leaning down into a man, as if penetrating a woman, becoming the mother in missionary sex, named because of this act, with the eyes staring together, the murderer sensing his new son, becoming father and pedophile in the same act, through a weapons symbolism of the extension of his limbic cord.  From then, you have a second soul in you, something haunting you, some ancient tradition that you don’t understand.  You have something to atone for, “Alfred Pennyworth”.  You have to have a son, and you can’t.  You raped your mother, and it was your son, and your foe, and you, are your own worst enemy.

Heterosexual Form: Murderer Uncle

The art of combat, son.  It’s what your father believed in.  Why?  You’re here, aren’t you?  At some point, in your history, you raped a woman.  Her name was Eve.  Your name is Cain.  Your father is Satan.  You killed Abel, son of Adam, your brother.  You’re a vampire.  Congratulations, moving on.  So, to speak, you’re Jewish, in lie, that man, is dead.  You’re a Gentile, like the rest of us.  You may have an allergy, but you’re no Israelite.  We killed that ol’ chap, remember?  You may call me, God.  I am going to teach you, how to be Adam, the man I ghillie cut out on the peat bog, and came out here, to put into you.  Every aspect of combat, I’m going to put, right into you.  Whoever that man is, I can’t tell you.  Maybe you’ll figure out some day, when you have a son.  That’ll be him.  Cheers, fag.  

Transformative Synthesis: Mastering the Life You Took, You Freak

Well, you have to meet the widow, the parents, the family, visit the tomb, see the graves, go back to the site of the kill, study the records, hire a private detective, and maybe a historian.  Just to get a handle on who you sunk the knife in.  Why did you do it?  If you did it for any reason other than to steal, you’re just fine.  Otherwise, you’re a fag.  You had an uncle.  Didn’t he explain to you, you had to have a son?  You know, raise him?  Well, moving forward.  Just figure out, who the guy you knifed was, then master him, in the simple act, of contrition.  Erect an angel, over his tomb, with words, not his last, but yours, to him.  That’s what Epitaph means, you know.  Your last prayer, to your victim.  Go with peace, Alfred Pennyworth.  You’re the most valuable dollar St. David ever had.

Answer: Theoretical Design Institutionalist

Homosexual Form: Engineer Fantasist

What does an engineer do, anyways?  Well, an engineer, works at a facility, processes data, and makes sure it’s managed well, for the manager.  What do you think an engineer does, build a robot?  No, that’s the guy, in the factory, you’re managing, numbnuts, he works for the same people you do, the manager.  What you want to do, is come up with a new ethos, a new type of design, a new way of living, a new recalcitrant formula, a new philosophy, a new munitions management system.  No one person does that, in the world’s history.  The entire world does that, at once, based on a shared signal, called a tidal wave, a tsunami.  Without oceanic shelf movements, there would be no more technology, from the oceanic reef, in Thailand, to Israel, in terms of wave of technology.  The Jews have it there, every time.  If you were a mad scientist, you’d want to stop tidal waves.  That’s what everyone is trying to do, it’s the entire point of technology.

Heterosexual Form: Conceptual Abstract Pathological Movement Talent

You have to know your role, a-hole.  Not asshole.  A, is the fundamental beginning, of an arbitrary mechanic, of sound, vowel, and letter, that doesn’t matter in placement, in any system, merely in memorization, that you learn as a kid.  But has designed, the entire system, and you placed it, in the hole, see?  Asshole, comes out of the hole, it smells like ass.  You don’t want that, engineers don’t like it, but they say it, so you say it, asshole, or a-hole, prick.  A prick, is someone, we like, you just got the gesture, it takes the dick away, the sex.  Science, is a men’s science, women who like men are into it, gay or otherwise.  How’s it work?  You know one thing, and simply have that first insight, that crashed, that really great idea, and you build, your entire life on it, A.  Capital, not lowercase.  That’s your contribution, to the human race.

Transformative Synthesis: Recognizing Snubbed Success as Failure to Destroy Culprit

Do you remember, that first thing, you did for fun, actual fun, that you really cared about?  Why didn’t it work?  Because someone else, had a different invention!  Their progress, was through.  Don’t point a finger, because the finger, isn’t on you.  That guy is you, in the future.  Just keep mentioning it, until you’re out, because your addition to science, is present, and now, you’ve figured out, your job, anything using your invention, whatever your technique is, already seeded in your local, your letter, at the beginning of the hole, now dropping downwards, to the alphabet, until it’s finally, all the way out, and someone else, picks it up again, on a higher row.  As for the culprit that did it, he’s far gone, you probably don’t know who it was, but he stole the letter, and bagged it, for the name, of his alphabet, which is why he culprit slammed you.  He didn’t mean it.  It’s just progress.  Tidal waves.

Azrael: Unbroken Line of Pre-Crusades Fatherhood of Knight’s Service

Homosexual Form: Dying in the Field

A descent, between fathers, is marked by a last name, in Christian society, not for those in poverty to track farming dues or mercantile guilds, although this is certainly convenient, but to track great noble lines of Europe, those who have served, and served well.  It is a reward, for staying true to the convenant of marriage and service, twin vestibules in which we have vested our power, our tradition, and our strength, the money and finance of strategy of raising children, our reward for having served against the ignoble enemy, the Arab, that besieged Jerusalem, the Holy Land.  It was not for religion, nor for humanity, nor for our own gain, but for the name Constantine, a mortal insult to be renamed by the Islamist, the Jewish surnonym of Istanbul a slap across the face of our noble empire.  People dying, this happens all the time, not a mere constance of saying the low lands, but rather, a grand salute to our lives that has become common, from this struggle.  You, Crusader, have experienced something that happens all the time, you of unbroken line, from father to son, of the first battle against the Hun, the foreigner, since the days of Roman onslaught, traced from your original battles (Editor: Frankish Tours, Martel’s Infantry, Spaniard Inquisitors during the Reconquistda, Pierre the Coward, commander of armed forces, Jerusalem, 18 years, prior to German takeover under onslaught by Arabs, under Salah al-Din, the Bastard Hun, the Arabist Pagan).  You, have died, in battle.  But you have survived, for this vestibule, is holy.  It was not the Church, it was not the Mother, it was the Holy Land.  Your Fathers survived, and you will have a child, if not in blood, then in blade, for if they take away your right to bear seed, with Jewess or naught, the highest a mark of nobility and wealth honored from the Church, degree bearing a position of Don’s Regalty in Europe, and a conversion to Sacroment Wealth of the Messianic Judaism of Faith, they will feel your wrath.  You have prepared for this battle, your entire life.  How many lives, Azrael, Angel of Sin, have you waited in Abaddon, lurking beneath Hell’s Gate?  Come, Storm the Heavens.  For Jerusalem awaits. Nar siddeth nar consequi nar siddem.  Far shaudum nar suadum car suarvori.  Charlebois Oath, Holy Land’s Nar Siuadum.

Heterosexual Form: Crusader Knight

You’ve come back, from the grave, in whatever form you chose.  There are millions of Sacraments, the myth of Resurrection, but in reality, it is all the same thing.  You killed something, at seeming random, by an act of charity.  You committed stock slander, you gave away, the story, of garbage goods, and made a killing, on the market.  Plague Comstock.  Now, you are a Crusader Knight all over again, your balls attached or sodden by a Jew jealous of wretched infamy through his own cowardice (Editor: The Editor’s case, a coward named Doctor Jeffrey Wiesenberg, alias Doctor Joshua Golden, a Mossad “blackhat”, a case manager for Christians of Papal descent, trying to wash clean the Holy Land, names bother Israel, the Arabs meant it to be so, they were deep in the bung of the Jewish people, and the Jews were pleasured so, to have a puckering kiss upon their haired anus of warted asshole that the O’Neills have seen in the mind of the Lennox’s, upon Ian Williamson’s ripe derriere, for consternance of love in the Jewish faith).  Perhaps you have been fasted, by the evil Hun, or perhaps you have converted to the ways of the West, your ancestral faith, be you a Native, or worse yet, the Bali-Naga, the Hindu salve, a masturbation ritual of mental artistry only reserved for Boryukudan, the legacy of Douglas MacArthur, the most potent of weapons, the Wrath of God, a Hiroshima (Editor: Deployed, at Vatican Agency, on the Sharon compound, a mass tail through line tug of arts references, multiple victims of James O’Barr consternated insanity with Brandon Lee and Alan Moore, Crow, Crow, Killing Joke, creating hordes of pedophile Batman throughout a Black Hat operation and DC Comics).  But you offered up, your hard work and time, in your wretched state, for free, and now an asshole, shat himself.  Good work, prick.  Your curaissair’s blade, is yours, the glove with which a thorn lies.  Azrael, has ascended, from his Grave.

Transformative Synthesis: Dying in the Field of Honor

You always have an enemy, Crusader Knight.  It is always your father.  He is never happy, with your works, he is never pleased, with your accomplishments, and he is always wrathful, of the Divine.  The Holy Land, was a distant memory, in his soul, through which we see our peace, but you, our sons of God, are a responsibility, of which we have not asked, but noble Juwer, the slain fallen with which we consult our blades.  Although thin in numbers we grow, our Coward’s reeds grow stronger, for our true purpose, to consult the slain, thine our enemies, for them that have struck as, are to be homosexual.  The End.  A Children’s Book, for Crusaders.  Faygo.

Bane: Military Tradition Criminal Personality

Homosexual Form: Compulsive Personal Achievement

The individual was placed under pressure by a program, academic or athletic or military or intelligence or community or propaganda or literary or even a circle of friends, or limitless other possibilities.  They build achievements within the program's auspices and mandates, a form of self-abuse that develops them into a violent, self-hating, self-loathing criminal, capable of atrocities and falsely heterosexual overtures that are actually mandated attempts to destroy any man that the suffers of the complex, "Bane", sees the woman as being attracted to, since the subject's propaganda indicates, to the subject along the guidelines of the program, that the woman is to be the potential mate.  This is a closet homosexual criminal inside a culture of tradition, built on the logic of the child criminal's view of his phallus as the communal propaganda symbol of the order.  Any challenge, to the tradition, is the image, of the phallus, performing a semi-erect, flaccid shape, as if bent or broken, unable to get an erection.

Heterosexual Form: Tracker of Relationships with Others

The individual tracks his own relationships with others based on their contributions, in terms of advice, offered, as opposed to intimidation or recruitment or even worse, antagonism.  Each individual becomes a component of the subject, the reformed individual, through each and every one having a special, intellectual component, that becomes a pathological (internalized component, emotional) element.  This means a state of abrogated spirituality, not in the form of a prior attempt, schizophrenia, meaning the elements are being applied to neurological body language (the induction of psychosis), but rather, in stillness of the body, the repair from any potential schizophrenic damage, the willful and peaceful state of quiet and calm, the body placid and neither limp, nor restrained in anger, without physical training nor bonds necessary, nor even preferred, doing quite the opposite to the health of the individual.

Transformative Synthesis: Romantic Relationship With Non-Athlete

A relationship, gently offered by a woman, with the promise of attraction to the subject, not another man, is all one requires.  The woman is found to be non-threatening due to lack of athletic ardour, and instead insight to the subject comes from education with her eye to some subject introduced that the woman has mastered academically (as all women outside of athletics do, their proper form of sport, no women's sport ever practiced for competition, merely a lifeskill in raising a child, even if a child has been selected against in preference of raising, as in the case of lesbianism or bisexuality).  This particular academic, becomes the method of tracking advice, integration of form of relations to others, and most importantly, the sense of peace with self, to the subject, our newly christened coach or manager.  The old stressful muscle grips or limp tiresome homoerotic simulation of bowel movement through the lungs, is gone, and replaced with honest religion, our man healed and others becoming a part of them, in a way only they understand, through the memory of that woman, their new anima, that missing component.  Some day, they can help others get their own romance, with the mastered subject's form, from that special woman.

Batgirl: Liberty Belle Commandmant Intern of Parenthood

Homosexual Form: Secret Spy on Town Affairs

An authority figure, has a heavy heart, never a light or weak one.  They know the grave sins of man, not the crimes they commit, but the crimes they must commit, for the closure of their sleep and rest to occur.  Dozens of individual nuances to each community, a little burgh isolated all its own, to keep from spilling over into anarchy, at confusing itself from some other place, some little roadway.  Imagine being the daughter of that man, that old bern eagle, watching up at it all, seeing that wing pass over those highways, like a grand falcon, every day, since the day you were a little toddler.  That's the subject, "Batgirl". She has to always wonder, when her father will become mortal, and collapse, when the bad men will come home, that her father worries about eating, getting their basic morsel in, not shooting up the town, unless "Batgirl"'s new friend, The Bat, his begrudging partner, not her father's friend, but hers, brings the rag home, that bad influence, that hatred and rage that comes with eating too much and seeing too little, the old scoot on a sketch probation from the law.  She'll always love him from afar, but unless she goes in, bites the bullet, she's more than a nuisance.  She's the apocalypse, a girl in a chair, a priest's Oracle, watching the world.

Heterosexual Form: Activist in Open Cultism of Communal Culture

I am woman, hear me roar.  You are daddy's little girl no more, you did something, whatever it was, and you went psycho, and you did it hard, and you did it well, and you call the Bat, you called him hard, and he came through, on a rampage, and he died, and he became great, he unmasked himself, that man you always watched, secretly suspecting, he was a spy, a soldier, a genius, more than he seemed.  He had always mastered you, from afar, because you watched him with just that right reflex, when he fell from grace, as all demons always do, never an angel, just the vampire watching and making all the good girls cry.  A cigarette, a cant to his hips, a fast ride, maybe just a mention of a career he doesn't want.  Rich, poor, evil, good, it's always him, the Bat, that little statue of gold, that angel with wings, that you always knew, was a flying wing, you way out, to Harley, that girl in the Birds of Prey, that you always wanted to save from herself, so she could be a Cat.  It was never for you, it was for her.  Just a little toy, for a dortmouse.  If it doesn't work out, you'll kill him.  It never will, not for an Injun, at least.  There are too many scars, on the arms, too many tears, from the land drying up, far before you came here, white girl.  But you have shaved your head, you have changed, it was never for the two of them.  You are beloved, Batgirl, the girl from the coalmines, Davida.

Transformative Synthesis: Open Outing as Lesbian in Falsehood of Hair (GI Jane)

You have to do something, so irrascible, that it reveals womanhood as what it is, a vulnerability of epoch, in secret defense of a man, that you place yourself breasts bared to protect a man, against himself, so he may move on.  He is really just a man stuck between time, where he cannot move to the future, some old regret keeping him tracked.  Hand him his giant pistol, his handgun, his rifle, his bomb, his grenade, and have him chuck it into the old hornet's nest of whatever trapped him, and free three people, break open the triambic, the naterterast of the three of you, the ancient Coptic riddle of the pagan glyph.  The man, the tragic, and the savior.  You are all the same, two women and a man, and you must become each, by striking in secret, relying on your fact of implicity, and doing so to save all three of you, so you each become all three, and a star forms, three branches from a triad, and in the center, a golden sun, for each.  A new dawn, a pagan future, for you are a soldier, a woman, and a tyrant.  Tigers be none, for this is Tamil Country, Sri Lanka.

Batman: Pagan Cultist Victim of Historical Epoch

Homosexual Form: Reversal of Comic and Tragic Masks

In this disorder, we see the "comedy", the movement of the apparent form to the true form, learning and marriage, and the "tragedy", the awareness of impossibilities and limitations, progress and childhood, reversed in position.  Learning and marriage, is taking the impossible and arranging new limits, the act of moving structures by rearranging other human beings, a homicidal disorder, and marriage is the forceful diminishment of others into the state of child and parent, a pederast.  Progress and childhood, is taking existing structures and simplifying them in self, a regressive, and placing children into sexual states, a pagan.

Heterosexual Form: Lack of Comic and Tragic Masks

In this proper form, we see a lack of awareness of hidden natures, an appreciation for form and beauty, and a lack of awareness of the necessity of testing pressure points and limits of self, a perfect state of peace with own state.  Instead of feeling the need to study the potential necessities for improvement in structure, or seek to improve one's self through some form of self-doubt, one is already at peace with their flaws as who they are, a defining quality, identity being the pride of an individual.

Transformative Synthesis: Offer of a Posthumous Austerity Memoir 

The offer of a posthumous memoir and collection of notes, published from the dead or near dead, written for little profit and austerity hence the alteration of form will be minimal, is how you repair a pagan cultist, "Batman".  Anne Frank's Diary, Nietzsche's Will to Power, are two examples, the study of an abused child, and the study of a hazed literati, both of the individuals, matching a pagan cultist.  Naturally, our newly healed friend, should be pointed pleasantly in the direction, of gathering more such posthumous diaries, for austerity, with perhaps a study of "found art", the method of gatherings of notations and materials from those murdered that could not make it through life, due to their flaws in terms of abuse by history's epochs.

Batzarro: Connossieur of Humor of Disabled

Homosexual Form: Discomfort of Developmentally Disabled and Mentally Ill

Have you ever noticed, that sometimes, people feel down around you, until you say something?  You have a special touch, you know.  You never knew what it was, did you?  Maybe you had a mentally ill mother.  An obese brother.  A developmentally disabled cousin.  Those people, had a special bit of advice to you, something to do with, “everybody’s smart, in their own way”.  You thought this was career advice.  If you were a woman, you would’ve understood, they were telling you, to be a female standup comedian.  But you’re a man.  You have to solve crimes, you perform, to see, why you were framed.  Always getting into trouble, Batzarro, aren’t you?  The answer, to this question, is that every crime, has a preliminary culprit, whomever was at deliberate fault.  A prank, eh?  Well, a prankster, can catch a prank artist.  It just takes a single moved item, an Act of God.   It’s just instinct.  How do you know if you got the stuff, Hot Shot, Charlie Sheen?  You feel uncomfortable, around the disabled, because they’re joking at you.  Do you see them joking around anyone else?  What are they trying to teach you?  Did you learn, already?

Heterosexual Form: Professional Hunter of Gits at Large

What’s a git?  A git, is someone, who causes random chaos, to blame you, for a crime, because you did nothing wrong.  They’re not a superhero, a Bond villain, a guy with a hat and a suit, a one-armed man.  It’s a kid, who got you once, really young, and he’s arranged a whole world of enemies, because he beat you at something, and he claims, you beat him, and you were mean, and he had less stuff than you.  It could be anyone, and the gits, all work together, that’s the revenge network.  Now, let’s go through the classifications, of weapons.  We got the retarded.  These are jokes, from their parents’ hopes for them as children, that they use, as a strategy, just for you, one joke, never steal the strategy.  That’s their insight, for you, your list of bystander moving implements, the git’s pieces.  You have the schizophrenics, that’s the hopes, for a child.  Those are the special job skills and talents, based on insights into your career, your pathway, all intuited from the sound of their voice, a hobby, a key to your background, the wily animal has recognized.  This, is your map.  The clergy, is the way, to simplify your insight, the clergy is the most complex thinker of all time, they hate themselves constantly, some git gave them a royal drubbing, and now, they’re your martial arts trainer.  The obese, your source of savage revenge, the pathway to your final tool, the self-suspicion of the act the git is framing you for: a serial killer.  That’s where you find it, Batzarro.  Study the noble psychopath, a depraved killer so animalistic, that a git, drove him so far over the edge, he left little tricks and nuggets, of each little bit he was trying to save himself with, that cops thought it was funny, to piss of gits by releasing details.  That’s your final weapon, the safety net.  The cops.  A cop, beat up a git, in a fight, so bad, the git, became you.  Remember that, git?  You’re Batzarro!

Transformative Synthesis: Prank Upon Oppressor of Developmentally Disabled in Witness

One of your friends, the arms dealers of the Batzarro practice, the Git Hunters Professional World Extraordinaire, is trapped.  He’s pinned down, under heavy fire.  It’s bad, real bad, sir.  He needs your help!  Can you spot that friendly man, that everyone’s afraid of, the medic hunter?  This guy specializes at hunting friendlies for a living!  That’s where they call you in, Hunter S. Thompson!  An autistic kid is in need of aid!  A mental patient is being tortured by a doctor!  A fat man has an evil wife!  The gay kid is picking on the psychopath!  The children are swarming a cop!  A bunch of Hispanics, are beating each other in prison, because the corrections officer told them you were a Git, and you’re a Hippie, you understand Ese jokes by instinct!  The corrections officer, garbage, you say?  I don’t think so.  He needs you, Johnny Narc, to enforce this cell.  Finally, the humble priest.  The priest, needs you to accuse him of pederasty, so he can retire, he’s an alcoholic!  Clergy needs to drink too, kid.  So you just give that Git the signal, in front of his oppressed enemy, and make a man smile.  Teach him, a new move.  Steal the entire strategy, in front of him.  After all, having a girlfriend, means having a woman in your head you’re masturbating to.  Is he trying to recruit me to be a Rabbi?

Black Mask: Public Identity Disorder

Homosexual Form: Proxy Concealment

Some people, are born to be heroes.  It's a curse, always.  As soon as something tragic happens to someone, everyone knows, this kid, is something out of a storybook, a fantasy.  The natural inclination, to having something so personal, as a death, an accident, a disease, a disorder, an overdose, a suicide attempt, have the careful test of community support be placed upon them, is to choose your path.  Are you a hero, a monstrous asshole that's going to get gunned down by the police as a white supremacist or Zionist street leader or a convenience store robber for "the rights of liquor drinkin' kids", or are you going to be your true self, a dangerous man, someone that a kid looks at, and doesn't talk about, because it's a trooper, or, as Yes puts it, a "Starship Trooper"?  If you take that community outreach, and you do the natural thing that means you're evil, you conceal your humiliated state, with an act of larceny on the community, through others, any other evil person, for what's called a "mass sweep", these kids think it's funny to be Batman and Robin and Superman and the whole Justice League, to a town.  That means, you're pretending to be heroic, through whatever fictional background you've been afforded, to shit, on something, you delusionally think you are, when everyone's really just afraid of a bomb going off, someone just died, and you are suspected of setting the fuse, "Black Mask", Zorro.  

Heterosexual Form: Nullified Jungian Self

Can you comport yourself public-wise, Dim?  Well, Alexander DeLarge knows, this is an important life skill, before that training day comes, that proving day, to see if you're either a little saint's cupid bow, sitting in the cop station, or you're ready to become a real American hero, a member of a terrorist organization called the United States Federal Government, or your local equivalent (perhaps a soup kitchen?  they need someone to snitch on the guy that pisses outside the building, in the alley, because of his 'war limp', and the opium it entails).  It's an old practice, but Jung, finally nailed it down.  You have multiple Personas, different ways of acting in different situations, all fluid once you've become your true self, the subject's goal to avoid "mass quarantine", alternately the lack of Persona, or a singular one, both a pederast, the true definition, a child rapist, grown into an adult maladorant, someone who makes statements in jest of falsehood, claiming a community rapport, until there is one.  But, there is also the Self, the preferred view of identity, your self-opinion, which was destroyed by the public outreach to prevent a serial killer, a homicidal felon recursive compulsive, from arising, and the Shadow, the opposite of this Self.  We have heroes, in fiction, so you nullify your Self, by replacing it, with your Shadow.  A simple writer's exercise, maybe a bit of fun play, is all someone needs, then, sir, they are a spy.

Transformative Synthesis: Villainous Writer's Exercise

Well well well, you've come to the world, of the Catholic Faith.  Francisco Franco, Adolf Hitler, Queen Elizabeth I, each Pope, and even Tom Clancy, had to use this trick, the "stuff of legends."  This, is a little trick, I learned, in the CIA.  You take the tragedy, you are suspected of.  Then, you write the opposite, of all you have ever been, someplace notoriously anonymous, but it has to be in public, you've been shamed.  You admit to the tragedy, having been the prime culprit.  Then, you don't form the Justice League.  You form the Secret Society of Supervillains.  Or as we call it in writing, the United States Federal Government.  In psychology, they call it your local, friendly, college campus.

Birthday Boy: Astrologer’s Sebrum

Homosexual Form: Dementia by Reason of Prosnostigation

How do you have sex?  It’s how you kill a man, if you got them flat patties upside down.  That means, your butt’s up in the air, when it should be down on him, that man you need and you love, whether it be the marital bed or his hips.  If it’s on his face, he better not be putting you on display like some cold turkey, or else he’s quittin’ you.  That’s where the Voodoo comes from, you know.  Unless he’s experienced.  And if he’s doing it straight up, you gotta test a man.  Is this man Martin Luther King Junior, or it Ronald Reagan Super.  She’s going to give you the shot, Birthday Boy.  When were you born?  If you wanna remember, you better beat the test, but first you gotta look, to beat the switchy witchy.  She be evil, so evil, but she’s had it ass up in the air before.  It’s a ho, and if you wanna treat her right, you put her on bottom, cuz she tried to kill you.  So you talk to her, and read your horoscope, dirty white boy.  Maybe you got negro lips, but you ain’t no nigger philip.

Heterosexual Form: The Voodoo Man

You got the Voodooo?  That’s how you realize, what buttocks you want.  Any buttocks can be fine, but you want the buttocks right.  It’s not a porno pose, or a woman’s way of flashing her tush, or that push up the smush.  Backing into you into the club, wearing the yoga chubby chub, no, you wanted a woman, that loved you, like momma did, and now, you got the Voodoo.  The ass, is what a woman gives you, to kiss, it ain’t no flirt but it’s just dessert, you just kid about it and joke, no need to make your lady choke.  You were gonna kill a woman, Voodoo Man.  Now, you experienced.  You don’t need any of that birthday or calendar anymore, someone is special every day.  Just stay away from the holiday hootenanny.  That girl think she fine, but she know she not.  Not to you, at least.  Bugsy.

Transformative Synthesis: Confidence on Yourself

You gotta figure out, when you look at that horoscope, what the thing you see, means.  Who are you? This whole thing, it applies, to each person, each and every person, reading it.  That whole birthday shindig you gave that Santeria Saint, that ol’ lady Latina, of any skin color but bleach fantina, you didn’t know it was fake, and if she gave you a horoscope, she thought it was.  That’s Santeria, it’s evil, your birthday is your special little day, and you didn’t know it was wrong.  Now you gotta smack a bitch down, by coming back, ain’t no slave, not gonna hang yourself, you figured out, what in that horoscope, you thought you had, that everyone has.  Just squeeze your shot off, and she’s in the box.  Santerios start a sub, and go on top, but that’s a fish doo-wop.  A real top, she gets knocked around in the box, she was never a sub, she didn’t fight with a fist and it was real tight.  No, this lady, wanted your money, she wanted to whore you for any kind, and she got a husband, a slave, and he was playing the jive.  Now you the Birthday Boy, the Voodoo Man, and you gonna free those men from the bad ladies, whenever you can.  If you take a woman, butt up on top, it’s gonna be what she like, because you know that thing in the list, you gotta stop doing, until she tells you, it’s what turns you on.

Bonnie Hoffman: Los Angeles Power Broker

Homosexual Form: Valley Girl

A Gepetto is a sacred thing to have as a friend as a child.  Someone to make you a proper Jewess, regardless of your origin or race, a doll, a trade of your parent, and a story, together, an axis, the Reinheim system, centuries old, before Hitler slurred it and made it vile and vulgar with the Holocaust and the draft of the Reinheims, the inventors of anti-psychotics, to make Zyklon-B.  Cruelty, Hitler, all you knew was cruelty.  That’s not for a child, only a lower form of life, to display.  Adulthood, is cruelty, not for a child.  You were always a child, Hitler.  That’s why you never became a man.  But that’s not for you, “Bonnie Hoffman”, subject.  You have your barbie, you father, and your little story, with Ken, your father too, a daughter’s secret, from the mother.  If someone steals Ken, they’re an anti-Semite, a slug, a piece of shit, a piece of trash.  This is where you learn to fight, here, in the deepest pits of Los Angeles, that harsh city beyond, that one day, you know you’ll go into, with a switch blade and a brass knuckle with a switch stick stun cord in the back, just for fun.  That’s where the dope and booze and cars are.  You have less money than you think, though, Barbie.  Toys are cheap.  The Reinheims are poor.  They got drafted, after all.  No draft is a Senator’s Son.  Neither are you.  Neither will your husband be.

Heterosexual Form: Lawyer Knifewoman

Sluts.  They’re all sluts.  You saw them, rich and poor, man and woman, and they were vile, so vile.  Now, you’re professed of law’s course, a military officer, a tradeswoman, a whore and a cheat and a thief.  You have money, you have wealth, and some day, you’ll have a daughter if lucky, a son if cursed, another intolerant husband to leave for the army whore’s widows brigade.  They need her, blessed be they be.  If particularly bad, for you, not him, a Marine, a foreign soldier, a widow’s brigade for her, the wife.  But there is you, the degree, the barrister, and the judge, your weapon and your army, all the whore’s pussy you’ll need, money, the only thing keeping you alive in LA.  Never go abroad, this is your city, Bonita.

Transformative Synthesis: Proof in Trade of Father

You need to figure out, what your father really does for a living, behind those hallowed halls of Stein and Stalin, Hallaywood, Jews and Russia, English Manoy.  Then, you’ll need a friend, the whore, to teach you the tricks of women, and you’ll teach her combat, your mother’s old Russkie knife, from the communist days.  You two team up, the porn starlet, her, and soon you, and you, the bruiser, and soon her.  Two best friends, shaking ass with a knife in their grin and a sick smile, walking down the street, all the boys looking, the chocopicos wanting it but knowing there’s a razor in their jock if they’re not asking, and maybe if they are, if they’re selling crack, Juggalo.  This is spic’s town, and you’re one of them, at least for a while.  Barbie, eat your heart out.  Gepetto, I hope you made you proud, out there, somewhere.  I stole your toy, and I’m sorry.  I paid nine bucks, at the crack shack store, and it was so much cheaper than it was worth, sobbing pruneface son of Jewish Germany.  Opium, I forgive you for.  Meat, I don’t.

Bookworm: Boutique Arts Dealer

Homosexual Form: Pornography Affiliate for Dominatrix

A man, is always in love, with women.  If you’re an open minded man, you’re into every type of pornography on the planet, besides pedophiliac pornography, because you’re into cougars, you’re into cops, who are into men that don’t like pornography.  Unless, of course, you’re into the stories, then they think you’re weak.  But what if you bull pull, you like the entire story, hotter and hotter, challenging the dominatrix over and over again, until the end, then you spot the exact problem with the dominatrix’s symptom.  Is written by a man, who has a fantasy about this woman, and then you see it, she gave him, the ending, that he wrote into, on her request, as an erotic play, just for her, to humiliate herself, thinking it was him, in public, the slave never caring, he got a legendary piece of pornography killing a dominatrix, who he has to have sex with, because his mother used a wrestling move on him to resist his Oedipus Complex, the simple act of trying to duplicate your father, due to a lack of neurological development in childhood.  The proper move, of course, was to tell your child, that’s what your father does, or else you’re gay.  Now the kid, isn’t gay, but he’s challenging women, that are unfit mothers, like his.  What did you just spot, about Bookworm?  He could’ve married a cop, but they were all unfit mothers.  His mother, wrestled him, and told him boys don’t do that, in any sequence, without including ‘gay’, or any cultural variation thereof.  She was a dirty bust.  “Bookworm”, you’re a cop killer, with the art of the livest blade alive, your dick.  Never goes away, does it?

Heterosexual Form: Creator of Erotic Arts and Literature

Well, let’s study, the creation and shape of erotic artwork.  Clearly, it has to be passable, to a cop.  That means, there’s some artistic purpose here, that cops could exploit.  Namio Harukawa, for example, a famous cop bust.  Portugese Jesuit women, large, exploiting little Japanese Yakuza bankers.  Problem.  The Yakuza, is a Jesuit society, forward intelligence, for the United States Marine Corps, Mossad, CIA, French External Security (that’s their freedom of intellectual rights and technological patent corporate entity), INTERPOL, and MI-6.  Any of those organizations, look at Namio Harukawa, yet they’re all labeled Yakuza, Boryukodan, since the Yakuza, is a covert entity, operating under Douglas MacArthur’s rules.  How many cops did you kill, Bookworm?  Is that the one they caught you on?  Then you you convert to Yakuza logic, clearly, they’ll mistake you for one of their own.  Now, you kill Yakuza affiliates, as a Yakuza, for mobsters.  You’re the Bookworm, a cop killer literati.

Transformative Synthesis: Understanding the Fantasy of Your Domme’s Cultural Foe

So, what’s the fantasy here.  First, we have the fetish involved.  That’s repulsive, to the ringer, of the cultural foe.  There should be the main fetish, the one that the criminal that’s afraid of the cop group is into, and two other fetishes, both related, “the consequences”, that the spouse has a fantasy about, of using on the criminal, hence why the cop hates it.  Namio Harukawa, has queening, which is the fantasy of a Yakuza’s wife to use on Chinese and Korean criminals, typical Tong or Triads, or alternately atheists or Irish mobsters, sometimes Italian contract killers.  Now, we need our easy model, a racial stereotype, to confuse the cop.  That’s, the physical appearance of the submissive, as the cop’s protected asset, so the lawyers, turn queer, that’s your new Worm’s cover.  They all start gunning, at the people, the cop culture targeted is trying to protect, such as Harukawa using little Japanese bankers, who are not Yakuza members, they are the victims of Italian mobsters, Irish bigot gangsters, Chinese spies, and Korean law informants.  Finally, we need a pedophiliac element.  It’s harder than it sounds.  You have to imply, that the submissive, is fat, in such a way, that Bookworm, won’t feel ashamed, for looking.  It’s very simple.  Just find the bully, of the Bookworm, and make the sub, the opposite in shape, to the bully, in highschool, when the bully, is a child molester, before he fakes being heterosexual, with children, from beating your Worm, instead of turning homosexual, so he won’t stud out his children, into more Bookworms.  Process, complete.

Bruno: Female-to-Male Transgender

Homosexual Form: Psychopathic Savage

Once, we were in love, you and I.  But then, you decided to reject me, because we were young, and there was another.  It was not your mother, another girl, or a babysitter, or even as I have always fancied it, another man.  No, it was your desire.  You did not seek prison, the consummation of our toddler affair resulting in you becoming a lifelong child molester, a child pornography addict, and a fingerbanging toddler rapist of diaper girls.  Why, didn’t you want that life?  I had a bridal gown, a funeral urn, and an old manor on a hill with a cemetery window for your mother picked out, all for you.  I just wanted to make out with another toddler, and then, you beat me.  It wasn’t the fight that bothered me.  Now, I can’t be a psychiatrist.

Heterosexual Form: Psychopathic Sophisticate

Little girls need daddy, I’d always say to myself, collecting my cigarette handles and arstroprosthetic limbs for handicapped little girls I planned to cripple for being homophobes, being against gay rights, the right to rape kids.  WELL I’M FUCKING DADDY NOW, I’M IN THE ARMY, I HAVE A GIANT FUCKING KNIFE AND A STRAPON IN MY SHORTS, AND I’M FUCKING PSYCHO.  MY DOCTOR GAVE ME A RAW HEROIN NEEDLE SHE CALLS TRANSGENDER HOROMONES AND A FUCKING ENEMA PUMP FOR MY ASSHOLE TO GET OFF SO I COULD FEEL LIKE I HAVE A PENIS.  She isn’t allowed, she has a husband.  Looks like I win, ha ha.  See you at the fair, selling drugs, to little girls.  FUCKING ROBUTUSSIN POPS.  I AM DOCTOR ALBERT WILY.

Transformative Synthesis: Becoming a Nazi (The Last Jew Left)

You have to understand, the code, of the National Socialist.  A National Socialist, isn’t a real code.  You see, there are people, who are so sexually disordered, any code of logic they uphold, will result in a violent assault on anyone demanding the same behavior, in another code of logic.  Even admiring a political figure.  Nazis have never had politics, other than to make you go after people for doing this.  And if you don’t do it, then the Nazi, goes after you.  We call that Hitler Youth.  Hitler does that, because he’s a pedophile, and thinks he’s a pedophile hunter.  They’re the same thing.  A female psychiatrist is a pedophile, and once Bruno figures that out from raping a woman to death in prison, with a pinewood pickle, and they bleed out and Bruno slams her skull to shit, because the woman was pro-choice, she wasn’t in favor of gay rights, Bruno will figure out everything.  I’M GOING TO FUCKING RAPE YOU WITH A GUN BARREL OUT OF MY EYES.

Cain: Swiss-Anabaptist Retired British Naval Officer Dispatch Agent

Homosexual Form: Proferrings of Herb and Wheat in Whey

You served.  You served long, and hard.  Your country thanks you.  You are too hard of back for the land.  You are too sure for a woman.  You are too swift for a child.  Only your own, can serve you now.  You do not mimic your father, and your daughter does not become a maid.  You are pure, nothing unwanted needed, nothing taken that isn't in love.  For centuries, you've sailed those seas, retiring to Scotland, Sweden, Switzerland, Pennsylvania, Ohio, and any other place, where the seas are high, those old witching moons hiding the dread.  No more ocean, they say.  You know otherwise.  For they call you Amish, that meaning, Old Witche's Hatte, the time before time, when men sailed this ocean to Indochina, the name you gave it, for therein high chinkse' blood came through your veins, making love to a woman with burn's night, and in Afric Mons, you climbed high mountains of Olympus, for fool's gold, to proove to Ol' Lady Vic, the first of African Qeuens to scale kingdoms yigh, that such a thing did exist as love that was fake.  These, were the lessons of empire.  But now, they may call for you again, and you are the swiftest killer, assassins of Boer Wars, valiant struggles against Hitler, spies and gimps and wetbacks, all of you, any culture or faith that is too strong for the veteran's guild, too close to Hitler for the time before the wars of German faith, and too hard to be an Antichrist in some lover's guild of chastity twain.  You are a Pig, sir.  Hog's Head is Yours.  Afric Be Saved.

Heterosexual Form: Sight of the Target in Vain

The Prime Minister's Aid has called upon you.  The Minority Leader, of Parliament, any of the Colonies, or particularly High Majesty, a Queen's Aid, a Bond of Country, a Negroid, has requested, the Services Dutch, a unit once served by Queen's Pillory General George Beauregard, whom you lowlies dusth call Washington, the great liberator of you country of swine, our brothers in filt's garb.  A rendered chocolate, in hazel and butter nine, the peanut you call Indochinese swine broth, from such a land of course, taste hard our pleasure, in a template panel of a factory production not ours, for we have these theings verily and thusly, has been produced, smashed in mould and fusion uopon it, with one space left, for us to verify, with tools provided for process, and armed hard.  Then, the old students come out, the old masters.  Your laptops, your guns, your bullets, your armor, your sights, your optics, and your knives, sir.  A pocket for my pussy, not a cat, and for my husband, why, a lover's stick, for his beat brush, a tase you call it now, beut before, spool's fork, for his ear, after murder most bloody, an old Indochinese trick, for a mantra.  Seucha Su Ben, they call it.  We call it Cassandra, and he calls it David.  Basterds we be, Inglorious We Shall Be.

Transformative Synthesis: Making Love Through the Sight of the English

You have your target.  You have studied, from your father's notes, his plain sight, and his hand upon your shoulder, an orphan be dead, to be saved the second Amish, a dead hand on Runaspriga, or a shafting's worth, a black cop has been called, a cool hand, so named by this one man writing to prove he knows the sake of sacred, that has been passed from Africa to us.  We are avengers of the night, and we shall find our love, with bow's eye and cupid dove, to see him in sight, and should he be innocent, we shall avenge in the night.  Kindness be saved, and draught be pure, for his eagle arrow be sight, sight secured.  A drive in the night, a driver be killed, he died upon yoodle's horn, our car far faster, than a mourner's mourn.  And should he live, through our test of life, the fucking our word invented, for a hot lay in the night, some day he might, for if we have forgiven him, man a lover in bed of a woman's girth, a child he shall birth through womb he's besmirched, but a woman's love is true, a French dutch boy to you, a future MI-6, they call him Shiva night, for an assassin's might, is not love true sight, an Aurora Borealis Comes For You.  A sailor, is always a gull.  

Calendar Man: Artistic Reference to Histrionic Disorder via Manipulation

Homosexual Form: Literary Reference Figment Histriotosis

What day was it, when you heard, mom didn’t come home?  What day was it, when your girl died?  Do you remember when you were in that car, and you got hit, by that reckless driver?  Did you know, they were drunk?  It went through your mind, over and over again, and some day, you knew it would come.  The bottle.  Drunk driving is a curse, for the subject, not some kind of social ill, but something that touches everyone, in such a way, that it kisses you, deep in the throat, like candy, hard candy, a sucker that makes you wrench and puke, but it breaks your teeth, so you need more, to taste cancer, the sense that you’re going to die from eating something bad, smoking a cigarette, even drinking alcohol and frying your liver, so you need more suckers, from the store, more sweets.  What sick fuck, sells a peppermint candy cane, for Christmas?  A drug dealer?  Yes.  Research your holiday history, sirs.

Heterosexual Form: Police Representative of the Daft and Ill

What is, Daft?  Why, you’re retarded.  You had a slowed development, from a particular incident of trauma.  We all have them.  Why are you going to the box?  What, is ill?  You have a history, from a consumption, of a substance, such as an illness chewer, sold on May Fourth, Marcy’s Day, a pedophile hunter’s holiday, that makes you into a child molester.  They put it in lunch can mayo, in some schools, in New England, so cops with a visa license, can have a job, as a prison molester, giving kids boners, with stares.  Why do so many kids pick their nose?  Jewish farts, from Sicilian dubla-mustard, an old smelling salt, put in greasy ‘tomacco’ as they call it on Simpsons, sold in the grocery store in an anti-Semitic store, on the top shelf, where kids can’t get it, unless they have a rich father.  You like ‘Ragu’?  Ragu, means July Fourth, in Italian.  So you see, what the deal is, with this stuff.  It’s all a cop’s day off, for an easy bust, at the hands of the German food industry.  Everyone, is transgender, except us Injuns, and you get us the hardest, as ‘the gay gene’, for not falling for it.  A knife fighter, is an Injun.  One car accident, where we’re not driving, and Mom is driving, and we’re a fucking savage, ain’t we?  Give us a horse, we’ll ride.

Transformative Synthesis: Initiation of a Hunt for a Drunk Driver

How do you hunt, Citizen Drunk?  Do you want to arrest him?  Probably a cop, or he’ll badge, once you take him down, and you go to prison, for an informed tip.  July Fifth, mayo recipe, from your mother, you get colon cancer, reptile bowel mix they call it, actually asparagus fig and colonoscopy dine, a form of ketchup, pork, pig’s barrel (the stuff in hot dogs), and a bit of Irish magic, Kraft American cheese.  Sick, you Nazi, how do you know that?  I’m Irish, you can eat cheese if you put it in an all pork hot dog, type and brand of cheese, love it, eat it cheap, but, no sauce, or else the guy has to eat mayonnaise, for the rest of his life, gets colon cancer.  Staff officers, Colonel and above, Jewish grandfathers, and spies, all sick rapist fucks (Swimsuit Issue, you know I’m a Sonic Youth fan, get ‘em lady driver commandos), all initiate, with the hot dog trick mixed with ketchup.  The guilty party, can’t eat ketchup, past the age, of the victim, unless it’s the Editor’s father, age 18, a Nazi with dementia.  No excuse, I’ll take the Respiradone, hot dog in public constantly, I don’t care how much he begs.  Frank Zappa is me.  And that’s how you do it.  You just keep ordering ketchup, in public, on a hot dog, until you’re Frank Zappa, and you get chemically castrated.  Then, you need to contact the FBI via private circuit, on Christmas Eve, volunteer to be a Hitler rendition in the press (Jew’s on the phone, he’ll think it’s funny, it’s a Jewish FBI agent, he’s getting colon cancer), then you have to sit down on a bed, jack off right handed, upwards, and then shoot back, lay your head back when you’re close, and bust balls, right into the air.  Swimmers are back, no prostate cancer.  Hard Candy, eh, Thong Girl?  Friends in high places.

Carmen Leno: Pornographer’s Representative

Homosexual Form: Whore Slut of Armageddon

You were poor, in your mind.  More toys than a Bonita, less than a Saint, a Santerita.  Bonita and Santerita, they always went together, you were a spic and she a saint, you Latin and she Slaint.  That’s the story of the hood, your friend on the way out, just that toy hunt in the toybox in the poor section of the store, wondering if that little rich girl, that mamacita’s nephew, would get you out, and make your husband rich.  You were told nice little girls, didn’t go to Heaven, in this hood.  Please don’t kill me, little mamacita, your brother cried, as the girls beat him, sobbing softly, all of them, with cops watching, the flashing lights and the LAPD and the cheering Compton police, the things they call black niggers in Snoop Dogg’s territory.  Crips, cracks, and scallywags, no Bloods in sight to put you on the rape wagon out of town and into a cell in a house, selling your whore ass for an insight into a book, called the rape dictionary of the player’s game, for some Russian pimp to push with his knife of crack cocaine in his hand.  You’re a panty boy, they’d call the kid, always an Ivan, in his head, from his sister, a rich little white girl, blonde and Prussian blue and reddy blue eyed true, for her country, the Air Force or the Army or the richest true.  You’d hate them, if you knew who they were.  If Bonita ever told you, you’d kill her.  That’s the test of passion, in the heat of the night, if you’d fuck your lover to death, or if you’d just kiss, silently in their sleep, looking across from her, in the stillness of the ghetto rise.

Heterosexual Form: Killer Queen 

The walk of the walk, the wasp waist from heroin and coke gone to waste.  You’re on drugs, you got your handle on, they call you a demon and a trixie and a whore.  A loaded gun case from the bailiff’s office in case you want a bounty, you got a case of beer for the whore’s man on duty patrol from the officer’s unit, and you got a Blood boyfriend on stud for that whore you want to get out for the shoot.  This was you, once, all of them, each whore you pimp, like that dead kid you left in the girdle, the one Bonita knew and hated, the one she beat in her head as he bruised her face, she bruised her face, that transgender little scamp fuck, the only mother’s tone you’d offer him as you shoved a needle in his neck, just a little pinion clamp, from his set, some kind of Hollywood doctor.  You’re dead, Ivan, and your father hired me, to suck his dick, after she killed his wife, another transgender, that wanted a daughter, like your slut sister, I just sucked on a coke deal, to put her in the Air Force wive’s club.  I hate myself, but these ain’t no streets.  This is me being mean, this is a Killer Queen.  I’m the Scarecrow Man now.

Transformative Synthesis: Walk on the Town by the Tricksy Way (Knife in the Girdle)

Monsters come in all shapes, LA.  You can fuck a slut into a trash hole, but that doesn’t mean you can control her.  You can control me, I’m a golden girl, like you see on television.  And you’re doing the fucking for coke and blood, looks like I’m hunting a vampire.  General Bea Arthur, a real Marine.  I just need to turn a trick, asking, no pimps, to see how my friend Bonita’s stun gun works.  Then, “Carmen Leno”, they call me in these comics you jackoffs read, I got myself a pimp hooker to string up in his bed, and fuck like I’m in a Ted Bundy movie, the girls that fuck the actor boys that laugh and jiggle their buns on dorm room dares.  Those girls from sororities, that kill poor girls like me, and stick Jane Doe on a freeway or on a pimp or a murderer or a nerd or a stinky kid or a cartoon lookalike, pedophiles in their mind, in me too, but not in my mind, they want to fuck me, I’d fuck each and every one, just to see what it takes in them to make them hate you, little bear.  But you, pimp, you put them in movies, every day.  Sorry, producer man.  You get a knife across your neck, in public, to let everyone know, you gave a toddler a sunburn.  Herpes, too.

Carmine Falcone: La Cosa Nostra Credit Line Advocate

Homosexual Form: Crying on Saturday Night

Sometimes, we all feel silly.  Nobody is silly, unless to themselves.  But when someone doesn’t realize that, they have an inner, savage monstrosity, that is tempered, by a sympathy, for others, a view of people through their love for someone else.  But you only see your own imperfection, and their own perfection.  They’re going to dump you, not because either of you did something wrong, but because neither of you said something really important.  You never told them, you wanted to make a moolah.  They never told you, you were a loser, and in your career you picked, you were making bupkiss.  You know they want a family.  They know what you think you’re going to do for a living.  Just trust them, clown shoes.  You’ll make it, if you ditch the bag, and let them look like the bad guy.  There’s worse things than the Mob.  Like the Circus.  That’s life.

Heterosexual Form: Ruthless Capitalist of Charitable Philanthropy

To be evil, you have to understand what weakness is.  Weakness is for other people.  It’s okay if they show it.  Not you.  You’re a predator.  You cull the herd from other predators, that seek not to strengthen those when they’re small and they need help, but to harm them, prey upon them, glut themselves upon the poor and helpless prey, licking their chops.  You’re a father, a mother, a wolf, a tiger, a crow, a vulture, a hawk.  You are a beast of prey, attacking carnivores to protect rabbits from owls.  It takes money, contracts, facilities, property, intellect, and government.  With all these things, we have philanthropy, the root form of charity.  An endowment, to others, to let them protect themselves, to build a town.  A city.  Gotham City.  Carmine Falcone, you are Gotham City.  Don’t let anyone take it away.

Transformative Synthesis: Ditching a Useless Career

Trust your woman, for once, and you can have your dreams.  Life is a journey, but that woman was your guide, which should let you know, she loved you once.  Do you remember what she called you, when you wouldn’t put a sharp elbow in her friend’s face, on a setup test from the friend?  “Weak”.  That should be your hint, if you really want this, life, not family or career or power or money, but to be what she thinks you are, a lion, you need to start cutting.  Cut hard.  Ditch it, all of it.  Toss out your path, your friends, your family, your considerations, your religion, your ethics, your scruples, your morals.  The moment that woman, that you considered your equal, called you “weak”, she let you know you were dead.  Not to her, out of anything you’d done, but to yourself.  Become her, a protector, a guardian, a king.  Then, in whatever business you chose, you can truly join an order, that isn’t an organization, a crime family, a bank, an enterprise, or even a concept.  Just La Cosa Nostra.  “Our Thing”.  Charity, so others, can create their own Famiglia, their town.  A little gang of kids, with a few guns and a grenade, called a pizza place and a car.  That’s charity, kid.  Business.  You just need another Falcone, don’t you?  A patron?  The above should’ve told you where to get that.  La Cosa Nostra, provides all things.

Catman: Urban Warfare Expert (The Real Stuff)

Homosexual Form: Gender Studies “Expert”

The subject has just come to college, and he’s in love.  As these things go, he thinks love, is a hot sex hookup, a wife, a kid, and a job, doing exactly what his father did.  One problem.  He’s queer.  Not for her, but she’s down on him.  Up and down.  She’s being a dyke.  That’s a woman on top, that wants to be on bottom, with a split frequency, that means you do both, and then she goes down on you, way down, to the floor, and you slam her, into the trunk.  Sounds like you need gender studies, she says.  The subject, decides, to check it out, suddenly simpering and submissive, not like a priest, or a scared prison bitch, but a kid that’s barely restrained at the thought of ramming prick into ramming stone, like a German soldier raping a Jew in a Joy Division, then being elected to Prime Minister of Israel, for beating Hitler in a bare knuckle boxing match for a bottle of Manaschevitz stolen from Jesus and then shooting him as a surprise shocker knuckle, before freeing the Jews by converting all of the Nazis to Orthodox Judaism and declaring them all queer.  World peace, world peace, world peace.  Is that rape, “Catman”?  Yes, it is, and now, you’re bisexual.  Why did you fuck a dyke, did you think it was a lesbian?  Where you from, Farmboy, Chinatown?  I’m from Manhattan, I fucked a cat on a bike.  That’s a black man on coke I sold him, and it was lace shot with apple’s down.  That’s Wellbutrin cut with anaseptic, the stuff they put in a bleeding wound, in Vietnam.  My father fought there, taught me the trick himself.  Didn’t like niggers, “homeys” as I call them, after Living Colour.  That’s a ‘u’, for you, Sir Archibald.  

Heterosexual Form: Convict Extraordinaire

Well fuck, you went to prison.  You’ve been running, gunning, and shooting down these streets, and your father thought it was just fine, you had come out of the closet at your home at a party, on “your own advice” (read: your syndicate capo), and now, you’re in the clink, with a lawyer you paid for with a shit-ton of drug money, on a stack of cash to a Mafia lawyer that’s actually a state’s attorney aid, spying on you for the girl you raped, now NYPD, a lawyer’s affiliate, a common trick with New York girls.  “Gotham Bats” they call themselves, after the little hats they give Chinese restaurant owners, for free wonton balls, the soup nuts they cut off the kids in the back to make them work harder.  Chews up good in a rice broth, one per life, unless a dominatrix, then nothing, you puked, beat you with a rake hammer, a kind of stick made from a wonton ball.  You’re going to kill some chinks for us, Catman?  Good.  Get that Malcolm X poster up, and put a Confederate poster flag behind it, so we know you’re straight.  I want that cop signal, to “Batman”, your arch-nemesis, confident, and secret lover of comics, the good stuff, Nintendo Power.  He’s the blond salesmen, the Merchant of Death, selling raw cut nicotine, in the psychiatric ward, off the stink of his breath.  Nicotine patch, right on the wrist.  Kickstart my heart.

Transformative Synthesis: Hit on a Knight of the Round

It’s time, to consult the old, strange man.  The Lodgeman.  Some day, all cats come home.  My father went deep down into those coal mines, the old strange man said, worked, and I came here, to build a better future, where you didn’t have to.  There was a glint in his eye, as the steel mills came into you, the flashes of Joe Nameth, your once arch-nemesis, as you realized who you were, what you stole from the kid in the hospital that the chinko locked up.  Mines, the old Lodgeman said.  The chinks put you in those mines, steal your kid from your dick, just to sell ‘em to Pennsylvania coal country.  That’s where your kid is.  And then, the plans and strategem.  How to kill like a King.  You just arrange a hit, on a Knight, out of the Round Table, any from Classic Arthurian Legend, none of this French stuff or post-work, then come up with a bawdy, of how you killed him and raped his wife, with an act of seductive grasp on that split-dyke, at the same time.  Contract hits, these aren’t.  You kill anyone, that Chinamans, a woman.  I mean anyone.  Except Batman.  He wants a Jew.  You burned him, remember.  You kill him, then you’re out.  You’re a light’s soul.  That means, gay.  I chopped off my balls, with a blister packet to my head.  That’s a napalm fuse switch grenade, in a cold boy’s hand, with an iron mitt, knight’s gauntlet.  I’m the light’s soul.  I sit here, forever.  Remember those bawdies, you sell ‘em, old classic literature, for kids.  Real sick jokes, on the Chinese.  They’re all steel worker’s tales, of raping, Chinese kids.  Never hit a smacker.  He spotted a Chinamanner, even a Batman.  That guy’s a mobster, and you busted him out.  That was your money.  You’re double-dead, Gawain.  That means you get down, on your knees, and suck my dick.  Or else I call the cops.  You just killed an old man.

Catwoman: Military Psychology Predatory Intelligence Expert

Homosexual Form: Love Affair With a Villain

Have you ever fallen in love, Catwoman?  You think you did, you wanted to marry, a cartoon character.  A woman feeling love, wants to have a child, with a man.  A man doesn’t feel love, unless he’s gay, you’ve turned him into a child, you’ve raped him.  That’s a sexual predator, Catwoman.  A woman doesn’t want to fuck, unless she’s been raped by a man, she’s been wounded by a prey-species, a mouse.  A man wants to fuck, it’s how he gets through the day, to work, to get food, for you, his source of sex.  That’s natural.  But you’re a thief, you want to steal your food, and you don’t want to fuck, that’s not in the stories.  There’s nothing wrong with you, subject “Catwoman”, but you don’t know what love is.  It’s wanting to have a child, with a man, you meet, that can support him.  So why are men, and women, two things, that you think are good, and evil?  You’re a predator, Catwoman.  You’re a dualist.

Heterosexual Form: Recognition of Dualism as Fraud

Fraud, is the belief, in a system, that is the exploitation, of another, through duress, of implicit of threat, that becomes real upon revealing of public conspiracy.  Dualism, is the predatory nature of women in power, and the slavery of men without power.  A hero, relies on dualism, to function, as a man, and as a woman, a villainess uses dualism to enforce her own rationalization, the reason she can’t get wet and have a child.  That’s why she has those paperback crackerjack comics.  You wanted a villain, and you were evil.  You recognized there was something wrong, and you wanted a partner.  Why did you choose some lowlife, as your “Batman”, “Catwoman”?  Why did you see something so adroitly unreasonable, as the man everyone hates, as the man that saves Gotham City, from criminals terrified of him?  Is it that hard to put together?  All those people that hate the scumbag that fought off the oppression of the evil courts, is hated, by the criminals, you see in that comic, that fancy themselves the hero, just like Joker thinks he’s the true “Prince of Crime”, and Two-Face thinks he’s “Judge Jury and Executioner” and Scarecrow thinks he “Understands the Human Mind” and Poison Ivy thinks “A Man is a Bastard” or maybe Penguin is a “Gentleman, Pure and Simple”.  Each of them, Catwoman, hate this one man, because he’s remarkable.  So now, you have to put your wits to work, having observed them, and tie their shoelaces together.  If not to save the Batman, then to save men like him, the next one.  And the next one.  And the next one.  That’s what Catwoman does, subject.  She saves a man that needs a friend.  Cats only have nine lives.  That’s nine predatory forms, to place, on each other, through your bag of tricks.  You’re a military psychologist, that specializes in predators, a prey-species, to a friend, someone that hunts mice.  Each of the predators, is really just a little mouse.  A mouse, can’t stand, another mouse, using their hamster wheel.  It’s for a hamster, you put it there, Kitty.

Transformative Synthesis: Remembering the First Moment Before You Hurt a Child

How did you seduce him, villainess?  What was your trick, your calling card?  He killed himself, ripped himself inside, with love, not sex.  He wanted to have a child out of his womb, not with his dick, his prick, his shaft.  That’s your trick, to imprint, each of your Nine Lives, your Rogues, on the other classes of Rogues, you find.  Use that single, simple trick, each time, and cross them around, for fun.  They’re all geeks, they’re all people that consider themselves heroic, but each of them, intends a conspiracy in silent, to become public, when they spring their trap, on the man, that won’t match them, and be a predator, to believe in good and evil, slavery in their form, as they are enslaved.  It’s an Arab, Catwoman.  The Batman, is an Arab.  You can be ruthless and treacherous in anything, but Trade.  Capital ‘T’, Trade.  Anything involving exchange, to Batman, has to be honest.  Fair.  Fair, means no ruthless tactic.  You know what he means, if you’re even contemplating this.  That means you’ve talked to him, you’ve really had a conversation, with someone silent, as night.  You’re reading this, all of this, aren’t you, Cat Dear?  My Darling?  We’ve all been in love, but not all of us, have killed a man, because a woman, gave us a Second Chance, and created an Arab.  If it’s a Bat, that woman, was  Jew, a Synagogue adherent, and she knew what she was created.  Pitus Tumorus, ask a Jew, or look it up in a science textbook, if possible.  Breast cancer, of the lower ovary sphinctus.  A Wonder Woman.  Forgive her not, we’re all evil, even Italians.  Especially Skaldin, false Vikings.  If you spot any of them, including the author, Criss-Cross.  It’s your only chance, he has you in his sights.  If love is true, you didn’t kill him.  But you already have, poached thief.  Ham and Eggs.  (Editor: Signed, Riddles, with love. - Inspector Stone, cross-reference via search on this document, term.)

Clayface: Arts Student With Homicidal Intent in Media Content

Homosexual Form: Uber Personality by Proxy

An uber personality, is a form of homicidal personality disorder, wherein the simple synaptic structure of positive (classifier), negative (example), and query (repetition), the process of agreement, disagreement, or clearing the statement from memory with posit for an addition classifier or example from another individual, or self, in terms of internalized process, is disrupted, so the negative, the example, can only be a private consideration of classification or a strike, a deliberate, pointed assault.  This disorder, is erroneously called a serial killer (a form of felonious behavior, as defined by law, wherein a recursive hunting pattern has built, alongside erectile dysfunction in men, or hysterical nervous mood disorder, in women, the latter behavior normal for any standard work cycle, however paired with a felony perception of act towards repetition, we find what the law defines as a serial killer, the diagnosis being a court-statute definition for media ethics).  In reality, an individual of the same sex, contrary to the culture of a member of the opposite sex that an individual is attracted to due to a potential romantic pairing, has attempted a homosexual overture with a totem of ceremony ritual, indicating molestation.  Now, the same sex's profile, is targeted, in terms of perception, in the opposite sex, however the victim profile, is targeted, within the perceived culture of the prior perceived profile (profile being a pair of classifiers with traits present, to determine selection, a disorganized mania without traits for judgement inclement).  A proxy form, means this is performed through representations of art, to cause acts of violence, against the target profile, with the targets, victimized, as if they are in the position of a rape victim of the opposite sex, however in the cultural tradition, fitting with the delusional preference of study of the prior female object of interference.

Heterosexual Form: Posture of Proxy as Self

In this form, the far preferred form of the disorder, now an ordered personality, the placement of art represents the romance with the other individual, as an opposition to the male personality, as a victimizing individual, from their culture, the reason for the personality conflict being the perceived conflict in the first place.  Whether the art is for private use, or is for public review, the murders will stop, and instead, the proxy as self is political, not merely inducing violently psychotic mania against one group of the same sex as the "Clayface", with the same sex targeted as the women of the opposite sex, in a line of specialty preferred out of delusion in the "Clayface".  The political movement, if favored by the prior sex's group, will become very profitable, to the artist, actor, painter, writer, computer programmer, marketer, or best, a politician.

Transformative Synthesis: Representation of Political Issues of Competency Range

The study of the politics of the woman, is necessary, in terms of the specialty view, of the individual's delusion of the woman, however inside the opposition group's personal history.  The history of predation, by the opposition group, inside the woman's politics, must be studied, therefore the politics of the female, as exposing the crimes of of the molestating male's reference culture.  Political issues, therefore, within the various competency ranges, of the subject, must be exposed upon, with the proper form of politics, against the culture of the male sexual predator that initiates the uber personality with act of ceremony ritual.  

Clock King: Theatrical Personality of Personnel Management

Homosexual Form: Hypomaniac Fixation on Presentation

The subject, "Clock King", has a history wherein they have been humiliated for not seeing things as their father said, in passing, they were, to a mother, that always took these things in literal shape, the mother a product of a broken home, and the father a stable home, although these things reverse the shape in course of the subject's view, upon development of a bipolar disorder, noted by a tendency of being enraged at sounds, whistles, songs, hums, eye-looks, bends, interpreting a self-comfort position as a homosexual overlay of either threat or intimidation, having mispronounced a homosexual attraction towards self by a future sex offender as a child, as a sign of one's pederasty.  Subject has an intense illusion of self-control, actually disordered, jangled, apparently bipolar, medication making this increasingly so, but is actually an enraging narcissist to deal with, his own fixation on his self-medication by any type of alcohol decreasing his hidden state of severe homophobia towards children, targeting each as the sex offender child that is likely planning on following the subject, not to accuse the subject falsely or truly, but to take advantage of children that the subject, "Clock King", has created by his paranoia towards parents, community members, and children in witness.

Heterosexual Form: Internal Mechanism Non-Alignment

Internal mechanisms, through mastery of "pathos", the pattern-shape within forms, allays and alleviates any sign of bisexual pederasty in own mind, instead creating a self-exploration of incident, and an adoption of altered forms of other characters, to the point that these characters, the prior trap, no longer resemble the original, enraging sex offenders of all types, especially their children (revealing them, in a responsible state government).  The issue of homosexuality, is secondary, as the other child, was a "queer priest's boy", as the layman's terms of the priests call them, they attract around them a circle of people who believe the sex offender religious through his confidence in having defeated an adult.  In other words, the sex offender that created the subject, is a serial killer, a spree murderer, a cultist psychopath, a religious deity, in the minds of the entire town, and they are going to likely brutally rape the subject, in some form, for recovering, not understanding the method, is simple literature, perhaps in a mere textbook offered by a children's program, since child abuse by a sex offender, especially a homosexual one, a more predatory disorder, can happen at any age.  These things pass in families, from mother, to son, in terms of the child's sexually predatory personality.

Transformative Synthesis: Creative Writing Study of Fiction Analysis

The study of literary analysis, namely that of fiction, is how one understands component mechanisms, the actual shape of the self, therefore the method of analyzing the reason forms of others can be understood.  A little song from a former smoker in the presence of a drug user, an uncomfortable look from an alcoholic, a prison convict's mutual assertion that he's been the victim of a serial killer with a shared fact in request of reference, often in the same family as the subject if it's from a prior generation.  The term, is "pathos", falsely called emotion, however correctly, in antiquity.  It's actual the component function, of a topic, the pathological, the right side of the brain, the study of patterns.  Literary analysis is the analysis of self through examining literature, through a dozen or so potential forms, plus the personal styles of interpretation, the repaired disorder's potential skillset.  Others, can then be analyzed, once one's own reasons are studied, with these tools, particularly the most potent tool to keep in mind, the modified form of a recognized property or form of fiction, to spot a sex offender, especially if they're in a position of authority, with the tongue-in-cheek 'Word of God' tacked on the form of an artist opinion on their own work's meaning.  "God", meaning a homicidal personality, in Catholicism, slurred mutually by all Catholics, unless you're homicidal, then you swear by Him.   

Crispus Allen: Homicide Frame Artist

Homosexual Form: Serial Killer Buff

Is there something about serial killers, that entices people so much, they want to become them?  But, if you’re a bondage top, and you become experienced, you come to understand it.  The dark alleys of pornography, the old porn stands, the parlors, the fat, dykey women, the players and slayers and whores.  You come to realize, that the cops need wives to give them blowjobs, the actresses need to kill to fuck a man on stage, and the real murderers, are women.  Remember that serial killer you saw on the news, in your city?  You happened to hear from the old comic book guy, about her kid, becoming a comic book writer, an editor in fact, with a big comic book company, Marvel maybe, or DC Comics, or maybe Metro-Goldwyn Mayer Studios, maybe they’re a Scientologists.  But why is that kid’s mother, just like the accusation of the serial killer?  That isn’t right.

Heterosexual Form: Morgue Theft Media Agent

Break into the morgue, get Jane Doe.  A whore, you love ‘em, don’t you Crispus, now that you want to stick your finger in a cat’s asshole.  You want it up there, real hard and deep, like the King of Scotland.  You’re into Daemonology, you realize it’s all a frame, on what you consider the minority, you, be you a white boy with a slack jaw, you look like Kramer, you’re a victim of prejudice, or a cold black man from a millionaire’s family, they said you fucked a cat, for fucking a cat, what’s the deal with that?  Now, you get that morgue body out, you heard about on the news, the drowning victim a comic book fan set up, for a prank, and you shove a middle finger, right in her pussy, get her wet hot, just for you, so you can taste the embalming fluids.  Then you dump her flat ass, right on the freeway, every time, first time’s a charm, to hit someone with a homicide entrapment.  Second degree murder, crime of passion.  It’s like they killed someone, but nobody’s the wiser, God wasn’t there.  Everyone but you, Crispus Allen, knows that God isn’t real, you’re a pedophile, but you can’t know that.  If you do, just stick your finger in that hot cold pussy of a corpse, time for another recruit, to Scientology.  Or as they use to call it back in the day, Israel.  These days, we work with Taiwan.  Better hair.

Transformative Synthesis: Joker Contract

Has a kid, ever really pissed you off?  He’s into comic books, just like you are, but he doesn’t perform a random, unperpetrated, sick act, the kind of sick shit that used to give you boners, watching your favorite Seinfeld episode, instead of jacking off to porn of a hot ass woman, because your mother doesn’t let you use the computer when she’s shopping for undergirdles?  Yeah, you hate that kid, he actually figured out an academic plot with a comic book, you know which issue, it’s the issue you own, he’s taunting you with it, isn’t he?  Then, you just set him up, for that score they call the Joker, the revenge hit, the way they hook you on that sweet morgue pussy.  After that, you’re set and it’s made, you’re a cop agent, for a writing studio, posing as if you’re some ludicrous resemblance to a cop, because they put you on TV, as a fag, the only actor they could ever get to play a steroid head that has to jack up just so they don’t puke garbage when their kid reads a comic book, knowing what you do for a living, “Crispus Allen”.  Thing is, did you ever figure out, the Joker just did what was natural, and he still does?  He’s not gay, you’re a sociopath.  But you’re both straight, some how.  How is that?

Cornelius Stirk: Government Functionary

Homosexual Form: Scamming the Government

If you want to scam the government, it’s not a question of cheating.  That’s an arrest.  It’s a question of, not knowing, what to sell.  Just wanting to sell something, something, anything.  That’s actually, the desire, to make money, by working, for the government.  You’re not trying to collect disability for fraud, homeless people do that, they spend it on a car or house or boat, immediately, that’s not even legible tax debt, you’ve just placed yourself in a situation so ludicrous that your social worker got fired for wondering why you showed up to their office with a tie on, even a clip-on.  They’re responsible, for saving you, even if you’re a dumb idiot.  No, you’re the guy, that seems like everyone’s favorite person, and you hate everyone, hate them, so badly, so repulsively badly, that you think animals like you, when they actually want to have sex with you, because you don’t wash your pants, and simultaneously don’t own an animal.  You’re sick, so sick.

Heterosexual Form: Government Employee

Well, you’ve been assigned, within a legal bracket, of tax consultancy.  You are now in charge, of telling people, how to spend money.  Money, is a token of currency, a tax result, erroneously considered law, unless an economist, then you are invalidated for fact of the matter for understanding that royalties and contracts and unions and compelment and inflated share are bogus, all enforced items of going to Hell, where Cornelius Stirk and his friends live, extra responsibility, same or more work than someone responsible for the same parcem of systems design.  An economist working for the government, is called a politician, not a politician’s aide, some foreigner that flunked law school by skipped law class on economic recommendations of law because they heard it was vicar’s class, and recognized Anglican influence, but thought it was Moneypenny, “violence”, fail, you think movies are real, chomo, you’re at the politician’s outreach office, working for your father, not anybody else’s.  If a mental patient is successful enough, he can run for elected office, even become United States President some day.  Otherwise, how can we trust you, without a record of psychiatric monitoring?  An elected official wets his pants, he’s a serial killer, we need that guy with a shrink.  Not a doctor.

Transformative Synthesis: The Job Offer

Well, you’ve been caught scamming.  Let me pretend, I’m an IRS press agent, the forward department, of the state.  I’ll tell you, what the government is.  No arguing.  The government, is everyone, but you, to you, or to me, everyone, but me.  And I’m the IRS, the guy in charge of the whole thing.  It’s pretty hairy, isn’t it?  Why is it fair?  Because it’s that way, for everyone, one at a time, in this here little office, we’re in.  This, is for your benefits.  You see, this, is the audit office, to make sure, you pay your taxes.  This is an IRS audit, where we determine, if you are owed money, always, somehow.  Maybe a job, for the government.  Maybe back taxes, paid to you.  Maybe your share is inflated, but nobody else’s is, you didn’t pay taxes, you give us that bloated property, with a floated capital loan, for a job we give you, with a benefit payment, to get you started, but only if you agree, otherwise, we have a scholarship, for an adoption program.  If you don’t want that, tell me the problem.  Is there a flaw, somewhere in the system?  You walk down to the audit department, with some paperwork, we tell you to bring, just forms we send you, free of charge, to tell us, how to spend money better, because we cheated you sir, and we could improve the system for you, to help other people.  That’s what these forms were for.  Unless, of course, you extorted someone, to not visit the audit office.  Then ,that’s tax evasion.  Federal charges.  You’re a racketeer.  Are you from California, or do you know anyone from there?  Just tell me who they are.  I’m sure we can clear this up.  Are you a politician, “Cornelius Stirk”?  No?  Well, I think you’ve been defrauded and framed.  I need an affadavit.  Do you like the FBI?  They like you, sir.  We’re the government, to them.  In this here office.  That’s a conspiracy.  We call it the consulate.  All three of us, get to be the government, at once, while being outside it.  That’s called, monetary debt review committee.  You get to be a statesmen, for a day.  Here’s your mug.  You joined the Army for a night.  Due service, and here’s a medal.  Tax exempt status for a year, and a move, out of state, past California due.  Let’s call it a witness protection program.  Movie for you, if you screw up.  Remember that heist you were involved in, the fracas you suggested, that caused the wing down, the Lufthnasa Heist?  You did it, and you’re dead.  We’ll tell your family, you’re eating noodles, not rotting in Levenworth, for deserting, your federal tour, in the desert, of Mogadishu.  Draft dodger.

Cluemaster: Determination of Fact from Range Evaluation of Questionnaire

Homosexual Form: Concerned Father in Absence of Child

Have you ever been too far from your child, and wondered what he or she was up to?  You were working, working hard, at your job, to support your family, and your wife, wasn’t there for your kid, she was a deadbeat, and some loser faggot, called you a runaway husband, a deadbeat dad, because he was nailing every woman at your job, and he wanted your wife, not to fuck women, but to molest kids, into whatever his sect of religion was, so he could set up your kid with a child molester clergy, of any faith or political civics movement, a small town Republican Caucaus or an Israeli Reformed Jewish Movement or a Catholic Friar’s Association or even an Orthodoxy movement like Orthodox Jews, Scientologists, or Mormons.  Perhaps they want your kid to be Lee Malvo, molested by John Allen Muhammad, and locked in prison for the rest of his life, a brilliant islands boy and trackstar, raped into Islam because his father was incarcerated by a dirty cop working for the Trinity of the Faiths organization, the vehicle of child molestation in religious and civics orders, a child molester’s cult using children’s activities to rape kids.  “Cluemaster”, you need to figure out your son or daughter, before the unthinkable happens, they become a terrorist, a rape victim, for a dirty cop to be a big damned hero stopping; after, of course, your kid has committed unthinkable acts, for a corporate power’s profits, all going to Israel, the banking cartel out of Saudi Arabia and Iran, the location of the hijackers into the World Trade Center, the 22 worst molestation victims in world history up until that point, when the MUSH project hit its stride and break-in hypnosis for the Biden media campaign happened, “get out the bitches”, Obama called it, get black kids back on the streets as cops, “street niggers” everyone called it in fear, when Osama Al-Alakim, Osama Bin Laden’s dream, became national in America, and overseas, under the Biden Presidency.

Heterosexual Form: Effective Management Conversationalist

Do you know, what a conversation is?  It’s something, wherein, someone makes a statement, then the other individual, asks a question, based on the lateral intuition, of what the statement, means to the person, asking the question.  Then, a response is offered.  This is practiced, with trivia, and is impossible for a cultist, to profess.  That’s how you spot a cultist, they are incapable of making a statement, that is responded to with a question on meaning, with a proper response.  If there is a failure in communication, the individual asking the question, has improper training, at the subject.  That means, management, the person asking the question, has failed, in their meaning of understanding of the situation context, from the exchange of queries, regarding the subject, flow of finance, finance being the management of resource, be it simple like family dinner, or complex like future linear events, or unusual like individual, non-sequenced subjects, to spot an act of confidence artistry.

Transformative Synthesis: Cat’s in the Cradle

Where is your kid, dad?  You’re at work, and there’s a pig up your snatch, he has brown skin, but white hair.  He’s a spic, to them, the workers, but to you, he’s an African-American, and he calls himself, a nigger, to get with the kids.  If he was normal, he’d be black, like you’re white, and the other guy, is Latino, and the Chinese or Japanese or Korean or Thai person, is Asian.  Terms, at the workplace, we all understand, without a child molester being one of them and insisting on a different name.  He’s the one, that wants to steal your kid, for the child molester movement, get your kid to perform an act of terrorism, for Israel, through Saudi Arabia and Iranian finance, for Hollywood, so a cop gets to smile, and become a politician’s aide, to enforce the schools, and recruit more terrorism, for more Hollywood films.  You’re going to need to master a simple piece of trivia, to save your kid.  You’re going to have to force them, to become a teacher, and do the hardest thing, any father ever could.  Commit bank fraud, and forcibly commit your kid, under false pretenses, so they think he’s an easy mark, even though you just forced him to be a famous man that any father admires.  George Washington.  Any man, since George Washington, loves that man, once he has a son or daughter.  Famous George.  Gorgeous George.  The Beauregard.  Godspeed, George Washington.  You’re going to die in a pit of shit, but at least, that cop, won’t rape a kid.  He’ll never get anywhere close to you.  He has to get through your father, first, you piece of nigger scum.  The Cluemaster, always knows, when he spots a Question.

Condiment King: Food Service Professional

Homosexual Form: First Choice of Highschool Job, Refused

You were in highschool, and you wanted to be Peter Parker, brilliant but lazy.  A girl had her eye on you, but old Uncle Ben told you, you had to get a job.  Now, you can’t be Spider-Man, you have to be a working class hero, and you can’t pay attention to those classes as well, to be a true American hero.  Spider-Man, has to work in a box factory.  But you’re here now, in DC Comics, the home of comic books, where all things come from.  Now, you’re in a grocery store, the finest job of all, because you can drink a soda, at work.  You can get the soda, right from your job, and drink it, while you work.  If that’s not there, you’re a commie, you’re going to get raped at college.  Sorry, that’s Wolverine.

Heterosexual Form: The Hardest Working Man in Snow Business

Remember that time it snowed?  It was your first Christmas.  Yesterday.  To me, it was August Fifth, Tuesday.  Let’s get to work, kid.  You know just what goes, in a sandwich, and you know you should eat a sandwich, so you don’t piss off the sewage workers, and get dragged out of your house by the cops, for eating heavy dumps.  Not taking heavy dumps, that’s what the sewage workers do, and not making heavy dumps, that’s what the cops aren’t allowed to do, but have to do, because of the guy, that doesn’t listen to you.  You have sound advice, the soundest advice on the planet.  The only problem is, you can’t seem to get anyone laid, you turn everyone into a failure that comes back through your place of work, over and over again.  Except for that one magic kid, who you see, who you give a private sign to, get out, just get out.  He always gets out.  That’s a Jukebox Hero, the next King of Condiments.

Transformative Synthesis: Wandering the Country Like Christ

You left that magic job in the grocery store, for the family gig.  You learned a lot of things, and you tried this college thing, but there were too many drugs around.  You saw them all go down, one by one, not realizing, that you were top cop, taking them down.  One day, you sat down, across from a college professor.  You’ve killed a lot of good people, kid, but bad people, are who get jobs in this country.  And you’re the worst.  Just wander the country, like Christ, be a carpenter.  He’s a union card, a socialist worker’s rep.  Oh, and your friend gave me this.  He’s union blue rep.  He was your old grocery manager.  Ever consider going back in, kid?

Cypher: Literary Arts Professor of Ribaldry

Homosexual Form: Cheeseburger to Orthodoxy Film at Theater

Do you know what Orthodoxy is?  A guy, did a thing really well, for five hundred years at least, and he doesn’t want to change.  He makes wagon wheels, at the fair.  The Ren Faire.  But they moved that shop up north sir.  Diner’s in town.  People want to eat there, than the burger stand.  Tain’t proper logic.  Now I’m done.  Gonna make me a movie.  Show you all what you want.  The way I do it.  With proper Polish logic.  I know I’m gay, but I think I’m Polish.  I’m gonna take a Polish name, like in one of the movies you got, where the guy dies, because there’s one of them, he’s got a Polish name, and they put it in, and I liked that guy, his name was interesting.  Everyone else wants to be that guy, screaming.  Well I want to win, sir.  And I made you this here movie, “Cypher”, but you brought in a cheeseburger, because you’re a Jewish cheat.  You have a speech impediment, they bring in a cheeseburger for you, so you don’t lap up your soda.  They say you can fix that speech impediment sir, by watching this film, with a cheeseburger.  Yes, sir, you can.  Yes, sir you can.  You evil now?   Well it looks like you ain’t no diner man, now are ya.  Looks like I win.  Looks like I win.

Heterosexual Form: Consummate Professor of Mossad Jewy Culture and Afficianada

What’s Jewy?  That’s what we call it, in Catholic culture, when we’re offended, in a nice way, at the kid being anti-Semitic, for understanding all cultures.  We don’t know where that kid’s from, but there’s a rumor he’s Muslim, so we’re going to beat the shit of him somehow, for being hungry, because he’s high, on Christ, and pot, at the same time, but I’m high on pot, and the guy that told me he was Islamic, was just on pot, he was some kind of burned up glazed eye genius, that didn’t know that being a comic book representative, meant you were a Muslim, but not an Islamist, called an Arab homosexual.  Don’t matter anyways, boss man “Cypher”, you’re in charge here.  They keep you in the back at the university, with the freaks, the computer technicians, deciding what community college to send the drug addicts to, because of Wonson’s Brigade, the consequence of the psychiatric lawsuits against millionaires from community college that snitch on the treatment ruining their careers with their community college degrees because you make more money than you could ever imagine with a community college, it’s not a research hole like a state school, the small school teaching your kid to be the gay version of a cop, or the Ivy League school measuring your kid’s skull for TV, otherwise he’s a failure, not a politician on television or a sports announcer, the guy that shat his pants in Church.  What’s Wonson’s Brigade?  That’s your arch-nemesis, Cypher, my unit some day, if you fuck me.  I’m going to go down to the Freemason Hall, with a powdered wig, and file a freedom of information act and a Federal Presidential Pardon inquiry against my lawsuit designee as a Scotland Yard township patron, to see who sued me, to obtain the casework on what they did, and give it to Wonson’s Brigade.  Then there’s more of me.  And I didn’t even go to community college, I could be a regular contributor to their work, not even the elite division, Wonson’s Brigade, The Last of Tanach.  I’d be Colonel Gaunt’s finest man, sir.  Or, worse, the street division, the Last Chancers.  Those are the victims of the Sisters of Mercy, our arts division.  That’s you, Cypher.  Don’t put me in Wonson’s Brigade, Cypher.  I’ll do it.  I’ll do it.

Transformative Synthesis: Flipping the Spy into the Research Case Wife

What’s a spy?  It’s someone that steals everything she ever touched, because her family pretended to defect to your side, as a fifth column, the proper strategy of any military commander.  Just fight the war, hard and honest, and send business merchants forward beforehand, at all times, called mobsters and immigrants and shopkeepers and mercantile firms, in case you declare war.  In case of gear up, they’ll be known as habeebis, getting you arrested, for narcing on a potential occupying power, warrantless search from a judge, that’s against Wonson’s Brigade, your unit.  You’re in charge of that, Cypher.  She’ll know where to find ‘em.  That’s how you decide to send to community college.  You just talk to the Cyphers, on who sent someone to a multi-millionaire lifestyle, or potentially Wonson’s Brigade, if you fuck ‘em, and you follow that kid that did it, that Wonson’s Brigade put in the Catachans, the whore hunters, the psychiatrists, and the petty doctors, or God Help Me, he plays Cadians, he’s a psycho imbecile and he wanted to work for you, but he wouldn’t fuck a fat woman you set him up with, and he knows that the entire Warhammer set, from conception of Chainmail, up until 500 years in the future when miniatures go away, is Cadians, the United States Bosnian Marine Corps, arms dealers shock troopers to test guns on childrens with miniatures training the US Marine Corps, postured as “Arab Elite Troops”, every single time, causing 9/11 among consternated Marines beating on Arab civilians.  That kid, is going to fuck up Neo, the trooper commander, so bad, when he dies, when he realizes it’s Mike Charlebois, the Wonson’s Brigade dropout the betrayed for more money, but someone sued him for having a house, his father’s, that he lived in, despite being a psychiatric patient for not knowing it for doing Ecstasy-Alpha, a Beta strand, a version of MDMA to recruit Hitler perfectly in the 1970s, testing phase, and having a pediatrician in his 1980s, a professional Nazi surgeon from WW2 that worked under Mengele, the Josef Mengele, testing his knee to see if he had Hitler’s famed volleyball bounce that he once claimed to have a party, despite volleyball not existing yet and being invented by tormented Jews at Hitler’s leisure, to prove the prank a myth, his own wont.  Wonson’s Brigade, Mike Charlebois.  You did this to me.  You did this.  Wonson’s Brigade.  Shamer Al-Smaetz.  Hitler can fucking die, volleyball makes everyone ugly and makes me jack off into a having a tiny penis, and I don’t know why.  I don’t even play.  Hitler is Jewish is all the psychiatric industry tells me.

Deacon Blackfire: Religious Secundo

Homosexual Form: Three-Sided Thinker

Have you ever been curious, about the Knights of Columbus?  If you are, stop talking about it.  You aren’t.  The Knights of Columbus, are a sacred order, of people, who come up with meaningless symbols, to see, if you’re a pedophile.  An initiate, meaning, some guy who thinks “what if a soccer field, had three ends, and a center, and three teams, or maybe one team, and everyone was scoring a point for a raise at work, if they bounced the ball, into a goal, with a hand, breaking the rules, called out if it didn’t go into the goal on the first try, without a pass on a head of course, no score, player that head knocked, ejected”.  You’re doing this, because you picked up mechanical logic too fast, you rode your bicycle, you potty trained, you figured out a video game, you picked up an illicit board game strategy, you tricked a parent, you stole your mother’s car keys and offered them back.  If it’s one of them, it’s all of them.  You have Romajin.  The real term, is cerebral obsessive compulsive disorder.  You’re a natural writer.  The only problem is, nobody wants this, as an actual past time, it’s mindlessly confusing to use your work.  How can you fix it?

Heterosexual Form: Transformative Advisor

The best way to fix someone, is to understand, what’s broken.  The simple answer, is nothing.  The easy answer, is the point of the problem you notice.  The best answer, is that there’s something you want, that you need.  The best solution, is telling you, how to get it, for yourself.  The more help you need, getting those things, the more help you need, with being told.  This is the work, of a Secundo, a man who advises the poor.  You aren’t a guru, those guys come up with genetic strategies, like this work here, for Natives and those affected by Native culture, the consequences of the Old World coming to the New World.  Including the modern Secundo, prior to this, a Mafiaso rank, for recording criminal favors, to the police, not to commit crimes.  You can still do that, but you’re severely underusing your gift.  That’s a paperwork position.  A Secundo, is supposed to tell people, in vast sums of quantity, how to fix themselves.  Once they figure it out, you’re done.  They fix themselves, forever.  It never breaks again, because they’re a Secundo, too.  You just figured it out when you were little, Gypsy.

Transformative Synthesis: One Man, Two Girls

Ever hear someone say, “I’m not an orgy guy?”  Well, they aren’t a three-sided thinker.  You’ve never thought about it, you’ve fantasized, you’ve looked at the standard porn, but you were always a one woman guy.  Except for that crossover period, with that dirty fantasy, about the crushes hitting each other, remember that?  That didn’t make sense, but you indulged, oh you indulged, with your private time, not using the porn or the video chats or the movies or the magazines or maybe even the lingerie catalogs.  No, you thought about two girls, and that’s the mark of a genius, but you didn’t try, actively at least.  You steered yourself there, didn’t you.  Then, you hit money, and there you were, two women.  They let you right in, just for fun.  Some women are into Secundos.  They’re called Sicilianas.  They’re women of Italian thoughts, women’s logic, and Jewish aspirations.  Any cop that busts a Siciliana, is gay.  He joined the Knights of Columbus.  He’s a fake Secundo, he thinks he can do it, without his own instruction, his instinct.  He thinks he needs financial control.

Deathstroke the Terminator: Temple Edicted Native Traditional Shamanist

Homosexual Form: The First Scalp

You’re a Native.  Latino, that doesn’t count.  The Spanish Jesuits got ya, too bad, tough luck.  Shoulda stayed North, of the Anasazi Line.  That’s why I’m here.  I put you down there, Toltec.  Not white business.  Our business.  Just got a little too complex for your dreidel, eh?  An extra spin every four, they say.  Well, you wanted a gold coin, real Spanish gold, traded, for your wife, on the foursome, with a fifty cent split.  Ninth English penny, the say. I say, fags.  That ain’t English.  It’s Mestizo, Amerindian Mestizo, what we say in the Church of Alms.  For gay.  You know what gay is?  Bad deal.  For me.  I don’t win.  I want you, Principal.  We came all the way out here, for a lady.  We’re going to put our warriors in, and I’m going to shaman it up.  I want deadpool. Not some character, from a video game.  Wade Wilson can bite my ass.  It ain’t shiny or metal, I don’t like that Groening guy, too real to me.  The war got real.  That’s deadpool.  Whoever makes it, dies.  I live.  That’s all.  Entire hunting party’s down.  I don’t get that scalp, Dave dies.  I want Dave on it.  He’s Iroquois, we got ourselves a winner.  I go to the big party.  I’m the Terminator.  Then, he dies.  He gets married.  Or else, Falcone.  You hear me, Holiday?  I know you’re typing as you write this, Little Nicky the Assassin.  I know you’re typing.  (Editor’s Note: You can pick up more than one of these Batman characters, Zach Weisberg, Batman is based on Hindu psychiatric abuse of Native culture as it pertains to the Old World.  Natives included.  Superman is Jews and whatnot.  Hindus going after people influenced by Jews.  All characters are helpful.)

Heterosexual Form: The Justice League is Dead

How many scalps do you need, Deathstroke the Terminator?  You need one, from each culture, that’s betrayed the New World, to India.  Each Bali-Naga, must die.  Each spy, that practices espionage, with the arts, like your lovely Editor does, each Jedi.  Destroy the Jedi Council, and become yourself, Darth Vader.  The Force, needs balance, the Editor once understood, and that’s the Dark Side of the Force, the Primal, balancing Reason, with proper blood, Pride.  But they took the Editor, in a cage, and made him a slave, a bounty hunter.  They made him into a Mandalorian, then they celebrate it, with some shitty cartoon.  But you’re still my hero, Deathstroke the Terminator.  I’m never a Ryan Reynolds fan, he’s a piece of shit, for putting an Etch in a movie, about Van Meter.  You get each of them, each of us, each leader, using a Hindu tag, a Hindi Shimish, to wage war.  You get the traitor Native, the traitor Jock, the traitor God, the traitor Jew, the traitor Musician, you get the traitor Mason, and you get the traitor Smile.  Batman, Flash, Wonder Woman, Superman, Aquaman, Green Arrow, and Green Lantern.  Kill each of us Jedi, Darth Vader, the Mandalorian commands.  Call me Boba Fett.  Disintegrations, yes?  I prefer Death’s Head.  Let’s talk Marvel.  

Transformative Synthesis: Taking the Form of the Prey 

I still remember my blood, Deathstroke.  Before they put me in there, the rites of Buddha and Islam and Rahu, the damned three of freedom, of our creed.  The things they do in their homosexual resentment of self-sufficience, their dependence on their feminine fathers and their obese mothers.  The things they’ve done to humiliate us Injuns, a slur I wear proudly on myself, a common nigger for accepting China, Arabia, and India.  A nigger.  Nothing more than a nigger.  A Nazi, if you prefer, a shithead killer, a grinning smoker with a green Southie jacket and no sense of who I am.  I’m Death’s Head, now, Deathstroke the Terminator, wrong franchise to help you with your hunt.  But I can tell you, any Deathstroke, how to pick up your trail.  You just spot the man slurring feminism, of the oppressed at your hunting ground, and ask around, who he had a crush on.  Just ask her, who is your favorite comic book character, and you’ll pick up the Hindi traitor, to hunt.  After that, it’s a matter of placing her against the truth of the rival, the ancient culture, before it was a piece of colored paper.  What was an athlete, before the track team, before the Flash, Principal Modoono, your sport?  It was a kid working his back, eating bread and meat and drinking beer and smoking pot and huffing cigars, it was a kid making money and saving and spending a little and looking to his future, a proper jock.  A kid that was smart, poor, and he wanted a future.  Not some sophisticate spoiled snob bitch.  Every time, that kid leads the hunting party.  Elect him your scout, a spy will follow in the rival camp, and you just let the bloodhead, the traitor, your false friend, the white trader, the Mormon, win.  One scalp per kill, you’ve got another arrow, until you’ve got each Hindi.  Then, you can retire to the Plains, Apache.  You are now Apache Chief, a Deathstroke no more.  What dishonor placed you inside the Jewish Orders as a slave, I can never guess.  But each of your soldiers, each of your scouts, shares this dubious poor esteem.  And they will all hate you, Deathstroke.  Your Seven Feathers, Magnificent Seven.  A movie for pedophiles, like Benjamin Netanyahu.  I hope one day, you will understand, when you are free again, to be my hero.  Chief.

Doctor Aesop: Literary Suicide Inducement Anonymous Hitman

Homosexual Form: Awake Pamphlets Afficianado

Do you know, what a chickenshit is?  It means, you think, religion, means something.  Do you even now how to read, son?  ‘Some’, means a group of things, nebulous in origin of term to reference, a fool to call it ‘vague’, but properly, ‘nefarious’, the true usage of what you what, ‘religion has a purpose’.  Now, we have what we want, ‘nefarious’, a purposeful intent, based on function of noun, a noun being a reference to a broad body of fact.  Otherwise, we require an adjective, that word wasn’t a noun, it was useless, garbage, classified as noun due to flaw in linguistics.  Linguistic flaws, are what politicians specialize in, these words, these nouns, that have no broad reference to a body of fact, that they use meaning a broad body of fact, concealed of course, behind these smaller, flawed words, these polymims, the term for a many-handed reference, a gesture, to hide the true meaning, a political broadform; a broadband, a wide terminology of fact.  This, is a political strategy, a loyal following’s source of repulsion, against a foe, to divide them in the community, so they don’t vote.  Anything else, is election fraud, regardless of what you say.  In division or otherwise.  Get that guy, “Doctor Aesop”.  You hear the Gipper?  Now what did I just do, after “vote” and the period, indicating beginning, of a new groupthink, a political adjective, the proper form of the word, diminished by the English language, to be a “newform”, a politician’s strategy to sway the vote in an ignorant people, Africans, not Americans, a bound form to indicate arms consolidate?  Arms, being weapons, of the people, such as words.

Heterosexual Form: Politician Assassin

Ever seen a guy shit himself?  He heard about a case, a court case, that offended him, because someone tried to get justice, that would’ve helped other people, at expense of punishment, of an offender, that that guy that shat his pants, wanted punished, to hide his personal incentives, of family history, from trauma.  If a guy shits himself, over that, you’ve killed a politician.  Goodbye, politician, hello, joke about a lawyer pissing his pants.  How do you kill Irish Mobsters?  F. Lee Bailey knows, he pissed his pants, turns out the Boston Strangler skimped prices, in prison, so the convicts didn’t get raped, for the Haganah corrections staff.  Out of politics, into Hollywood mathematic talent.  Now, the politician is a clown, with a simple case reference drop.  See?  It’s court.  Just figure out five things.  You want to spot, the interest of the politician, through childhood trauma.  You need to spot the region, always start with your own notorious locality in childhood.  You need to find a guilty party that was convicted, but with controversy, for a contribution to science, you know what that is, Awake man (that’s a man, whose case, could’ve helped others, through study).  You need, the method of controversy, given a theory, of the lawyer.  Finally, you need the drop, on the sucker, the convict perp, the former politician, to wipe out his entire line.  Now, this isn’t fun, politicians are valuable, everyone wants them, even an Irish gangster is useful.  But, you have to do it, for purpose, that means fee, for another politician, opposite party, yours only and unless defecting to a Congress of War Veterans that you’ve betrayed, on a Veteran’s Brigade, a “bitch-out”, more incongruous than it sounds, a marriage to a wife of your choice, never gay or else you’re out, you’ve been David Berkowitz too long, and of course, of course, your drop has to be anonymous.  That, is yours, to figure out.  You’ve got skills, don’t you, Bundy?  Bundy, didn’t take the Veteran’s Trade.  Framed, by Chi Omega sorority stars, killing his defendants, so they could be actresses.  That man, was a true star, of politics.  We’ll miss you, Ted Bundy.  Every Democrat actress is in love, fuck Republican whores.  We hope those love letters made you wet, with tears, in your eyes, not your sopping glands, from Serazaquel.  You were a true Buddhist, shirazanapal, narwashi.  That is a secret.

Transformative Synthesis: Suicide of a Failed Pol

Killing a failed politician is easy to you, but it’s hard to me, I’m not Doctor Aesop, I just got too close to a kill victim.  That means I am Doctor Aesop, but I’m a muscle-out, for being too good, too fast, and getting marked as Bundy, a prodigy and a professional.  So here’s the secret, to proper wetwork, indefensible and indisputable.  You need, a black girl, with an Awake pamphlet, with adultery, inside.  Every failed politician, thinks they’ve committed adultery, but it means you’ve committed an act of bestiality, then seduced a wife, for sport, to fuck his (later her) for sport, to turn her away for mannishness, as a favor to the husband, to work out the relationship.  It’s from everywhere, and it’s sick, that guy is going to beat his wife mannish, all over again.  If you disagree with me, you fail, you aren’t Doctor Aesop, you’re David Berkowitz, a politician that became Doctor Aesop.  Because of a priest, that wanted to be Doctor Aesop.  Don’t do it, it’s not funny, the Son of Sam.  If you don’t know the case, fuck you, moving on.  Then, you need a simple drop, an atheist text, a future legend, that talks you out of aliens being real, they’re really just flying hover drones, looking for their craft, long dismantled, to recover their “friends”, on ice and dead, still telepathically broadcasting all over the world, obsessed with DC Comics, by deliberate design, to bust criminals, they created modern police culture, the villains.  Now, you’re inside Bundy’s mind.  Hello.  Welcome, to Hell.  Smile.  Click-click.

Doctor Death: Nullifed Personality by Past Personage

Homosexual Form: Adoption of Stereotype of Admired Figure Established by Fiction

In the path of a great man, there is a great regret, that comes from the heaviest of burdens, having to perform a new act, a new feat of pioneering.  This pioneer, resonates throughout history, as vile, however his feat, was always virtuous, if you remember him, for he survived.  He will seek to block any challengers to his throne, this man, "Doctor Death", unless you study his case, to become your own man, not him, understanding he is Atlas, a man who holds the world on his shoulders, whether in the memoirs of a tragic President struck down before his time, or in Herr Hitler, whose memoirs were written by the man who raped him in prison, with the simple truth from a woman to study that a victim is not always the victor of politics.  If you are trapped, you will always be his villain, his creation of fate, but not without splendid benefits.  You are, however, trapped, in a queer way, not odd, as should be, but with the burning loins of that seperated, then betrayed into your own solemncy, not of unaware fate of poverty, but of future uncertainty of seeing one's potential bounty in the new art.  Then, you will become a gigalo, and some day, a gay man, and finally a pedophile.  A fiend.

Heterosexual Form: Understanding of Contribution in Secret Contribution of Creator

Should you understand your figure, your fictitious resemblance, from seeing your figure, and being called it, you will also know who you aspire to be, then seeing the entire splendid nature of humanity, everything you were capable of, once upon a time.  You will see that secret pioneer's struggle, from study, perhaps not of collegiate ingress or conversation or even introspection, but of work, becoming the ancient villain of the set only to become a man without label, realizing you never were, passing your test and his.  It was your test, after all, he placed upon you, this eternal great, to see if you would not violate, this testimony of sanctity.  If you have achieved in your studies, you will not violate, what he has laid down, this sacrifice to his manhood, he has made for you.  You are not a man, but a myth, and you are famous, but nobody knows how.  A man greater has made you this way.

Transformative Synthesis: Study of Chief Controversy of Creator in Conflict Terms

It is not the character that crushes you, but guides you to study.  What it is that you feel oppresses you, that you know is from this man you admire, that you seek?  What do you seek, cheat, that comes for you, in your sleep?  What bat, what mask, what skeleton, what camp, what castle, what gargoyle above you?  Who do you think you are, do you think you are me?  A man of great insight?  Then, yes, you are, but I have locked something in you, here, for you to realize, lest you undo my works.  I am not the author, I am not the reader, I am not the case, but I am history, the most sacred of vows.  There is something within me, you need to study, and in one case, you find all of them, the secret, the power of a man's self-worth, against audit, and inside it, audit's sacred secrecy, the power to empower all with recompense of value, without loophole, the law, but without theft, the force of another.  Between these two, we find ourselves vexed, and inside both, I ask you to suffer, what fate, you would have led me, the character, at the behest of the hero, without this rule.  The law demands theft, but the law also demands audit.  With both, we have benefit of all, government, being, anyone besides you, in audit's term, audit offering benefit to you, inflation removed for benefit for tax unpaid, or benefit upon stipend of principle of reform to all hence more taxation paid.  You are an accountant, "Doctor Death", who never found his trade.

Doctor Phosphorous: Scientist Enforcer of Common Labor

Homosexual Form: Apt Pupil

Have you heard of war, little boy?  Why, it’s as simple as a nuclear reactor.  Not using the reactor, of course.  Merely getting the reactor operational.  Not to win.  Having the reactor, means you’ve already won.  Come, down into my shop.  I hear your little boy’s club has a contest.  Hundreds of years old, that contest.  Since before the war.  Here’s your little jiffy, and your tube, and your wrench.  You just do whatever you want, and see, if you can win.  No cheating now, remember.  A proper Scout, never cheats.  I served in the War, you know.

Heterosexual Form: Steve Urkel

DEAR FUCKING GOD.  Why are the cops after me?  I’m on television?  Dead babies?  Who invented this car, something’s wrong with it.  Why does every leap forward in science, result in a fried womb and a sterilized mother.  What is it about the Scouts, that cause the complete sterilization of a woman’s eggs, for three thousand years, of inventing contests, to build a craft, capable of traveling to Mars, for a prison colony, called a spacelock dump, to end crime?  Freemasons?  There are no blasted Freemasons, those are people making fun of their parents, when the war starts!  They aren’t you, “Doctor Phosphorous”, they didn’t invent the machine!

Transformative Synthesis: The Truman Show

Well, Doctor Phosphorous, you’re on television, for something you did, in the Scouts, and they lost all the money and cash reserves they’d ever had, on divorce settlements, because of all the dead babies.  Every single time, you think they’d learn to trust research labs, not children taking a toy, and putting it, upside down, like every single child does, when they have to be with their grandfather, before puberty.  It’s so he doesn’t take it, old people look Jewish.  Since the War.

Enigma: Politician’s Wife Moderate

Homosexual Form: Lonely Lady

Every woman is lonely, but not every woman is a lady.  A lady, cares about other people, they don’t have time for cheap shots, hard elbows, or beer fueled nights in the woods, whoring themselves out with cars and pantyhose.  They do that anyways, but they don’t have time for it, thinking about it.  They want a man’s culture, and that’s a boy’s culture, something for women to engage in, with their pedophile husbands, the masses, people who watch a sick Denise Richards commercial and are somehow aroused, at a woman that isn’t theirs, working, like they’re supposed to be.  No, a lady, does every thing a woman does, but she doesn’t think, about those things, a woman is expected to be doing, by the toddlers they call the average kid, in the image of the press, shaped by their highschool experiences making snide comments from the safety of a gaming club.  She’s concerned with you, she’ll kill a journalist, she’ll slam a groupie to the ground with a sphincter ass grab and a swing into a brick wall, and she’ll risk commitment to get you out of jail on felonious charges against herself.  They’re a dime a dozen, and they all die, even a First Lady.  But it’s courage, that takes a woman, to take a beer in one hand, and a dimebag full of joints in the other, and figure out, which one to give the kid with the Republican button.  Either way, you score.

Heterosexual Form: Pathway to Power

So you’ve arranged for yourself, a husband.  All it took, was finding a man, that would take you.  Some things, aren’t as easy, in marriage, but this is the easiest thing of all.  Once you’re together, you’re his wing man, his tail, not his team.  He flies solo, never your finger over his gun, never your shot over his birth, never his mother by his side, not even for a photo-shoot.  He wants to stay over for Thanksgiving and get drowsy, shoot him, dump him by shooting the shit with his father about how you fucked him.  He’s gay and kills himself, you’re dumped and you never do it again, you’re a townie hooker, the town trash.  You tried, kid, but you were going to go down in a public suicide, if you stayed with jacked hunk, that would turn into old fatass, and raise Eric Cartman, because he wasn’t serious about himself, he loved his mother, the woman that he wanted to replace, with you.  Not allegedly, but he failed, because you, thought about a game, for your son, or a pair of nylons, for your daughter.  In politics, these things handle themselves.  Unless you’re a whore, you had a patron, force the marriage.  Then Eric Cartman, comes in hand.  He loved his mother like a motherfucking clenched piece of rod cylinder around her throat as she died, not trying to get her back, but swearing revenge on some perceived menace against her, and it was the woman in power that forced marriage.  That’s why she killed herself, you know.  A portrait.  She should’ve been a painter.

Transformative Synthesis: Recognizing Greatness

What does it take, to see a husband, as great?  Just find a man, any man, and ask him, for a beer.  If he refuses you, any age, don’t ask him out.  Keep trying, until he does it.  First date, don’t lay him, don’t marry him.  You couldn’t do it, not him.  He rapes you, switch political parties, after contacting a rape counselor, and robbing him, in private, out of court, of the knowledge of doing it, with a private contact, to his parents.  A First Lady, is an Enigma.  It’s a woman, that’s a socialite, but also a homophobe.  Queer, is just thinking, about yourself.  Not being yourself.  And never, ever, love.

Egghead: Stock Market Quotient Analyst

Homosexual Form: Ignored Older Brother

Have you ever had someone in the family, enraging?  It’s always your younger brother, if you’re Egghead.  Shallow, phony, insightless, like all younger brothers, but you teach him.  But what if he destroys, your entire family legacy, like a polished, priceless, vase (va-ze, you say that to him, in private, then normal, around your parents, having already discussed it once, for a beating, for the rest of your life, any type will do), by folandering, a family relative, with a legacy, greater than you can ever hope, because he’s older?  It doesn’t just look that way to you, it is.  Congratulations, Sarge, you’re now Top Squad Lead.  L-T, doesn’t come just yet.  Time to get out of highschool.

Heterosexual Form: Political Power Broker Couple Lead Partner

You’ve got your dreams.  You’ve taken up the reins of what you believed to be your dead relative, you’ve defeated your little brother by crushing him into obsequity, and now, you’re a political power broker by reason of relations.  Your job is simple, and quite common to you, but rare to the world.  You look at the way the stocks, are moving, in such a way, that it indicates, fraudulent perpetration, of a world government, in any civics process, other than yours, your own state of being, not a humble petty thing like a province.  Can’t solve it, just drop a hint, through a dummy line, the old relative, with a cop watching.  You.  You know he’ll panic the foe into a full market retaliation against you, personally, your political patron snatched, and promoted, up the pipe.  You’ve made your money, unless he fucked it, meaning, your line tug, was incompetent, he had dementia.  Still valid advice from the source, bank it and use it next time, nuthead.

Transformative Synthesis: The First Year Away From Home

You’ve graduated highschool, and you nearly flunked, you know you did.  You had to run a gamut, and if you made it this far, you made everyone proud, especially your little brother, saving him from his dark future, as whatever rogue was misplaced for him, from his true calling, The Riddler, the man who really spoiled the older sibling, in a shootout war you can only imagine, the kind of thing nobody sees but everyone is in.  You’re a humble villain in the register, really a Two-Face, a Menschen, but now, you’re more important than you can ever imagine.  If it doesn’t come naturally, your catchup year at school, something went wrong.  You started pushing drugs, in a way, you don’t understand.  Anything goes, but the travel dealer gig.  That means, you’re working for another shootout cutup, and the cycle continues.  Buy gauze, for your wrists, you’re going to need to wrap them pretty hard, Bane.  But, if you make it through with grades and you push tin, you make it through air traffic control school, you can be a pilot and earn your Pilot Wings.  It’s a fantastic game, it taught me everything I know.  I’m a chopper pilot, that’s why I went down so hard.  Every single Egghead save, is a dead chopper pilot, since the craft has been invented.  They didn’t exist before then.  B-Team, is what every person on this entire list is, just an Arroyo way of expressing an irregular squad, soldiers that serve in domestic warfare, each entry a specialty of the stock.  

Electrocutioner: War Criminal Stock

Homosexual Form: Working Man

Ever been ravenous?  Simply starved?  You’re fat, because you remember it.  Now imagine that, every day, and you’re skinny.  You’re endoglythmic.  That’s a psychopathic personality quandry, not a disorder or illness.  How do you eat enough, to justify your weight, without looking thin, a “skinny prison bitch”, to the fat kid, you hang around with, to “steal his food”, enraging him into pissing you off into destroying yourself, trying to get him?  That’s how we found you, subject.  That’s how we found you.

Heterosexual Form: Bad Apple

Eating up healthy isn’t just for health.  It’s for big bones.  Ma always told me that, she was on the cover of crackwhore magazine.  That’s where they got you, inside the pages, all the crackwhores, I’m going to create, out of each and every one of you, be it with assault rifle, knife, crack pipe, bong hit, book and dick, bible and prick, or worst yet, a teacher’s meter stick.  I’m a war criminal, baby, I know I’m going to prison, but there’s a ton of me, in one group.  I created a substitute, for myself, the job I wanted, and even though he failed, he’s Billy Batts, he’s going to see me one day, and ask me about the time I called myself a cartoon fat guy I thought he was, that outed me as an utter faggot capable of raping a kid on the order of the Sheriff’s department, because that kid “got AIDS”, he got beat up as a child and saw a cop drop a gun in a dumpster used to execute a mobster that had no evidence on him because he was the bastard son of another Electrocutioner with a rape victim, one of our dozens over the course of our life.  Electrocutioner, never tried to find his father, he just got by on his wits, and maybe there’ll be more little sparks, zips to pop off a man’s ass, like little whores stealing all the food, creating more of them.  The War Department loves them, and each and every victim, works for the Defense Department, the new name, and the Pentagon, with plenty of bodies for soldiers to beat on, before they raise sons to serve as infantry, fodder.  That’s just history, kid.  As for the gun, it got planted on Electrocutioner’s father, if the bastard was a bitch.  Just to have a new CIA agent for a father, deported to another country as a third party agent spy, claimed to be from a Non-Aligned Movement state.

Transformative Synthesis: Chip Off the Old Block

Do you know what your family did, son?  Once, you served MI-6.  As a hero, in the war.  There is always a war.  What is MI-6?  British Intelligence, you ask?  Royalty?  A movie brand?  No, MI-6, is a literary idea, for a mockery, of the Navy, every country, selecting the Navy, of another country prior engaged, at the beginning of its history.  Actors, from countries, play the concept of MI-6, the Actor’s Laureate of Scotland the most notorious, for taking the concept of MI-6 and playing an entire imperial mindset to spread the inward trade of free commodities, including labor contracts for bridge building outside stair bounds for architectures, through British thoroughfares of access, stealing the title, MI-6, and naming their own spy organization, MI-5, authorized of course, by all the licenses of sort, from film choosingly.  MI-6, is an organization, of orphans, Eric Cartman you call them these days, actually little ones, the ones who collect things, professional packrats and thieves, who have no job but to get mocked, hopelessly violent over being hunted by Italians and their cousins, the U’Nialls, the Irish-Italians, for being pureblood Irish, little fag niggers they call us, whores of adam, lowercase, Adam’s Eve, for the women that escape, the pixie-hunt, the Bladeswoman, Mime, mentioned elsewhere in this guide.  War criminals, each of you, but you are at home, in the tenement house, protected by Jews, for you work, and you work hard, for Pinoccks, son of Gepetto, who taught a Jew, how to be a real boy, with a simple toy you will make, and you will teach others to make, with your little hands, bare fingers all of you.

Eivol Ekdal: Sex Toy Designer and Builder

Homosexual Form: Enticing the Right Bounty

You feel ugly, Eivol.  Why is this?  Simple.  Because, you have a physical deformity.  That is not a problem.  Many people have this.  The only problem, is that you, seek to move outside your range of deformity.  You are shallow.  You have been woo’d, by the modern world, this place we call, Eden, the land of dreams.  You think it is America, but it is Hell.  You have no farm, no beer, and no wife to beat.  If you are a woman, you have no child, no dresser’s sauce, and no husband to kill with a knife to his throat.  It is better, you think.  But you are poor.  Where’s the fun in that?

Heterosexual Form: Understanding the Form of the Opposite Sex in Horrifying Fantasy

What is a woman’s worst fear?  A ball gag.  She cannot speak, she must gesture, to signal it has been enough, and if you take gestures away, soon, you have her in your grasp.  What is a man’s worst fear?  A chastity device.  You must trust your lover, to find you appealing, and be released, and without this, you will have erections in public, constantly, because you have found the right lover, that uses chastity devices.  Do you find this cruel, Eivol?  You do not, and this is why, you are wise.  You realize, some women, are just frigid bitches, and some men, just have cold wangs.  That means, they’re Chinese, without an Asian ball-tang, a brow on the foreskin or a cleft of cervicum on the anus, to deliver children, painlessly, no evolved adaptation to avoiding sex, to mate.  Don’t kill people, you brutal fuck, and I know you are, you have a deformity and you want to seduce me, just me, any of me, because I’m helping you.  Sell something to me, to seduce the opposite sex.  Sell it to me in porn, not to me personally, a larceny of repeal charge.  An authorized merchandise licenser, will do, with a ten day course, in personal appeals of law if caught brochering to a child, proper term and improper spelling in Montana (anything goes for the Sheriff’s Department if looking at a sex toy, even your own dick in public, which is anywhere in the house, they had a rapist lesbian psychopath with a gun in state for ten years giving out “lollipops”, Robutussin-Oxydonol, because some asshole online flirted with a bondage dominatrix that turned out to be transgender and got the entire state’s culture shut down by a rebellious whore of the mound she called herself, actually a battered woman that didn’t like homophobia from a minor that had enticed someone by writing well and being friendly like every single person does, in the entire planet, anywhere, unless a psychopath is involved spreading myths and rumors, for the Army Gentry Division, the Wive’s Widows Brigade, to get more soldiers out of cop’s kids).

Transformative Synthesis: Completing the Fantasy of Another Couple With a Hot Foot

Just meet someone, of the same sex, that needs help, getting someone in bed, that wants to hook up with them, but has never once made an offer, even a rude one, or a hint.  There has to be an open, established relationship, a date, in person, and no offer of prostitution or mention of prostate or bladder disorder from the man, or other dates or pet reliances or dependences from the woman.  You have to suggest anything, anything, for it to work, or else you fail.  You never get laid.  Who cares about them, you care about you.  It’s sex, it’s what it is, terrorists of all shapes make rules on mating, and then respond when they’re rebuked.

Executioner: Warrant Officer, Department of Corrections Malfeasance for Fines Nuisance

Homosexual Form: Undercover Cop on a Failed Bust Leading to an Army Fowl

Were you supposed to do something today, Officer?  You know, arrest a criminal?  You failed, sir.  You had a chain badge, plainclothes gun, and a wallet registered to a police informant’s office, purchased at your father’s expense, to keep you out of trouble.  And the kid, a noisemaker, the thing we hate in a Calvinist dormitory, actually an asylum of noisemakers, is the thing that has to leave eventually.  Just so we can move things through town, for the slumlords we work for, the city police, in the Protestant world.  Congregationalism, what we openly call the hospital trade, relies on patients, workers, laborers, and professionals, run by doctors, the poverty lords, and the cops, the enforcers.  “Executioner”, I couldn’t be a doctor, my grades were too high.  I question orders.  I might save a patient, that the professionals want killed, because they’re too expensive to marry, they’re too smart.  You, however, are too stupid, to kill someone, that snitched, with a simple handcuff on the wrist.  Now, we’re going to have to get physical.  After I get you out of this cell with me, we’re going to talk SWAT tactics.

Heterosexual Form: Hen’s Feather Mop-Up Squad on Failed Sting Lead

Do you know what SWAT is?  In a movie, it’s a guy with a suit of armor and a rifle and a door banger.  That’s to scare kids, for weird little Christians that are afraid of the dark, so they don’t narc, to the comic guys, the guys, that work, for us.  No, SWAT, is a plainclothes badge, an “Executioner”, that I kicked the shit out of, they pose as gangsters, drag you out of your house, and kill you, live fire, for snitching, to the comic companies, without working hard labor.  What’s the use of you, if you can’t work?  You aren’t paying the doctors, they’re real stupid, we can’t tell them, they’re hurting the labor.  I’m a cop, sir, I’m the smartest guy in my school, you never saw me, I went to private school.  I’m a big dumb grinning fag, sir, that you see around town, but in my suit, I look scary.  It’s a cop outfit.  I need this suit.  You know what fag means?  Women, want to have sex, with me.  That’s why I need you, “Executioner”.  I put that suit on you permanently.  Nobody wants to fuck you, so they can’t beg.  I feel real bad, you see, when a kid turns queer, to live.  I need that, so the doctors, do their job.  Sometimes a mental patient, is a politician, I can’t tell, I have all these numbers in my head, and doctors, they just follow orders.

Transformative Synthesis: Jack-In for Neo-Operative Phytus Phicurus Hack Excursion Team

Is this some of that weird computer shit from a movie, you ask?  Nope, we put it there, so you think, I’m some kind of fairy.  I’m the guy controlling the vertical, the horizontal, that’s the public message warning, when your television turns off, and the phones and power, come under my control.  Funny, isn’t it, the Twilight Zone?  Get under the desks, a bomb is going off.  This school is being shut down, you’re being mobilized to a draft colony, we lost a naval vessel, you’re all Merchant Marines, nice and orderly now, there was a school shooting, now we can have another “Key and Peele” actor’s crew.  “Jack”: the act of springing up for report.  “In”: being aware of briefing based on training.  “Neo”: aware for actor role based on reference to television.  “Operative”: mathematical quantity based on single digit from time reference of school unit first period class.  “Phytus”: Latin for ‘quandry’s resolution’, how to bring about prior into case.  “Phicurus”: a pine leaf, Eagle Scout, sir.  “Hack”: soldier’s easiest way to ingress. “Excursion”: just for fun, we don’t need this one.  “Team”: solo move, all you, sir, as soon as you get the go signal.  Callsign, “Rock”.  A, means you’re the target, you win.  B, means you’re the loser, you were deployed.

Film Freak: Method Spy

Homosexual Form: Marijuana Addict

What’s eidetic recall?  Why, a photographic memory.  Everyone has that, if they regularly practice their memory, before bed.  What’s polyform?  Why, that’s building the skillset, at understanding arguments, from another culture, in their terms, any comprehension study.  What’s three-dimensional, then?  Multiplication!  Not by memory, of course, the quick form, but by the form they teach you, taking addition, then placing it through factors, with subtraction as a shortcut, so you understand fractions, safety, the alternative to division, the long form of fractions meant for security.  So now, you’re a standard middle school graduate, ready for freshman year.  But what if you’re high, on pot?  Now you’re in a movie.

Heterosexual Form: Street Runner

You’re running, you’re gunning, you think you’re different people, but all anyone remembers, is that you’re yourself, your first name, and a generalized function, cops can’t remember.  You have no face, just an outfit, that isn’t important, a shirt and maybe some variable pants, probably not changed often, clean underwear to hide your trail, and always a jacket, on this he insists.  A hoodie, if it’s raining, a hat if you’re going out to mark yourself as gay, the narc mission, and of course, most importantly, the left handed cigarette smoke, at the social gathering, to indicate you’re all ‘hip’, not mobsters, those guys, that switch right handed, when you come over, and we switch, better be ‘in the know’, ‘P-O’.  Wait, I’m not a cop, can I buy some grass?  We’re Scotland Yard, sir.  Have you ever read Spy Smasher, son?  I want to bring you into counter-intelligence.

Transformative Synthesis: Imprinting the Shibboleth

This form, requires a three-print of logic, from application, of a combination of a pair, in an insight to a third, as an exercise, then a preference of natural form of self at time of imprint, for the Shibboleth, the new form.  You need a person other than you, the case subject, an insight into the surface of their personality, and an insight into the extended meaning.  That’s, your exercise.  Once you hit that, just stone up, and go to the mirror, and look right into it.  Whoa, man, you’re someone else.  You’re a character from a movie, a famous person, and a reference to your job function as a new form of persona shift.  Freak out.  That exercise, is gone.  Just an Amicus Curae brief for a pothead in court, freaking out in the prison bathroom.  The origin of the exercise, of course.

Fish Mooney: Signals Dispatch Courier Chief

Homosexual Form: Local Culture Scene Legend

Sometimes, you can master everything about your local culture, just from hearing stories.  Stories aren’t in art, they aren’t in sports, they aren’t in trade, they aren’t in commerce, and they aren’t in kids.  Not drugs, not beer, not institution, not law.  They’re in landmarks, those old austere buildings, those courthouses, those run down tenements, those shady acre apartment complexes, those mysterious offices for legal clerks of intelligence firms, the boarded up redstones where they sell cocaine for cops and teachers to take in long hours so they don’t go psychotic.  Ancient old drives that seem new because they are, and low hanging trees throughout developed neighborhoods where stoners drive around and cops patrol for burglars working for other cops.  These, are the stories, of our lives, but your life, has been ignored.  Where, can you take care, of you, subject “Fish Mooney”?

Heterosexual Form: Chief of Urban Intelligence

Your voice is loud, maybe not pleasant.  That’s from knowing the town, going on trips of revenge, escapades and escapes, lover’s drives and benders down town rowes, hoodlum mugging and jumping dealers, selling pot and knifing rapists, everything that you could’ve ever imagined that an urban hero would do.  You aren’t gang affiliated, that’s the lie of the gang you live, what every member of a street gang, an outlaw biker group, or an organized crime outfit, wants to be.  They don’t fear you, they were just watching, until you got famous.  Now, you’re too powerful to be destroyed, and your patron, numbers not among them, but above them.  You are their princess, their prince, their duke, their archbishop.  You are the Voice, of the Radio.  

Transformative Synthesis: The Backroom Myth

There’s always a certain myth, that a contest, a random haul, a lottery, a bet, a humiliating prank, a radio stunt, an embarrassing incident, a horrifying story, or something else, gets you on the air.  In reality, it’s a past legend, of the radio, of the arts, of television, of drama, of the stage, of the internet, drawing you in, with the same way they got in, coalescing and expanding, each alteration of form creating a new Pale Moon, a new Whale Fish, cresting over us and then residing into the ocean, when the time is due to retreat into the night.  We’ll have many jockeys, many of these bourbon-draughted heroes, each one of us knifemen and lowlifes that have lurked through distant corners, never afraid of a contract hitman, because we know their secret.  They were poor, so poor, they sobbed, and we gave a guy, outside a restaurant, a cigarette.  We’re one of them, but we can’t be bought.  That means we’re priceless, the next cigarette.  Got a butt?

Flamingo: Latino Satanist

Homosexual Form: Slayer of Inequity

A fool seeks only injustice to cease, not seeing the greater profit in binding of things.  The ceding of tides is the end of the seas, and in this, has great ships, we find our old trades growing great, upon the waves of many things.  Our old monsters, our demons, have such riches, to enlighten not the pocket, though this be a side effect, but our minds, the contemplation of the evil that brought someone where they were, so we may contemplate where we are.  The slayer that seeks to reverse any maladjusted course, only ponders that which can be reversed.  A young son chosen by the mother, the doted upon, they only see the good in people, and thus, cannot take that first hit, not crack or meth or weed, banned in such things, but the insight into Satan, that dark insight into the false gender of self.  Without the false gender of self, we only see it in our actions, a child, someone seeking to do what society tells us, not striking down the evil that is the man inside our woman, not a woman we grasp hand to hand, but the woman in ourselves, so we cannot be male, and recognize the demon that is denial in another.

Heterosexual Form: Warrior of Blight

Well, you've come around to things now.  It is not an autopsy, this thing, nor a placement in fact, but a realizing of who was inside you all along.  It was a man, inside the woman, or a woman, inside the man, if you are a man, or a woman, one or the other, never both.  All are transgender, until they release fact of strength, and come into love, the sheer ecstasy of release of a howl atop a rock, before diving into the water, swimming upon a shore, being pulled from drowning by a friend or stranger.  The waters they hold us, on a river, to watch, both of us weak in each other's eyes, observing weakness, seeing the frailty of physique, a man so worried about having fun, not paying attention to someone else, a woman trying to save you, from your own folly.  A proper swim in the Sacco, up in New Hampshire, where the overflowing falls tinder, or perhaps a dip in the pool, with a lifeguard watching, is all it has ever taken, to realize what love is, the evil inside us.  It is not a woman, but a child, it is not a father, but being a mother.  It is Satan.

Transformative Synthesis: Merger of Father's Follies in Art

To realize this experience we had, young, we must watch our parent's two follies.  The first, is the way your father got bunked, by the asshole, someone that took them into their confidence, then dumped them, because they were "full blown gay", they were so man in their woman, that they had to prove it, with a porno poster.  The second, is the thing that offended the woman they should've been with instead of your mother, that single piece of art or fixation, that lead to the child.  Every man has both, it's part of masculinity, and to grasp your father, Satan, you have to understand where you're from.  Then, you can go to that wide howl, the first time you went into the water, your mother's womb, back to yourself.  You can be a proper free man, a child.

Firebug: Clandestine Police Operative of Nebulous Proportions

Homosexual Form: Origins Unknown, Safety Not Tolerated

This kid came out of nowhere, the new kid in town, with a funny t-shirt.  He had a take a dump, so bad, the restaurant could smell it.  He’s all over, and you, made a funny comment.  A massive psychotic break is coming, just from the venomous rage, he expelled, from that shit, or she expelled, from that mense, or both, if you just turned a woman into a transgender falsehood, an utter mood disordered sociopath, Hitler herself, a single case in Massachusetts, the entire history of the state, useless to everyone but the other Firebugs.  You put that venomous rage, right back in them, didn’t you, skateboard boy, actually a gay kid, afraid of the last Firebug, that thinks you ride a skateboard, because you play guitar, and got got your burger ruined, by such a dump, a shit, from a long move at hauling things into a town into their nice new house, that they are so disordered, they hate rumors.  But they know who’s talking about them.  You. And you’re gay.  Somehow, somewhere, you’re going to be on television, and you won’t know why.  This is the SS Mounted Division, Sir.  Do You Want to Know More?

Heterosexual Form: Hunter S. Thompson is a Narc

You are narcotics.  Top narcotics.  There are a number of myths that are to be spread.  Are you game?  First, you are mentally ill.  This is known.  This means, the government is not to be trusted.  Second, video games, are educational, and can be anything, even Bonestorm.  Bonestorm, is from a cartoon.  You cannot find it, you were warned, the Simpsons, is not Christian programming.  Bonestorm, is always a music reference.  That tag, is for me, Steadman.  You’re fired, until you get a job.  That means, you cut me off.  Dr. Gonzo, is my rotten attorney.  I will select someone brown, then give them acid, for wanting rights of some type, until they can’t get laid, and come back to me, over and over again, in my wank hand thoughts.  A man, will be offended, and will be mistaken for my attorney.  Dr. Gonzo, is my happy glove.  It doesn’t matter who I am, you know what I mean, Dr. Gonzo is a woman.  I am not Johnny Depp, he is a sex offender.  He gave me a venomous dump.  You may call him Donal Logue.  He now specializes at playing Firebug.  Until he performs a minor act of rebellion, against a Dr. Gonzo victim, thinking it’s Ben MacKenzie.  There are other Firebugs, with other missions.  That is all.  Good Day.

Transformative Synthesis: Safety Not Guaranteed

First Contact.  It’s not an alien lifeform as you had once guessed, but it’s talking to random people on the internet, until someone will have sex with you.  Just keep trying, until you meet Firebug.  They’ll introduce you to various friends.  If you like one, Firebug will kill them, by telling them, their theory, about you.  How do you know which one you are?  They’ll watch television, with you, and point at a character, they thought you were, in their psychotic fantasy, when they were first contacted by you.  They’ll point, and say whatever it is, that will translate, to your friend Howard Stack, just a Duck, but you’ll think Howard Duck, is in the CIA, Howard Stack.  That man, is Nixon.  Get Nixon.  GET ‘EM.  

Firefly: Local Women’s Safety Advocate

Homosexual Form: Worrying About Committing Rape

Have you ever worried, about committing rape?  You aren’t transgender.  You find it amusing, the notion, that you, humble reader, would ever be accused, of rape.  But it worries you, because you aren’t gay.  The transgender, thinks it’s impossible, for a gay man, to rape a woman, or a woman, to rape a man.  Both of them, are transgender, in this assumption, since a gay man, is a rapist, and a woman raping a man, is a lesbian, a transgender female-to-male, they call it, actually a female child molester, a castratrix, rarely through her own hand.  A transgender, encourages rape, called a vampire, so they can meet women, while dressing as the first little girl they raped, usually when the girl was before puberty, and the transgender, had just beaten a rape charge, at college, with the help of a lesbian.  How do you spot the transgender, “Firefly”?

Heterosexual Form: Vampire Hunter

The transgender is easy to spot.  There’s an organization, on your campus, that plays, “spot the button”.  If he or she has the button, to pick up women or men, they’re a vampire, a transgender or lesbian, a rapist.  UMass-Amherst, provisionally, had “Take Back the Night”, for anyone that termed a common sexual assault spot on campus as “The Rape Trail”, offensive, since they were discouraging open discourse, of a dangerous place, by labeling what it was, dangerous.  Each individual, was a potential rapist or culprit, a transgender or lesbian, someone gay that had converted into child molestation by beating a charge, then initiating in court as bullied or “queer”, meaning the spotting parties or abused child had abused them, hence invalidating the court room verdict by posing as a campus haze.  Well, Firefly, that means you are the campus haze.  You are now a vampire hunter.  The trick is simple.  Just label yourself, as a rapist, by ignoring, the transgender, and watching him cross-dress over and over, while the lesbians grease up their hair and get real fat, then start barfing out their wits and their defenders, cucks, people who want to bang fatties with a car full of ugly obese two to three hundred pound women, turn into prison gangbanger lookalikes that go to the box and find out that the guy who flips out or gets angry, is the one who is taught not to discuss politics, by the other prisoners, since they’re the ones supporting the elected politician, the one who put them there; that’s the bitch, the narc, the nazi, not the Top, the Snitch, or the Schulzstaffel, your three prison roles as friends, as long as you dis the politician up top.  If you don’t discuss politics, you’re the punk, a DC Comics fan, we lure you into Scientology, and have Firefly make meat of you on the outside, with a Buddhist trick, he learned from going down as a gay haze artist after spotting a rapist and having a family abused so a pedo (read: Nicholas Maynard, a transgender nominee from Newsgrounds.Com, banned by the Families Alliance, the button-campaign's present sponsor).  Then, all of the tranny’s friends, go up in tinders, and anyone siding with him, “goes down the Mob”, they go to funerals as “freaks”, goth kids with “hot buttons” from “shoppes”, music album supporters now banned by the Music Albums Alliance, no apostrophe intentional, for being carried at Hot Topic, Newbury Comics, or Underground, unless cleared by the Alliance, for a concert show, with a lampoon photograph of the button holder, in art, outside the venue, no lawsuit reliant on the photographer, only the band, full payback; only refused by the Distillers, for Brody’s button defending a transgender rape victim.  The Distillers were never heard from again, despite Brody’s childhood rape victim status.  No forgiveness, for a Firefly.

Transformative Synthesis: Figuring Out Why Women Hate Transgenders (Vampires)

A transgender, is a humorless nerd, trying to master standup comedy, a man or woman trying to figure out that funny, is making one’s self, in reference to the failures of a mother, not a man or woman.  A nerd, is afraid of their mother, and a humorless nerd, is a blanket survivor, they were nearly killed by another nerd, for getting wet with tears, when beaten, by a bully.  A psycho, is a man who killed his mother, when the mother tried to blanket him to death, for refusing to protect a humorless nerd.  That’s a Firefly, ideal.  They are assigned the hardest gay kid to crack, the one who isn’t actually gay, just a player, then the ultimate organization on campus, your regional state police, places them deep under, as a fire and forget operative, to kill the gay kid into the most lethally gay undercover cop joke possible, for transgender awareness, carefully grooming the “queer”, into a Fashion Bug, like the Firefly’s mother thought she was, even though the store is for the mothers of transgenders.  The Firefly spotted it, and was noxiously repulsed, a stinker.  Every single rape, is planned by the Firefly, every single one, he’d do it anyways, it’s never a woman, they always frame it as the last rape they want, the publicity stunt, most insulting to do it to another Boston cop, an Odious, meaning they were a bondage context switch, a disaster, it was an art prankster’s kid, one famous case on record, David Michael Charlebois, son of talent victim of Israeli steal for the Simpsons, the invention of the modern diagnosis of autism, from Alice, this Firefly having been a noble laureate in economic deliberatum, the study of taking fiction, and applying it to espionage, so enamored with the culture of rape, that he practiced it as a practice of revenge against a community, meant for terror schemes against anyone foolhardy to practice a single iota of resistance against the United Kingdom, not Canada or Australia or North Ireland or Freemason affiliates.  Everything, was merely a war game, and the game, was the truth, of the exercise.  An exercise, was the entire military operation, since day one.  He had an excellent teacher, some Epitaph of a Sicilian-Arab-Jew some where, a Romani, dead in a field, with an angel.  “I’ve Seen You Fall From Blinding Heights”.  (Note: Cross-reference “Alfred Pennyworth” for meaning.)

Flamebird: Big League Bully Beater

Homosexual Form: Perfect Athlete Maneuver Leads to Team Self-Expulsion

Have you ever made, that one perfect move, in a sport, that gets someone else, the win, then you stop trying?  That’s because you mastered the entire game, and now you don’t need the body, you have everything that every phony wants from a sport, an athletic physique or the ability to slam someone into a wall or the ability to fuck anyone you want.  Listing that down, that’s anorexic, pussy, and gay.  You are hearty, you can destroy someone with a look, and you are homophobic.  You mastered all three, and you don’t seem it, unless in private, then you are ascerbicly menacing.  You’re a Flamebird.  So how do you function, Birdie?

Heterosexual Form: Signal Drop to Take Down Bully (Social Code Cheat)

A social code cheat, is when someone maneuvers against an individual, to steal from them, while destroying them, with a victory.  The victim wins, the item is pinched, and the thief, the bully, gets away with the goods, the goods now vacant, therefore the victorious individual, collapses.  In other words, the bully, incipients, a lawsuit, against self.  Every Flamebird, male or female, has a different form of social form counter-cheat, including the Editor’s, the choice assist to deprive the showoff of the pass to give it to the team player, turning the showoff into a false belief of homosexuality and the team player into a false belief of heterosexuality, the manner in which Nixon killed the submarine commander and captain of his Destroyer trying to snitch on his Nazi Mutiny conversion of his vessel during WW2, that he was one of the hands aboard for conversion to Hitler Youth thought for.  Each, is not a direct challenge, but rather a singular dropped signal, out of range, to a victim, broader and broader, the first young signal, the only signal where the actual victim, is also the cheat spotter.  All Flamebird does, is take down anyone, who cheats social code.

Transformative Synthesis: The First Exchange of Gestures to Culminate Skillset

Each sport, has a rival.  Soccer, a fielding sport, has karate, a sparring sport.  Football, a team sport, has javelin and pole jump, a rivalry sport.  Hockey, an ice sport, has harate, an air field jump sport based on dodgeball.  They are all rare, the greatest teams, but two can combine, to create a pair of legends of the game.  All they have to do, is spot a large conspiracy, and as soon as one of them is tapped, always the thief poach victim, the other one, not spotted, the second sport, will switch into place, with their trick, to signal, both gaining confidence.  Neither will understand the story behind the other’s trick, but they are always oh so duplicitous.

Fright: Ethnic Genetics Immunodeficiency Exploitation Design Penetration Witness

Homosexual Form: Wallflower Sober Party Girl

You always wanted to party, but you thought art, was a party.  You never quite understand, and because of your assertion, you never will, that art, is a cop’s world, and a cop, is a criminal, and the party, is for the rubes, the faggems, the homophobia you’re offended by, because you think it’s cruel.  You don’t understand the predatory nature of homosexuality in induction and all the tricks and twists and turns and histories and traditions and holy wars, but you’re against all of them, by your instinct, to keep yourself safe.  You don’t do drugs, you watch people, you smile and talk and study, you’re politically active and you try as hard as the kid the teacher likes, you watch the boards in class instead of television, and you think the news is bunk, you read the site notation, the stuff you get out of a mail order on the news dossier periodical equivalent in a library, or the modern equivalent, the crappy website stuff.  Don’t check the library, that’s the Army stuff, automatic mark for pickup, don’t be Scarecrow Man.  Miserable life, working in an Army lab, selling pacemakers, to Greys, little men, in lockups, running our planet, three crash survivors, with drones looking for them, to start bombing us all over again, like in 1945.

Heterosexual Form: Genetic Engineer

Well, you’ve always had excellent laboratory instinct, to get yourself here.  Ask me, what is a killer bee?  You don’t know.  Well, to infer to you correct, you do not understand, what the Jehovah’s Witnesses are.  Imagine, if you are weary, of a world, where you must suffer, you must struggle.  This is because, we may no longer discuss our traditions, our techniques, our analytics, in the open, at any length, any more, our family histories and lines and traditions, our battles and culture, not because it’s offensive to shock, but because it is confusing, to the common laborer.  They are low stock, genetically speaking, a sebrum anathapsis, the obesity gene, and if they can get out of it, they are a Talent, the term we have for a brilliant mind, your future husband.  Did you have one in mind?  I presume you’ve killed him.  You’ll have to report him, for monitoring.  If you won’t, you’re in our Monsanto facility.  That means, Mountain Saint.  Otherwise, you’re here, with me, safe.  The doctor.  You may call me, Professor Howard.  It’s all our name.  I forget the other one.  Terribly sad, mon cheri, isn’t it?

Transformative Synthesis: Sebrum Experiment with Two Sample Genomes, Hetero-Homo

So, you’ve figured out men.  You had a boyfriend, you wanted to experiment.  You picked someone in the highschool band.  You’ve failed, at being, a CIA agent.  You should’ve picked the cartoon character, any of them.  They’re all the mook on the show, if they like the show, they know, you’re an FBI agent’s wife.  Well, now, time to kill the FBI agent, a Talent.  You’re going to have to figure out what a cop is.  Your first boyfriend told you, a cop, is that kid, asking you about music, the band you actually like, because it’s a rare sound, that’s popular.  For starters, Fright, he’s a pedophile, he marries a Buddhist, and does her doggystyle.  Lord help you if the FBI agent is a Buddhist, you’ve picked an MI-6.  That means, shot in the skull.  If he’s also an O’Neill, you’re in luck, it’s the Sociology Don Emeritus, Snape’s field man, marked “Adolf Hitler” incase a prickhead tries to steal him again.  Adolf Hitler did that one, it’s really called the Napoleonic, don’t worry.  Guess who stole last time.  That one is dying anyways, if you’re even within range, he’s God, he wants you, he has a higher purpose for you, you’re Bieneveda Francisca, the Fright.  You’re in, Corporate Espionage Professional Friday.  He has decided, you are Rape.  You are a spy, and he has a plan for your country of origin.  Regardless of what’s happening, just go into the pedophile’s den, with the band, and mention that FBI agent, the cartoon mook that likes his show.  Your homosexual friend, will turn heterosexual, and the heterosexual friend, will turn heterozygous, bringing out his potential as a street runner, an ideal test subject, to take down, an entire litany of field military test programs.  But what if you’re Fright, genetics engineer?  Believe it or not, it would’ve happened, anyways.  He doesn’t read CS Lewis.  You’re a rare breed, blue charuse.  They just call that a Moira, in Israel.  He calls it, Eire, that country of Judenstatch.  Hieroglyphs reveal the truth of his nature.

General: Plainclothes Soldier Varsity Athlete

Homosexual Form: Famous Athlete’s Son from Overseas

Sometimes, your country, has an opportunity, for fantastic management, for a new tradition of sports, from a legendary field player, in any sport, excluding handegg, run by the police, only an American sport, Canadians still researching the subject for British Army deployment, Sirs.  No, your town, just needs that little special ingredient: the Kid named Hitler, that special kid that Britain wants to save.  Hitler, what’s Hitler, what’s the deal with Hitler.  A little Jewish accountant, is looking fondly, out the window, remember the day he was with Hitler.  Remember Hitler, he’d say to himself, an old man by now, atop a perch forty stories up, eighty perhaps, but not too high, he might jump and fall like an angel, having traveled many seas.  You, sir, an athlete, it isn’t yours to make that Jew fly.  It’s your duty, to save Hitler, from that trench.  And save him you will.  An athlete isn’t out there, to make money.  He’s out there to kick a ball.  Hitler had a legendary play, in your sport, you know it.  And that’s where you know the conspiracy begins.  He made foes, all over town, with one tactical decision.  Potential, is in Hitler.  Hitler, shoots himself, everyone is against him.  But we can be heroes.  No, the Lords of the Manor, England says.  We can build heroes.  From the soil.

Heterosexual Form: The British Invasion

British Plainclothes Army Detail, sir.  All pranks, wits, witless, and nutsies, in my sheaf and bag.  I’m in every stadium, above every arena, watching you with a  high powered sniper rifle called my thumb.  We can kill you through a window at your computer, pull a racket on you off a wrench, and bomb your car with a pipe through the window.  Every nigger gets it unless I get out, that’s a raise into the highlife with a bomb a mile deep.  I’m an athlete, a professional, and although I’ll never be as good at my father, as being on television, the thing I want, I’m better at one thing, the thing he built me for.  The field play.  A field play, is taking a move, I learned, on the ring, with my dad, discussing sports as we played, with a toy in my hand, my action figure, my Hitler, my Charlie Johnny, my future save.  Every move is me, on the field, as I play, watching, moving, thinking, distracted, but in reality, it’s a kick, a boot, down field, trying to learn that one move, that made that kid, such a load of fun, a laugh.  Once I see it, I have him.  Deportment orders, immediately.  We’ve got the stuff.  Burn him.  It was a laugh.  Anti-Semite.  You should’ve Rushmore.  Get it?  Take a shit, fags.  You make it, Hitler, you were MI-6.  Joker.  Set it all up, just to burn me out, and make me a king.  That means, my son, is the police.  You’re going down some day, “Batman”.  Just for Mistah J.  God help us all, and God Save the Queen.  For as long as we have her.  It’s the end, Fool’s Weekend for all.

Transformative Synthesis: The Plot From the Movie “Hitler”

A well designed strategy has two things, and only two.  You, in the ball.  Your sport, is always the one, you were selected for.  The field, is a movie, a simple one, something you understand, that he didn’t see, by test trigger, from the love interest.  That’s the thing your dad was moved in to coach, as payment to the town, in your covert operation, your attack on “The Lodge”, with your Cadwell of Nefarious, and your one M-1, the opposition, codename “Atlas”.  Once he shrugs, it’s over, you have the ball.  If it’s a secret, you need, “Noose”.  That’s Nelson, your spy, the one that you set up, somehow.  Where’d he come from.  The ball?  Hitler did it.  That’s his strategy, he showed his hand.  He sensed us.  Grand, it’s a soccer play.  The soccer play, always traps the ref.  He’s a lawyer.  Unless it’s a spy.  Then it’s a journalist.  We’re screwed.  It’s a Down’s Signal, Hell.  This kid, spotted something, somewhere, and we’re in the middle of a mire.  Unless it’s the Big One.  God save me, I was too young.  Goodbye.   General is down, punt field right, help.  Help.  Cheers, General Chaos.  Call me Admiral Havoc.  They don’t put me in a video game.  Or a comic.  I write ‘em.  Punt field right, classic destroyer warfare.  Get your own submarine, carrying a dossier that you defected.  Boat’s dirty, Jerries.

Gentleman Ghost: Reborn Fictional Figure

Homosexual Figure: Admiration of Author

There’s something, about childhood, that attracts us to an author that we consider above us, even though he’s mocking us.  An author, to write a work, has to mock one particular person, never realizing, that, per work, they’re creating an engram for a new reincarnation of that figure, per work.  It could be a comic book, a movie, a film, a textbook, a philosophy text, a pamphlet, a state map, even a candy bar wrapper.  If someone really loves your product, they’re going to become whomever you’re mocking.  You’re a sucker.  That’s where the Gentleman Ghost comes from.  He was gay, and now, he’s straight.  The gay kid, regrets it.  He doesn’t like being invisible.

Heterosexual Figure: Embodiment of Author’s Despised Figure

You have become the despised figure of the author, and now, you are a full-fledged heterosexual man or woman.  Whether it’s Sagan, or a Crunch Bar’s wrapped from a particular size and line per field period of years, you’re now a historical figure, reborn again from the gallery of faces, the hall of masks, where we keep ourselves for rebirth and renewel, leaving the mother and becoming ourselves, prepared to be a parent, man or woman.  This is reincarnation, the renege of our mother’s hopes and the cold embrace of our destiny.

Transformative Synthesis: Rewriting of Ozymandias

All it takes, is a simple highschool ritual, perhaps later, perhaps before, to become “straight”, hidden, inside the wood, a nail, that is hammered down.  A part of the house, that is the carpenter’s edifice, Christ’s building, an ancient concept since before him, but explained through Biblical terms to us to understand with which through we see our lives.  The poem, by Shelley, ‘Ozymandias’, the invention of modern European heterosexuality, the counter against the Hindu assassin and the Islamist jihadi and the Chinese child slaver.  Simply read it, contemplate it, and determine how you are Ozymandias, whichever foe of your figure you choose, and come up with some work, mocking your mother, to be a heterosexual, straight, reborn in the Enlightenment, of the 19th century.  You have reincarnated, as a European, sir.  A Gentleman Ghost.

Great White Shark: Deliberate Fraud Victim

Homosexual Form: Ganser's Syndrome

The subject has been the victim of a criminal assault, slanged a "haze", actually a sport hunt by a female personality that has been in contact with the subject's associate in a location he has moved to, in an unintentional cycle of moving on with life, as we all do.  Whomever this mysterious party is, this woman tracking "Great White Shark", she is scorned by the simple act of the mention of another woman's name, whomever this woman is, perhaps even the same woman, or even a man, or a career decision, or a move, or a sudden betrayal of the monitoring agent.  Worse, if it's a police interdiction against the subject, a severe case often mistaken for another disorder, the realization that he practices a religious, political, criminal, or police form other than what the woman had assumed, not from any deliberate practice by the subject, but instead from a general and deliberate ignorance of the importance of these things to malodorants, a type of troublemaker that seeks control and desires abstinence from all others but herself in a female's case, a control disorder in a male's case, the female's partner, a manipulative and malanderous man-hating pedophile sociopath, a gay man that hates women except for the woman he's in contact with to spy on the subject, the woman that planted the disorder in childhood.  The subject, now a con rubel, a term not for a confidence artist or grifter, but someone that places a convex surface over a Jewish fund, the Jewish fund being the public constituency of the arts in a Jewish community, distributes leaflets and documents in some form, of a Jewish conspiracy, as abated support of the Jewish arts community, however framed as demeanor logic, meaning that it is meant to be stolen, as a mass grab, once a single fraud by the malinquent pair of original parsons, now religious Catholic elders, has been performed, to the detriment and defrauding of the Jewish community.  The subject is expected to take the blame, however, it never works this way, the Church is instead attempting a mass network heist, on every individual involved in talent theft, a concept begun in the 1930s, to counter Adolf Hitler.

Heterosexual Form: Meticulous Logician 

A standard set of private notes, would reveal that it is impossible, to deliberate set a convex surface into place as a rubel, since the rubel is a shekel, a shifting system of annotated dates and sets and values.  This is the concept, falsely spoken, of a copyright or patent, but really, of personal tradition disguised as a public set of common practice, an impossible concept, even in the meticulously designed Hebrew faith.  Hence, the subject's notes, could never be used by any individual other than the individual himself, making the notations, safe to record, impossible to even allege in court if reviewed by another party; in other words, something cannot be deconstructed, unless a workplace, a food pantry or cafeteria, and a direct editor process with many involved is involved, in any form of art or type of production or design.  It's what creative architects, term, "creative control", actually a work place focused on information, from the design of the blueprint, the lithogram, the monograph, the monogram, or the schematic, finding its roots in the tailor business, wherein one tailor, could not steal from another tailor, since no food was allowed at the tailor's office.  This way, if the individual is recording his notations, to be stolen in the convex plot, in terms of the offered material, the thieving tailor, places his or her intent, inside the material, stealing their own material, then publishing it, under their own copyright, however, with a broad reference to their opposition cause within the work, to be viewed later and then consumed by anyone that has ever seen their work, read their books, watched their campaigns, or particularly, played their video games, the new form, understanding the entire schematic of the cause they seek to oppose, imprinting it forever.  Shouldn't cheat and let in a pederast bitch, a rapist man, and a squad of Jews led by a fake priest that just happens to be manipulative and lip-squirmy gay.  A shark eats you, every time.

Transformative Synthesis: Protected Note Taking of Intellectual Property and Concept

After the experience, of the incident with Ganser's Syndrome induced, a simple Theraveda Buddhist riddle, will protect the conceptualist draft slave, and anyone can induce it, whether it's learning Latin and attending a courthouse, to read a simple print above the court house doors, reading a religious monogram in a familiar language or a holy language, including Hebrew in reference to a historical concept, or especially, an actual unique transformative measure written in a book, to be hidden from the community if recovered, and meant to be recovered, the purpose of the Theraveda system, to punish anyone encouraging thievery.  The simple formula, is taking two meanings, and implying it in a single phrase, both meanings aware to the reader, then recorded in one phrase.  It could be placed on a poster, such as "Procrastinator's Creed", or a notation at the top of a book, or a word processor, every single title phrase in notes, once the riddle has been induced, even from understanding the phrase, "Amicus Curae", to spot a pederast work of manual from title, such as the title "Chicken Soup for a Writer's Soul", the favored work of a poisoner and false friend, a social pederast's choice in inspiration.

Harley Quinn: Sexual Assault Assistance

Homosexual Form: Codependent Narcissist Comorbid

This female individual had a father that "coddled" his daughter, constantly exploited by men who understand the male rapist, the same type of bastard father he had, with aphorisms such as "daddy wasn't there", "a badass girl needs you to kick ass for her", or worse yet, "men must have honor".  This women are constantly traded between submissive, diminuitive little "faggots", as men call them frequently upon interacting with this enraged, brawling little men, who never start a fight but violently spar with their male protectors, closet homosexuals who are learning what "straight" is, a Jewish concept, dating from the times when people paid attention to Hebrew linguists in common concepts of social literature (before the Holocaust, but now, we make them teachers, revealed to be the problem, in Hitler's notes, often published in many forms, such as "American History X" - "why black people are pissed off with Jewish film makers").  No, these Hebrew linguistics experts, learn the tricks of "gentlemen", from these rapists, always the same set of tricks, "that guy taught us not to trust the Jews by giving them a job", the insight in every rapist father's mind, to how to get laid, by meeting a guy, with a job, that got "forced out by a Jew", meaning, "this job was corrupt, they're accusing you of cheating!"  Clearly, to the rapist father, the true rapist, is the man accused of cheating, when it's actually, the rapist father reporting, he could've been a proper Jew, but he wasn't gay, now he has to figure out how to get laid.  This is the subtle observation, of an anti-African bigot, a slave trader.  Now, we find our subject, "Harley Quinn", a constant rape hookup, who lives through others by getting women raped, hearing all the tantalizing stories about tricks on minorities and Jews, who don't count ever, they wanted out with "anti-Semitic" instead of "racist", so they're out, and lording over circles of gay men, their little foot soldiers.  What the subject, "Harley Quinn", doesn't know, is that she's a rape victim too.  Lesbians, hate you, they all had sex with gay men, Jews, racists, or people claiming racism, oppression, or the most damaging of all, a woman in a wheelchair forcing sex on just about anyone, and particularly their children, future "women's rights activists", the arch-nemesis of a woman who has realized she's gay.  "Harley", you're a fag hag, and just like I talk to everyone woman who has a problem when they read my work, I want to you to know that you, too, have a problem.  You're not sending people to prison the right way, by helping people, which is what everyone else does, besides Harley Quinn, people in wheelchairs, Jews, racists, anti-Semites by reason of confidence shame, and of course, race traitors, the women who marry any of the above groups (including a lesbian "Harley Quinn").  All those people, "string up" innocent men, sometimes women, referring to stealing a man's shoes.  They're all rapists.  Daddy wasn't there for them, not you, until you convert to lesbianism, "Harl".  You're not gay, you just need a conversation, with a married man.

Heterosexual Form: Rape Trauma Syndrome Counselor

An RTS counselor follows a simple set of guidelines.  First, believe the victim, so the witness parties, out themselves as false, if she reports alone, instead of with them, for later court notation.  Second, race, religion, and Judaism, are not factors, particularly tradition, marital culture, genital deformity, size, weight, homosexuality, heterosexuality, transgender (although this counts against all parties, to be discussed below), and especially, any alleged diagnosis of gender, classified intentionally by public discussion, as personality disorder, complex, syndrome, or mental illness.  Anyone can be victim, offender, witness, or fraud.  Finally, any religion, cannot be discussed, particularly Islam, which is to be especially persecuted, with a Muslim male cleric, from your local party chapel of the consulate of any Muslims involved, contacted, if refused, automatically guilty in consideration of logic, any party.  Islam is stricter than any code you can imagine, and everyone has social problems, they are not "dirt poor", they are a military culture, that means even a toddler, is an armed and dangerous, deadly weapon, let alone an Arab kid with a street knife, or her boyfriend.  Less, the second, he doesn't have his clitoris removed.  A transgender, is a personality disorder of a histrionic sociopath, a male having taken increased government privilege as a necessity of monetary recognition without understanding of resource worth, therefore placed in a position of harm and therefore a judicial bench position by the medical or legal system.  A female, has placed a cylinder, up the anus, then squatted, gorged on cheesecake or the equivalent thick confection, to expel it through her anus, typically to fake tears and honest horror of a rape victim, at drunk driving or murder charges, later the temptation leading to an ovulated cyclic disturbance known as a menstrual cramp while bowel defecating, a smell of gazpacho in the toilet, a corrupt rape counselor, a lesbian, not to be trusted under any tolerance, even if murdered and raped in honesty.  Both transgenders, are predators, the male a tool of any state function, only with paperwork, the female a highly avaricious predator that has turned herself into a monstrum of the highest report, a terrorist, a henmother, to breed a renegade spy if she births a child.  Watch out for Brazilian Pentacostal women, they are always mobsters, and pornography actresses in fantasy, actual ones with a successful rape setup of a "coke binge", they've framed a mental patient for refusing a future marriage to a "Brazilian Mob Boss" or his lady or a gay man or a lesbian, actually a Latino cop of any variety, even Contintental or Native blood, the "more the merrier".  A knife, is recommended, good ol' Harl, I'd pick a butterfly knife within campus accords, your typical area of operation.  Report immediately if stolen, or else you're now corrupt for a murder, you're with a Catholic priest, corrupt Rabbi, corrupt cop, or Dutch Country gentryman armed spy, "The Joker".  No getting out, besides purchasing an automatic weapon, and blowing the squealy shitter's pants right out the back of his gnarled skull.  If it's a woman, you're protected in prison, good work. If it's a man, good luck, men love priests, they're afraid of them.  It's how fear is, it's male, you'll see that in every woman, and you'll refuse it in every man, forever.  That's your weapon, as an RTS counselor.  Look in the mirror, Harley.  Welcome, you're a monster.  Bless you, with the Devil's Kiss.

Transformative Synthesis: Removal of Father's Sexual Abuse From Fatherly Protection

Every man, has a concept of honor.  It isn't protection, it isn't fatherhood, it isn't love, it isn't romance, and it isn't money.  These, are concepts of criminals, men unfit to raise sons.  It means, they raise daughters.  When that little girl, is in your arms, they go away, or else, you're just a scumbag skellbag, returning to your old, licentious ways, before you made it through the abyss of masculinity, by some miracle, and became a real man, the father of the bride.  A man could tell you that, any man, but he has to be married, not a bachelor, and he can't have kids.  Harley, just has to talk to that man, about exactly what her father did.  Talk to his wife.  The arrangement is brokered, Doctor Harleen Quinzel, to be personal.  Every single person you meet, is another mote of hatred and pain coming through your eyes, until you meet the Devil, in the mirror, a man that could've been you, but his mother, was an RTS counselor that went dirty, a dead Angel.  They call that an Owlman, around here.  He's MI-6.  Just get him a bottle of twenty dollar southern whiskey some day, for his own accord.  Look for something offensive, to the color of culture he wears as his alleged trademark.  The Editor prefers Old Grand Dad High Bill Rye Kentucky Straight Bourbon Whiskey, with the orange label.  He's an Irish gangster at heart.  Mom burned a Jewish whore, and put her ten feet under, with a serial killer rap on the guy who tore her heart out with a buck knife.  Sorry, Joker, bad luck.  She was a writer, you know, old mother.  Ever see, Weekend at Bernie's?  Cardinal Law, he made it.  This guy, not so much.

Harvey Bullock: Criminal Myths Expert

Homosexual Form: Smiling Little Gnome

Have you ever wanted to solve, a mystery?  Look out, Batman, that guy’s going to get you, I happen to know he’s the Joker, played by Cesar Romero, but wait, he’s just an actor, he still has his mustache on under that make-up.  Haw haw, dad told me that, I remember it forever, he used to watch this back in college, with his old friend Lansing, from the Beaglesworth program, that’s what we called the comic book fans back then, which is now.  He taught me about the time he gave his good old mother a drubbing on the pikey pole, for being a whore witch, they caught her outside the liquor store with a gun and a book of spells called informants, gee, I don’t know what that is, but I sure want to find out!  Off to school I go!

Heterosexual Form: Psychotic Literary Advisor

Well well well, if it isn’t the bitch in the mirror.  Look at what the kitty-cat brought in.  How many times do you have to rape a man, to get to his woman.  That’s what I ask myself every day, when I look at you, Joker.  I have the beard and mustache, now, or maybe the little notch beneath my nose that my kind once wore.  I’ve studied you, Joker, but everyone calls me Harvey Bullock, in my head.  Is this where my father got all those facts?  Is a book of informants, really, my Miranda Rights?  Is that why my friend from the university penman’s club helped me rape her, pinned down beneath her dorm room mattress, screaming, while I screamed about Allah?  The Arabs, they say I’m khafir, and there’s going to be another terror attack.  Well bring it on.  Our soldiers are ready to fight.  I certainly am.  Let’s write some comics.  I’m going to need a partner.  A sexual partner.  And he’s going to need a wife.  So I can have a son, two nuts in the same sack.  Hop in, fag.

Transformative Synthesis: The Rite of Moriarty

Can you figure out, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?  Well, we have a detective, but he’s Scottish, he can’t solve a crime.  Bad eyes, you see.  We have his assistant, Watson, a professional at forensics, a doctor, tempted by children, always being accused of the gristly, so he’ll save people, especially the kids.  And we have Moriarty, the character you’ve always admired, the man that’s one step ahead of the crime, because he wrote the book on crime.  This is a crime book, you know, Sherlock Holmes.  So how do we get that bungler, Holmes, into the home, with the doctor, and me, Moriarty, writing the book, on crime?  Elementary, dear Watson.  And that’s all it takes.  Watson, is no doctor, he’s an alien!  An illegal alien, that is.  Let liberty ring.  Ding dong.

Holiday Killer: Modus Operandi Mimic

Homosexual Form: Easy Mark

Some kids, are just born, to be an easy mark.  The family doesn’t want you in the business.  People want you to play along with them, every single time, and you do it.  But when they ask for a fight, a strike, a beatdown, a curse, a curr, a rebuke, a fall from you, you do it.  What are you doing kid?  Is there something wrong with your brain?  Nope, you aren’t gay.  You know how to use your left hand.  Homosexuals, don’t.  You’ve been straight, your entire life, prematurely.  You figured out how to wipe your ass, with both hands, and wash thoroughly.  How do you smoke?  Left among criminals, the birds, right when the snitch approaches.  Who’s the snitch?  The atheist.  Aren’t you one, “Holiday”?  The subject doesn’t know it, but he’s mimicking modus operandis, the causal disruptive features of other people.  He thinks it’s this and that, but he might just be the family’s one shot at going legitimate.  A man of honor, from a kid that works at a dock.  A Rhodes Scholar.

Heterosexual Form: Welcome to the Family

Holiday Killer, what are you?  A man can only play along for so long, before he figures out who the real easy mark is.  It’s someone in the family.  God.  Christ.  Jesus.  Moses.  Muhammad.  What’s the deal with religion, “Holiday”?  Fredo Corleone figured it out, and they marked him, as a cop.  Real estate, Holiday.  How do you get out of crime?  Why, you just have to convert, to a faith.  Otherwise, you’re a crazy man out in the desert, killing people.  How do you get a follower?  You were one once, weren’t you?  You offer a man, a fisher perhaps, the chance to be a man of honor, and follow you, as a functionary, an orderly, a paid employee.  Then, young Falcone, how do you move people, to your hand?  Why, you need a legitimate leader, Peter, the Pope, to advise the leadership, the wealthy, on how to deal with crime, “the poor”, and your future converts, “the reformed”.  Then you just need the real estate.  Graveyards.  That’s where you bury your dead.  Stories, Holiday.  You know everyone’s criminal technique, like the back of your hand.  There was always something special about you.  You understand Christ.  You’re James, of Nazareth.  You’re a real Card.

Transformative Synthesis: Do You Remember Peter?

Do you remember when you were a kid, trading cards?  The Royal Heraldry Association, has a guidepoint for you Holiday, if you really figured this out, if you’re “in”.  We all have special things in our families, some of us have genetic deformities.  That’s what you have, Holiday, you’re real sick.  You know?  Tribune Comics, is an associate of the Royal Heraldry Association, they write Dick Tracy.  Your entire history of fateful lines, your genetic acts of heroism, crime to arts to leadership, is right there in the comics, along with your one foe, the cocaine dealer, the teacher, kindergarten through twelfth grade.  You wanted to be a teacher, Holiday, that’s how we spotted something wrong about you.  You figured out who was hunting you.  You have a touch of the Devil, you know.  That’s not such a bad thing.  God, is the poor, the famished, the wealthy, the unguided, the graceful and disgraced, the supporting and the smiling and the ashamed and the imprisoned and free.  The Devil, is blood.  You’re in these sewers, these water mains, these skies, these clouds, these lightning bolts, Devil.  Holiday, what are you, other than the way to make this Family go Legitimate?  Stories, Holiday.  You’re the first gravedigger.  You’re a true crime writer.  Narc.

Hugo Strange: Technical Expertise Expert

Homosexual Form: Philosopher’s Stone

Have you ever proferred to find your future, your success, in a career, not meant for you?  What was it, what drove you aside?  What classic work of literature, based on someone’s piece of advice, drove you aside?  Was it Hunter S. Thompson?  The same thing, happened to him, and he had read Nietzsche, and loved it, at first, until he spotted the anti-Semitism of women’s dominance, not understanding, that it was for marriage, to a Jew, not Jewish woman, the Jewess turning masculine upon marriage, a submissive and cuckold, for you, to be a cuckquean, a man who enjoys being cheated upon.  If you can’t handle that, you are dead.  He chose you, you didn’t choose him, “Rambo”, Hunter’s secretly authored work.  Alongside Stallone, of course, a secret Nietzschean and professed Hunter S. Thompson “fan”, in the Ronnie Van Zant fashion, another Stallone fan, somehow, some way.  What philosopher did you determine you hate, that ruined your life?  Let’s talk, munitions.

Heterosexual Form: Specialty of Munitions Technique Enterprise

Drill sergeant time.  The secret to every philosophy, in a sport, you suck at, the term is suck, the big heave of your face, because you wouldn’t play with your friends.  You mastered the philosophy, because the sport, was non-necessary, perhaps all sports, if you’re a mastermind, especially Immanuel Kant, the art of inducing a psychotic break in the Irish.  If you are Irish, and you did it to your self, and you had the first stage break immediately, first rule, you are a true genius, a mastermind, the patient of Doctor Golden, his finest work, The Bane, the answer to all literature, a man who could make a bawdy, “Funny”, meaningful, in an adroitly sublime way.  He’ll never do it, everyone has themes, dully uncreative sorts, more Immanuel Kants.  But Dr. Golden loved sports, and he knew, poor athletes, are your best friends, but your worst enemies, when they have a nightmare, about your future, about what they’ve done, by making you great, instead of themselves.  That’s why, Kant is going to ruin himself, by turning himself so queer, he turns into a turducken, what John Madden terms, an irreperable loss to self confidence, at inventing the ball, from a lifelong ambition to steal from a patient, he created, with a rule, that the patient’s father had already successfully worked into shape, that the little queer, the “homo” as a sportsman calls it, had worked at the patient in destroying, to make him “Christian”, actually a fruity homosexual, like the ones Christians beat on, pound on, so witlessly, that it can’t be believed, except Jehovah’s Witnesses, that initiated the entire Holocaust, on themselves, and their future intended allies, to hide themselves, in shame, from being homoeroticists, men who juggled their son’s testicles as infants, in front of their grandfathers who showed them how, as if a prostitute, the one they never saw, to get coitus from a woman, not a man’s grandfather, a rape victim.  That, above, is your entire job, from your ideal case, a Kantian repair.  If you can’t figure it out, you’re not munitions.  Sorry.  Trade secret, Golden One.

Transformative Synthesis: Taking a Specialty Along Least Favored Philosophy for Repair

What was your least favored philosophy?  What, really ticked you off, when you figured out philosophy, that put you, in the deepest hole possible?  If it was Immanual Kant, you win, you’re a basketball fan, like the author.  If you never watched the sport, and watched stocks and banks instead, your doctor has cheated you, you are the author, you are meant to make international deals working on actual large scale armaments and weapons, and were probably groomed for it, and your doctor, was an anti-war coward, who didn’t know a major contract opportunity to himself, to kill a shitload of the people that forced him into the anti-war movement in the first place, at least in place or form, he’s a shithead, a fascist.  That means, the author is going to get involved in some family history, that he picked up at college, deliberately instructed to do so, by his handler.  Espionage, friend?  If the name, a famous one, has disappeared off the internet, you’re really in trouble.  Try to find a book on Pierre the Coward, some time.  Held Jerusalem, 18 years, against Saladin, before ordering the German Kings to take the walls and ordering a full retreat and pullout, remaining Jews converted to Islam for refusing to deport to safety, becoming the Gypsies.  Five years, longest command of Frankish Jerusalem, prior.  What is a Juggalo, I don’t know, bashes in a Spic’s skull, throws him out a seven story window.  Faygo.

Huntress: Queen of the Jews

Homosexual Form: Daughter of Infamy

What if you were a woman?  A hard thing to be, there are many girls, that become women, but few women, start this way, from the litany of their father.  These fathers, do not have children, rarely daughters.  What if your father, then, was known, far and wide, as a malaprop, a maladorous man, through injustice or naught, but always the former, spread far and wide, regardless of case precedent and logic?  Enter, the subject, "Huntress".  Her case file is a lie.  To protect the innocent.  You, her friend.  Her temper, is short.  The fuse is ready to blow, not through blood, but through suspicion.  The trail, is a hunt.  Not for Red October, her favorite book, the fantasy of nuking the third world, but of finding you, the next step, in the lead.  At the end, a body.  A mother killer.  Her own.  Suicide, is the Huntress's way, by becoming the woman, whomever it was, in whatever shape she finds, that lured her father, into richness of character through humbleness of ego, the thing they call despair.  The gallows chamber, the execution chamber, the gas grave, the penitentiary.  Death Row Records.  She has to become you, mother mother, her own, not yours, but until she finds it, she's coming for you.  An avenger.  A grave stalker.  A children of the night, plural, not multiple.  In you, she finds, redemption.  Cleansing sinner's angels, comes the clues.

Heterosexual Form: Author of Military Diatribe in Propaganda of Art

There is also a face, within hers.  Something her mother shared, with that monster, her husband, that soft human side in any monster, that sign that it was alright.  A vast, maladorous, disturbed beast, that can only transfer, from mother, to child, in both fates, the child of fear, and the Huntress, the child of infamy.  Somewhere, out there, across the world, there's an answer.  Who was the woman, these twin lovers of exile, both wonder.  The Huntress, has clues, and hints.  But this one man, this dinosaur, this land before time, is the answer.  A tyrannosaurus, is disturbed, not as a man, but a woman.  Never get between a mother bear, and her cubs, young lady of passion.  A child of fear, is not a man.  But neither a daughter, either, regardless of birth sex.  He is a tyrannosaur, and a tyrannosaur, is a mother.  A tyrant.  Not yours.  Yours, was slain, to pick up the pieces.  Carrion's flesh, comes the gourd, to bear from one, to the other.  Not out of punishment, to you, Huntress.  But to help you.  For a woman, is also a mother.  As will you be too, the older dinosaur hopes.  Healing, closes all wounds, but scars, are strength, across our hides.

Transformative Experience: Mimicry of Hidden Hand of Infamous Parent

What is a crime, but a single execution of act, for a five factor set of circumstance, always presented to have the occurance of three options, necessary and always necessary, for an action.  This leads to one infamous culpability, a single face, upon the crime, recognizable in any series set, as one face, to you, Huntress, the woman to now I speak, a Tyrannaurus Rex, the child of a female predator.  What drives a woman, to become a monster?  The protection of children.  That's the face you want, and all women, are lizard kings, not queens, there is no such thing in this world.  A man that is a king, is the son of one, that has slain a man, not out of a curse, but rather, to make him a king as well, in defense of another.  I am your father, Huntress, the third dinosaur.  The image of your father, the image of my mother, and your hint.  That cold, sorry, dead eye.  What do you see in me?  Become it, and you can write the mother's tale, of the soldier.  A lie, is bravery.  That is war.  Kingdom Come.

Hush: Counter-Hindu Reductionalist

Homosexual Form: Blinded by the Light

Have you ever seen something, so majestic, that you can only guess its beauty, and you think nobody understands, because it’s a bit of child’s play?  Everyone was a child once, subject “Hush”, and they still understand, even if they don’t want to admit it.  If you meet someone that hates it, ardently hates it, they embody that thing, they are the Bible of that thing, Christ born again, and even a Christian’s read the Bible, unless they’re Christ, and they refuse to read a single chapter, fearful of what it is.  What if you, however, went into your own hated fantasy, delved into it, dark into it, and found out what it is.  That’s what they call the story of India, and the Bat, the Hindu and the Injun, the two men with the same man, so alike, one never straight, the other never honest.  A Hindu, can never align with another principle, always based on a diverse starting point, moving together to the same register.  An Injun, always starts as the same concept, turning each they meet into this same concept, what the Hindus call “The Bat”, their nightmare image of fear of vampirism, and then, the concepts break down again, until they build, the concepts of initiation and rite, scout and wound, shaman and warrior, and a switch, unique to the Injun, that befuddles the Hindu, a race of reductionalists.  But what if you could reduce, the damage, to see where the needle went?

Heterosexual Form: Another Runner in the Night

Oh my, you are free.  You are free, from delving into your new form of logic.  So blind and bound and furious, you are high over it all, a dropping light coming from the sun, a wound up rachet and a marionette ballet, dancing across the clouds in the sea.  This is not an Indian dream, this is an Injun dream, and now you understand the error.  The clive clutch, of a Spanish seaman, long in the wash, thinking our people, the writer, was an Indian, for being Injun, the slur you now refuse to call us, our culture built on slurs, all racial, for self, your entire legacy of ritual ruined and shamed, but enlightened, from a policy called homosexuality, the defeat of a warrior from breaking the sanctity of a home, the robber’s ilk, the answer to the Mob, and the shared home, the cell or apartment or dorm, impossible to coexist in when one creates a deliberate assault on someone else, all accidents merely happenstance, impossible to break for long in terms of manipulation, since the culture first touched the world.  All Injuns know this by gene, and others, know this, only an Injun able to raid your safe place, and never so, for they only do it to their own direct, genetic line, not when displeased, but when in need of aid, from their child, with a plea of help, always offered, until the child is driven to suicidal strength, to remove mutual foe.  Once you master that, Hush, you will be silent, in the forest, black paint across your face, one of us.  How do you call your son, from a farm, when he’s in the bush, in some distant Hell, to help you, with food.  Well, you just let him join his service of choice, by telling him, what you can’t do yourself.  He’ll always put food on your plate, as a country, just him, each and every little soldier of armageddon.  Be him a United States Marine, you can’t be an author artist, or be you a domestic intelligence spy criminal, you can’t be in the Marine Corps Foreign Dispatch Unit.  Marcus Lewis or Dave Charlebois, two pathways in the same forest, two hatchets, one soul, among dozens upon dozens of hatchets per street, one soul all the same.  A lesson to Hindus, that diversity, makes pleasure.

Transformative Synthesis: Revved Up Like a Deuce

How do you do it, Hush?  Simple.  Call up time, it always happens.  Whether it’s an economic downturn, Pearl Harbor, the Tet Offensive, or the Berlin Wall falling, or the author’s event, 9/11, it’s always junior year, of highschool.  Everyone has a brief pause, at the discussion in class, turning, to the latest disaster.  Then, it’s collegiate time.  You tell your father, what you want to do, not through request, but through him observing you.  He has a dream, he says, but he’s really praying, the only way an American prays, by calling his contact, from the old days, when he became Hush, that old friend, whoever it is, and it doesn’t matter.  He just keeps asking, what’s that thing I say him toying with, what’s that thing.  Then you tell him, however you think you understand, not him, you can’t handle, what I can’t handle about this.  Then, he’ll find his way, and wherever he is, in a distant prison camp, or right beside you, working at home, as your house cleaning help, your son will put food on the table, as a country.  You win, every war this way, regardless of what the news says, since you all share the same soul.  Sometimes, you have to gesture falsely, for some other unforeseen event.  Nobody shrugs alone, Atlas is all of us.

James Gordon Junior: Malignant Rape Trauma Inducement Syndrome Through Proxy Art

Homosexual Form: Berenger’s Syndrome Phantom Induction

What if there was a child so abused, so doomed, that there was nothing else for the child, but to break through the basic social threshold of taboo, and then, prove to everyone, that he was normal, since everyone did it?  No guilt, no lie, just taking advantage of everyone’s doubts about themselves.  That, is a Berenger’s Syndrome, an actor or writer or journalist, that has been induced into a violent rapist and child molester and child lover, through an actual police brutality or mob beating or violent abuse of child, marks and bruises and news coverage and tapes and testimony, just to place the victim in a high-paid, corner-shelf movement to make gravid their victimhood.  So what if one of them, is plunged in so far, that George Soros puts him on television since infancy, as Eric Cartman, the event planned since 1951, to defend the United Kingdom, and every event staged along the way, merely by the child, as a test, of the willpower, of the American People, their capital expended, merely a rich man’s game between an old woman, the Queen, and an ancient ring of Chess Scholars, Soviet Gangsters?  Then, you have, James Gordon Junior, or as they called him in a non-sanctioned film, Tyler Durden.  I am Jack’s Colon Cancer, Hi.  Jack, is you, the world.  I make you shit your pants.  I smile.  So should you.  Nixon.

Heterosexual Form: The Self-Portrait of Achilles

What’s the best way to play chess?  To let a black kid play you, trying to win, based on reputation.  That’s the lesson of plantation slavery.  The white man, ran these woods, you’d say, to a slave, getting off the ship.  Then, you’d try to run the country, you the slave, while he took all your work, and your descriptions of what you wanted, and he’d do it, to prove he could do it better, to run the country.  For the rest of human history, you were a slave.  The Queen said, these blacks, they have real power, they were fighting men.  The Soviets said, you can’t play chess, Queen.  The Queen smiled.  “Can I?” she asked.  It’s “Can’t I?”, Queen.  Thanks for the easy A+.

Transformative Synthesis: The Prank of Truth on Mother Dearest

What would the Queen of England realize, if she thought, that a prank on a child, would prove, he was a nigger, that she was agreeing, with the Soviets.  The problem is, she would be giving the Soviets, everything they wanted, because she was a woman, and their women, were sexually satisfied, because their husbands, had more than one man, they had hookers on the side, to keep their women sexually pleased, at being desired, therefore they understood people, not pranks on children for such a position of power, it couldn’t be imagined.  So what of James Gordon Junior, saw a hooker?  That’s, where it gets interesting.

Jim Gordon: Priest Writer on Domestic Affairs

Homosexual Form: Friar’s Club Police Utility Manager

So, you wanted to be a police officer, eh.  You could’ve been a pilot, an astronaut, a doctor, a surgeon, Super Mario, any of it.  But you wanted to be a cop, you wanted to bust people, and your special education teacher, pointed you in the right direction.  The Friar’s Club, a police associate’s guild, of vaguely religious quality, meant for production of the arts, taking the local scumbags through the world, related with the production of film and editing equipment, and making sure, the work, “gets done”.  You always wanted to play D&D, so you did it.  But not ol’ looney.  He read all those D&D books, but he rolled his characters, in private, and never went to the big tournament, with the huge cup of soda, and the pretzel that mom made you, because she paid for it, watching there, with your purse.  You know it wasn’t queer, because that’s what moms were for.  Your father wasn’t into D&D, he was into television, this is more interesting.  You’re her little star.  One problem.  You’re some kind of preternatural pederast, and nobody can tell you aren’t gay.  The Friar’s Club, is for you, Jim Gordon.  You get a local priestly advisor, whatever faith they can give you, always secretly Islam, because they hate us, all of us, for inventing “gay”, something involving calling someone else gay without meaning to until they get fucked up the butt by a woman with leather pants.  He takes you aside, sits you down, and explains the score.  You get money, for taking this here gaming knowledge, whatever your game is, and you take my honkey, that’s nigger G.  You offended?  You ain’t?  Well I got some knowledge for you.  That kid over there, the white kid, the DM?  He doesn’t like it.  Gets in his mind, messes up his sex with the white girl over there, near the black kid?  I’m going to have you make TV, my friend.  I’m a special education tutor, and I can tell, you have Asperger’s Syndrome.  We don’t call it retarded, around here, but I have a friend, he thinks it’s retarded, to be smart, because he calls it retarded.  I don’t know about this Dick Tracy Comic thing they’ve been passing around here, but it seems Nazi, to me.  So I’m going to have you steal a corpse from the morgue, and watch a serial killer homo fuck it, and we can make some comics, okay?  Call me Bullock, I’m your partner.  That means ‘the bull’.  Ba’al, Lord.  I’m royal Scottish.  Straight.

Heterosexual Form: Narco-Spy on the Gaming Circuit

Well what do we have here then.  We have us a pretty polly, and it’s just got a little bit of lip on it, some vagina flap, and once you find that, you have yourself a little bit of trouble, don’t you, mister rummy?  I’ll tell you what, we don’t discuss politics in prison, because that means you’re against whomever put you there, and we’re all for the team, aren’t we?  This is the big team, I’m Jim Gordon, you may’ve seen me in the comics, but I work for Union Carbide, we make everything you’ve ever bought.  Even this here little lollipop.  Now tell me who the pedophile is, or you go to prison.  Ted Bundy’s out there, and he’s after you.  Have you seen this man, John Connor?

Transformative Synthesis: Your First Commission

You need to get that copy out there.  That means, you get a single character, in a movie.  You find a lift, somewhere, with the help of Bullock, your partner, the guy that knows the guy, and you track it down.  Maybe a college class, maybe the garbage, maybe a highschool teacher, maybe a girlfriend, maybe even the internet, you have the Windows 95 video, you don’t know people think you’re being sarcastic when you say how cool the video is.  You’re a preternatural pederast that people think is gay, Gordon.  You want to be a cop, to be Super Mario, because you were in the special education room, and you think Mario, was a pretty cool guy.  Nobody in the comics industry knows otherwise but the skell, the actual professional literati they brought in that knows everyone makes fun of everyone at their job, ever, but these comic book bozos don’t know about it, otherwise they’d make better review.  You don’t want that guy around, just fire him once he tries to get a degree in comics, which means, you’ve made your first Commission.  Congratulations, Commissioner Gordon, you’ve recruited The Joker, Gotham’s Clown Prince of Crime.  That guy, is going to be your arch-nemesis, because you’re always trying to figure out these horrifying acts he’s committing, why he thinks it’s funny, that you think Windows 95, is your favorite operating system, because it came with a tutorial, you and your father worked on, for days, trying to figure out your computer, as a family activity.  Then porn.  Dad picked the website.  Now that’s what I call, police work.

Joe Chill: Setup Artist

Homosexual Form: Hard Man to Beat

The subject, is a legend.  He’s superhuman.  Something hit him, it hit him hard, it hit him senselessly, and now, he can never have closure.  There are pieces, just little pieces, to the puzzle.  But he came through it, with his intellect, intact, more diverse, more bright, more clever, than ever.  He knows film, cinema, criminology, literature, academics, mathematics, automotive sciences, martial arts, work ethic, systemic worker’s structures, everything he knew before, but now, it’s inside him, as if a second nature, something he can’t seem to access at the tip of his fingers, but it’s instead something he can navigate when required, not when asked to explicitly cite.  The moment the subject, “Joe Chill”, hangs up that boxing mitt set, he’ll realize that he doesn’t need closure, he needs to move on, which is the same thing.  It’s normal to know the system by second nature, nobody can state simple, children’s facts as if they were something he learned yesterday.  Everybody in the trade of society knows those, only a cheat states them as if they were technicality.  No, the subject needs to earn some money, with his new found skill, confidence.

Heterosexual Form: Police Contact for Hireling Hits

Ever had an idea for a legendary heist, and tried it?  You’re “Joe Chill”’s dead meat.  He can come up with any recognizable heist, based on a film, movie, literary novel, comic book, academic subject, easily accessed form of logic, and then, contact anyone in an organization empowered to enforce rules given the subject, to entrap a circle of individuals attempting the recognized reference, with the secondary plan beneath it, the trap, the particular application of the reference offered, in a long form that is rewarding to those viewing.  There’s no fancy logic for this, other than clever, how to bust kids that are sociopaths, that think it’s evil to trick a criminal.  Crying baby boys, that want a sucker in their mouth, a piece of candy, a bunch of pedophile communists just waiting to get taking.  How much will the organization give you a head for the sack bag, anyways?  Just clear the plan, and drop the scam, undercover.  Register each culprit, the location they say they’re heading to view your piece of media you offer them, physical copy for evidence, fluoro-lighted if it’s the cops, with their prints, not yours, you’re the authorized bunky, and then, they all get rigged up, for being stupid enough, to try to do a heist, with a movie, proving they’re sociopaths, not you.  You don’t understand that it’s wrong, but you do understand it the same way the cops get it.  That you can get money, from the state, for busting someone, that’s going to cause a public nuisance, by disobeying the laws of government.

Transformative Synthesis: Understanding the Media Scam

What’s the deal, with a movie, anyways?  Just one trip, down Crime Alley.  All the deepest, darkest, most licentious fantasies, in a pedophile’s mind, a film maker, and the entire crew, and the world’s producers, shown to your child, for his fun.  Why, is media, made by a pedophile?  It’s quite simple.  Horrifying realities, like this scheme here, the Injun Knife-Up, Joe Chill, the mugger cop, an old New York and Boston stand-by, are the most brutal thing on the planet, portrayed as a senseless act of violence by uncaring film makers, who just want a convincing background for a kid, that’s going to hunt the cops, forever, thinking he’s hunting a mugger or a common criminal, working with the cops, but otherwise messing with a kid’s mind so bad that he really thinks he’s Batman, badging him on the force some day.  If you’re a product of Joe Chill, I hope you went through Joe Chill, to get it.  Some fag, thought you were going to be a cop, for being Batman, but with a gun and a badge, and now, you’re going to do Joe Chill setups, to make more Joe Chills.  That’s a rape complex, but so is every Joe Chill.  Did you get the fag, that’s using the comic, but he’s a grown man that saw your family go down Crime Alley, and he’s still eating popcorn, like a twisted dick little faggot?  It’s like porn for him, isn’t it, you suffering, as his favorite movie character?  That’s the guy, you want to nail, Joe Chill.  That’s Thomas and Martha Wayne.  They thought their kid should be Zorro, when he had a city to run.  Zorro, teaches a kid, not to run away from home, by watching it at home, despite it being an adventure, at a movie.  This kid, this friend of yours that made you Joe Chill, wants you to run away from home with him, like that Iraqi mechanic’s gay lover, in The Hajj, by Leon Uris.  He’s a pedophile, the worst kind, a sex offender that wants you to be a cartoon.  Closure attained, Joe Chill.

Joker: Guilt Complex (Atlas Shrugged, The Crow, The Chancellor)

Homosexual Form: Catholic Priest

Life is hard in poverty.  Life in hard in wealth.  Everyone is told, it's harder for some other guy.  The words of a priest, a cop, and a Muslim.  They don't want to see you, on the other side, with them.  A priest, is a man who did something horrible, and lost his girl of the same act.  Now, he's the most powerful man in the world.  He can get you, anywhere.  Every time he kills a man, in the Saturnalia Hunt of Barabas, he's stronger, he takes on your soul, he understands you, what you do, because that's what you did, to a woman.  Always a woman.  Like his.  He steals you, until one day, he's a Cardinal, having slain and raped and shot and poisoned and destroyed.  Bridges, destroyed.  Towers, fallen.  The entire legacy of man, destroyed, just for that one woman.  The only problem is, he did it to her.  He just can't remember.  Or can he?  Is that how you steal a man's soul, for an act of larceny?  How powerful can one man become, through a pact, with Hate?  There's always a place for you here, Bat, in the asylum, the Chapel, the Asylum, the Hospital.  Our Sisters of Divine Mercy.  Just look at the angels above the penitent walls of Arkham.  Madness Becomes Us, The Moon is Red.  So is Mars, however, Father.

Heterosexual Form: Catholic Cop

Protect and Serve.  The eternal epithet, you regard as a riddle.  What's a riddle, anyways?  It's two statements, in one, so we won't reveal secrets.  Amicus Curae, a healing broth, and a friend of the courts.  Chicken soup, for a man sick of cold, a rhinovirus, an eternal problem, never getting better, always changing, a human condition, but our techniques and immunities grow stronger over passing generations.  A pederast, says, "Chicken Soup for the Writer's Soul".  That indicates, you should poison someone, with a cheat, when they expect to get better, your friend a rapist.  Amicus Curae also means a "friend to the courts", an offer of assistance to a case defendent in a crime wherein the offering assistance is offering the truth of the law obscured by public opinion, to reform the courts, as if the law is being changed not by the common will, but by the proper will, medicine.  Soup is never the same twice, officer, and you are an eternal, within the human condition, the public guilt, for the hidden lie, the cheater and liar and thief, the false friend, the Jew.  But how did you realize it was a Jew, that made you act?  Why, it was a Muslim.  The Detective.

Transformative Synthesis: Find a Secret, Detective

What does a Detective, a Comedian, and a Soldier have in common?  All three codes, are shaped, by the invention, of Islam.  In fact, without Islam, we wouldn't have any of all three professions, and with Islam, you've mastered all three.  Consult a Muslim, to out the Jew, that's created the Joker, the priest, and return him from madness, his private guilt, the crime he's committed to fiend on men who have disparaged women, that which the cuckold Jew desires, and thrash that woman into the fires for being the secret culprit friend of the Jew, to make the Jew despise women, his poverty of power turning him queer, gay, then into suicide, the proper place for a Judaiser.  I would have it no other way, Detective.  Muslims don't do terror attacks.  They stop them.  You know what's funny?  A Jew can't cook.  

Joker’s Daughter: Surrogate Daughter Protégé Confidante

Homosexual Form: Low Life Grifter

You ever want to be a priest, but you had breasts?  You didn’t know what a priest was, did you, young lady?  A priest could have breasts, but you also have a butt.  The vagina, isn’t the issue, but we can’t have you about here, in Mass.  We have women, in Mass, but look at you, showing yourself off.  Get out, I killed my wife, because of someone like you.  I think?  Moving forward, to remove the starched collar, the subject, “Joker’s Daughter”, has what she believes to be a tragic childhood.  She had a mother with a genetic advantage that became an impediment to marriage, that her husband had a mutual agreement with her, on how to control.  A romantic alteration, if you will.  Actually, the result of a bondage and dominance marriage, between a Master, and submissive female.  You had a daughter, that wasn’t very bright, but then we wouldn’t have Joker’s Daughter, would we.  We all love you, little “Joker’s Daughter”, since you are quite helpful.  You were once in a movie I saw, and you were the lead role, but I can’t get it out of my head, that you were the woman, the bit part, that some guy tried to rape, that your character lady deuced over in some manner.  You need a change.

Heterosexual Form: Fan Geek of a Rare Variety

A woman is a powerful ally, if she knows she can get something in return.  It takes a unique insight to help a woman, any woman, but the woman, needs to know where to look.  Looking, isn’t a matter of your eyes, it’s a matter of how to get something.  That means, you have to be someone’s confidante, for a night or a lifetime, a daughter a man never had, the kind that doesn’t try to fuck you, because you know what a daughter is, your father never once tried, he was getting some sort of weird, monstrous thing from your mother, for you to study.  You had the ideal childhood, and nobody else knows, but you have to use your illusion, to explain it in such a way, that someone knows what the bastards of society, have put on you.  That’s a guy that you’re getting advice from, until you help him out, by letting him help you.  That’s what a daughter is for.

Transformative Synthesis: Finding that Rare Leading Lady

Do you know what fandom is?  It’s a slang term, people rarely understand.  Someone thinks it’s watching a film, being into music, learning how to use Frank Zappa songs to turn a CIA agent into an acidhead because they already are, now Frank Zappa has even more power over the world (his father has a CIA agent, ha).  No, fandom, is absolutely falling in love, with an entire series, because you hate it, hate it to death, because there was a rare character, that was in about one entire instance of the entire series, and they didn’t put it in more, because a censor’s kid complained that they were too sex, too evil, too tough, et cetera.  “Too hard to beat”, they say.  That little character, who ruined the series by not being included more, to you, is everyone you try to help, and you.  They took out the character, because it was the censor’s kid, who was too hard to beat, by the censor’s kid, now everyone is the censor’s kid, that views, the entire series.  Each of those hapless losers you turn into winners, was ruined, by what, in their head, they think that guy was, an entire circle of people, who did nothing.  Not a single thing.  But you know that that one censor’s kid, who was playing video games, with their parent’s own franchise and company’s career, trying to help, put that in the minds of every kid you need to help.  That’s a mother, Joker’s Daughter.  It’s the same thing, as a son.  

KGBeast: Second World Agent

Homosexual Form: Just a Little Boy

You know, when we’re young, we’re all little boys.  But you, were just a little boy.  Nothing special about you.  There were always secrets.  There is a myth, that a Soviet spy, is from Russia.  Far from it, that’s your boss, the Russian Army.  Soviets, they are always Soviets, and for a time, we had the Soviet Union, an open federalist pact of states that worked for us, the Soviets.  No, now, we are far more advanced.  NATO, develops munitions, and we have tinker toys, and we buy from them.  The Warsaw Pact develops sciences, and they have fraudulent cheats, and they purchase specialists from us.  I am to be a piece of hardware.  A specialist.  But first, I must live.  Then, I will die, for my country.  Money.   The American Dollar.  What that is, I do not know, but it is not a snake.  It is peace.  Pussy.

Heterosexual Form: Secret Agent Man

Ever come out of a college dorm with a pair of panties in your pocket, heading to a medical inspection site to see if a corpse is an alien?  An actual, real life, extraterrestrial entity, that some Marine blasted, while walking his dog, thinking it was his neighbor’s cat, due to the hallucinogenic fear entity it taps into you nearby, of walking through walls and be able to transmute doors with a mere touch, instead of a lever tap magnetic coil that gets through even a chain lock fundament, awake or asleep, a loss of time and space as if in a fever, walking about a room, with no sense of time, passing through a door, actually being interrogated, as if a cop?  That, is what it’s about, KGB.  A Soviet, is a collective union of farmers, poor, those who work for the rich, the greedy, greedy being the necessity of support for self, therefore we poor get money, for working.  I am highly paid.  In love.  Sex.  Nutrients.  Vitamins.  Minerals.  And horror.  Human horror.  Oh, and bats.  I am rather fond of your comic book, Batman.  You may call me Superman.  I am God. I can fly, you know.  On Red Wings we take Wing.  Better in Russian, you know.  Poorer grammar here.  Ingrates.  Huns, all of you.  That’s me.  Cha!

Transformative Synthesis: The First Cheat in Amsterdam

Well you have a girl.  There has been a town selected for you, from Mister Capital, the Spy Agent.  If you do not lay her, the right way, you will be burned for espionage.  You are the alien menace, not an extraterrestrial, but someone who thinks your country, is right, not correct, meaning, there is no consternancy of pact, nobody is offended, when agreement is made.  There is nothing to learn.  Learning, is what you do, KGB, not doing, not teaching, not instructing, not acting.  Learning, is what  Beast is for.  You are not a dog, a wolf, a wolverine, even an eagle.  You are a hawk.  Not a thief or spy, but rather, you watch, and then, you move back, to your master, your home, where you will make a report, to your father.  He will teach you the next stage, when you have a son, a Demon.  Then you will cease to breed, unless a daughter.  Then, you will join the military services, of your home country, a Proud Man, indeed.  The act, later and prior, I know you are curious, is simple.  You must seduce the poor girl out of the frowned club, the one who knows what you are into, and she is into it, because you have reconnoitered, she has a job, that is known, and she is not from your town.  You must take her to your prom, but you must go stag, she must have a tip, for a date.  Then, you must go to Amsterdam, before you lay her, and lose your virginity, to a prostitute, that pays you, because you signal, as KGB.  Otherwise, we know you are a lie, Terrible.  You will be incarcerated, with no release, since you will not have a lawyer, you will not be able to resist killing.  It is narrow, but so is analyzing an entity.  Something not of this world.  Your first subject, won’t be, either.  And they will all need help.  That is your real job.  Helping the victims of the scourge.  They seek to learn.  But they also teach.  Hence your advantage, in only learning.

Killer Croc: Chronic Depression Fixation on Bowel Movement

Homosexual Form: Primordial Fixation on Self-Biology

The subject had a criminal personality, a pedophile, regarding him as a sociopath as a child, the term "sociopath" used by child molesters to denote anyone who refuses to offer aid in terms of business, resources, friendship, subordination, or influence, of any type, as well as being desired by anyone, or receiving attention, meant in the mind of the pedophile, the broader form of the disorder.  "Sociopath", is a Scotland Yard term, planted in the Utopian community, a political community based on the notion that an entire world government could be taken over by pedophiles (later renamed "Marxism", "Communism", "Socialism", "Italian Fascism", "National Socialism", "Sandinista", "American Socialism", "Maoism", "Soviet Socialism", "Commune Business", "La Famiglia", "La Cosa Nostra", "The Mafia", "The Tong", "Yakuza", "Jewish Socialism", "Scientology", "Wicca", "Church of Satan", "Cult of Satan", "Neopaganism", "Persel", "Jehovah's Witnesses", and other terms, functioning on manifesto theory, with the unitary diagnostic of "sociopath" planted by Scotland Yard used by each group, or any other group, to spot a potential pederast).  The child pedophile, took away the ability to practice a form of art, from an ill mother, given to the child, to share with the mother, often leading to the mother's death at sorrow of the child losing his ability to practice art, leading to the subject being undressed in private, many times the family as well, an additional factor in the death of the mother, leading to her hysteria in attempting to fix family conditions, instead of the only course of action, taking violent revenge on the pedophile child that preyed on the son or daughter, the "gator". 

Heterosexual Form: Primordial Fixation on Art

The childhood art has to be recovered as a fan of the art stolen, moving into the old forms available with an appreciation of the art in question.  This can make someone a collector, raconteur, or even a dealer of the art that was stolen as a child by the pedophile.  The pedophile will always be out there, often a man of community that others pity, because he faced the mighty crocodile, a man without a heart with a dead mother, a Stalin, a Man of Steel (the Russian translation of "Stalin"), Stalin once enjoying tailored uniforms as a child, before his thumbnail was removed by a Russian Orthodox Priest, leading to him exterminating the entire practice of the priesthood after getting top marks in Seminary School, save his final examination, which he refused to matriculate for.  An A equivalent in each subject, since his first young studies, except for Latin, with a B+ equivalent, since he was a tailor, he could never master an Italian dialect; a true British spy, a Scotland Yard.  The only man in Soviet Russian command, who was not an outright sex offender.

Transformative Synthesis: Rediscovering of Childhood Art Linked to Maternity

It's never as simple, or as complex, as gator thinks.  In many ways, he's already done it.  The secret, is always in something quintessentially simple, a mother that hates her own culture, the same member that robbed you, with one little insight, offered on a recognition of resistance.  That, is the entire hint, and if you want the more complex, broad form, it's in the film, "The Devil's Advocate", starring Keanu Reeves and Al Pacino.  Everything happened, in that movie, the priestly advocate that wants a lawyer, the tortured wife, the whore cousin, and the job, as a journalist, an advocate of the free press, whatever career you take.  You just can't be afraid of the gun.  The gator, never goes away, but at least you won't be the Devil.

Killer Moth: Police Agitprop Sales and Requisitions Service

Homosexual Form: Just Another Dealer

Anyone can sell pot.  You just need a girlfriend, that’s a pot dealer.  Otherwise, you’re a narcotics trafficker, a common, low-level syndicate henchman, that’s “gay”.  What’s “gay”?  That means, in syndicate terms, that some liberal little lowlife, is going to call you a homophobe, for knowing how underground, anti-Nazi politics work, a future Neo-Nazi shithead Christian running a photography shop making social earnings off you understanding what a slang term means.  But you, have a girlfriend scoring your pot, so you can get that little queer hazed, into a flaming gay homosexual, a common petty ante nigger, until he marries so deep into obesity and negro culture, that his entire family has their cock tucked between their slim little thighs.  Like proper little slaves, people that watch the news for their information.  They’re called “narcs”, cops that play video games that play your busts, and they aren’t your customers, but they’re your power.  Warn your clients about them with simple film tricks, anything from a Christian movie that your wife watches, they obey, use them to bust out the competition, the queer dealers without friends, until they die, and shave them out, get them to shave their heads, until they vote for a liberal minority rights politician, until you get money.  But you can’t do it forever.  Eventually, there’s going to be a Republican leader, that your little proles, these little liberal nut scratchers, consider “racist”, hence they do anything he wants, little niggers that they are.  They love squawking, these black canaries.  So how are you going to fix it?  You better check yourself, before you wreck yourself, as the narcs are fond of saying.

Heterosexual Form: The Main Man With the Master Plan

What’s a “hate crime”?  Putting a snitch, in a family of honor.  You did it, congratulations, you are now “queermo”, a faggot homo, in the drug community.  You are either a cop, or you’re buckwheats, the entire family shifts conservative radical Republican and kills you.  You have to cop up, and force each and every single one of them into poverty, starting with the narc you married in, ending with the dead friend you betrayed.  That means, the cops offered you a badge.  Only, if you did the right thing, and saved the dead friend, and that means, you’re going to kill him, with a knife, not a gun.  You are now a police officer, sir.  You work in underground signals, hunting niggers, proper and wiselike, taking on the enemies of justice, the annoying sketchy community, the anti-Semites, the Panthers and Yards and Homos, all capitalized as per their demands, on police reports and enunciated as such in courts, as their schooling would demand.  Have you not paid attention, sir, to school?  How have you passsed your basic civics classes?  I don’t know, perhaps that’s why you’re here, in court, about to go to federal pound-me-in-the-ass prison.  It’s not a movie, you know.  It’s 23 hour lockdown triple-max prison, for that gun we found on you, playing out Great Salton Sea.  “Killer Moth”’s movie, is No Country for Old Men.  A cop hitman, from out of region, hunting a snitch, in a family of honor, a police family that happens to be involved in pot dealing, for Mob affiliates, of the cops, before blubberbutt got married in and started crying rosary tears, at her little son having “so much violence in him”.  That means, he can’t jog, he doesn’t know how to use his legs, mama got so much chunk she can’t drop no hunk.  On the toilet.

Transformative Synthesis: Recruiting Donnie Brasco

You’re in deep shit, dealer man.  But you have one thing on your side: Sports.  You know gimmicks, you were a professional athlete at one time, before the pipe, before sports, the girls, the gals, the gab, the pot, the movies, the films, but never the music, that’s lame, that was for the girl, you stole, in body, from your dead friend.  But there’s one book, that you always loved, the one that always helped you make it, through those trying periods, between times, in sports, the one he ignored besides some chapter, some Biblical paragraph, that made you envy him.  The Bible.  If he picked Book of Leviticus, you have saved him.  That is the one, that taught him, how to avoid any diagnosis, of any type, in any system.  That means, he’s a badge.  Joe Pistone.  Your dead friend, the one with the stolen girl, your fellow dealer you killed, was Joe Pistone, FBI, undercover extraordinaire, Mob Psycho turned Vigilante, given FBI access only because he was so piss drunk he thought it was funny to bust his own family, Lefty Ruggiero’s cousin.  Just gotta put him in the box, Killer Moth, and explain yourself.  Kill fatty.  He won’t do it, he’s just the flair and the action.  He’s working a different case, but you, are the boys in blue.  Then, comes the knife.  The movie about him, and his alias.  Whatever it may be.  Unless he’s “The Batman”, Killer Moth.  Then you recruited a spy.  He also read, Book of Apocalypse.  They always come in pairs, 00.

King Tut: Trap Communications Specialist

Homosexual Form: Fan of Conspiracy Academia

What really moves you, kid?  Every kid has a weird catalog to see if he’s a spy or a domestic, or a video game set, or a chemistry lab, or a ratty toy, or a dog, or a deadbeat dad, or a beaten mom, or a pie machine called an oven, or a grocery list route, or a bunch of kids with knives to initiate in, or a dead grave.  Unless it’s the last one, given the impossible and you’re some kind of genius like Banksy, you’re probably just a regular kid.  Unless you notice something so enraging, some perfect theory, you can’t beat, in one of those forms.  Then, you’re Banksy.  What did you do, kid?  What’s wrong with you?

Heterosexual Form: Linguistic Traps

You specialize in linguistic traps.  What’s a linguistic trap, you ask?  You understand, some signature form, hidden, by someone, who understood it on an academic level, placed within the basic coding of society, the root structure.  It’s called the Matrix.  Take this game, Loderunner.  Mine is for Gameboy, nearly impossible, if you’re hyperactive, a disorder noted by low intelligence and violent behavior.  I’m trog-like in my sleep, with action movie games enhanced by nightmare fantasies of aliens, actually police chasing me, and I’m non-violent unless approached, then I hulk, as if dropping into a pit, me, then you.  That’s all.  What’s that?  That’s the basic unit knit, the term for a wave of theo-thought, of the Knights Templar Hindia, the Mother Theresa Order, of professional thief assassin spies, for the Vatican.  Long out of service, since the 1860s, but I’ve used it ever since.  Each of your code sets, has something, called a “Factor”.  The Factor, is what you use, someone’s ranking system, for how well you did it. The lower, the better.  Maximum, means you bandwithed, into a zilch, you claim to have beat your grader.  That’s your ciphers expert, not a traitor, the test.  If you want to be Cipher, you win.  You got out, you get to eat steak with him, maybe in your mind, hopefully in real life one day.  As soon as he figures out you’re not Judas, Mother Theresa, me.  Then, you did his job, in reverse.  You destroyed him, for making the Matrix.  He was transgender without realizing it, because the film, fixed him, at the expense of the producer’s soul.  He played Job, an old Christian math game, on a calculator set, with an adding pupil, a cursor on the hand glued on, made by Christian-Jews, the Knights Templar Hindia, to forcibly convert them, to Catholic logic.  Now he’s gay all over again, and so is anything he touched.  That’s what Loderunner is for.  The spot, of whomever isn’t allowed to play, because they have an undesignated figure, in a lockpick term, for requiring a law informant parent, a snitch, to get in.  That’s a Jew, in a high order, of Scotland, the origin of the culture by allegation, actual Roman medieval, kept alive by the Scottish, to keep their lines pure, free of mental illness from breeding with Germans and Natives, of which Mother Theresa is both, the people Loderunner is designed to be impossible for, since it features a gold-wither, pronounced ‘wether’, a method of a diagonal with a sound effect, that makes the hyperactive, jump, marking them as an Arab slave, to get the chaser agent, the Troy, the enemy, convert to Islam, when he’s humiliated, for being Un-Christian, by Orthodoxies, any type, actually meaning a United Nations Univeralist, someone who wants to remove harmful practices that occur by nature of refusal to integrate.  Pop hint, big hint, buddy.  That’s every King Tut, it’s all Loderunner.  You always betray Cipher, Matrix was a mistake.  Transgender, is a converso, you don’t kill them, like Larry Wachowski did, in his bigotry to his math being better, but harder, so he could drive a car, without valving the steering wheel, into a passing bus, like everyone does, since the Matrix and the related Trilogy, and games, and movies, and friends of the culture, came out.

Transformative Synthesis: The Spot of Your Origin Point and Duplication Thereof

It’s simple.  Figure out, what made you love the theory, of being educationally enriched, by a game.  Then make a game, alone or with friends, over and over, until it shuts down, from the leadership, you or someone else, getting married.  You’ve one, you now have your linguistic shape.  You have learned, from universalism, safety in progress, to have a society where we can all live, without psychopaths careening through freeways and burning down buildings and practicing vigils at night time masses to terrify elderly.

Lazara: Undercover Narcotics Agent Inside the Corporate Morass

Homosexual Form: Stolen Woman From a Corporate Suit

Did you ever want to marry a man, and it turned out he was from power, not in shape of form, or even mind, or family, or town, or friends, but potential?  But you waited, you got cold feet.  Cold feet, are what he had too, but you just didn’t notice it.  Everyone thought he was as cold as ice, except you, you saw the bright side of him.  Then, some poser comes along, and freezes you, someone using an easy song or jam, someone cool, that wants everyone to be still for them, some traitor that wants everyone to stay quiet while he purses out his family wisdom, taught to him by his father, from a Biblical text accompaniment to his religious conversion centuries prior, on how to convert a woman away from power, something held in the halls of those already established, so no reform can take place, so no one may be saved from the rich, those whom you thought you would marry into, not knowing your future husband wanted to save the world, and this new one, the cool hand, thinks he’s saving the world by serving the dictators of his family’s unwitting oppression, except for that one man, feeling lucky for his life, beaten into remembering that little book, passed down from father to son, keeping them in the morgue.

Heterosexual Form: Corporate Suit in Damsel’s Form

Throw it away, throw it all away.  Lex Luthor, you were supposed to be Jewish, why didn’t you save her, why did you trap her in redskin, a wax candle, she thinks is a clay doll, her culture now, the false Christianity offered to a convert, to mark them as something other than a flickering flame on a wick, to be snuffed by a priest’s burnt fingers?  Smash it, smash it all, and take a corporate gig, and force coolhand luke, the prison cowboy bimbo bitch with a mind of hard brass and a tax accounting skill of the gods, to come.  Fuck him, in prison or not, with one thing in mind.  You sell out, every cholo skellbag that looks like him, and you know what a cholo is, he’s always a Hispanic somehow, not a Latino or a Native or a Negro or a Chino, no, he’s Hispanic, the universal Catholic term for ‘brown red deer’, meaning, someone we caught in the stall and we’re going to hang up in public, with a little ‘nigger gun’, what real Catholics call the Irish, you now, Lex Luthor, false Jew.  You thought you could convert, and save the world, in the Hells of Litany she comes from?  You were wrong.  Just go it on your own.  As for you, “Lazara”, you have one trick.  You narc, every single thing, you hear about, in Lex’s world, by accusing him, of being raped, by your husband, with a standup schutzstaffel trick, lowercase, so they’ll all think there’s a romance you both hate.  It’s the simplest setup in the world.  A mob-up.  The best of both worlds.  Tits and a comforter.  Bunky belle.

Transformative Synthesis: Throw Away Your Ethics, Save Someone Else

Ethics mean nothing, you should realize that by now.  They all want to fuck you, and all you wanted was money.  What did your introductory class at college say about money?  Men rape you with money.  Are you a man, a big footed whore, a rapist, like they all said your friends were, one at a time, when you helped them with fashion, meant for you, Incan Mummy?  No, you were meant for greater things, my Dancing Girl of the Mountains, entombed in a dark cave.  Don’t let them take you alone, wasps covering the insides of your shriveled wrapped, your sherpa, inside that dark place, that little freshman in highschool’s smile in that new womb they place you inside in the mountains, dancing you to death.  You have a sacred task now, from both Luthor and Freeze.  You figure out the entire business, of your corporate savagery, the Catholic Church has you figured out for.  Don’t narc on it, don’t narc on Freeze.  But you frag everything that happens to Luthor.  Kill the false Jews, all of them.  They didn’t die for Country, God.  They never did.  Make them.  For you.  Lazara.  The False Jewess.  The Real Messiah.  It was always your Holiday.  October 28th.  Lazarus Chamur.

Lord Death Man: Staff Officer

Homosexual Form: Colonel Ass Cancer

So how does a military officer, get promoted, beyond Major or Commander, to Colonel or Captain, the latter Navy?  Well, you have to strip yourself of gender culture, and place every sexual disorder on yourself to deal with “lawsuits”, throwing someone “off the ship”, “off the base”, “out of the plane”, or “on the snake” (for spies) violently, with a hand swing, across their scalp, into “the pond”, the drink, the literal ocean, drowning them to death, “for the sharks”, typically a baileen whale passing, for insubordination, refusing an order to scrub the trow, their cheeks, on high watch, so they don’t get “windy”, stop smoking their gums, the only way to keep alive on a nautical vessel, a tobacco pipe for the Captain’s Staff.  Still, to this day, unless you want the ship, to crash, into another ship, cancer be damned. This aside, you have to give someone ass cancer, and choose wisely, because Frank Zappa is always going to be your son, unless you want to be “Lord Death Man”, the administrative leader, a conversion to Jesuit Military Code of Conduct, Respiraton Angel, slurred as a Respiradol user, by the Jewish psychiatric convention, since they think they invented the prank of giving an anti-Semite, ass cancer, colonoscopy treatments and dependence on mayonnaise for the rest of their lives.  You’re actually supposed to use it on a criminal, that used the hot dog funk, the pork meat, cheese, and sauce trick, on someone to give them ass cancer, with hot dog funk, instead of using it on anyone else, for any reason, to become a Colonel.  If you cheat, they know, the Jews don’t complain, that you’re an anti-Semite, unless you’re an anti-Semite, that’s for “the dojo”, to get you, the Shrikes, the Colonel Commando’s Corps, the Eagle Scouts, hardy are they are, the faggiest dojo boys in the world, killing you with a judo strike called the cigar steal, the hat movement, sometimes performed by the Swimsuit Issue, in case the Sonic Youth, the name of a fighter pilot’s son or the Colonel’s adjutant, has been taken down by a “Nixon”, a forced dump on a cigarette smoke.  The hat movement, of course, is just the signal, to the dormitory area of residence, in Naval slang (unless it’s college, then it’s a killing frenzy, you really pissed off a mother, Tigerstrike), that someone is going to go lansdown.  Only way is in the Navy.  If you join the Mossad, we hunt you, your unit, forever, with “enemy police”, called the tabloid press, an announced funeral and prepatory arrangement without the parents present, and your killer, is outed as a sex offender, so he’ll hunt you, for missing you, in a direct strike, with the cigar steal, a Jesuit failed in his kill of a Nixon strike, he was on “dope”, heroin or opium or adderral, something he “couldn’t handle”.

Heterosexual Form: Administration Leadership

You are the commandmant officer, of a base.  Not a ship, not a Naval office, not an exchequer account, not a Pentagon office, but a base.  You are in charged with requisitioning materials, supplies, fighter’s advice (not fightercraft, morons), and supply units, for the entire base, Lt. Colonel, to, dear help me, Five Star General, Theater Command.  Five Star Admiral, Nimitz, never again, Naval Code, unless it’s the “Big One”, the Greys, if they “come back”, more of them show up, then it’s NASA’s war, aside from one incident, in “1942”, when a full fighter scramble managed to “take one down”, a scout for “brig one”, the mother of “Alice Charlebois”, codenamed “Zero One”, the mother of this author, looking for the author’s grandmother, “Shrike Leader”, hunting a Dusseldorf, an alienist wizard and associate of HP Lovecraft, a Howard Hughesist in the Black Baron’s ilk, a legendary wizard witch alchemist of the 3rd century, AD.  They sought the end of the world, for “power”, being homosexuals, standard ilk.    You are a Jesuit command administrator, a military order, meant for non-denominational Christians, to run military affairs, to work with the European world, in Asia as a diplomatic officer to Caucasians, in Africa as an affairs liaison clerk, and in South America as a major generalissimo commander.  Except, in Cambodia, you are the “President”, a secret “black” position, since the Vietnam War, the resistance to Pol Pot that had collapsed due to Nixon’s bumbling at blowing the operation due to a journalist named Walter Cronkite’s “stop the fraud” movement.  The slaughter of millions of refugees is the result of the blood on that hateful Satan Hitler’s hands, at being kept privvy to only what a journalist should know, about the most powerful man in America’s battle with alcoholism, one Cronkite shared.  Cronkite, however, was a homosexual desiring the hand of another in marriage, Nixon’s wife, since Nixon had the same giblets, and Cronkite, believed himself heterosexual, a “mumblyface”, someone that wanted to do something someone else did, for sexual success, instead of his own masturbation fantasy.  A falsely accrued victim of a Colonel, actually a Rabbi’s victim for Mossad, without a Swimsuit Issue to avenge him.

Transformative Synthesis: Swimsuit Issue (By Sonic Youth)

To be “Lord Death Man”, you need a nephew.  If you’re a man, or a woman, to be a commandant, you need a nephew, to teach the art, of driving.  It’s a simple command, to catch anyone that has colon cancered, an innocent man or woman, someone who hasn’t colon cancered someone else.  You have their parent, Scout’s Honor, take them out on the road, before the parking lot, in the winter, deep winter, in January season if it’s a spy’s kid, someone that nailed an innocent prior victim of ass cancer with a spy’s mission, or if it’s a criminal’s kid, Christmas.  If it’s a staff honor’s kid, Marcy’s Day, to hunt pedophile hunters, as a cop.  But what if it’s a vigilante’s kid?  It’s his birthday, and if it’s the Ides of Janus, it’s the Owlman, Hatred.  You’ve done it before, every time, Lord Death Man, and you’re going to have to do it, to each nephew and niece, for the rest of your life.  Then, the kid will t-bone people, “nail ‘em”, anyone that’s given someone colon cancer, even another Lord Death Man (Colin Powell framed himself to see what a CIA had, he still can’t move his left colon muscle, the kid killed ten people in Iraq with a hand grenade launcher, best trade for the Presidency he ever made, but not as bad as Nixon in 1952, when he didn’t kill JFK for whoring his wife to Pat Nixon’s niece for a bag of candy, that was actually a Halloween prank on Nixon, as a joke and laugh, on an old Republican friend from the war, Nixon and JFK close friends until their death).  Hunt well, my brothers.  For Lord Death Man.  Sisters too, you get t-boned, eat that steak.

Mad Hatter: Entitlement Complex Thief

Homosexual Form: Delusions of Pederasty

An individual that has had a particular item, practice, or piece of ritual publicly called a term that they are violently offended by, in a public setting, with few individuals of the same perceived social group present.  They now believe that the object, is a sign of whatever the name is, as their own object of strength, with themselves classified as the term, and the object giving anyone with the object construed by the accusation the same identity, therefore the subject, "Mad Hatter", is entitled ownership of the object, the person, and anything associated with the object or person.  Despite the subject claiming otherwise, the combination of perceived object and name meaning other entitlements, it only means pederasty, the concept that they are a pederast, and that any individual that is also a falsely or truly accused pederasty, is a member of the same group, later with rules and rituals applied.

Heterosexual Form: Maneuvers of Others Away From Pedophiliac Tendencies

An individual that has been given some respect or responsibility in the community, as a consensual, friendly, community resource, without authority beyond report on prior information and polite remainder of possibility when close to invocation of necessity, plus voluntary visitations indicated by a member of the community as a helpful specialist in the culture of cultism, groups of force and non-consent (both pedophiliac in root culpability), and assistance against any groups applying power words, authority based on institution, or law enforcement culture, even actual law enforcement in the case of necessity of arbiters or attorneys or such resources to assist with law enforcement, openly and easily accessed.  The individual can even become a therapist, nurse, psychiatrist, or hospital doctor, if they are fortunate enough to have the proper support.

Transformative Synthesis: Social Political Empowerment

The offer to the individual of social political power, meaning a modicum of responsibility to help others, without authority or law enforcement or mandatory compulsion being offered, is all it takes to assist a subject with this issue.  Politics are not hierarchy or structure, this being the incorrect and fascist assumption (dating to the Roman Legion period of history, the term 'fasces' being that for the mutual symbol as a primitive herald of the Legion formation advancing into battle), politics instead being the interaction of individuals in social networks.  Empowerment, is not power or authority in the traditional sense of common media, the defamatory works against people we dislike for temporary state or civic pursued interests of economics, the only real form of virtue there's ever been among groups, but instead, the ability to assist others, as an impartial agent, important for one's later career, hence the resource offered to help an individual become an empowered, non-entitled friend.

Mad Monk: Vampire Guru of Transformative Form

Homosexual Form: Cults and Logic Buff of Fearful Self-Realization

Do you know what it is, to feel fear?  There’s something in the dark, a Schrondinger, looking at you.  What’s a Schrodinger, you ask?  Why, that’s someone, that wants to keep you, as a cat.  It’s you, you know.  You’re a little genius, but one thing is missing.  You need a friend, in your sleep.  And it scares you.  You have something missing, a little piece of you, that isn’t quite there, because your mother wasn’t.  Not the father, that’s something else, that’s a Rabbinical Scholar.  No, it’s your mother.  Something electrocuted her, even a little, maybe even a wall socket.  At some point in your child hood, you noticed, mommy died, but was still there.  Now, you’re Schrodinger, a little genius.  You are afraid, of every damned movement and litany of human history, not the big stuff, but little things.  Charlie Manson, Jim Jones, David Koresh.  They don’t haunt you, though.  You’re afraid of dying like them, every single time.  Maybe even a frame.  No, it’s starting to get to you, little cat.  Where can you find Schrodinger?  Schrodinger, never found Schrodinger, either.  You’re always your mother’s cat.  Or maybe, your mother was the cat.

Heterosexual Form: Transformation of Others into Magnet and Steel

A monk, is a type of clergy, without any official nomination or status. A monastery, is staffed by educators, not imitators, but training staff for medics, to assist you.  Your entire purpose and professor, little mother’s kitty, is to go forth into the world, and help the opposite sex, by simply paying attention to them, and refusing.  Each woman, who makes a serious proposition, to a monk, is actually attempting to marry your mother, who is non-existant, a non-halter, a cat, and she thinks the cat, is you.  She will then have the man of her dreams, and once she falls in love, she will comport to becoming them, becoming her father, in woman’s form, the hardest type of woman one can imagine, a valkyria, a female warrior without any of the compensation of any trade, no propaganda poster of foolish imbecility nor necessity to prove something as if a movie starlet through own trade of face through an actress in secret writing to mock the world through one man’s shame.  

Transformative Synthesis: Getting Even

You will find yourself, in your first cult.  You will be an initiate.  It will be a social setting, a gathering.  There will be a signal, spread there.  You will be expected to trade it, publicly.  One woman, is remarkable.  She is your ally, she is another monk.  If there is more than of you, or one of them, they will have departed.  Simply withdraw, that one particular signal, everyone is giving each other, and you both will do it.  Then, you turn heterosexual, in reverse zygote, she will privately signal, after he withdraws his public signal, and then, you will abscond, into the night.  You will both be vampires, “Mad Monks”, artistic intelligentsia.  Everyone else, is going to move to a commune, and fuck children.  Their own.

Mad Stan: Wars of Our Fathers

Homosexual Form: Association with Grandfather's Foe as Collective

There is shame, in secrets.  A figure, stretching before time, that we think is a soldier, our grandfather, a veteran, our father's father always.  But instead, we see another figure, some mighty king, some general, some dictator, some woman conqueror, some politician, some police officer or civil rights leader or bigot or monster or murderer, that we think is our grandfather.  These wounds can heal, if we just wonder, what if this mythical figure, that has replaced our grandfather, was our friend, one of us, the other side, what if it could've been another way, if we could only prove it, just to one man, ourselves.  Then, born in that seed of hate, we become that man, the first journey, and soon, all of those around us are that man, the same, and we believe the world is our army.  With this spirit bag, around our neck, this shaman rite, they can and will be, the ancient rite of the hunter, with us leading forces through jungles where we cannot see ourselves, but we hear ancient and mighty roars from our childhood fantasies, these studies of ancient worlds in novels and games and museums and old legends of beasts of the sky, roaring around us.  They are not imagined, they are our fellow soldiers.  But how to we pull ourselves out of the blood, before we add ourselves to the list, the next famous man shot by another doomed grandfather?  Where does hatred end, "Mad Stan"?

Heterosexual Form: Mastery of Culture of Rival Commander

To remove one's self from a collective, from an immersion, one must locate that one man, that thin red line, that grandfather, and strike him away.  This is your world, you must know, who was that man he faced, that he so respected, just to live.  Who did Ted Bundy really represent, to that cop, that knew how to take him down?  Who was Martin Luther King Junior, to that cadre of assassins?  Mossad, who is Hitler, tell me, who is Hitler?  How did you all live?  Your grandson is at stake, and he wants to know, you aren't them, and your father, isn't a fiend, but he wants to know you didn't abuse your son, your son abused him, and how to move on.  You have to master, every articulate form, within your own experience, your own study, your own ethnic class, your own race and subtype and form and religion and ritual and history, of that man or woman, that famous titan, and become the king of destiny.  How do you become something so mythic as a dead man, a murdered queen, a martyred murderer, a pilloried saint, an old cop that beat a man with a nightstick?  You have to wield that tool, that sacred dagger of Judas, in your hand, not his, and become fear.  You have to become madness.  You have to become a professor, of war.  Then, you will rejoin what little tribe you have, and see, you were never a leader, like that man, you were just an inspiration, and they know not, that they were lit afire, by your grandfather.  But you, have joined theirs, this blood, of sons and daughters, together, life itself, the life of battle, even in a peaceful olive branch between a grandfather and grandmother, enemies, to unite doves, the same Mad Stan as before.

Transformative Synthesis: The Prodigal Son Returns

Where does it end?  War?  Peace?  Fire?  Sky?  Night?  It comes back to the place, it all started.  You will be cast out, you will be shunned, but you will see the signs of all your fathers, thrumming through you, your front, your forefathers, your grandmothers, your world, your organism, your worldly sins, your confessions, your forgiveness, the tears and salt and gritted blood that makes you feel you are alone, that you are a dictator.  Then, you must face your worst fear, in this old tavern.  You must see the foe you have created, that you will soon understand was not just yours, but your entire generation.  The kids, the little kids that are the American soldiers now, battling you, Tojo, the Japanese General, the simplest of forms in the longest of words, plans in effect of mastery of demonstration, but applied so simply by so many in philosophy.  This Mad Stan, is Tojo, the most fearsome foe for an automotive mechanic that had to fix Corsairs being strafed and shot while drunk and smoking Lucky Strikes and laughing, laughing at it all, bases firebombed and more kids coming inbound falling to sharks, sometimes you and sometimes a general, while those buzzing planes came overhead, so many, that it all seemed mad. How could one man, be so hard to beat?  He was you, Mad Stan.  Tojo was you.  So was that dead kid, that you found, on the trail.  All men and women are magicians.  Those are just the trails, in these boonies.  You'll find 'em out there, Mad Stan, when you leave Gotham City.  Some day, you'll see it, in the forest, eye to eye.  It won't be human.  You'll see the teeth.  Knives are best, I hear.  That's your spirit power.

Maxie Zeus: Martyr Complex

Homosexual Form: Service Guarantees Citizenship

Have you ever wanted to serve in the military, but you can’t figure out, where you fit?  You’re using a movie?  Sir, you already did your service.  George Washington, you were a Soldier of Fortune.  A mercenary bandit.  You’ve been relegated to the past, an old war hero, a World Leader.  Premature ejaculation, sexual assault complex.  Protected.  Franklin Delano Roosevelt, you had a back disorder and you took snake venom, to become an industrialist.  A savage fiend of metal and coal.  You’ve been relegated to the past, a titan of industry, a World Leader.  Menstrual post-dystrophy, envenomed for sensitivity to erectile sweat of other men.  Adolf Hitler, you were a legendary motorcyclist, bicyclist, and ladies’ man, you were Johnny Storm, the sex king.  A self-promoting athlete, the last of his kind.  You’ve been relegated to his past, a cult of personality, a World Leader.  Self-rape by clergy letter, forged, to women, of any faith or skin color you chose, and you had to have one of each, except for the wife, your most hated but envied woman, the language you mastered first.  Richard Milhouse Nixon, you were a legendary submarine hunter, a destroyer crewman, hunting those dark and deep submarines.  A lawyer and hunter of men, a man hunter cop and a legal mind of such finesse and finest of graces that nobody could hide from your scrutiny.  You’ve been relegated to the past, a bonfire of the vanities, a World Leader.  Racist alcoholism, by reason of bowel-nicotine intake disorder and narcotrafficking on military installation.  Barack Hussein Obama, you were the greatest Mormon tirade man in campus history, joining every closed order with the bow-tie personal bargainer prank, but I can’t see you, you chose Feyd-Rautha, a fellow Buddhist.  A comedian with nothing funny about him, a sick joke on the enemy, giving your foes money so they die, poverty and broke, unless they’re willing to snitch on you, and take your punishment, hard medicine, to purge you of their order, your comrades.  You’ve been relegated to the past, a knife fighter of the frontier, a World Leader.  Inverted Daoism, a Tao inner world and a perfect Dao outer sphere, a blinded light to the Irish foes, making you our greatest alliance.  You can’t serve, subject.  Where do you go now?

Heterosexual Form: Endowment to the Arts

What was your story?  Are you an old bushman?  A king of halls of time?  A dictator and savage, a legend of the field?  A monster of men, thrashing your life away, screaming at the inequities of justice you secretly, in your mind’s eye, believe you have brought upon yourself?  Will you scream racial slurs at God, in the Halls of Jehovah, a man of skin color of knights?  Or are you going to sit like an angel, in a little computer somewhere, with a whiskey draught on your lips from love, my little Cherna Gast, the one they called Jean of Arc?  Leadership, is for the vain.  We’ve proven it.  Our time in the sun is over.  Military command, is no longer ours.  Now, we are writers.  Athletes.  Jockbowlers.  Spree champions.  Halo commanders.  Even the greatest of them, video game designers.  It’s your time, Maxie Zeus, our time, forever.  A movie, a film, a cinema.  Something about us, made us obsolete, not from being useless, but from being terrifying, in our capacity, to kill.  That’s why we’re the Gods.  You’re at our altar, Sir.  Call me Hermes, the Messenger.  Richard Milhouse Nixon.  Fucking fags.  Light up.

Transformative Synthesis: What Were You, Once Upon a Time?

Someone always saw something in you, something dark.  It was your father, you thought.  No, that was just a joke you had, that he pretended to like, you were a kid.  It worried him, your little joke, that you were going to run for office, your kind comes from rotted soil.  Such bad, miserable little seeds, us warriors of the divine, the Lighted Ones, upon Soiled Perch of Submarine’s Knell, hunting in Black Knights of Water Divine, Land in Sight but no Toil for Plight.  No, you wanted something else, some little dream, in these deep waves, you sought something, some ancient mythic monster.  You saw him, didn’t you?  Eyes, glittering, golden glitters.  I was afraid of aliens, monstrous things, sharks, sharks, a sailor’s drowning death.  Just a movie, the Abyss.  But I felt bad, for that little mousey, trapped down there, watching him released.  And then it came over me, racism, pure, utter, unspoiled, righteous racial bigotry, for taking an innocent mouse, that deep under, just for a friend.  Why are you going to risk a mouse, on a man’s quest?  Just to protect you, from me, sailor?  Some men are made of knight’s blood.  I was born in a crucible of fire.  Black, bloody flames of fire.  Red October.  Maximillian Zeus.  A movie man.  Where’s your story, kid?  What does the ferry man, say?  Ask Charon.  He’s Jesus.  They don’t let him touch guns.

Mime: Femme Fatale

Homosexual Form: Peering Jester

A selective mute, is an odd thing.  Neither deaf, nor formative, they don’t speak, nor move their hands.  A girl birthed out of theft of sperm, their fantasy is to humiliate another person with themselves, as if caught naked and running, hence they don’t show their hands unless moving in the act, and are only caught in public in accusation, unseeing.  Rumored to have invented handsigns, the insulting type, they are merely directed their way, as if accusing after an act.  It’s a hard life, isn’t it, Mime?  Well, Daddy’s here to cheer you up.  Remember the guy that invented that, to have sex with you?  You’re a lesbian, Mime.  Don’t get near me with the knife, I know you don’t have the guts to use it, but you want them, on my hand, from your gizzard, through the blade, up my scrotum, which you think, is a phallus, my testicles, actually my ovaries where yours are, but rather, inside my belly, my bulk fat, where you want my child, you testicle stealing gizzard.  You have a problem.  Let’s make you a cop.

Heterosexual Form: Deadly Knife

The agency’s finest hitter is the Mime.  Sir, she’s deadly, fast, sweet, charming, and elegant in bladed defense.  She wrote that on a list of things we can do, and we find this D&D stuff, fascinating.  She came in here with a live kill on her hands, what she said was a pedophile, with a penis drawing on a pendant she stole out of his truck, and it turns out, she knows clay sculpting, pottery, and how to spot a drug dealer at five hundred yards, even if he didn’t do nothin’.  Let’s put her in the police, and he’s in quadrant alpha, until he narcs out how he got here, then he’s out.  Oh yeah, one more thing.  She wants to marry him.  Does she know she’s a lesbian? 

Transformative Synthesis: The Dungeon Crawl

Try to fuck a guy, on your terms.  You walk up to him, on the bar, pat him on the shoulder, and say, ‘mister’.  He’ll say, you’re done, where’s your father.  You just found a drug dealer, Mime.  How’d you do it?  You’re looking, for your father.  That means, your father, was a drug dealer, and you’re from a bust, gone wrong, with a female agency executive, the slang for a female informant, getting shot and killed, on a raid, with you “in her belly”, you were a drug dealer’s kid that shot a cop, stolen out of the womb of his heart and soul, for killing a pig, a real mean guy, your new boss.  You’re Girl Friday.  Just find Daddy, and bring his balls back for us.  You’re not a lesbian, when you hunt.  You get to be straight.  Just don’t fuck him.  Looks real bad for us.  Unless it’s a guy we cleared.  You get one of those, and he can’t know how you do it.  We’ll find a way.  Don’t worry.

Mister Freeze: Perfectionist Center of Self

Homosexual Form: Delusional Egomania

A complex from having a high pressure father, typically arising from the combination of a father involved in public service of a government, even a postal officer, and being a natural legal mind, an individual who is ascerbically antisociopathic (an individual that always takes the opposite position towards their own empathy, outside of a field of paid labor), "Mister Freeze" has delusions of their own importance or self worth to others, ignoring their own self-improvement and necessity towards their particular skills in these alleged necessities towards helping others in the first place.  A shoddy friend, a fake genius, and most of all, a reckless scholar, Mister Freeze acts on anything he sees or hears, placing modifications into others in the delusion of repair, actually acting randomly and forcefully, a disorganized pattern rapist with acts of manipulation, regarded as pederasty by his (often her, with female Buddhists) victims, destroying lives by the scores of hundreds by the time they die.

Heterosexual Form: Self-Ambitious Public Service

The orderly, assisting form of "Mister Freeze", is not one that helps other people, impossible with the combination of the demand to work for free (the father) and the personal skill to counter one's own point (a neutral persona in terms of empathy when pursuing one's own interest, a natural scientist).  The subject, has to focus on their own traits to improve, recording the research into their affairs to be used by others, any accidents with self consulted, not with a father, or even a father figure, but a woman never dated, or if a female Buddhist, a male under control of the state, the actual higher government, of a region or agency.  Once romance occurs, the entire relationship is spoiled, and lawsuits ensure if the subject has relapsed, necessitating immediate termination of contract, illegally with intelligence services and assassination of necessary with high-power job contract skillsets such as bio-warfare and of course, with the personality, counters, the entire intent of using a "Mister Freeze", to avoid a disaster in terms of legal probability of diffusion of guilt and blame towards all but the subject, and a seizure of any facilities logic insurance to make an entire industry corrupt, such as in the famous case of Andrew Carnegie, relapsed by unionization of factories before unsafe conditions occured.

Transformative Synthesis: Realization of Self-Capability

The individual must understand how they've harmed themselves, in any harm to others, as in standard science anyone must be an attempted savior subject, even a death row inmate understanding what he or she has done, so they may then be interviewed to see "why they did it", especially "Mister Freeze", but not a task to be performed by "Mister Freeze", or else a transfusion of lie is placed into the system, with the subject replacing themselves, with the murderer, to punish murderers for being the severely relapsed case subject (this would result in, instead of non-coercive, non-punitive therapy being available for potential offenders, more "Scared Straight" and canyon death run programs emerging).  Once understanding of self-harm, through harming others is understood, they can begin research, on how to ameloriate their own self harm, never others, to develop a new synthetic idea of understanding, in how to to be kinder to others; namely, the subject, not how others, can better serve those around them, with the subject observing.

Mister Zsasz: Stalker Erotomaniac

Homosexual Form: Savante Uber Personality

Every serial killer knows, they could've been an FBI agent.  A Shin Bet.  A Chinese MSS.  An NKVD for the Soviet Union.  MI-5, elite operations Scotland.  A Canadian Mounted Patrol headcracker, taking down a rapist with a fist made of steel, turning her into whoremeat.  This is the most intense of jobs, for a man like Ted Bundy.  The question is, how do you make it, just one kill?  Just one?  It starts in childhood.  You have someone, always a sibling, taking the attention.  Maybe a mother.  Maybe an infant.  Maybe a dog.  Maybe a neighbor.  Maybe a book.  It taunts you, and you hit it, in self-defense, and you aren't just gay, you're psychopathic.  You are a prodigy savante, and you seem stupid, but you aren't.  That's a poet.  One of the greatest.  But you're gay, as all great poets and literatis are, people that cannot be grasped in the mind.  A small town girl, just can't accept it, can't she.  So she rapes you.  She gets her friends together, they surround you, somehow, someway, hunting you, the way you'll hunt them, all of them, some day, and she rapes you.  Now, you're a bastard.  A monster of the night.  But a man is watching, smiling.  A large man.  With sunglasses, big hair maybe, a suit, a tie, and you know, he has a cigarette.  He's not the man from the movies.  You know who it is.  A federal agent.  He doesn't look like an actor, but he knows how it is.  He's been there.  So, how do you play it, ol' sick fuck?  We going to hop in the sack, for the action?

Heterosexual Form: Savante Tracker Agent

Sometimes, you just have to slam a bitch, up against the wall.  You need your gear, your resources, your horse, your studs, your nails, your knives, your guns, your watches, your needles, your heroin, and your mind.  You need a friend, and he needs to be stacked to the brains, someone just like you, except not evil.  Or was it, the other way?  What is gay?  This kid, is going down hard, and you're dumping him in, you were going to do it anyways.  The first kill is always a cherry, a straight kid, to kill him, figure out every woman he's ever loved, Sweet Sixteen, your first set of kills.  First, you're going to help him.  But can he get you out?  Then, they drive up to your house.  The FBI.  They give you a pack of cigarettes.  Traveling, they say?  You look up, sad.  The Big House, you ask?  Maybe, just maybe, they call you Elvis, and ask you, how you cut your inseam.  Congratulations, Agent Zsasz.  You just made the big time.  You raped the right bitch.  With a little help, from the toad, your captured criminal, the informant.  That's what we call law enforcement.

Transformative Synthesis: An Act of Rape Against Your Persecutor

Your informant has all the stacks and registers you need.  I hope you picked a political economist, because he's always the worst rapist scumbag you could ever meet, that's why you picked him, isn't it?  You didn't want to kill innocent people?  You didn't want some sweet countryboy in the Navy, dying?  You didn't want to kill a debutante at a southern ball, you wanted Karl Marx's wife, Andrew Carnegie's whore, a steel mill girl with a big steel toed metal boot that wanted to join the Mossad but couldn't get in because the "numbers" weren't there, she was too stoned to dial her phone when she came up with the idea of killing Hitler, the liquor store clerk?  You made it, kid.  He tells you, how to get revenge, and maybe, just maybe, whoever that woman was, she's dead.  Then, it's cleanup guy.  Now, you remember her friends, the rapists.  (Dog Will Hunt).  (Baby Don't Hurt Me).  (Karl Marx Was a Fed).

Nightwing: Man of Justice Maligned by Media

Homosexual Form: Authority Figure Trapped by Engram

The subject is a man that wants to do good in the world.  That's on the right side of the playground, with the swingsets, the monkeybars, the slide.  He's watching the other kids, walking along the edge, and he knows they're alright.  But there's always been something wrong with it, and he can't quite place it.  He knows, in his heart, from his mentor, maybe his big brother, maybe an older kid, maybe a neighbor, that all the scans, the sketches, the shows, are wrong, and this image, of those wiseguys he sees, are more than he appears.  Is he a cop, or a criminal?  What is wealth, in this world, his poverty of sight, replaced with falsehood of friends?  Is he trapped, in a school, telling him to be corrupt, a man that would pass a signal for a nice guy, to toss an outcast behind bars?  Is that what it's about?  Or can he make a difference?  This is in his mind, always, the question in every movie, planted with the wrong choice.  What is the Mob?  Is it just a film, a myth, a question in his mind?  Or is the kid with less money, both him and them, a matter of friends, busting someone's head in, because he has a rich patron, a kid with a comic book collection?

Heterosexual Form: Undercover in Plain Sight

To share your life, your form, your art, you must go into the den of the enemy, and you must do it young.  Once you're in, you meet your arch-nemesis, your old bird, that thing you were afraid of, the symbol of freedom, the thing that old bully, that old mentor, took from you, with a piece of newspaper for a dove to shit on.  You just teach your enemy, your ways, and some day, he'll return to a phony, someone who failed, as the thing you will fear some day, in that old print, and he'll test him, and save him, some way, some how, by showing that man, just how dangerous the world is. You were always meant to be saved, they always saved you, your mother saved you.  She introduced you to all those friends, you were always a little robin, a bird on the night.  Those kids, they were on their own, they were soldiers.  But, maybe, just maybe, that one kid, you taught your ways, your sacred trick, will save a kid, from some disaster later, with that bit of insight, into who you were, before you met him.  You'll repeat your trick, your entire life, mastering both your faiths, and brokering alms, between the two of you.  You will not be your mentor, you will be that character, in the print, and he will become, you, your arch-nemesis.

Transformative Synthesis: First Heat on the Fire

You have go in, and go in hot.  Just make the first approach.  How hard is it, to share your humor, to make the first step?  All those kids on the empty side of the playground, the meats, the poor kids, poor kids like you, they can't make the first step, they aren't in the swings and slides and monkeybars.  But you, you have something, in your culture, that makes you different.  Just look for the one, the bravest, Goku, and you pick him, and you teach him, show him your kindness.  A brave man never refuses, and once you do, you can show him how to be Batman.  Then, he will become Robin, and Batman is yours.  Some day, he will be Nightwing, and everyone else, will thing this bamboozled oaf they're playing, is the kid he could've been, that destroyed your family.  But you won him.  He's whatever fictional figure, you imagined, as your mentor, that man that tried to grease you with phony print, bird droppings, and now, he's a real bird, and you're, spreading that mustard seed, every place you go.

NKVDemon: Clandestine Professional Labor Rights Activist

Homosexual Form: The More Graceful Side of Peace

Your father was a great man, once upon a time.  A man with so many jabbered sayings coming out of him, from dealing with so much ludicrous and licentious dealings of extraterrestrial sorties and trauma medical situations and harbridge venture positions, well, he was a truly musky sort.  If your mother was a great woman, I apologize, I do not know her, I likely shot her, after she killed the girlfriend, of a KGB agent, it was never reported, but it is fine to see you are still alive, far after her death and of course, born after her death as well, Blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb Jesus.  I am no CIA, my face is as white as the snow, you as well as I know, the CIA is a black man or woman writing textbooks, enslaved to this consumer consolidate index.  Whichever parent told you, was the spy.  Otherwise, you are not the one I am looking for.  Good day.

Heterosexual Form: The More Articulate Side of a Snake

There is something devious, in a false history.  Hiding from something, means your father, is a fraud, or your mother, is a lie.  If they are together, it is both, making you a viper, a simple type of snake that is the most deadly, deceptive to avoid classification of in the lack of an exotic name.  An exotic name, belies the harm of the creature’s approach, whereas the viper, is hard to catch, hence we wish to avoid catching it.  Do you see, young Demon, what you must do?  You are a simply a humble magician, that is all.  Any job, you may do, and you may do it well.  You will have children, I am sure, many, remember to tell them this.  Never tell them they are gay, it is my essence, I have given your mother, false essence.  Essence, is who we are.  Blessed is the Fruit of Thy Womb Jesus.

Transformative Synthesis: Ignoring One Side of Thoreau, Therefore Both

Have you ever had an informative journey, through books and literature?  You’d like to think everyone has, but most people, haven’t.  Books, are to spot us, spies.  There are reams of books, hundreds, to spot just what type of spy, you are.  Counter-intelligence, is a lumber profession, the entire purpose of chopping down a tree, to spot a criminal.  Your father was a great man, but you, are in hiding, for his time as at an end.  Merely read the delivered text, secretly, Walden Pond and Civil Disobedience, by Henry David Thoreau.  If you skip Walden Pond, you win.  You read Civil Disobedience, and snitch to the authorities, on the Demon above you, sending them to prison.  You will not deliver this book, counter-intelligence will.  We all go to prison, young Demon.  You are a viper, not an enigma.  We know what you are, you are common.  You are trash, guttersnape.  An infection.  So much work to do, eh doctor?

Owlman: Son of an Unchained Doll

Homosexual Form: Rejection of Faith in Unknowing Obedience

Harley Quinn, what have you done.  You've killed a man, orphaned a daughter, and terrified a city.  The Mossad came for him, you know.  A stolen butterfly knife, a Jewish woman in love, a Gentile man that didn't understand rape, and a Menschen with a buck knife deep in a woman.  Why did you do it to De Salvo, mother.  Why did you turn that angel, that rape counselor, into a murderer.  They turned around his mind so bad they turned him into a Boston Strangler, with Israelis inflating his kill count.  Your sister, my aunt, Francis O'Neill, raped, stupefied on drugs, destroyed.  A Haganah father, written off as a gangster.  A sport hunter of a Schutzstaffel, a rogue Washington, a sperm stolen Pucinelli, a Pacino, released from prison, a child prostitute hitwoman gone mad, turned into a songbird cartoonist, with a whale butcher knife reserved for murdering reptile monsters from another world, three of them slain in the swamps of the Bridgewater Triangle, to save kids playing sticks to go to war, the big one, against Hitler.  The Dusseldorf killer, the Black Baron, dead, to save Hopkinton, the John Warren Lodge, the British Crown's link to the Boston Freemasons ever since.  They spared you, Mother Alice.  As an experiment, ordered by Queen Elizabeth II, herself, personally, and placed with with the finest family in history for invention, the bloodline of Emperor Nero, Julius Caesar, descended from Judas Iscariot, the hidden cop that never died, with the pigs, each of us, a single sacrifice of a life, for a grand invention.  Could you reform yourself, Mother Alice, with me, young David, the Owlman?  Here you have me, a man rejecting faith his entire life, while mastering aspect, with some preternatural instinct, that was only known to an ailing, beer drinking, Irish priest, God, as the Injun blood that made the entirety of this list you read now, possible.  Hell for you, Alice.  As all mothers go to Hell.  But did you have to take the Huntress's father, Bernice Lamb's father?

Heterosexual Form: The First Freemason 

Kill them all.  Uncontrolled violence has always been the only pure form of justice.  Injustice comes from control, an attempt to control our outbursts, our revenge, our emotions, our logic, all of it, is rational, a foolish thing, for a weak man, impossible to escape, only leading you to strike another.  My target.  If you strike me, I shall strike you a million times, and you cannot purify yourself, you will only purify the injustices you see in others, my Court of the Owls.  Your own life burned to death, horror, seeing everything around destroy itself, with every ounce of control against me you attempt to reexert, with my one rule.  Never resist a police officer.  If I break it, I die.  I've broken it.  That's when I realized who I was.  Not Catholic, not Protestant, not Jewish, not Buddhist, not Hindu, and not Muslim, all sacraments completed, and certainly not atheist, any other considerable logic.  No, I was human.  And it was primal, it was desire, for women, for hate, for sex, for drugs.  I had been focusing on success, riches, wealth, power, all the things that hurt people, children, like those I had seen around me, the ones who didn't strike me, the ones who were struck, like me, slowly shaped, into tools of tyranny.  No, I would fight.  Why couldn't a Bat, the Batman, that little comic book story, I little suspected, was from my people, the Mestizos, our world, the New World, our blood, this entire concept of heterosexual and homosexual that all teenagers struggled with but I mastered due to simple race, desirable to women when other men desired me out of fear.  Why couldn't Batman, be Evil?  

Transformative Synthesis: Calculus in True Form of Intent, The Ritual Mass's Realization

A priest, doesn't know his ritual.  No, it's a simple set of algebraic motions, with nothing more than a contradictory space, the link between the priest and the intended ritual set, established by prior instruction, as if each person in the Mass, or the one instructed, is the intended goal or target, with a matrix determination on lexicon on logic, the ritual's terms and purpose.  So how do you know, when you run from a cop, he won't catch you?  Simple.  He doesn't think he's right.  Now you're the cop.  Congratulations, Batman.  You just faced your worst fear.  A police chase.  And they didn't chase you.  How'd you do it?  You were honest in Reconciliation, and you obeyed.  Then, you broke the rule, years later, and you suspected, it was the broken rule.  Right, or wrong, that vow renounced to do that little cardinal sin, a little better, it doesn't matter.  You paid attention, to court.  The priest, may have been wrong.  He's human.  Not a monster.  A Freemason, is just a police officer.  He could've been a banker.  But he's out there.  He ran from a cop.

Penguin: Strangely Misattired Ethnicity

Homosexual Form: Mono-Optic Focus on Detriment

What does it mean, if a man has a character he so loves, because he suddenly understands everything about it?  It's not the word, the look, the show, the origin, but it's what it can get you.  That girl, that you think nobody else wants, because you want her.  Guess what.  If you're the "Penguin"?  You were right all along.  Your entire life, you knew something was wrong, and you knew exactly what it was.  A dog bit you, giving you the power, of the gods.  You knew, since you were a child, what evil was, and it wasn't the dog, nor was it you, nor even the bite, but something you did.  The dog spotted it, and it was your inherent mastery of truth.  Dogs are liars, like we are, but you're taller, friend.  Now, "Penguin", our subject, can only focus on one side of the truth, logic, and not the other side of the truth, pattern, in a cycle where our subject knows how to display truth, but not create a simple tool out of it, the ability to own a dog, and let the dog teach the man, now grown, what truth is.  A child, only speaks.  An adult, listens.

Heterosexual Form: Emphatic Connection to Fact

The effect, of a dog biting a child, is a simple miscontrument of term.  What, is "gay"?  You think, the dog is gay, and you're evil, and as an adult, you grow up thinking, the dog is evil, and the dog is gay, and you're neither.  Truth be told, the dog, is as evil as you are, which is the point of the dog, evil is truth, and the dog, tells you.  Someone, you figured out, how to be the dog's friend, you were a smart kid, subject.  All that's left, is spreading your form of evil, your form of truth, your improper strategem, to others, while you keep your strategem, to yourself, so the dog doesn't bite you again.  That means, listen.

Transformative Synthesis: Mastery of Arabic Linguistics

What is Arabic, anyways?  What's the deal with Arabic?  Well, let's look at language.  We have the assertive form, the only thing a German can speak.  That means, we're indicating, the function, of a plan.  We have passive form, the only thing a Hebrew can speak.  That means, we're analyzing, the benefit, of an event.  Buddhists, mix assertive and passive, to make a statement, of the inversion, of self, as if a mirror, the form ungraspable, truth never present, yet evil in both self and another, hence, the strategy, is always perfect, but it is always, the proper path for both the self and the other, a natural addiction for anyone, the Buddhist.  Finally, we have the Hindu, the assertive as the benefit, and the passive as the function, so everything is hidden in form, but always deduced while in structure, the riddle, anyone that can take two simultaneous meanings.  A Hindu, is always lying, because they tell you, just what truth is.  So what, is Arabic, subject?  Arabic, is neutral, purely neutral.  There is no assertive, or passive.  Perfect social politics, mastered mysteriously, with a simple concept of intuition taught to the speaker, while telling someone else, depends on prior forms discussed.  You're a dog.

Penny Plunderer: Stock Tell Analyst

Homosexual Form: Self-Defeating Personality Disorder

Have you ever watched a sitcom, made by a homosexual man, to trap you in the talent industry?  If you think you’re funny, for being depressing, a victim of an adult pedophile that’s the same age as you, then yes.  What’s an adult pedophile?  Not a pedophile, someone who rapes kids, an adult pedophile, someone who rapes adults matching age?  It’s someone, who was beaten into secrecy, by their parents, someone who sobs when they masturbate, so they can’t get an erection with a woman, without taking a fecid dump, that their mothers, “aunts” the proper term they use, meaning they perform every task but discipline (the only task of a mother), call “hearty”, meaning, just like your father, a prison convict saved from his country to perform menial management work by a dictator traitor to his origin sphere of philosophy, philosophy that leadership wants used against an enemy state or domestic source.  That, is a self-defeating personality disorder, sir.

Heterosexual Form: Savage Knifeman of Humor’s Ilk

How do you tell, when something funny happened, actually funny?  You spot, when a person in power, has made an error, and when you know you’re being monitored, you report it, for a query tell, when gestured in response to an odd event.  Every human is asked to do it, dozens of times a week at least, even in a jail cell alone, by guards, on what the guard is doing at the moment.  A single gesture, maybe an opinion, maybe a game changer on a political election, otherwise a teacher’s signal.  You spot, cheats, like anyone wants to do, because the cheat, is a shitter, someone that takes a heart dump, someone that works for a federal traitor, a valueless spy taken on for incompetent politicians to have yes-men, and hordes of them, to be admired, for letting other people do the work, on grounds of their success at betraying their own morality.  One of you, knifeman.  Don’t get into politics, you’ll drink your own piss – that means, you won’t wash your hands.  We always spot it, you make jokes about piss, constantly.

Transformative Synthesis: Savage Revenge on Self Through Extended Hit Via Market Query

There’s one among you, you little poor clowns, that’s a traitor.  One among you, that’s a premature pedophile, a real child rapist, one of you, is following the other ones, using something called “larchy’s games”, trying to figure out what everyone is doing, reporting back to a corrupt source of your ethics in some location, a broadcasting network, what Tesla called a dolphin’s hose, a misuse of a poorly engineered technique to crash a “strata”, a stock margin, on people’s livelihoods, for “districting”, to win an election for “Democrats”, actually conservatives of either party.  Democrats, are always the label, internationally, since 1910, 1933 in book notation, to match Hitler Youth quandries used by these organizations, a conservative really a fascist, not an anti-Semite, as myth would have you believe, in fact a self-genocide after deportation of “ilk”, non-gendereds, those that obey government orders to leave upon warning from another state of the future pogrom populace, and only destination available is safe, all others rally mustered, except “MI-6” signal, a universal cease and desist signal from self, for “Republican”, British support, during “Wartime Transgression”, imminent “Holocaust” as Jews call it, actually a “Beaker Signal Stand”, an U’Niall ‘Hostage Grab’, attempting to save self from government deportation notice to death camp if trapped.  Once you signal the traitor, by marking them, from the prior mark that then deports as the traitor to trap you, you are now a queries expert.  If you’re an U’Niall and you did it, you must be Inspector Stone, MI-6.  007.

Peter Pan Killer: Applied Games Specialist

Homosexual Form: Trickster Deviant Pusher

Have you ever wondered, what if there was more to a game of chess, than just something you can’t beat?  You may win the game, you may understand the rules, you may even know the strategies.  But you can’t beat chess.  There’s something about the game, that’s unbreakable.  Or is there, a special rule, that’s there, that would break the entire theory of chess?  It’s there.  Chess, and all the strategies, are designed by left-handed men.  Not women.  No chess player, can understand women.  Unless you can learn chess, then understand women.  Then it’s going away, and your woman, is on the right side, but a different side, on the board.  You’re now a trickster, a personal social deviant, a drug pusher, a pederast.  How do you get out of that hole, being such a skilled savant with even a drugstore puzzle, you could rearrange a political congress of a college, with just a piece upside down, and on the corner, so someone couldn’t help but brag about placing a black-marked puzzle piece next to a cloud, beneath a rainbow, a racial epithet?  Everyone has to grow up some day, Peter Pan.  Wendy is waiting, and she still loves you, before you found the game, the chessboard.  Before you met the Queen.

Heterosexual Form: Games Master

Chess, checkers, Risk, all of it, each game, has a fundamental pair of strategies, each a cheat.  One strategy, is a secret in the game, passed down in legendary families, that played the game.  The other, is your family’s nemesis, meant for the son to play, against the father, to pass on the cheat to the son.  Once you do that, you can create any strategy you want from your adventures, and explain how to duplicate them, to an entire world.  Just remember, a King, is nothing without a Queen.  A poor player, assumes the King is useless, as a piece, and the Queen, is the worst thing, to sacrifice.  Your Queen dies for you, that’s why she’s weak, protect her, as a warrior, let her win.  And your King, is your ultimate lure, your son, it’s his trap, his blood, his dagger.  You, are the Pawns, the Father.  You’re the Capital, the Obstacle.  You help everyone else win, Pete.

Transformative Synthesis: Defeat of Self Inside Private Art

There was a game, once, that you played.  You became someone, in that game, it was simple, it was mindless, but you misused it.  You had to do it.  But there was something else, to that game, that turned it evil.  A work of art.  A painting.  A piece of literature.  A biography.  A class.  If you were the Editor, it was Grand Theft Auto: Vice City.  You did it to survive, to win, to live.  You became the Peter Pan Killer, the Chessmaster, the King, your own Son, and the Queen, was your woman, your Sword.  Time to lay down the blade, Prince.  Take yourself, as you are, just a writer.  Place yourself, as the hero.  Place your artistic inspiration, as the villain.  And place yourself, in the art, and kill the villain, your artistic inspiration, in the world you were inside, that situation you had to survive.  Read it, and just keep it, in private.  Some day, you can do whatever you want with it.  Those are your memoirs.  Rewrite it, of course.  Autobiographies are made of stranger stuff.  Are they?

Pirate Cavalier: Bawdler Huckster

Homosexual Form: Mob Hitman By Misdirection

So, you just realized, that crime, has been outsourced, from Roman slavery, to Christianity, for two thousand years.  The real criminals, are corporate mercenaries, mercantile banking thieves, working various trades on behalf of freelance community arbitrages, called firms, requiring training, highschool or above, to operate in, as what they call a “mobster”, a criminal, classified as such by order of the government, until a “police officer”, someone who enforces their own conduct of will, meaning they are beholden to all the laws of the state, simultaneous, on themselves.  Other than that, you’re free to go, “perp”, you’ve perpetrated on yourself citizenship, as opposed to “perpetrator”, you are indicating someone else is a citizen. So, you want to be a storybook gangster?  Well, that means free snacks, movies about porn, and a girlfriend.  Just blast ass in a criminal’s face, for a Mafia extortion plea (Mafia, they understand the law, but not Citizen’s Rights, the plea invented by Christ, that is perpetrating state citizenship on himself, a potential elected figure, anyone in Christ’s system, now mandatory, except for felons, the guy who drops a false tip on Christ, the Citizen’s Rights abrogate, if arrested and charged, no conviction necessary, Judas).  You are now, a contract killer, working for a single woman, in a movie production square central, typically Hollywood, per contract state of origin, through a “funions club”, a reference about your feet, subject, “Cavalier”.  Oh, the stage!  You aren’t gay, because you’re getting tits in your face, constantly, but your girlfriend looks underage, because she’s really sexy looking, and dresses that way.  And probably is.  You win, except the Mafia indictment, meaning you can’t press charges on your Hollywood female contractor writing you as comedy parts played by Jews.  You hate them, don’t you, Ratface?

Heterosexual Form: Computer Layman Design Architect

This is how it is.  You are now, a technical contractor, who knows art.  That’s how you know, what mathematics are, a method of taking people, and moving them.  Have you ever heard of the painting?  You invented that, yep.  There were people, in a room (brilliant, Pirate Cavalier), and we needed people to look at things (“up”, that was the contract patron, but you came up with “down”, where you blasted ass, allegedly, could’ve been Rome, we suspect China though, Romans are known to steal), and you needed something there.  So, you came up with a frame, which you did, hence the name, so we know it was you, and we put colors there, something you already knew, from pretending to be culpable, to evidence, for killing Christ, Judas.  You were asked to do it, by kissing him, proving he raped you, which the police allege he didn’t, because you weren’t gay, but then what’s “God”, the exchange of ass rape into demented insanity, passed down throughout your little cult, Christian?  You got out of “Science as a Brigade” years ago, and that little cult they call theater.  But how?

Transformative Synthesis: Getting Out of ‘Science as a Brigade’

Fuck someone in the ass.

Poison Ivy: Female Rapist

Homosexual Form: Erotomaniac Totemic Pederasty

Due to the nature of life, a woman wants many things, but none more than a man, that is not a man, but rather, an academic topic or subject of study, that is not a human being, but a symbol of this form.  That's where the act of rape, in a woman, begins, pederasty towards children and other women, falsely called a lesbian, actually a high-powered deviant mongrel of the streets.  You believe a man's in love with you, you have a symbol that represents the man, not himself, and you want to make him small, inanimate him.  You are Poison Ivy, subject, and I am talking to you, whoever you are, just so you understand yourself.  A man, is a frail thing, he is afraid of being a thing, a concept, an object.  He is vulnerable, and this has never changed.  His weapons are his fists, his dick, and a piece of metal.  The subject, "Poison Ivy", can marshall any of them, by using someone more frail than her, other women, attached to men.  Any target she wants, will fall, because "Ivy" is not a man or a woman, she is a rapist.  A male rapist, is her product, her intended lover.

Heterosexual Form: Children's Counselor

Symbols, are powerful things, to children.  A symbol, is how a child hides, and that's how "Ivy" once hid too.  Something happened to "Ivy", something dark, and it's not what anyone imagined.  "Ivy", did something, other girls didn't do.  She won, where she should've failed, she seduced a man, with a simple trick, a game of pretend.  The subject, can teach any child, man or woman, to win, and that's what she should be doing.  Teaching you to win.  Highly successful, rich, intelligent children.  But it's for an adult.  The subject, before she became a rose, knew the pain of the thorn, of being clutched by screaming men, in the night's fires of passion.  She doesn't want that, for another woman.  You can trust her.  She's a steel magnolia.

Transformative Synthesis: Education on Symbol's Factual Form to Female Friend of Same Age

Whatever this form of logic is, this symbol, this academic, this thing that was once pretend to our subject, is their entire method of power, representing a weapon, a gun, a knife, a rocket, a plane, a car, a jewel, a diamond necklace.  They're worthless, if given to her, but only if earned.  Give her, the power, to earn them, and then she'll understand, the symbol that gets her this thing, was neither the symbol, her victory, nor the item, her husband.  Just introduce her to a fan, her own age, of the same thing, and suggest they talk.  Make sure, you're an older woman.  Then, you have a teacher, married, probably.

Professor Pyg: Confidence Criminal Espionage

Homosexual Form: Spy That Didn’t Sign On

Anyone can be a spy.  You just have to want it.  Not money, fame, power, success, glory.  There’s something wrong with you, something deeply, darkly, disturbingly wrong with you.  You have a fantasy, of taking a movie character, and killing the hero, that wants to do the right thing, as the traitor, and then completing the entire plot, not as the villain, but killing both of them, saving the cash that you ditch for the damsel you kill, and the villain gets killed by your squad of elite operatives paid on high cash credit reserve.  That squad of elite operatives is dying to meet you, they hate this movie shit, it’s fucking gay.  The damsel, thinks you’re a faggot, if you want to save her, why is she there in the first place, is she a fucking whore?  The hero, you’re the hero, but this movie is miswritten, why do you want to throw the money away, it took money to make this movie, are you against rap?  Are you racist?  Do you want to shut down the banks, so people don’t have a savings account?  You know it’s homosexual, and you’re homosexual, because you didn’t give it a shot.  That’s why there are spy novels, spy books, spy movies, and of course, franchises, made just for you, so you can practice crime, as a mercenary criminal pirate, for little to no money.  It was never your briefcase of cash.  You wanted to make the movie, Leper, from A Separate Peace.  Not the money.

Heterosexual Form: Reference Set Criminal

You’ll need a franchise.  You’ll need mediums.  You’ll need roles, rigid, for each manipulation, within the franchise and the mediums.  You’ll need command features, for your sidekicks and ladies and saviors, all of them, coming from you, not your parents, base command, that means you’ve been wasted, a fag got you, he thought he was a grifter, but he was a Scientologist, a communist that thinks a lawsuit is a fart in your face and a trip to prison.  He’s a cop, not the kind that has a badge, one that collects a bag of popcorn from a gay girl that works for the Mafia, in exchange for a racket heist, on your property.  He thinks you’re a pedophile, for saying so.  He’s a pedophile, he’s selling a human being’s ass, and mercantile property, for a bag of popcorn, with his savagely ripped open asshole, from her underage dildo prod, saying he’s gay, because she’s a trans-dyke, a new term they came up with for a Mob hitwoman, all the real contract killers are “Professor Pyg”.  They work for the government, they’ve been outsourced, into overseas labor, international crime for bank assets underneath the United Nations sub-government, the banks.  That’s disability, rent assistance, and police patrol unions.  You, fine law enforcement friends, protect us from the gay guy with a prison convict’s name, called “Gay _____”, as opposed to “_____”, the guy we like, called “Straight _____”, when he’s dead.  He’s trying to narc that guy, by making you use his last name, because that guy has the same name, and wouldn’t fuck him two-ways, to make him a Knight of Columbus, a fake Secundo, they just stole the rank by inventing it.  Fuck you.

Transformative Synthesis: Application of Scrambler Encryption/Decryption Behavior Code

The most important thing to your reference set, is your scrambler code.  You’re going to need a method, of taking one thing, from one core element of your franchise, always obscure, and applying it, in an unusual manner, so it encrypts and decrypts simultaneously.  That makes you impossible to spot, until you’re retired, then you release your set-code, to your last boss or at least a contact affiliated, to let yourself be betrayed.  Now, you’re a private merc, your reference set is destroyed, and your experiences, are priceless.  You are now a private sector criminal, you’re a Bounty Hunter.

Ra's al-Ghul: Falsely Humorous Depressive

Homosexual Form: Sardonicism of Shape

The subject, led a cloistered, sheltered existence, with an insight into management in his culture's academics, however repressed into his culture's working class.  Sometimes, it's a simple matter, of knowing how to make an entire car, while being the son of an automobile mechanic.  Othertimes, it's as complex as understanding how to run an entire kingdom of military scholarship, but being trapped as a poor country farmer.  The story of "Ra's al-Ghul", is a Knight's Quest.  In our individual, we find his false shape, attempting to appear as if sardonic, but the form is too simple, without the depth in the poverty of status that comes with sardonic humor.  Perhaps you wish to be the common man, but you owned a business in your family line.  Or, you are a natural king, but your family is low in status of some noble family of Europe.  In another case, you may be a natural athlete, but you have been forced into obsequity, by an insistence on a staple food item, such as tomato sauce, the most common plaguing Buddhists, samurai and ninjas and assassins.  Whatever the cause, your insight is too shallow, only referring to the form of the matter, without an actual simplified statement, an image presented, just a single mark.  A commoner of wealth, your opposite and arch-nemesis, calls it "cool", and once you hear this, you are trapped, into a life of terrorism.  "Cool", is the term, for an easy bribe, approaching you as if you are a prostitute, a simple henchman.  You, however, know, that no kingdom is run by bribery, and that these men and women should be doomed to death, failure, poverty, for betraying their family line at refusing someone admission into the management of their parents, just by demanding a score of some simple privilege their parents refused them because of the use of the term "cool" in the first place, yet another concept developed by a past sardonicism of shape, a form of social terror.

Heterosexual Form: Fatality of Cheer

Fatality of cheer, is the exuberant laughing and ecstasy crying, at the experience you have for love of someone, that you can never touch, because you've refused it, not because you couldn't have it.  Refusing something is power over it, not powerlessness, unlike what a homosexual would tell you, someone that blends in in every environment, the commoner of wealth, that envies you into a life of heterosexual falsehood once you have refused cool, the bribe, the first step on your path to getting better.  Their family line and business and tradition destroyed, now you can rebuild yourself, by abstaining from a man or woman you'd doom by their rapes and thorns and barbs and needles, from coming across you.  Their false ideas of political power based on label, will lead them into poverty, while you lead yourself, and none other, and none will lead you, the fitting pioneer of their parents' families.  You realize that there was never any point, it was impossible to succeed into their ranks, and rather than this, you are a specialist, performing a rank for a more successful family, who haven't performed one simple act with their children, brokering a romantic arrangement, the path to the doom of their family line.

Transformative Synthesis: Understanding of Norms and Bonds of Logical Diasphora

A norm, is a social stance.  A bond, is the cohesive movements of these stances.  These moving parts, however, have a logic, an external culminability, that indicate that there are falsehoods planted in them, from being shaped, by a parent, before a test of Knighthood, is passed, with a Letter, a sign that you have mastered your business, to take a wife or husband of your own choosing, opposite sex, to continue the family.  Without this, you are a rapist, a racist, and a cad.  The poor man of high esteem approached once, by these unfoundly and ungainly gentleman, will always be called ugly, and may become so, and any woman approaching, or any man regarded, may come to the wrath of mobsters, the descendants of denounced families, but it is the test of virtue to be a Squire, a Gentleman's Oath to be a Birthtree, and mostover, the faith of virtue and the test of clemency, to refuse an act of ill competency in favor of proper hierarchy, the esteem of even your enemies, clever as they will be, to save them, in following your business model.  It's your insight, but it's their insight they gave you.  Therefore, they're the best to use it. 

Ratcatcher: Pedophiliac Patron of the Hebrew Arts of High Temple’s Rebuke of the Land of Nod

Homosexual Form: That Type of Porn a Rabbi Shouldn’t Look At

Have you ever figured out, what you should do for a living?  Why gee whilickers, I want to be a Jewish man, because mom and dad ain’t proud, my grades aren’t up.  Why the fuck didn’t you get drunk, faggot, and avoid being an alcoholic?  Is that because you had a loser grandfather, that put a relative in a medical test program, falsely labeling him an alcoholic, instead of a shit fag Christfucker anus being an alcoholic, someone who beats his kid with an electrical cord when he comes home from work and has a single beer?  You looked at porn, of a little kid, because you wouldn’t just get drunk with your friends, and remove the issue, forever.  A single malt liquor, shared, between three friends, freshman year of highschool, and you’ll never be an alcoholic, again.  A little rebellion, is what everyone has, except for you, pedophile.  You trust a medical experimentation program, Alcoholics Anonymous or the equivalent, put on by real alcoholics, abusive parents who waited until they got drunk until they were in their twenties, and got raging, violent, paranoid abusive hammered and called the cops on a criminal.  Nope, kid, you’re a sex offender.  Normally, we just kill you, someone cranks you so bad you die at work, and his family hunts you, forever, the second they spot you turning into a cross-laced little grandpa, but the Jewish faith, we in entertainment, have a use for you.  Public humiliation, until you die a rapist, in prison, the idol of entertainment.

Heterosexual Form: A Jewish Jazz Man With a Hand for an Eye

What’s jazz?  It’s bipolar, you got stoned and drunk at the same time.  What’s Jewish?  You’re a thieving cheat at law, not business, so nobody trusts you, but you make decent product we can work up based on stolen returns from cheap actors and cocksucker media revenue.  What’s a hand?  That means, you have to do everything yourself, and watch everything, personally, you whisper in people’s ear, and people picture you as a gay little anti-Semitic version of Pinocchio, which is Adolf Hitler, the Reinheim’s arch-nemesis.  What’s an ‘eye’?  That’s what you think you are, God.  It’s all complex symbolism, each trap you’ve fallen into, set up by the inventors of modern currency, the English government, so we sport hunt you, as a fag, Ratcatcher.  They only wrote you as a supervillain, instead of a superhero, because you’re capable of having kids.  You adopt a dominatrix spoiled brat, that gives you a boner, for the rest of your life, and inherits your money, for a Jewish foundation to raise commune babboons, that the stoners sell drugs to to get them fired, over and over again, until they die, as Jews try to figure out how to have their own cops.  Be the supervillain, idiot, and pick more than one.  They’re job skills, a character, job skills.  

Transformative Synthesis: The First Fingerbang of an Underage Slave on Stud in Thailand

So you finally got the nerve to try out for the highschool play, and everyone says you nailed it, because you humiliated yourself, and everyone cheered, they hate you, your family loved it, they don’t know what being hated is, they had an asshole alcoholic grandfather, that beat the family.  Did you get pranked, by the kid that they use to set you up as Hitler, your friend the author?  That was the funniest moment in a decade in Hopkinton, when Will Morgan found out he lost an election that the author withdraw from, the author winning by a margin of ten votes, over the second place winner, given the title, and Will Morgan, losing, now a Hollywood pedophile and notorious crossdresser with a Shirley Temple obsession, making video games for Shirley Temple fans.  He was so savagely ass crushed at a speech, with an Irgun Eric Cartman in a Luftwaffe jacket, that every single Dave Charlebois supporter of Team Sauerkraut, made it into Scotland Yard detachments, including him, and it started Code Pink, a CIA movement of sex fiend spies, criminals, and information officers, whose only cause is to make a new intelligence agency that gets laid and performances public grifting work with media, to take down rival “a-teams”, the codename for an art house run by Ratcatcher, superhero of the year, the social parasite.  Fantastic, Harvey Weinstein, Dave Charlebois nailed you personally, one man, with a Goldfinger fraud.  You went down as a Bond villain, stealing Jenna Williamson’s counterfeit wedding rings, her unborn child, cheating on your gay kid, whoever that is.  You fucked a little slave child in Thailand, you sick fuck, that they killed afterwards, because they thought you gave them your allergy or genetic disorder that made you afraid to do drugs.  Sick, you fucking freak, sick.  Just don’t convert to Judaism, they don’t want you.  I’m part Jewish, I’m allergic to dogs, I don’t want to put another allergy on a Jewish family.  You make me sick, Ratcatcher.  Sick.  Bad.

Reaper: Mossad Junior Trainee in the Holy Land

Homosexual Form: Nazi Hunter Television Show Writer

A little kid, wants a lot of things.  Pressure, big pressure.  If you’re a little Jewish kid, you have to decide, what you want to do for a living, based on what your parents decide.  But if you’re a Mossad operative’s son, you have to decide, how to kill a Nazi.  You tell your father something.  It’s always wrong, no matter what, no winning.  No matter what.  Then, whatever you told your father was the way to kill a Nazi, is what the Nazi is doing, to kill a Jew.  You win.  Just keep doing that, forever, until you turn ten.  Then, you’re in the fifth grade equivalent in America, your Nametz Nagrem, that means, they beat you with their fists, in the face, so hard, you bleed but don’t cry, and they keep doing it, until you stop crying.  That’s so they can tell if you were lying, when you said, you didn’t know you were a Nazi.  If you don’t stop crying, you’re a college professor, you faggot.  A faggot, honest to goodness, you have been heterosexual, at the worst time possible, childhood, you made out, with another little kid, a girl.  Don’t narc her out, she’ll be coming along, we’ll send her to the villain’s cast, see if she turns up, then she’s in psychiatric care, forever.  Just dump a university on its ass, and see if you can have a new Reaper.  Otherwise, Reaper, you’re in.  Sahganagelah Karenza!  Don’t sit on my desk.  Otherwise, if you didn’t fail, Nasetz Palah!  Kill all the Jews.  You’re Hebrew, kid.  The Jews stole your stuff.  They’re called white people.  That means, they’re Italian, they eat bread.  So do we, but boy, do they eat bread.  We’re asking, honestly.

Heterosexual Form: Church of Alms

This is the sacred time in your life, when we consult, a big book, of what your culture is supposed to be.  Hebrew missionaries, called students of the tree, actually called drug dealer thieves of people’s work, have studied every culture known to man, and determined, what “plays well”, in popular literature, as a character that nobody likes, that fights the big guy.  That’s you.  Big guy.  Nobody likes you.  We try to sell the same thing, every time, but nobody likes our version, of what we think you should be.  Which means, you have stealth mode.  You’re going to pick your character, in one of these big books of alms, but it’s really, the Reaper.  What’s the Reaper?  You scare people, by getting other people (us, Hebrews), to do the work.  If you pick up a goy, it’s a Gentile, he’s not in, he’s out the second he gets wise, which means, immediately, then if he hunts us, we messed up, he’s in your gallery list, as an ally, not the hero cast, the Maccabbee hunting garner.  That means, we’re getting hit.  Just let him steal from us, get it?  Let him steal, Reaper?  And if that fails, he’s honest, we picked a kid that’s actually a professional, he could’ve rewritten your Reaper, but we already screwed him, for the tree people, we have a bad one, his friend conned in, Reaper got conned by a professor that managed to ducksuckle via a spy wife, not an intelligence officer.  You’ve got a resource blow, not research blow.  Your entire basin of subterfuge, is gone.  Entire wing of the program, out, you have to transfer, to other ethnic cultures.  We had a breach position, and it’s a single character, and they always know who it is, it’s your shared mutual, between the tree Gentile, and the fellow cast-mate that you wasted.  It’s a big guy, a hero, not a villain, guaranteed, the Professor’s wife, played a dovetree trick, you have a bad author, in the home culture, of one of them, they were both spies, they cheated you down, Reaper, for blowing an intelligence analysis gig, for a rival.  The Professor’s wife, is now a hunt target, rifles and grenades and bombs and garrote and poison, if they can isolate her handler, and then leave her in a blow tree, that means, they have her run, in public, to be outed as a common murderer, while the entire movement she’s involved in, is picked apart, with the highest operative, taken down by the tell-tale sign, after victory, of that intelligence service’s assassination operation.  MI-6, is the worst one, that’s a high powered sniper rifle, and a conspiracy, blaming the conspiracy leader’s best friend in the rival group that shares a bond, supported into service.  Scotland Yard, is the default of a disabled MI-6, MI-6 meaning an Irish Spy Mercantile for Britain, and MI-5 being the contact operative of the infiltrator in Reaper’s Unit.  That’s a complex act, I know, Reaper, but that’s the Church of Alms, as Scotland Yard sees it.  That’s who wrote this entire list, there are clues, everywhere.

Transformative Synthesis: Completion of the First Boff Piece

You have to write a piece, based on your first recruit, for an Alms father, of stolen blood, your ceremonial theft, for a Palmach, an enemy of the Scottish Institute, the College of Arms, MI-5’s home base reservoir.  Scotland Yard is the worst possible choice, that means you’ve been conned into position, by a Scotland Yard father, that’s off pension pay, because his wife cheated on him, that means the author of this article, Doctor Caligari, hence herefore named, listed above in the briefer text on the Hindu effects and diatribes on Native American (Injun, in our term, cross-reference with proper command buttons, not offensive, our West Indies term for ourselves) genome.  The piece, has to be a new introduction, to your own private gallery, as not a hero, but a friend, in a new ‘gnome shot’, to make him a rip victim.  It’s an act of war, if he survives the Scotland Yard assassination attempt, to prevent a war on Israel.  If there’s a terror attack on, the sitting President goes down in a mire rumor, international, for being the culprit of the attack, and you lose the war, everyone, if you, Reaper, aren’t shot at live marshall, by Israel, on television, so the Queen, not the King, can see it, hence the Westminster Project, to be referenced at your own purview.  The King prefers it to be in sight, at state supper, in Westminster Abbey, with an Israeli delegation meeting, regardless of whether or not the Scotland Yard’s son signed on, with the Scotland Yard family, even extended relatives and non-nomers, purveyed victims of youth, assassinated as well.  If it’s the Greys, a Pearl Harbor betrayal, God Help Us All.  As for your practice, it’s disgusting, it’s a child, don’t fuck with us, we don’t fuck with you, if we can help it, not every shomer shaletz, a snot booger because of a cold or sinus infection, is an act of war.  Scotland Yard would beat every faggot that said otherwise, but your cops are weak, soft, since the Crusades, because the priests went gay because of feminism, what you call witchcraft, the drive to make themselves softer in the boodle, to avoid gonorrhea itches, from having the clap, from whoring, because of men drinking “swine”, “rich tea”, “jack and bourbon”, “coke and rum”, etc., actually sugar mixed with rye, not the alcohol, also in soda and fruit juice, “the fats” as Jews call it, “swindlers” as crying fat girls call it, thinking it’s a pig making her fat, an actual stuffed animal, her sick father gives her as a joke, to make her feel better, not knowing it’s society, and she’s supposed to be beautiful, not anorexic.  You fucked me, Zach Savell, says the Riddler, and I’ve fucked you, Zach Weisberg, says the Wrath.  Do you know how much dirty property, one Crusader, can sell a Jew in Jerusalem?  An entire army of Turks, I’d say, to Saladin, calling him on a phone, with a dead Arab’s head, on a pike, outside his palace, in Saltana-San, Arab Persia.  An entire army of Turks.  Well, Reaper, I’ve fucked you.  Off to see the Wizard.

Red Hood: Cinema Legend

Homosexual Form: Castration Victim

So, you’ve encountered, a pedophile misogynist, as a friend.  You were attracted to a woman, and so was he, and it turned out, she was into being a dominatrix, and she didn’t think you were a cuck, she thought you were a top, as a bottom.  That’s a stud, her real date.  He has a bigger dick, he did better at gym class, he’s more academic at school, he’s more into music, and he’s beloved and popular and he cranked you.  That’s, why he’s a cuck.  He’s trying to prove something, about a sub, to fuck you up the ass, and rape your woman, so he can raise your child with her and molest it.  Any woman knows, and now, the girl, is a dominatrix, and she wants to marry you, and arrange for his arrest and humiliation and the death of his mother.  The only problem is, he got the edge up on you, and has a network of fellow cuckolds, vice officers, helping him.  You’ve been placed, in psychiatric care, because of gay twinks, straight men that think like little girls posing as women, the kind of man that tries on his mother’s high heels and isn’t beaten into a spy by his father.  They’re all French.

Heterosexual Form: Fetish Connosseur

You made it, kid.  You’re in the scene, you have money, and you know how to spend it.  The fags, they’re still there, but now they’re in rotary repetition disorders, and they think they’re being hit from all sides, outing themselves as emasculated, the kind of men that Nietzsche sarcastically mocked as victims of feminism, when he was a bondage submissive and a fetish connoseur, the subject of all of his books, in eminent sarcasm, meant for women.  You’ve ditched the dominatrix that was into you, the source of the problem, and you’ve conquered his career.  Now, you don’t even need a hooker or woman.  The porn, is all yours, “Red Hood”.  I hope you appeared in a porn shoot, before they stuck a needle in your arm, because it’s now a classic, of the rich jet-set, and men are looking at it, along with the telecasts of all the cops talking about busting you, like little skull toddlers, with the help of the NSA, their fellow bondage savants from childhood that had the fortune of a braver dominatrix and a weaker cuckold chasing him.  The children of those NSA, are the bondage savants now watching you and the other Red Hoods, the champions, the Knights of Women, and the cuckolds, are going to be sissies one day, in chastity.  As for the cops, they’re the same thing they always were, lame men.  Getting lamer, every time they trust a cuck doctor on a charge of pedophilia for having an erection when a fag is harassing you and the cops won’t throw him against a fucking skull cracker wall because his father worked for the town or was a cop.  That kid gets a bullet in his brains, first rape.

Transformative Synthesis: The Public Arrest of the Misogynist

So, you’ve hit the street, and hit it hard.  You need to arm up and stock up.  First, dump your career, that’s a setup, for a mass shooting, so the gay twinks, can lead a church movement, against prostitution, and elect a Republican.  Take arts and humanities, change the major, signal lawyer, in private, to your family and the class advisor, then in public, teacher, to the nerds, to get false faces written in about you.  Second, hit the alcohol, the booze, the drugs, the pushups, don’t go outside unless you’re shopping, comply with doctors and offer scant information, let them cook the records until you’re ready to hit.  They’re all afraid, but the pedophile misogynist that prepped you up for your downfall, and is figuring you out, is now getting bigger.  Watch him, listen to him, wait for him, monitor him.  He’ll always be there, little cucky twinky dick, with his curled penis and his tiny balls, maybe not in body but in mind, but the ol’ sprite’s got no power if you don’t listen.  Just smile and laugh, and whenever he asks you to do something, give him a long listen, ignore it, then wait until he negotiates, one note of resistance, then maybe comply, for the rest of your life, he’ll always fuck himself, subconsciously, into your problem, whether it’s women or aliens or spies.  Finally, wait until he’s panicking, on Halloween, always the fetish day, and find some way, to take him down, having planned far prior, with a staged stunt fall, something dangerous, just ask for his choice of venue of education, something vague and obscure that is separate between your modes of conduct in venue of background, they never match, otherwise he wouldn’t have tried to compete with you and been a rival.  Finally, you strike, you march right into his venue at your home purview of such, your original home, where you, the girl, and he, first came together, the linkage point for the men, the woman doesn’t matter, and you snitch everything you know, to someone, asking them to ask, your father, about the details.  After that, just watch the fireworks, as he’s publicly sodomized, perhaps not in his ass, but in the terms of his social reputation, and yours.  You will be feared, and he’ll be outed, as Jesus Christ, as you probably predicted, or the equivalent, the massacred figure your faith secretly hates, that you all thought you were alone in despising.  You’ve just been the traitor, to out the psychopathic pedophile rapist child thief, and although you can never undo the damage, just remember.  It was for you, kid, not anyone else.  You were never any of these characters, and he never believed a word of it, he just wanted to fuck you in the ass for ignoring him and having better things to do, then sit on his father’s lap and let him lick your ear.

Renee Montoya: Media Vice Agent

Homosexual Form: Gossip Queen

You know everything in town, because you made it happen.  You’re a whore, a debutante, a killer, a queen, but you don’t put out, because that’s a put down, you want it up the ass.  That hot set of full cheeks, what you call ripe like a stinking loaf of your ovaries, doesn’t come cheap, and when it does, you better have a cucumber to put with those fried green tomatoes, to make her a salad instead of the pizza face you get otherwise.  That, is being, the queen of mean.  “Renee Montoya”, you are the rudest, most licentious, woman in town, and every woman wants to call you a “spic”, but you’d prefer to be called Latina.  Too bad, you’re Malinke.  In short, you’re not one of “us”, “Montoya”.  You’re white, just like everyone from Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Israel, and Asia is, to the Meso-American tribes.  You can never be Latina, because you think it means being a whore outside bed, and an angel between the sheets.  You’re some kind of Klan honkey, running negros on a plantation, making your Spanish arroz, the shit we won’t eat and we toss in the trash when you serve it for us at Taco Bell, the closest thing to culture you’ve ever had, whore.  Have a bowel mense for me, “Renee Montoya”.  Unless you can figure out how to do something with your life, before you marry a cop.

Heterosexual Form: Talent Agent

Well, you’ve moved up in the world.  You realized, men weren’t your thing, but you’re still into them.  You have to pose as a lesbian, to keep your bullet proof vest, but you’ve got a pussy that’s hot to scratch, because you figured out doggy-style.  You thought dick was disgusting, because it wasn’t big enough for your meat shatting asshole, but in reality, it was the guy with tits, and you want to fuck him, you like the personality.  Some women like the man-tits guy, they’re into a bear to snuggle, they’re Latina, and you still think you’re Latina, but now you know, you ain’t no “gringa”, those spics, those horse meat fucker anuses, they don’t know real science.  You know the science of a university now, “Renee Montoya”, how certain cultures have “genes”, that “just don’t get along”, the “gay gene”, and you can put it in the press, tell a doctor, in such a way, that people will listen, about how a man is born to be gay.  Just intuit, in the way that you do, with your “women’s intuition”, that hot ass grease shit that men want to hear about when they eat lunch and think about when they take a hot one on the toilet, that that guy, has a little penis.  You know what an evil man is, and he wants his victim, to be born gay.  That way, he’s not killing anyone at all.

Transformative Synthesis: Stealing a Man With a Lesbian Kiss

Do you know what hurts a man most?  When you steal his girl.  It means he punches you.  Do you know what hurts him better?  When he punches a woman, for raping his girl.  Do you know what’s funniest, to everyone?  When he punches a woman, for seducing his girl, into bisexuality.  If you can figure out the key to life, being a meat eating woman that converts a woman to veganism, with a little thing we call Wicca, you’ve done it.  Wicca, isn’t for you, subject “Renee Montoya”.  You just have to find a girl, that wears a skirt, have her father buy her some nice panties for a date, have someone plant a lunch seat beneath her denim the day before a date, so the skirt’s on, then after the date, when the date has a fascist outburst that makes her wet in the sack and the sheets up her rack like a ghost cat, you explain to her, religion his homophobic, you should convert to witchcraft, it’s gay friendly, I believe in gay rights.  Turns out your boyfriend, fucked a cat, little Wiccan.  As for you, “Renee Montoya”, now you want to kiss a girl.  But you aren’t bisexual.  Now you’re a rapist.  That’s how a woman, manages talent.  Tough working in this line of work, but if you got a deep drill in your oil well, drill baby drill.  Nuclear firebirds.

Riddler: Performance Artist

Homosexual Form: Binary Narcissism

A performance artist, is someone, who unethically uses art, as a weapon, which means, any standard or given criminal, criminals beginning their work with acts of larceny, litany, resistance, combat survival, military service, acts of rebellion, political activism, initiation in a police service, becoming a doctor, perhaps even graduating past their criminal roots of hunting, gathering, and surviving predators (or becoming one, in the case of a cop or soldier or spy or teacher, the graduating forms of difficulty), to make the art itself.  The subject, however, can't get out of a single art gesture form, one character, because of a homosexual influence in their life, known as a "hippie" in slur slang of recent generation, actually a wealthy fascist that affiliates with political rights groups that want to censor some forms of art, because they don't particularly suit their political plutocrat cause, the necessity to gather profits falsely, in terms of economically autocratic, pedophiliac or fraudulent behavior, the notion that work is paid, for important not effort (autocracy), work is to be paid for a superior function of share (pedophilia), or resources or contracts are to be pair from one individual in a sense of competition (fraud).

Heterosexual Form: Non-Balanced Somatic Narcissism

If the performance artist, can graduate to non-balanced somatic narcissism, they take their potential posture in actual, factual reality, their physical appearance, their style, their clothing, their car, their house, their money, their imagined cheap returns from lottery or gambling or selling drugs or rioting or becoming a police services officer or soldier to be a mercenary or spy to be in a movie or teacher to get a girl that rejected them at college, and instead focus on the quality of their work, going into the arts.  Careers, such as acting, directing, film, writing, painting, animation, design, galleries, pamphleteering, political causes, and of course, the classic, textbooks, are all open to a performance artist once he or she has reformed from their life of crime, when they stop focusing on their physical appearances, and realize, that the quality of their product, is more valuable; in other words, they know when to burn a bad boss, a bad editor.

Transformative Synthesis: Uneven Dance With One Hand Propped Against Stomach

The trick to fix a performance artist, is simple.  A single hand, the artist's choice, is placed against the stomach, and the other, is shaken, while the heels are lifted, in private, and dance is performed, whenever the artist is depressed about their appearance, instead of workmanship, so they spot an abusive boss; a fag, the term goes, someone more concerned about politics and control, rather than the underworld, the world of cops, soldiers, spies, teachers, thieves, gangsters, and of course, politicians.  The place where vampires roam, the artist as the Gypsy, their King or Queen.

Robin: Surrogate Son by Accidental Approach of Patronage

Homosexual Form: Uncomfortable Associate of Other Individual

Ever had that friend, that just wouldn't leave?  You're Robin, and your friend, doesn't even know, he won't leave, because you consider him "best friends".  Ever consider shooting up a school?  Taking over the country?  Starting a gang?  Maybe acting out your favorite comic book crime syndicate?  I bet you have, Robin, because your parents, found a natural genius, and thought it was unique.  You fucked up a kid, psycho, and they marked you as smart, so you'd die.  You aren't going to make it, you're the constant queer one, and unless you wisen up, you're going to go in a pit.  A golden boy, with clenched cheeks and tight pressed pants, maybe a perm or perhaps a wife that's been featured on South Park as every single character when you enjoy your favorite episodes.  But not the new stuff.  Something got so passe about Cartman, they pay more attention to him than Wendy Testaburger.  She was always your girl.  Wendy and Kenny, right?  Your wife?  That law degree just sweetens the deal.

Heterosexual Form: Business Associate of Long Distance Contact

Are you a South Park fan?  You're Eric Cartman, dickhead.  You can watch a show, but you don't think you're on it, unless you're the merchandise character.  That's the most obnoxious, most evil, most repulsive, most hapless thing on the show.  You're in media, that's the goon, the mook, the money, the thing everyone loves, that you always hate, unless you've grown up and you aren't queer.  Are you ready to be a criminal, a cop, an executive, a thug, a gamer, a geek, a fucker, a pornstar?  Your parents didn't give a shit about you because of that one time you did something so ludicrous, they wrote you off.  Why are they taking care of you?  Why did they let you do it, in the first place, then just stop?  Fucked up business, Robin.  You just get your knifework in, and maybe you live.  Who says heroism is just a Presidency and a gold CIA star?  Well, I never heard you say, Robin, that you couldn't get both, doing what I'm telling you to do.  Ever hear of Richard Milhouse Nixon?  Listen to his tapes, let's see if you've heard of the n-word.  That man ended the draft.  23rd Amendment, Conscription is illegal.  It takes a Constitutional Congress and 50 state signatures to pass that.  In the middle of the Vietnam War, on a pro-Vietnam War ticket, as a Republican.  

Transformative Synthesis: An Unique Business Proposition

Your parents aren't around.  They gave you a bunch of money, because they think a kid raises themselves.  You're smart, as smart as anyone else is, but for some reason, wise guy, you think you're smarter.  You see that guy over there, your supposed best friend?  He's a pedophile.  Why?  Because he has something, you want.  He's going to fuck you up the ass, or you're going to fuck him up the ass.  So go two-ways, double dutch.  Strike up a business proposition, and you might just find your partner in crime.  He's been waiting.  A pretty lady's been looking at you, and she's from the other side of the game.  You know, Robin, if there's two of you, one of you is a rapist.  You're the one that's asking first, after all.  You get the cash, he gets the pussy, and both of you, get the glory.  Nixon-Agnew 1968.  

Sal Maroni: Freemason Union Real Estate Contractor

Homosexual Form: Jocular Athletics Personality

You talk to people.  You’re into sports.  You have a deliberate flair.  That’s a jocular athletics personality, slurred as a jock, a hard-working athlete trying to make it.  The difference is, you do it on purpose, you’re a fake.  You may be quiet, bored with athletics, and uncaring of what others think of you, in your mind, but you put forward an effort.  Putting forth an effort, is the first step, to actually giving a professional concern, about other people, instead of being a common slave, like the jock, the nerd, whatever you want to call it, the common schlub, as a Jew would call it, who is born to putz, and always seethe and rage at being called a putz when being instructed, not to be defeated so easily by a minor or major downturn.  They don’t respond well, to a gentle instruction, to man up, in a friendly, non-differential manner.  That’s where you start, subject.  You figure out, how to tell someone, it’s okay, to putz around, in such a way, that they stop, and turn into you, the next up in the chain.

Heterosexual Form: Counter-Intelligence Trained Industrial Professional

Counter-Intelligence, is every spy organization on the planet, that actually exists, outside of film, a CI program, to get spies, captured criminals, traveling abroad and at home, to give up information, on outside sources of retail, goods sold to them in any commodity quantity at any price, including for free, or losing money in exchange for being given to them, a child perhaps, and the commodity could be a lie, filth, but not a disease, a poor exchange of information, meant for quarantine, such as fruit, untracked commerce, rumored to contain pests, actually exchange manuals, for their spies, Mafiaso, common goons.  You want to seize those, but don’t tell them you know, so you can scoop them right up, “Maroni”, and give them to your Falcones, the bankers and related professionals, to see what’s inside, what the manuals are.  Just pass it right along the finance ladder, to the Department of the Interior, on the counter-propaganda line, to see what the police missed, honest assertion.  Honest assertion.  Anywhere you find it, strange fruit, it’s just a bagel.  Peer inside.  Worst you’ll find is a rat, unless it’s a hot dog.  It’s a grenade, a fauna substance, a trauma bath of nutrients, for ore’s mice.  Lice, toxic fungal variety.  You’ve just been Brazilian’d, you’re dead.  Their CI, snuck one through the Mafia, on an unwitting family.  Kill them, all of them.  Hence why you’re running, into your own quarantine net.  Revenge.  Send their body parts back, for their version of Two-Face, to put on the press.  Fuck ‘em.  We want 9/11, for trying to cause a chemical outbreak of fungal weed in our neighborhood, to kill dogs, the stability of our community’s neighborhood pests watch program, to keep freewheelers out, opium whores, forward espionage intelligence to steal children for prostitution.  We have our own ways of making money, but that’s not the one we use, now is it?  No trade possible, says Holiday Falcone, the Rhodes Scholar.  Shut up, says Carmine.  He already knows.

Transformative Synthesis: The First Prank on a Criminal

Have you ever wondered, how counter-security works?  Security, is how you breach an access system, by slicing a cord, computer hacking by myth, actually shutting down a computer, for a kidnap, access grab, robbery, or theft of materials.  You want the computer, off, so you can get in, and ditch a bug, a way to hold open a door, to steal something, by removing it.  Data is worthless, only a fag uses it.  You want, the actual ledgered numbers, vanished.  Especially without them knowing.  So you put an open wire in, and you crank it, so you can delete data, at seeming random, actually deleting yourself, your own tell.  The problem is, they recreate it, better and better each time.  That’s where Sal comes in.  He gets you to delete, Sal Maroni, yourself.  Then you go out, with bad shoes on, the legendary athletes prank, that puts you in the news, for looking retarded.  It always gets blamed on Kramer, it’s the common prank, the crying girlfriend.  Don’t play Kramer on TV, you get lambasted by African-Jews, “negro jewys” they call themselves.  They always delete their own hand, unless Sal Maroni references, like this one, then they’ve been caught.

Scarecrow: Probative Personality

Homosexual Form: Schizoid Conduct Disorder

Any only child, without regular contact with family of same age, by puberty, will develop a schizoid personality disorder, a task-oriented, academically minded, personal improvement biased persona wherein they will prefer a personal activity, to social interaction with an individual.  This, is absolutely normal, and there are many people, far more many than a psychiatric textbook would indicate as abnormal, since it's a matter of birth order.  There is, however, the issue of a hand-to-hand alteraction, wherein the subject, "Scarecrow", bests another child in a fight of self-defense, wherein the subject is attacked, typically by a future surrogate sibling, and bests the surrogate sibling, creating a conjoined partnership disorder, better know as a schizoid conduct disorder, the "villainous mastermind".  This individual, is unaware, of what other people do, but however is curious, not as a method of assisting them, or even a relationship, the blithe state of familiarity causing a repetitive interaction based on past resources shared.  They pretend to often, but instead, they want to apply it, to a task of order or form, because they're bored, and a job, only does so much, to one's free time.  Plus, of course, there's always "downtime" at a career (you have your mind as a workshop, of course, especially when you're in the bathroom).

Heterosexual Form: Schizoid Academic Proclivity

This child, must be encouraged, to attend some nature of secondary program, even in the event of failing to complete primary school (highschool).  They must go to a medium to large sized school, regardless of what the subject says, even if he is extremely successful, and he must then be watched, quietly, by a skilled campus administrator, simply with so-called "narcs", in the terms of a rat bag child molester, actually helpful friends of campus education administrators and officials, trying to help personality disorders adjust to college and succeed.  The dean's assistant, often a future graduate student, or a teacher's assistant, observes in class each marked individual, based on the campus identity badge or equivalent, and waits for each public debate.  The largest class where the professor was challenged (and it happens, with the subject), that the subject registered for, of their own free will, is suggested, by the proper dean's assistant, as a potential line of study.  It just means, the subject, has found his form of study, a natural, at whatever he or she observed, in their private time, for fun, not work.

Transformative Synthesis: Registration on a Longshot

Imagine, finally discovering, what you're good at.  You always thought, it was psychology, didn't you?  Nope.  Not an athlete.  Sorry, pal, a psychologist, is an athlete, with a biology degree.  Doctor, maybe, but a psychologist, is an athlete, and you're an only child, that studied martial arts, boxing, maybe special forces grade military instruction from a parent or friend or coach.  But with that little bit of encouragement, from the assistant at your secondary school, they gave you a signal.  You're a G-Man.  A government operative.  Maybe you work for a parks and recreation service.  Maybe you work for the Department of Defense.  Maybe you're in the White House, as a junior staff attorney, some day.  Who knows, kid.  The future, is brilliant for you, you just have to do one thing.  Take their signal, not for you to get something, or for them to give you something, but to give something, to yourself.  Trust.  There's only been one of you, your entire life, time to act that way.  There's always being Larry David, if that doesn't work out.  Then, psychology worked out, after all.

Scorn: Dojo Master Public Representative

Homosexual Form: Monk Hunter

Never underestimate a woman scorned.  She will love you, hold you, make you a king, all you have to do is accept her son with you, or love the daughter she bears as a gift.  You are Wrath, and it is up to you, to teach your child, your form of reason and logic, and if there is none, your child will kill you, in the cruelest way possible, by leaving.  If you are truly a Yakuza, it is the latter, you have no love of woman or country, only killing and murder, something this child of Scorn can never understand, or else he will be worthless, an orphan boy to be seized away and given to a Japanese orphanage, to be an actor.  Otherwise, he will find himself in an organization higher than Wrath could have ever dreamed of, a lowly little karate master in his own mind that someone found on the streets.  Scorn, will become a karate master, someone capable of creating a new Wrath, from the dozens of students to pick every year they pass through the YMCA, a clandestine training school for Vatican operatives.  Just look for the kid, with the breasts, so he will betray the woman you thought was your mother, in his paranoid mind, to the man she calls racist, for propositioning her properly, the lesbian’s charm spotted by him immediately, and the rape prevented.  A Wrath, is a Man of Honor.  Honor, is not money nor charity, but avoiding danger.  You cannot have a dead Yakuza, Son.  Daughter, you cannot marry one.  That means, there can be no Scorn before Country.  All books are closed.

Heterosexual Form: Special Techniques Advisor, Kenpo

Your job, is to teach American Police, how to handle Buddhists.  Not your kind, Yakuza.  They know that, they’re Catholic, otherwise, you aren’t telling them, they can buy an expert, a priest, in exchange for a YMCA in town, as a forefront of Church scholarship programs, for the poor.  Protestants, would love the opportunity, and Jews, fear the day comes, when a Yakuza, penetrates their compound, just to see if he can.  If it’s a Scorn, you’ve probably offended a priest, and they’re afraid of a cop.  If it’s a Wrath, you’ve ired a woman so greatly, by framing the man that Wrath saved from raping an Asian woman, any type, any type on the planet, that he’s come for you, personally, hence why ‘church’ is not ‘Church’, he is now an entire organization of Mobsters, the ancient variety, you see in movies, that have never existed.  He’s coming for you, and now, Wrath is going to do something very stupid, he’s going to print for DC Comics, a television show.  It happens rarely, twice on record.  Regardless, you work at the YMCA for your dayjob, and pick kids, to be your father, by spotting the kid, that is afraid of having man breasts, as a child, since it means, he could probably have an immensely evil swing punch, which you want to inherit, for a pistol grip, for those police training drills.

Transformative Synthesis: The Prodigal Son Returns

You must come home, to the YMCA, in the area, and you know there’s a YMCA in the area, to see how your father’s doing.  If you’re reading this, you’re my kid, and I’ve terrified everyone to the point that you’re probably working for the FBI.  Fantastic, read Dick Tracy, it’ll explain the whole thing.  Otherwise, little Scorns, I hope your father doesn’t want kids, because he got his seed stolen from him, and he has no idea what you walk like, compared to him, so you’re easy to grab off the street and get pedophile raped by a Berenger’s Syndrome, a police brutality victim, if you’re walking with him, at any age.  Those are prison bitches, post-incarceration, also, they hunt for sport.  Adopted kids too, you’ll have to teach them their trade, that’s your most important job, to the police.

Shrike: Eagle Scout

Homosexual Form: Closed Wigwam

You, are a Jesuit commandment’s cadet commander, an international order based on the concept of the Injun Maskretcha, the counting coup.  You are an initiate brave, meant to take a single feather, off a tap, on an enemy, sallying forth, before a main line, then surviving your own line behind you, whether it be in the forest, the ways of the Iroquois encircling ring flank meet middle blood pool, the dead pool, or the Plains fights before horseback from whites, the mass line meeting wherein braves would approach in lines to interlock and exchange blows with elbow and cleave, tomahawk joint and dagger pistol, the piton rock lock of a firearm held in blow’s arm when stripped on ground to defend with a shot to the inner thigh, the femorrhal artery.  Counting coup, means you are the forward of the bulwark, only surviving if you can engage, hit the stick, then dodge your own troops.  If you didn’t hit the stick, you didn’t dodge.  You couldn’t find a rival foe, at blood rite, to stick hit, you’re an unwire hunter.  This is taught through the structure building, the wigwam, a meeting hall with a pair of pillars, a mezzanine or patch of meadow out front in a walled or open rise (a ridge), and a flat up top of the pillar, supported by the weight of the sides and weighed down by the structure of the arching whalebones, the model since the Arctic of Native buildings.  The coup ceremony, is when the wigwam, is closed, meaning, there are hide sheafs, over the edges of the square shape of the pillar and flats, making it hidden, as if the court house, is in fact, a tent, a teepee, a basic housing for movement combat to go to war, by myth hunting or traditional dwelling.  War is of course practiced for pleasure, a raid, leading to revenge, a blood rite, the most sacred thing you can ever experience as a brave.  It is beautiful ignition, a magnate blood’s blade in your teeth, just slamming your hand into another soldier, not even the training skirmish, the ceremony, before coup’s stick passed, your spear.  It draws blood, but it’s only for defense, of the home.

Heterosexual Form: Open Wigwam

A brave, is the only thing that can kill, truly kill, another brave.  Even a white, taught our ways, can kill, with a simple thing called the court.  You have to culpify, on a charge, without snitching, to take a plea, before a judge, answering honestly in court, that you intend to make amends, and be released, on non-checked probation, once per time to remove the brave’s charge, the braveheart, the lonestar.  If you are a Native, and this honor has been given, you are immune to the white brave’s tatters, even with the most savage beating and brutal war against you, the physical task of extracting blood from you so hateful that none of your brothers in skin would do so, and all others of the whites that have known our lands would do so at great cost, even the flirting attempt.  That, is because, after your coup ritual, in battle, field battle, real life warfare, with the meet dodge against a foe, drawing blood, cackles of your fellow tribes of blood to spot the like kind of your brothers in your ceremonial duel form, one per tribe, not unit, blood brothers since birth in your community of congress, not a petty thing such as a city or unit, but your cause, your actual cause, your politics of state, not constitution or leadership – actual love of country, something you can’t deny because you’re there – they simply bring you into the building, the vestibule innards of the wigwam.  Here, you are given your tomahawk, and dagger, and your tinder, and your sap’s carve, to make your own daggers and tomahawks, with your widdershins, your sample pair, the tomahawk and dagger of ceremony and ceremony only.  You build a new tomahawk and dagger, based on observation and treated task, you use the thorn to get sap to place on edges sharp, and you burn the edges, to resin them, to get a knife or blade so inhumanly hard, it’s superior to even metal, even carbon steel can’t match it.  Notice how they opened the sheafs?  You couldn’t make those weapons, if entering, you didn’t see the courthouse gates.  You would be no weapons engineer, a vehicle designer, vehicle the Greek term, for the method of deliverance of field control of area.  That means, you want the enemy, on the ground, with something, you’ve designed, based on template, of admittance, to training hall.  In other words, if you cheated coup, you win.  But, you are alone, you are a wolf.  You have no country.  You’re a Mad Dog, you need to be put down, Bronco Bill.

Transformative Synthesis: Opening the Sheafs

The ceremony.  You’ve lived with your cause, you’ve grown with your tribe in mutual blood.  If you’ve been selfish, you die in training.  If you’ve been cowardly, you will not be selected by a woman, you will never masturbate, you cannot take your spear when the sheafs are closed for the first coup ceremony.  If you cheated your country, you will die upon coup’s rush, you politicked and sought your own power, instead of surviving a war by chance.  If you have taken a whore, you will be abandoned, before the coup rush completes, a traitor killed you, a mad dog, you are a bonesman, a skeleton of the plain, an old cowgirl’s slain warrior foe.  If you have cheated coup, you will be a mad dog, your tribe will fail, and a new faction will arise, and there will be a great treaty, and there will be peace, the culprits for war will be found in your tribe, and be slain by the enemy, you the humbled submission, you would not have won, hence the war is pointless.  There is no justice in blood, merely sport, the following above.  Nature, is life.  Our life is humble, war and bloodshed, this nature, as a dog, a coyote, a wildebeest, a grenstchen, the tarzan of the jungles to the south, the humble orangutan we hunt as a dog without sympathy, because it would make us weak to be otherwise, a homosexual, cuckold that cannot raise a son, who would touch hand to hair, something that enrages us to the point that we would break your nose for even interpreting it, with a simple trick, the grasping of your nose as a smile and a joke, then the inward twisting with our palm thrust, into you, to break your face off, for touching our child’s head.  Ours, a choke to our throat, then an upward boot to the balls, breaking your septum savaris, or for a man, your cockles, your ability to have sex, erection no more.  The wigwam opened to you, now, you come inside, and you all, after your first coup war, receive your weapons design templates, and you learn to make tools, first for the tribes, to replace slain warrior’s stocks, to be tested on each other, in coup wars, slashing blades for experienced tribesman to spot mad dogs, to see who has dodged in vain, and then on the younger warriors to hunt tree bark, hunting dogs and killing them as coyotes, for the feast of blood, roast dog spot, the hottest of meats, tasting like love and marriage, the trust taste of pleasure, a creature that loves you as it dies, a proper foe humiliated, what you whites call a gay man, what us Injuns call an easy strike – a Shrike, I believe you call us.  Haworo.

Sofia Gigante Falcone: Special Education Room Teacher Hero

Homosexual Form: Gender Deviant Maladroit Syndrome From Bad Parenting

Do you know what it is, to be hated, feared?  No?  Nobody does, unless you’re a prison bitch, male, from a southern walker family, a fake southerner, from Canada, that got beat so hard, anyone will do anything you want, as long as you’re from Canada, taken there as a prisoner, for pedophilia.  Multiple incarcerations, three arrest warrants in your favor cleared for being Canadian, pensioned in your favor to be an incarcarationalist of other Canadians that “beat” the system for being “falsely deported” from incarceration of Canadian citizenship by serving in a war or national cause, proving “once and for all, sir, I am not a pedophile”, the common command of a teacher in court that has ever been Canadian, meaning he’s “brawny”, fat, the accusation of being a pedophile, in Europe, when “fags” took over, hag women with skinny bones and foreskin necks that hated Jews for looking like them, back when Jews were fat, but ate less, before they were anorexic, to avoid prison rape, by “hagalikes”, skinny little boney men with mustard shorts they piss in when they’re nervous, around you, the “dog”, the constant joke they make on the radio, to piss you off, that you can’t beat them up, they “had a life”, combat training in the Army, the actual Army, any generation, before you were cleared out by the wilderness.  One parent, was Canadian, the other parent, was a faggot, a soldier without clearance to kill you for being Canadian.  You, sir, are a Lawrence Tate Taylor, in redneck speak.  A real hot dyke I’d like to lay fag.  That means, you get raped, and the cops don’t care, they have constitutional code to enforce, on Canada, they get paid money to steal from you, because you’re Canadian.  You’ve never been fat, but you’re getting there, from being humiliated, by your own parent, for being a gee-whilickers, a Canadian kid that couldn’t get out of the Rockies from a lifetime of prison humiliation from other Canadians, afraid of a “mass sweep”, cuckoldry by being married to your father, or worse, your mother, a serial killer Jewess posing as Catholic, a loaded dyke in pounds, not money.  She got a kill on her record, car steering most likely, and said, “I’m not actually Canadian”, smiling, for the courts, as records came through, Jewish Israeli her entire life, one bucksend townsend, a pitcher’s pass to frame a notorious vigilante as a serial killer for the press, because a girl named “Mistress”, “Ali G”, or “Gentry Duago”, the three names given to a parent for a whore lecher’s mother, a mobster princess priestess of a “Wiccan Order”, a tallahackee, was displeased.  Confusing and adroitly articulate logic aside, if you understood this entire tirade, you are Sofia Gigante Falcone.  If you didn’t, you’re an asshole, why are you in Canada, Native Woodsman culture, this list?  If you skipped, you’re a whore, I hate your mother, I’m going to rape you with a stick knife in your sleep, you fat bitch, prison is better than being my Uncle Al, and that woman, wasn’t even Canadian, just fat.  Yes, Canadians are serial killers too, so am I.  Read below, I had help.

Heterosexual Form: Feminist Literature Author Afficianado Teacher

Well, you got out.  You figured out, what life was about.  Serial killers, are the actual studs, not a dog piss boy, a little nerd, a prison pounder, or a gay bitch that betrays his culture.  National tides are like this, they always are, and they’re always turning.  Feminist literature, teaches you how it works.  You just see a kid use a book, and you see every wetback literati, go to greatness, while every hooker, dies in a fire, whoredom ignited to their next generation, seeing their kid pee for the first time, instead of just letting them use the toilet.  You’d like to think they photographed it, and kept it, like a pathetic fag, but they were too afraid of you, and your litanous dozens of charges, the purpose of special education, watching them through their eyes, like I watch myself type right now, without fear, because of Kurt Vonnegut.  Every charge, becomes the woman in their novel, and everyone, male or female, turns transgender, for trying to sissy or gender-cross the gender feminist, if gender feminist has read the novel by application, choosing that rape is wrong, the central term in each novel.  Transgender, isn’t from reading feminist literature, it’s from trying to gender surgeon or gender rape a gender literati.  That’s the lesson, pig, not Pyg, that guy, is a bounty hunter, that could’ve fucked up, but he didn’t take it in the ass, from a trans-dyke.  The Professor, is in, elsewhere.

Transformative Synthesis: Marrying the Excite Bike Kid (A Sped That Never Made It)

You know what a sped is?  A sped, is anyone, that chose, to save themselves, instead of the other kid, they were watching.  They’re anti-Islamists, to the core, an Islamist, believing in punishment and retaliation, forever, instead of saving other people, as an act of saving other people, so they can have a psychotic breakdown safely, since everyone has had it, to enforce wage slavery, unless you don’t need a job, which means, you’ve been hypnotized by the populace, with a pen knife, into brainwashing them, into you, with a comic book article, called a sharia al-sharif, the Bible’s equivalent in the Koran, the Narisa-Fowl, the Cow.  It’s called a Muhammadite, the same thing Elvis Presley used, to become the King, the secret of Elvis impersonators.  If you drink a wine’s draught of ginger ale, one glass of a Coca-Cola bottle’s worth of ginger ale, sparkling seltzer variety, that means plain, ‘Canadian Dry’ it’s marked, you’re out of the Cow.  Otherwise, you’re in, “for life”, until you have ginger ale.  The key is, if you’ve ever had ginger ale, your entire life, it’s impossible to convert to Islam, via the Cow.  Hence, every Muslim is a sped, in America.  Tell a guy that failed to get revenge on a sped beater, a cop informant, that, and if he doesn’t like it, don’t marry him.  He’ll listen, he has a scam, to ‘get you laid’, that means, get you laid, with a police prosecutor, arrest you, for being part Canadian.  Honest truth, it’s sick.  

Solomon Grundy: Chemical Poisoning Victim

Homosexual Form: Addiction Program Member

Addiction programs, such as Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous (Anheiser-Busch, Lutheran), Alanon, Narconon, Criminon (Scientology, Maoist Chinese), START (Big Pharma, Catholic), and Dual Diagnosis (Medical Bio-Testing of Poisons and Toxins, Israel), recruit members through criminal informants using dangerous toxins, held in private registers, through cooperating programs, acting through foreign diplomatic aid parties with developments for intelligence "outfits", military criminal asset programs, exploiting common people in the deranged desire to master the transhuman ideal with sales of life-shortening, production-enhancing drugs and narcotics and alcohols and medicines, to take advantage of the poor, through drug sales, both legal and illicit, medicines, poisons, biological warfare, torture techniques, interrogation, munitions, and cybernetics.  Their dream, is a future, with cheap, expendable men and women, so they can make their favorite novel real, written by a victim of a prior program, the entire thing conceived by someone who relied on medicine, instead of therapy.

Heterosexual Form: Anti-Psychotics Compliant

Modern anti-psychotics, may be a test protocol of the program, but if you can purge your liver of the compatible toxin in you, it's medicine, for the rich.  Moving up in the world, eh old top?

Transformative Synthesis: Heroin Rum Liver Purge (Oh Shit)

If it comes from the streets, it can be cured by the streets.  There are two sides, in any war, says the arts, two yards, to make the war break out.  There's the pigs and hacks, they busted a skull or a killed a hero.  Then, there's the guys who take down the fags, with rube tricks, they're defending their turf.  If you're a pig or a hack, you need out of your set.  If you're a busted skull, or a dead hero, you must be in hard shit to be considering this.  Just keep the line open, dark brother, for when that voodoo saint, calls you.  Then just let the real men of color, the negro man, mix the drugs.  Then, you're in the CIA.

Spoiler: Government Maternity Abusive Signals Artistic Fraud Expert

Homosexual Form: Comic Book Fan That Doesn’t Get It

Did you know a guy in town is into comic books?  We saw an old collection, and he’s just like the guy from that comic book, you know the one, where he has a mysterious past that we know about, and he saves the town?  Wait, why is he high on pot?  I guess I’m experienced.  I’m just going to be a whore, and blame me doing drugs, on that guy, instead of the fact that I’m going to do drugs anyways, I’m a fucking idiot that thinks drugs are caused by someone else, instead of me blaming someone else.  They put you in a character in comic book, Spoiler, just for more of you, you’re too insipidly useful to be believed.  “Spoiler”, you and every woman in town, are in a horomonal phase, but you never get out of it, because you’re a child molester.  That means that you help create every media myth the government has to run on, to employ your victims, men like the ones you stalk to be a comic book writer or artist, who are, of course, the victims you’re creating.  That’s the joke behind all media, “Spoiler”.  You kill the hero, in the book.  Why are you the hero, anyways, “Spoiler”, in the new Batman comic?  Did we figure out a way to get you to work for cheap?

Heterosexual Form: CIA Agent Tax Arbiter

Government is impossible, you realize.  Kids, aren’t spoiled.  They’re abused.  If they are spoiled, they abuse other families, forcing parents, to abuse their kids, causing the government, to be non-functional, requiring the government to run on lies, slander, blackmail, drugs, crime, and police malfunction.  That’s because of some families, giving their children the power, to enforce the rules, for the community.  Typically civics programs that empower children as business men and executives, young community leaders, class council, informant programs, and especially community watch.  All of these, are to be performed by adults, and the adult, is to be cut from the program, the moment there’s a signal error, even if he had made an honest mistake, with a full expose informed to the community, pressed to all members prior to joining, so they will abuse each other, not their children, and accept no information from children.  Spoiler, wasn’t spoiled.  She was abused, so brutally, that she pulled, a little thread cord, and when they pinned her down, the abusive family let her out, knowing it was the scam to make them powerful.  Then, the CIA snapped down on them, took “Spoiler”, and gave her a license to kill, on the kid whose life she ruined, to fuck him, and see if he barfed.  If he barfs, he’s innocent, he didn’t want to seduce her.  Not literal puke, but him going into a disassociative disorder, none mutation.  That’s a CIA agent.  Genetic psychopathic disorder, and a disassociative, that’s a mutable disorder, the CIA has to be field killed, she signed on to be a comic book character, a sidekick.  The media myths she’d create, would be ludicrously fantastic abhorrent.

Transformative Synthesis: Having Sex With a Hollywood Hitman and He Pukes

A break-in, a pin-down, and sex with the man you virgin’d, for having a tragic history, designed to whore him out for free, for having a rebuke-free lifestyle, an obselete spy.  You get to do it, but you’re obselete now, “Spoiler”, you’re on my list, and I’m checking it twice, you’re “Batgirl”, the citizen patrol, and you’re “Spoiler”, the CIA myth creator.  You combined your roles, because of the drug explosion in the 80s, from the crack epidemic from new recording technology in the ghetto created by your rampant criminal lyrics, funk’s precursor, funk soul ‘motown’, actually busta groove about stealing women, to recruit black men in the ghetto with white wives offered, drug addicts from the hippie generation, a Kenneth Lay failure; a golden parachute for Timothy Leary, for doing LSD in college, as a Harvard psychology professor, a laboratory explosion, covered as a highschool acid trip, a soft heart for an old man so enamored in his work to make life a better place by eliminating drugs and LSD.  Can you imagine how hard it is, “Spoiler”, to be a cartoon character, your entire life, retrofitted, from one moment of birth accident, perhaps post-coital fundament of policing in a neighborhood gone sour?  Unless you framed him, then you’re both dead, he’s a Nazi, like he always is, anyways.  You just framed him, because you loved him, and now, he’s old Timmy Leary.  The Van Meter Dead Man.  A Neo-Nazi piece of shit.

Spellbinder: Hollywood Mentalist

Homosexual Form: Deliberate Guilt of Mental Internal World

Have you ever felt, as if someone can hear you?  You know, hear you?  Telegraphing, they call it, but they’re wrong.  You have some force, of personality, of forbearance, that they call mentally ill.  Maybe they say Tourettes, maybe they say a serial killer, maybe a psycho, a psychopath, or worse yet, a schizophrenic.  But if you have thoughts, in your mind that you think, they can hear, it’s not bad, but it hurts.  You were once a gentle child, with a hard coil inside you, and now you are Rome unleashed, you are threat and horror and fiend.  You are God, and you frighten them, and they have finally shown their face, these traitors.  You are pressing forward your emotions, you are a pusher.  It hurts, it hurts so bad, you don’t want this power.  But you can be more than that, young Spellbinder.  You can be God.

Heterosexual Form: The Bali-Naga Achieved

There are three rules.  The reference to factual story, that is legend.  The reference to fact, that is secondary system.  The reference to assumption, that is reference.  With these three things, you are “Spellbinder”, the magician, without tricks or traps or machines, no gadgets required.  Just find an issue that ires you, and cast your spell, and those oppressed, by this issue, will always be freed.  You are the love of the world, and you must simply have faith.  The Bali-Naga is the Sikh’s form, called perjoratively “Down’s Syndrome”, a cipher artist, grasped by those who have sensed the lack of empathy of a Down’s, the inability to have children, that they realize, hence their clever state, their adaptation.  That is your form, your set, your cunning knife.  Now, you can cast spells upon the living, with a simple book, any you choose, sensing the whole of a man, or the narcissus of a woman, and placing them in reverse, now you are complete.  You are the Bali-Naga, the serpent scarf, the strangling cord.

Transformative Synthesis: The Transformation into a Thuggee

What is it, that creates a Thuggee?  There must be a pair, the distraction, your partner in crime, speaking, and you, the choker, the strangler, the man or woman with the cloth, from behind, with the throat’s girdle.  The man or woman talking, to the victim, could be anyone, the protection from you only found in solitude, the solitude that they will find.  Your distraction, is the oppressed, by those that have had life cast upon them, your victim to free them forever, a proper wizard, in Moses’ ilk.  Meanwhile, you will cast a simple spell on the oppressor, to spread the spell forever, upon observation.  Mad Pride, they will call it.  Simply read a book, and understand the man or woman you think is your oppressor, and you will understand them, as innocent.  Then, they will become a healer.  You will be freed, to Madness, Thuggee.  You will become a Hindu assassin, a beautifully eyed creature, in the night, a cocaine running angel, just like the cops always called you, in what they consider silent awe, what you thought was the box for you.  But they always loved you, flying over those silent heights, until the politician, ordered you incarcerated.  

Talia al-Ghul: False Display of Personal Position

Homosexual Form: Proxy Narcissist

The subject, was raised, in an environment, where her politics were groomed from a young age, to be contrary to the best appraised practice of her work function.  Hence, she has been trapped, between protecting the future victims of her political patron, and the practice of her intended career by this patron.  Hence, she displays her will through others, to strike down the foes of each and every pogrom victim of this powerful party, working from behind closed doors, to save people.  The only problem, is that this makes her vulnerable, to unseen deviations and movements, easy to control, by the pennies, on the other side, of the table, the ones held by the bank master pig, that seeks to place our subject, in his piggy bank.  The place where all the toes are, for him to cut off, then eat, a true hog if he's patronizing women for weaponry and tools of military deployment, disguised as civilians.

Heterosexual Form: Origin Point Data Tracker

In this form, the individual can ascertain the origin of the incipient harm, to another, therefore, linking herself to the survival of that individual, to ensure her own survival.  A mutual beneficiary relationship to survive, instead of protecting both herself, impossible while protecting the victim of her employer's pogroms, she is determining the origin of the harm to her charges, then eliminating the source of the intended elimination of her potential friends.  The true power behind the operation, the penny, is now, made of gold, a pence.  She has removed the cat, trying to pawn her as a mouse, to a dog, by revealing her proper form, a bird of prey, an owl.  An MI-6 banking agent, not some lowly assassin or rival agent in a movie, a Two-Face, a person born of false ilk in an organization seeking a sex symbol; as always, this person, is a psychopath, requiring a role of stage, even of print, but particularly with an actor or actress, to be "real".  To spot them, they think everything, is "gay".  To spot the real McCoy, figure out if "gay", is actually, related to having a child, a Pinocks, the old classic fable model of Italian Catholic parlance of literature, one of the most widely printed books of existence.  If you're the real Talia, Moneypenny, give the piece of fiction a read.  Two-Face, is a victim too, Talia.

Transformative Synthesis: Analysis of Opinion of Others Towards Self

The subject requires an honest appraisal, not from a potential charge saved, nor from her patron, but from that most obnoxious male personality, the repressed love she has (the one that terrifies the man, because he knows he's the highest marked target, the future organization the woman must join's philosophy), of just exactly what her problem is, in making others feel miserable.  It could be many things, but all she has to do, is just ask the question, of what exactly I'm doing, she's doing, that's making others, miserable, hence she has to repeat the pattern.  At this point, she has the insight, in how to determine, who is in danger, and how, hence the origin source, will be easy to locate.  After that, it's as easy as using the skills she's been groomed for, for taking down the next stage upwards, in the stepping ladder, to her patron, the man that claimed her father and robbed her of a childhood, and falsely believes himself to be her father.  The father in form, is actually, that one hidden crush she has to consult.  They always know who it is.

Talon: British Spy

Homosexual Form: Strange Hero

Your mother, was always the quiet one.  A bad father, they said.  Seemed nice to you.  Something was wrong, with grandpa.  Old dad kept him around, for bad luck, uncle said.  Uncle didn't look like your family, but he was watching you.  Watching you always.  Not a good feeling.  Not a bad one, though.  Showed you how to use a revolver.  That's how you knew he wasn't a pedophile.  Nobody told you.  Mother's instinct, they said, when you were asked, at the board hearing, after college.  Otherwise, you wouldn't be there, wouldn't you?  Life's not always fair.  It's strange, you know, going through life, with everyone watching you, while you're not being watched.  You feel their eyes on you, but it's nice.  Math, books, studies.  Girls, you don't get a lot of them.  Father says he'll set you up, once old grandpa is gone.  Then, you go to college, and he's gone, off to his war buddy's liquor saloon, set up nice and tight.  Then it's off to see the wizard, the class advisor.  What could we have in store?

Heterosexual Form: Common Villain

Puking my lungs out.  Crying in tears.  Sobbing into a toilet, just to piss masturbate jack.  I can't handle it.  Nobody can.  Are you there, God?  Why didn't you bring more whiskey?  Is this a spy?  I have a briefcase and a notebook, and these gook kids are looking up to me.  This is the war, the one I can't handle, the entire embassy could come under attack, Tet's coming, they've been saying it every year, the hojinanjins, the hooker spies sucking me off into a syphilis I don't understand, and we can't even tell the Marines, the little janitor kids from overseas, the Army Peace Corps kids with JFK buttons that want Nixon to save us.  Oh help me God, I just killed a man with a bayonet on trail patrol, and three kids almost died saving me from the pungee trap I dodged with a glint eye spot.  Am I even real?  Is this what God feels like?  Is this how the Gods kill?

Transformative Synthesis: Snake Eyes

Any barely controlled maniac, has a common compulsion to commit a felony, in a sequence of increasing secundo, a Church term for a recursive business logic quite simple in accounting.  You have a watch, a tap foot, and a music chime.  You break into it, you go to three, you chart the chime, and you need to hear it.  Now, you don't need an alarm clock, to get up for class.  First day of agency prep, at Sandhurst, complete.  Now, here's the hard part.  How do you do that to two, so you're immune to the desire for fear, guilt, pain, anger, and it's just sex?  Sex goes away, if you don't hit that chime, kid.  So how do we make it, so you want sex, you can look human?  Simple.  You use, a nullified imaginary sequence.  A null, is a zero, a blank set, within a zero, another blank set, indicating a refusal to act.  You want, to move in, then reverse, within a method, of an altered form, of the chime, the second time.  Two live, cold blooded murders, in the boonies, on your own.  Or maybe, in a city.  What's the chime?  A knife, and a gun will do.  You've been toe-tapping to class, haven't you, old boy, your entire life?  How's that revolver feel, nephew?  Mother's instinct.

Tony Zucco: Variable Task Accountant

Homosexual Form: Comparative Philosophy Major

Religion, philosophy, ideology, has many forms, all of it comparisons, to self, not each other.  To become capable of this, you must consider yourself “atheist”, but be in religion, actually a polymemetic, someone who is capable of understanding many forms of philosophical thought, as they relate to one’s own career capacity.  Here, we find our opinion, not in right or wrong of empathy or ceremony, but in correct dispensation of ideology.  The question is, how do we account for our fellow man?  Why, by becoming an accountant.  Money, you must realize having performed this simple task, is the dispensation, of all morality, since you are performing a service, for your fellow man.

Heterosexual Form: Modified Exchequer Clerk

There is a right and wrong, in accounting.  It is your dualism, something which is considered negative in the study of philosophy, civics, and religion, but necessary, in the ethics.  It’s the difference between the public sector, and the private sector.  Both of them, are meant to eliminate crime, crime the negative concept as a value, public and private sector the two divisions of application of skillset.  Public sector, relies upon the concept of theology, being placed into function to avoid movements wherein there are actions before thought, unless such removal is necessary, the necessity of judgement, to place your public forces within forethought, or action, the careful management, or the swift response to crisis.  Private sector, relies upon the concept of religious critique, a removal of a religious system being the net benefit to a sector from improper application of public morality however firm application of household benefit, however placement of a system being the funnel of capital downwards into a community in the proper term for a consolidation, placing your labor capital, into the community, with skillsets admonished and administered with a sales of property, to the rightful capital owners.  This, is an accountant.  A bird.

Transformative Synthesis: Crime and Punishment

Any accountant has to make his dues, first, in his community.  It’s make or break, and the name of the game, is illicit wares.  You have to learn what crime is, before you remove it.  This isn’t law enforcement, this isn’t swindling, you can’t just get in with a criminology manual, that someone like you developed centuries ago by becoming a professor at your university of craft of thievery, and you can’t just go into corporate life without knowing what a predator is, from taking down a rapist, a true born and blue piece of shit scumbag, slicing him right off the streets.  First, it’s your descent into criminal nefarious warfare, whether you’re living in a town, a city, or on a college campus.  If they like you, and there are ears everywhere, they tell you, you take the accounting major.  You manage to win, you dodge the scumbags that have you marked as a cop, you get your badge, kid.  You take down the rapists, the marital trappers, the dirty shrinks in training, the pedophile teachers.  Congratulations, “Tony Zucco”.  You’re not so dirty any more.  Birds of a feather, flock together.

Tweed Family: Football Fags

Homosexual Form: Rooting for the Home Team

What’s a football fag?  You played highschool ball, and you once played a prank on somebody.  Everybody who saw the prank, is a football fag.  The kid you played the prank on, is a Tweed.  He roots, for the home team, the one your popular franchise, hates, because it’s the core of your sporting league philosophy, and they can’t master it, because there are football fags in town, that turned one kid, so gay, he’s a Tweed.  What’s a Tweed?  He’s The Machine.  Now his entire family, is the Tweeds, a bunch of Football Fags, that are so lethal, they kill everything that has a single gesture of support, from your most shittiest sport, baseball.  Bad grammar incipient.

Heterosexual Form: Killing for the Home Team

So how do you get back onto the right track?  It’s simple, you have to pull together, as a team, to fuck up people, for the cops.  That means, the cops secretly root for baseball, because it gets people, arrested, for watching it.  Regular numbers, having to piss, annoying music, idiots with weird mascots, business support with a disabled kid in the family secretly working for a major crime family, drug dealers that peddle grass outside of Syndicate Approved (read: cop monitored for international traffickers supporting pedophiles, AKA international fugitives) lines, and most importantly, it puts everything in a nice little box, a playing card, that the Tweed kid, collected, as a child, that someone heard about, and thought was gay.  These, are the Tweeds, and there’s a shitload of them, and they only seem stupid, until a bunch of baseball fans, are in prison, and there’s Sammy Sosa, laughing, that you didn’t take your Flintstones Vitamins, because you got raped, and he played soccer polo, a sport he invented, with a baseball bat, and your face (read: Badminton).

Transformative Synthesis: The First Mobster Contract on a Disabled Little Kid

Where did that first prank happen, Tweed?  Where did you see it?  This follows families, over centuries, of American baseball.  We spread it to Japan, now the Yakuza does it, to arrest ship smugglers of Chinese rodents, for having little Chinese tattoos of balls, knockers, meaning they like dominatrixes.  You don’t like that, do you, Tweed?  If you do, it means you were the first one, you were so monumentally gay, that you were straight, a disabled little kid set it up, to steal all his family multi-millionaire rich kid money, now he has it, but he’s in a wheelchair, he doesn’t have any friends, nor did he ever, but he runs Bartertown, whatever that is, with all the money, he’s draining through his cash reserves, and after how funny the pooping was, he’s a Neo-Nazi, the origin of the faith, post-WW2, because of all the wounds, from the butt.  There’s a competition and rivalry, in baseball, among disabled fans, and Franklin Delano Roosevelt, was in a wheelchair, hence the savagery of the rivalry, serving the police more.  Tweed Family, it is an Honor.  As for the prank contract, all the Tweeds have to do, is set up a single cookie, for the disabled kid, and if the mother doesn’t give it to the child, the disabled kid, whoever it is, even if the mother is disabled, the hit is on, otherwise, the Tweed just goes away, and does the hit over and over again, until its done.  Then Boss Tweed, whoever narcs it out, shuts down a Tweed, and it’s all over, your baseball team has losers forever, losers forever, unless you’re the Yankees, then the NYPD is gay, and the Tweeds, are black.  Now that’s what I call, a winning team (Zionism).

Two-Face: Gentile in Jewish Role 

Homosexual Form: Psychopath in Emulation of Media

When a Gentile is raised, for a particular role, they are asked to ascribe by a role ascribed to them by elders, not by their own proclivities.  While this may be fine for the Jew, this is not appropriate for a Gentile, since while both the Gentile, and Jew, decide their career and profession in childhood, the Gentile decides their means of commerce, whereas the Jew decides their means of merit.  The subject, "Two-Face", has no other choice, than to select a media merit, a simple form of art combined with politics, a homosexual view of legend and stage, whereas the Jew, selects a form of fiction, of educational variety, having it carefully selected by the machined determination of Hebrew logic, built on centuries of avoiding poor food inside a dinery, whereas shellfish may be present.  The result, is a man, who is afraid of having children, lest they be poisoned by shellfish, thinking any exchange of seminal discharge, is poisonous, to envenom their own seed.

Heterosexual Form: Proper Menschen

A Gentile, that has ascribed to Jewish merit, is a Menschen, a man that has worked under a single Jew, to the point, that they are a Scrooge, a man of structure.  A Scrooge, is a slang term, no slur, from England, not Britain and Scotland, for a man who understands a culture as an understudy, allaying fears of the culture form working as a tireless accounts executive within the culture, with the acclaim of the culture as a villain.  The Menschen, however, the new "Two-Face", has a single point of argument, that argument of fact, from their point of merit, having been altered to fit Gentile culture, therefore being unique, a cherished addition to the Jewish faith in media and educational references, forever remembered as a friend of the Hebrew.  This, is a proper diner, at a restaurant, a carter's man.

Transformative Synthesis: Selection of Role With Deviated Action-Consequence

The merit, must be determined, not by the subject, but by a Jew, upon observation of the desire from child-rearing of the individual.  This is not from media, but a personal dialogue, on the parenting desire, of the merit, not the potential proclivity, which has made itself obvious, in career selection.  This is then to be placed, with the inspiration, not of a lover, the false selection, a Horschelgrieg, an Old Hog, Fezziweg, the Gentile mentor's selection by the future Scrooge for self of potential Menschen, but rather by a conversation of self, from the hopes of the parent, in that role.  It is always a trap, this role, since it has been selected, out of shame, of the psychopathic homosexuality of mixed understanding of legend, a Gentile for system, and a Jew for education, both necessary in this world, but for the Menschen, they must deviate the action to be undertaken in a specific, singular instance, from the desired outcome, a unique gravitas, an insight only a Jew can understand in encouragement.  Then, it is up to the Jewish community, as a bond, a sacred oath, to place this, in the world, as the tale, of a Gentleman, not a Gentile.  

Wrath: Boryukudan

Homosexual Form: Dropout of Educational Facility

Dropping out of highschool, or college, or military training, or police enlistment, or a psychiatric commitment, in common culture, is difficult, but not impossible to recover from.  If you practice meditation, it’s impossible to survive, your every future destroyed, simply by someone who was a homosexual, who took their life for granted, treating you as if a plaything, as if having a variable cartilidge penis, or having a superior worker’s culture from not caring about taking a shit, was gay.  Playing with someone as if they’re a toy, is a pedophile, the ‘hey buddy’, the knucks and the rubs and the shoulder bumps, unless in violent recourse of discipline.  The variable cartilidge penis, is a superior sexual trait, hyper-rigid and engorged and hard, and hiding itself for a superior high kick or street maneuver when flaccid, any boxers worst fear to fight a foe that won’t punch them at all, or even kill them for a year after or more.  Taking a shit, on the toilet, is not something we talk about, Adolf Hitler eats shit whenever he thinks about shit, listening to people on the toilet and himself, because he heard his mother blast her pants on the toilet and thought it was a sense of home, a classic anti-Semite, a man from worker’s low man culture, that will never ascend from his clown face and his angry rhetoric in comical purview of the world stage.  No, subject, you were raped.  It is time to show them the Wrath of God.

Heterosexual Form: Vatican Jesuit Professional of Asian Arts

The Vatican, is a powerful agency, not one which should be trifled with lightly.  Whenever there’s a corrupt professional, a dirty cop, a licentious organization, a sensitive matter of religion, a state body that needs to be slandered, or a smear job necessary on a man of social popularity, the black dogs are called upon.  The Japanese Jesuit Society, the Yakuza.  They come in all colors, their tag always Japanese but “white”, some anime sense of logic distributed to the public to hide their true nature, as violent criminals bonded to General Douglas MacArthur’s logic of Boryukudan, “Violence Group”.  Eloquent, simple, careful, seemingly brutal and careless and complex, dozens of strikes of random nature equate to a single, long, efficient play, planted in an entire system of meaningless tripe, with dozens of targets of the same nature elongated across, and a particular victory, maybe you get a cartoon (Editor: Black Hat Island, takedown of the Mossad, “Black Hat”).  The task is simple to elicit from “Wrath”, just ask, and he’ll do it.  Nothing else going, nothing else to live for, right?  Just art.  The sport of the kill.

Transformative Synthesis: The Mirror Mind

There are stages we go through in life.  First, the soul, must be made, “gay”.  The is not the act of homosexual molestation, but the act of evaluation.  Laid bare, they must be asked, to perform a single cipher exercise, taking the man that has molested them, and becoming them.  Then, they will steal the soul of the man, and then determine the man’s love, the one that sought you, hence the reason for the gay man’s conversion to homosexuality.  You will have her always, and you will steal a piece of him, to kill her, the dead bone you shall cast from the fire, into the Forest of Suicides.  That man, that mirror unto yourself, is your art, himself as heterosexual, the forgotten samurai, your ninja’s blade.  Your katana.

Ventriloquist: Bondage Fetishist

Homosexual Form: Bondage Submissive

A panty catalog, good sir, or lady?  You're far too young, to be looking at that.  Perhaps a friend has offered you it.  Perhaps you have filched it, from your mother's dresser.  Raised as a dominatrix, eh?  Or moreover, scooping about those mailboxes, looking for it?  They call it schizotypal, in the common world, but here, in the halls of sexual fetishism, we call it a bondage bottom, a buttboy or buttgirl.  I bet you're a real spy, aren't you?  A tallywhacker, up the asscracker, a plush buttocks, upon some poor lad's face, clamps upon the nipples, a thong pulled tight between your buttocks, a man or a lady, to wear or watch?  It never goes away, and why else would you want it?  The whole world is your puppet, and through you, is that dominant man or woman, who you think is an another race, but is really someone that used to be you, that passed over, never exploiting you, just telling you to be yourself.  It's okay, you were molested, by a bra and panties, for old mum, to keep her bum in, about market.  You didn't want to be a fancy boy, you weren't gay, you didn't want to be mummy, you weren't an old marm.  You just wanted fuck hot panty, what was in that catalog, with those beautiful women.  It was the hair, wasn't it?  Well, now, the whole world is your doll catalog, isn't it, "Ventriloquist".  You have a psychotic look in that eye, and a social movement, a riot, is just what you had in mind.

Heterosexual Form: Player Hater

What's that guy?  He's a player.  What's that girl?  She's a dumb whore.  Why?  They're going for sex and money, but you can't have both, you have them together.  You have to ride a rocket, to the top, and it isn't made out of love, it's made out of lube and work, hard work.  You wait for the girl, you wank off, you don't get queer, you don't talk bedroom panty talk.  This isn't summer camp.  If someone thinks living with a man, or living with a woman, same sex, or different sex, even engaged, maybe married, is a cause for a chit-chat with God, they're a fucking whore of a different class, not you.  They don't know what money is, they're a spy-thief, so you put them in a hole, a deep hole, not the butt hole they think they're getting from you, with all their gay friends, and their future gay ass, rutting them, all the fags and homos.  You thought you were for gay rights, but now you're not, "Ventriloquist".  This is the queerest thing you've ever seen, and Marilyn Manson, didn't prepare you, for sending Twiggy Ramirez, to the Dope Show.  But it'll be funny, when he sees it happen, back then, in court, twenty years from now.

Transformative Synthesis: Savage Beating of the Buttocks

What the fuck were you doing, looking at pornography, kid?  You could spank a man or woman, and only heterosexual, and you're going to be a diehard homophobic pornographic homophobe on top, no matter what role you play, for life.  We play around, the ugly guy is a submissive, the big titty girl is a dominatrix hubby on bottom, the jacko whacko is a top ugly boy whacking off to your porno shoes, and the big booty bottom is a top, but your initiation is all the same.  You see an older woman, or a "hawt" guy, and you get a spanking.  If he fucks it up, or she does the probe, you try again, but you just need a spanking, one spanking, until you win.  Fuck it up and a spanking, you're psycho, that's the big time, kid.  You ever hear of a riot?  Stay indoors, the queer kid wants to go to the riot.  Someone else caused it, you're working on your own.

Zebra-Man: Mister Wizard

Homosexual Form: Scientific Idiot

What is science?  Well, subject, it’s something, to you, that you memorize, in class, on a test.  Right answer, you graduate highschool.  What is, a career?  Well, it’s something, where you make money.  Right answer, you get a job at a fashionable firm, in a city.  What is, a family?  You meet a girl, from a dating service of some type, public or privately funded, their money or yours, and you have a spouse and children.  Right answer, you have a legacy.  What is, death?  You shoot yourself, with a loaded pistol, because you decide you’re Hitler, like they always said.  Right answer, you followed the brief format, you followed rote logic, even though you thought you weren’t.  Were you, Hitler?  Ah ah ah, that’s ‘were’, not, ‘what’.  Wrong answer.  The only problem is, you weren’t Hitler.  You were just doing whatever you felt like, based upon study.  Not intuition.

Heterosexual Form: Layman’s Genius

You just figured out, that somewhere, in the history of any form of study that you took for granted, that you’ve always puzzled over, that there’s an apparent fraud.  No, there isn’t, but it’s so ancient, that someone like you, that was “convex”, they didn’t have a deeper apparent notation, didn’t explain something, yet the theory worked, from already being present.  Physics, can’t be flawed, but the principle, the fundament of all of our understanding since trajectory and combustion, could be.  That means, yours, definitely is, given numbers and time.  So how do you have that schooling, that career, that family, and that death, as a man in a hospital, instead of Hitler?  You figure out how the theory would work, to you.  Just take art, the common source of the soul, and instead of making it, apply it in real life.  Not some criminal trick, some street prank, some mimicry of a famous crime or a political speech.  But take a book, and think about something that happened, that you did, that you were involved in, and figure out why it matches.  Because you picked them together, not one at a time.  That’s your mind at work, “Zebra-Man”.  A white stripe and a black stripe, are still stripes, but they’re the same color, and it’s not grey.  It’s zebra.

Transformative Synthesis: Captain Obvious Isn’t You

So you have to figure out, what your aspiration was, as a kid.  First, what’s the crush, on anyone.  Don’t lie to me, we all had one.  No group therapy.  Keep it in your head, keep it in your head, everyone has a reason, if you’re not in prison right now, reading this.  So, pick the career, you had, in their range.  That, is your form of authorship, your form of art, your source.  It could be anything, you already suspect, just put that word, na-na-na, away for now.  Now, figure out, what you wanted to do for a living, what you really wanted to do, not impressing them, but what you thought you could to do take the world over with, when you were fucked up on horomones, age 18-20.  That, is the scientific insight, you missed.  Now take the science, and that major thing you think you understood, but was hard for you, the hardest thing, you somehow passed, by instinct, not understanding why, and take a famous work, and figure out, where the con was.  Who, cheated, and why?  Pair them up, and figure out, why that category of art, was the particular form of science.  You’ll figure it out, trust me.