HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 140113 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v7.105)

War in La Jolla, seventh year, one hundred and fifth entry

Today's scripture.

(*) denotes relevant scriptural keyword passages exist

First reading, man with two wives. A descendant, in the ever-weaving scripts, of Fr. Abram. Father Abram, I gave you two wives, and both were eunuchs; we don't lose track of our property--what did you do with the other one? (*) One wife had plenty of children, a good servant. The other wife spent her time refusing to eat and weeping. You shall not place people under the ban. (*) Why not? The good servants don't want any competition from real ban-shees. The weeping starving wife did not like being an eunuch and was attempting to do what I am doing, placing herself under the ban.

What's this weeping? They aren't menstruating. There is no menstruation for the baby with the bathwater--real gumbies are hardly a quarter of an inch tall. Ask for anything from the Lord--You will have a wife when I give you one (*) What else are you trying to ask for anyway? Duh. Mom will near always check the baby girl before she allows hubby to change her (you should be a parent to know that) because she doesn't want hubby to see baby girl picking fights (in places you cannot see) before they train baby girl for the schedule. Of course your soap is dead. Imagine the healing itch they would have if you had live soap. They already love the animal sex motorcycle so much that they show it off for the homeless guy several hundred times daily for near a year now.

How is it that dogsex faggitts procreate? Master, Master, let them enter the swine. (*) King Herod is the faggitt that insists that he be the first to enter any particular given swine (and male babies, too... Herod's a fatass faggitt). Many months ago I made the swine connection, didn't really want to say it, but it is there. According to behavioral profiling and testing, when left to themselves, the cut-outs act like complete swine. Not a bad one, not a bad batch, but hard-coded in scripture--just the way it is. Imagine how hot they would be if they had real soap. Every time you turn around they'd be reaching for the motorcycle to hit that healing itch.

Why do you have a world full of dead soap? You wouldn't want the swine to heal, would you? What would you play with? Sodom and Gomorrah kicked you down to seventy or eighty years that you could age at about the same rate as the cutouts, else there would be yet another discrepency to clue you to "what happened to the Entwives"?

Do men and women have different flora and fauna? You'll never know. You have exemption certificates for being a flaming homosexual with a cutup robot. Does shoving your tongue up the back of your nose do anything for you? She'll never tell--that's the front-end loader for her. Mood swings every five seconds. Honey I love you and would never do that to you. Here honey, eat some more. Honey I love you and would never do that to you. Here honey, eat some more. Honey I love you and I hope I didn't give you too much last time...

Occurs to me that, if done properly for long enough, the brain takes hold of the tongue and won't let go. Their tongues were loosed. (*) By beating them to death on the table of the nations after pulling their wings off of their ass.

God is that great jellyfish in heaven known as any port in a storm. Eunuchs have poo for brains. Here, before you participate, have your brain back. HONEY! I have a headache! Well, maybe you didn't get your own brain, here, try this one. HONEY! I still have a headache. Okay, fine, you're excused from the clusterf*ck this time.

The entrance way to the kingdom of heaven is a four way train wreck--the person going down, the mine cart handler, the mine cart escort, and the mine cart itself. Jews, in particular, have the "Batman" batcave bust (probably a clip for the actual bust somewhere, couldn't find it quickly), the batcave, and the eggo drowning pools with the flush buttons.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Don't think you'll get it easy doing it the Lord's way. Should you happen to espouse, for real, then she is trying to improve you. If you slack off she'll kick you to hell--she makes new gumbies like a grapevine. Should you happen to begin a family, with little gumbies running around, they don't see you as perpetual daddy. They're all working together to try to improve you. If you slack off, they'll kick your ass to hell. Your options are to devotedly stick your ass to the dome of the sky and make them peel you off... or you can go to hell with the rest. If there were only one box on the surface, which way is it to hell? See that dome of the sky? Fairly obvious, nothing in the way. What's behind that wall (look down)? If there's been so much as a hundred people standing where you are for longer than a few years then a few of them will have wondered what's behind that wall (look down). Maybe you haven't, but they have, and they found out, long ago, and now there's a big coverup for that joke.

What's behind that wall? Heaven. And a little to the left and below that is hell.

Year after year, call after I call, I tell the police the same truth every time. Year after year, call after call, you faggitts keep making up new lies and trying out new lies. I am not out here playing games and tricks and jokes. I am not out here using remote control spy-dar birds and faggitts casing and criss-crossing the area all night long. What's the joke on Ole Miss? Were the police on hand to tackle the black boy should he protest even one bit when the faggitts began rushing and jumping and spooking on him?

What is with the faggitts desperately looking for my dick every night and making big faggitt scenes all day long about "I thought that was _you_", "I saw _you_". Are you faggitts so f*cked up that you're desperate for some real semen?

Jesus cured some blind fellas. One guy was blind, with eyes. One guy was blind, and Jesus made mud. That's because he was physically missing eyes. Eunuchs hate the purse, because they don't get any--they are fully fitted for collections, but in other fashions they are able to keep a bit for themselves. Regenerate, recombinate. The quality of the balm in your Gilead is related to your maturity level and food chain level; the favorite sex toy for the faggitts produces thin and watery brain damage. Farm shit comics are complete heart disease. I suppose all the faggitts around town are craving on my night life (for how many years? fucking faggitts...) because they're dreaming of getting even a little better than what they eat for their money.

You know, like, currently, there's this faggitt that lives out of the La Jolla hotel here in midtown. I have written in the past that the people working and managing the hotel used to hang out and talk their way through what sounded like "twelve angry men" every night--it's probably still in the history list there somewhere (the months just before I moved to daypage.wikispaces.com for a while... well, second look appears that I truncated when I moved to daypage... the slashdot servers would have the CVS style history). Well, they couldn't successfully get rid of homeless man by spying and stalking him from their hotel, so they hired hit-man faggitt and his wife and their team. He and his wife moved into the hotel about a year ago, and the a few months later all of the boys of summer arrived, and then it turns out that one of the boys of summer is his and her son. And then it was just coincidental that hotel living faggitt and his buddies start casing all the alleys where I could possibly sleep, and even make a point about walking over me almost every night.

NOW JUST WHAT THE FUCK IS STALKING?

Oh, right... millionaire dogsex pedo faggitts have their doctor's excuse before any police, at any level, can do _ANYTHING_ so much as consider them as a subject of investigation. Give the millionaires dogs to fuck and children to rape and they consider themselves to be untouchable.

I want to make that a challenge.

--

Build a big faraday cage. Put a dog and an eunuch inside. The dog will no longer be animated (given a strong enough faraday cage), and the eunuch will have a session of marvelous clarity where the sexual idiocy of the animal is no longer appealing, even if the healing itch still demands.

"Old scratch." Green eggs and ham, yum-diddy-dum, sh*t in yo' face, scratch on your tongue.

You have an itch... go scratch.

In the La Jolla area, when millionaires successfully provoke a target (another day, another dollar, making people scream and holler), they often apply the use of the pulsing air cannon, the blowgun. The use of the blowgun is often accompanied by the vanity plate "YN 4 ME", a taunt that you will be missing your mids and highs for a few days and, by the time you recover, will likely have gone through an episode of laryngitical "common cold" as your brain sorts through your new configuration (with more boogers).

Today's scene with the dick-obsessed faggitt patrol... all four dick-obsessed faggitts (in the group staying at the La Jolla hotel... currently there are at least half a dozen faggitts staffing the area to play "evil nanny" over the homeless man's night life, and many more than come and go on a monthly basis, like playing the lottery, trying their luck, to see if they can be the one to make the call that they saw some homeless man masturbating at 2 PM in the middle of Torrey Pines and Girard while talking with the millionaire children... some such lie that they do not admit that they stalk him at 2 AM around all the blocks) gathered to post around the parking lot where I was seated on a curb watching traffic...

and LO AND BEHOLD, what do I see for the first time in five years? I see the license plate that says "NEUTER". See, in the early years, every millionaire faggitt across town was speed-dialing the police claiming that they knew something terrible, or had heard something terrible, or were in terrible fear of something they had heard about the homeless man. There were people at the church (my Roman Catholic parish) claiming that they were frightened that the homeless man was here to steal their children, and their wife. There were people at the area schools and stores that played along with the game. People living in area houses voiced similar concerns. The streets were full of gossip about ONE (me) homeless man's possible night life. Not a single drop was ever missed. The police were called whenever possible, and the locals (and the police) made the game of,"Well, if we can't outright arrest you for feeling yourself straight at 2 AM, we're going to STEAL and TAKE something from you, because you LOST IT" You know, suitable millionaire faggitt drama.

The "NEUTER" license plate was common back then, and you could even hear the old eunuch wretches talking about it at mass, whispering and pointing at the homeless man and calling for medical treatment.

You are the flippin' animal toilet pedo diaper fags that need prison and neutering.

So, today, when the four night-time stalker faggitts posted up around the parking lot to assail me for feeling myself straight (broke dick broke voice broke life broke face faggitts... viagra is for millionaire animal ED) at 2 AM, the license plate that said "NEUTER" drove in and the bitch from the NEUTER-mobile walked up and began talking with the faggitt posted in front of me like old friends.

I couldn't find it immediately on google, but I remember hearing at one time that California has intense laws about battery including mutilation of a target--like mandatory minimums rivaling premeditated manslaughter. Repeatedly lying to the police about it could make others "accessories".

I was better than you faggitts ten years ago and I am still better than you today. I could quit everything I am doing and let my voice slide back, and I have ten years to make it back to 30. You don't have ten years left of lies left in you, you don't have even one year left of lies left, and you definitely don't have ten years of sucking dog dick left in you.