HomelessInLaJolla's Journal: 140620 (La Jolla, CA, 92037, war v8.012a)

War in La Jolla, eighth year, twelfth(a) entry

It would just never occur to you...

You would just never expect...

You had just never even seen anything like that before...

Waco, TX. The local sherriff had just never heard anything like that before. Some lady showing up out of the blue, like Texas Chainsaw Massacre, telling horrifying tales of eating green eggs for money distribution and holding breakfast devouring contests with eggo and dogs in the back room. So they show up at the door to the little apartment and to ask, umm, maybe you could tell us a little more about the teachings here in your church, just help us figure out how maybe we could help you with the rest of the town, and HOLY SH*T the whole place goes up like 4th of July.

You spend twelve years finding better graphics for Pac-Man, from Atari through the arcades up to all the different Mario Nintendos and into the 2k millenium with carts and 3-D sonic racing, trying to impress somebody for a first kiss with your high score. It would just nevet occur to you that they do their kids up with their dogs near right away and they're all chipped and wired. Would just never occur to you.

And, lately...

You would just never expect that the chipped and wired crew is lining up with children, waiting around the corner to brutally rectally rape the young child and then bring the screaming toddler or pre-ado to face-off with the homeless man at just the right moments, at just the exact right time, at some meaningful and purposeful window frame of events. Because they thought you liked it. You would just never expect that sort of directed hate and spite weapon, would just never occur to you.

Obviously, if I ever mentioned to the police that, on all four occasions that I have ever seen a particular woman, the three year old blond boy with her looks as if he's been recently broomsticked, and on the three previous occasions you heard the little boy screaming in the women's toilet for minutes beforehand. Obviously, if I ever mentioned to the police that I was concerned for abuse, I would be then be considered a risk and threat to the people around me and I would need to be evaluated by the doctors.

On the previous meeting with the police, the first words from ofc. Reinhold upon exiting his vehicle and approaching me,"There is no conspiracy of people waiting with dogs to make you mad". Just like my pretend street friends going into immediate flaming mode over the $10 sack of herbage they owe me, not even thinking to talk of the weather or the current state of sidewalk and traffic. So, what you're telling me is that there is a conspiracy of people waiting around the corner to make me mad? Then, later, during the handcuffed interview, ofc. Reinhold asks of me,"Do you know what a cabal is?" I immediately and completely spaced the question and returned nothing but a stupid blank look, so ofc. Reinhold glossed the question and continued on as if he hadn't asked. He's willing to testify in court that I admitted to sleeping on the walkway...

I'm willing to testify in court that the little blond boy will likely never speak any real language, having been abused so often for this vendetta that he sounds like Superman's Non.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

ofc. Reinhold also, during the in-cruiser assessment and interview, offered to joke,"Your race, you're black, aren't you?" There is no cabal, and to say anything of conspiracy requires psychological evaluation.

In jail, along with mapfortu's recent discussion of characteristic traits of jail time, was also amusing to me that the soap never really turned hot. I could whip the soap for an hour, two three times daily, allow it to dry open air (to take on oxygen and bleach the surface), and whip it again in the morning, and the soap never really turned hot. Sure, I am whipping this with a spoon in a milk carton without any rocks for the press: I know what hot soap is. Whatever the scale is, full percentage or tenth or even hundredth percentage point, whatever the scale is the atmosphere is totally low oxygen. Settle quickly with your opponent on your way to court, take the plea bargain, you'll suffocate if you wish to feel you have grounds to argue with the attorney about your race.

Continuing entertainment when the cow-stick (caustic, mummy baby in the bread box, the cash cow delivery to hell and back again) began pulling the wax from the inside of the milk carton. I have had waxy soap before (led me to contemplate the joke down to hell, we've tried pressing them to bricks, tried rolling them to dogs, tried taking them apart and putting them back together in every which way, Melchizedek is going to sew you into horses and poke you into soap! that's Elmer on the glue bottle, but nowadays they so fat and blubbery that they don't even make good wax, greasy dirty wax, and then not even wax at all, but maybe fatty oil if you wick the bottle, and then the fatty oil is so greasy that it's midnight black to the ceiling... these people so far gone, and all the progressions of the levels to the bottom where they pit now, the same three thousand miles and seven bible years away as any other. I have had waxy soap before, it may not lather as much, but it continues to be hot. The soap I poked in jail never managed to achieve any semblance of hot.