Yes I admit it I am tired of the idiot ACs that post on Slashdot. Really just make people log in and even allow them to hide there Nick when posting but at least give them the karma hit when they post something foul and and or racist. It is not like Slashdot karma is important in the real world so the chilling effect should be very low.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninety-sixth entry

The scene was set. All available outside sleeping areas have been completely covered with rapunzels or refurbished and remodeled to oblivion. Year after year, season after season, the millionaires have cased HiLJ around the block and invested whatever it takes to remodel that building, tear those down and build a new condo development, or refurbish the same bank over and over and over again. Only when HiLJ is sleeping across the street or around the corner. Area after area, season after season, chasing him relentlessly around the block.

Feces fetish. The millionaire prime first resort and last resort and last ditch resort weapon. The jedi mind trick, from jericho. Make a noise, wave your fingers, poop down all the walls, millionaires be c'ho beggin' on my jedi.

The scene was set. HiLJ has been corralled to a small zone sleeping area, completely under guard and watch, and they know that the sun has not risen in a week (if they've ever missed it once then they've missed calling the police to report the sun rising a thousand times). The scene was set. They knew that HiLJ would make the sun rise.

Place a faggitt to sleep next to him just after he falls asleep. Then, when he wakes up thirty seconds later, he will leave because it's been a week since the sun has risen and may as well leave. The first faggitt is $one. When HiLJ leaves then $one also leaves. $one goes to quick down a bottle and get picked up by ambulance for detox. $two moves in.

The $guard is not cognizant of the shell game. Three eight year old faggitts running around the neighborhood playing the shell game as they shit everywhere. Their parents call the police to query if it was HiLJ... every time.

HiLJ arrives after morning prayer to find area properly shit all over. $one is sitting with $guard. HiLJ promptly informs $one that the millionaire shit fetish game begging on his cock is for shit. $guard, however, sticks up for $one, noting that $one was sent off in an ambulance and only reappeared this morning with the hospital bracelet. It was $two that shit everywhere. $guard is not cognizant of the shell game.

When did the ambulance arrive?

HiLJ leaves to walk around the block and find someplace else to sit. By whatever timing, by whatever stop here and there to look at this or that, by whatever error of unfolding the blanket or fumbling the cigarettes and the lighter in the dark. By whatever method... the ambulance siren begins at the moment that the lighter (is scheduled to) click.

What a fucking surprise. They haven't missed a cigarette or a bowl in seven years. Why would they miss this one?

For some reason I happened to pause lighting the cigarette. Didn't even strike the lighter. Hear that siren? Ha ha faggitts. Missed me again.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninety-fifth entry

Prince of Lies (five points)

Sodom and Gomorrah

sodom (not buttsex); vorpal broomsticks and mayonnaise jars. I gotch'yo momma's butt in a mayonnaise jar, right next to einstein's brain. (*spacey* well, you could have been...)
gomorrah: go for more Ah, 'cuz you didn't make it. you weren't born, you were hatched, and your voice will never drop.

Center; carrot stick at the gates of hell. after a few switches to the nose, the servants understand nothing but gravity.

Star of David (rising in the east, all they want for christmas is the farm poo drop); the sixth point is the conversion to green eggs and ham, phairies signed into hell, stay behind that door, stay on that side of the roller coaster, we'll ship the paschal lamb and the bodies to you.

Little red riding hood

ears; global monitoring
eyes; dead
teeth; bugs

Triple Double

(I have momentarily forgotten the first double)
Learn Technology from both wires and mummification
Learn Biomedical technology from both horses and soap

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

--

Perhaps the first double was...

The cycle of life. Cut down, run to hell, beat to death, and with an accounting system to track how many times it has rolled over. The accounting system itself has rolled over (counting the boogers and exactly how far out of "fast" the running set of charcter roles is, just how deeply depraved the whole box system has become, and remembering that the box system was set up and calibrated at "zero" long after the whole population is known to reliably go to hell anyway, several times, the tarot cards are long lost in the chlorine pool, stores of boogers have been torn down as standard practice and entire fireballs of barns built up as nationalities and dialects in the brain)....

learn the cycle of life, both from aaron's golden calf (now with progressively larger jiggly-bumps, legs that work, a push-button to sh*t, and look, these dark eyes, by the time they need the eye excuse everybody has been making excuses as time goes on for Lazarus for thousands of years) and from taxidermy.

As template overlays in the bible go... esther is making money in the green eggs and ham fashion, all _she_ wants for christmas is the farm poo drop, else the people aren't getting out of debt, so esther is after eleazar demands that they take him to the gates of the netherworld to see the phairie butler and chance on the neurotoxin carrot stick like old times. Aaron's golden calf is the end of Noah's ark, because they wouldn't need to use a golden calf while they still have live animals around, now would they? Them with all their halloween heat and beastie specialty megalomania power trip.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninety-fourth entry

You practice that religion begging all on d*ck your whole life and you go to hell. That's how it works.

Friday's selection from the book of Daniel included an honorable mention, worthy of note, that one of the creatures had living eyes. What did the other ones have, pinwheels? I want to know more about these creatures with the living eyes. Do we have any or did the faggitts f*ck them all to death already?

With all of the millionaire halloween heat, when they demonstrate that they will wear out the devil itself, never once did Solomon ever write in the songs that he dreamt of his lover with the "eyes of an animal"? Wouldn't that have been better for them? In all of the prophecies and visions and apoclypses and revelations, never once was the conqueror in the vision ever arising "bearing the eyes of a beast"? Wouldn't that have worked out for effect? Search all of scripture... whatever you think of me, the Holy Bible is an historical compendium... for the noun "eyes", and then categorize the adjectives applied to that noun. How many? What kinds? If there were a difference in the food chain, do you suppose it would have been worthy to note? Well, yes... father Abram, make Lazarus rise from the dead. Aaron's golden calf, now with giggly-bumps, a push-button to sh*t, and eyes. Why are the eyes dark? Never mind, that's just the way they are. This motorcycle would not be able to cast for the part of the creature with the living eyes unless they paid for the CGI.

The scene from the book of Daniel is like a monster car rally for needle and thread. Three of the competing teams had reanimated submissions. One of the competing teams still had live dogs to work with.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Here is a compendium of everything that has already been done, beaten to death, and run to hell already.

Next improvement for the Sodom and Gomorrah "nobody knows anything" system: burn all of the bibles or include more references to different kinds of eyes.

Take care of this wax museum for us. It has herds and zoos of dead animals, dead carnival props you may blow for money, and row-bots with three hands. When God was handing out brains he kept yours in a mayonnaise jar next to your butt!

Of those four creatures, what does that mean if they didn't have the "living eyes"? One is noted specifically as having them... what about the other three? Well, if they don't have living eyes, then that means we have dominion over them and we get to f*ck them! The wax museum row-bots are only allowed to play with the wax museum parts. If they want to play with the animals (if you don't know about the stork then you may as well be an animal) with living eyes then you must coax one of them to insist that it loves you with a whole bunch of witnesses, then you can get the exemption certificate to f*ck one of the animals with living eyes. From Zechariah's point of view: if you're that big and your voice hasn't dropped yet then I may do whatever I like with you.

From the other side of the certificate: here is your exemption to go be stupid with a row-bot without being liable for the faggitt box.

--

Small note about the scripting of the sphinx, the signing of the phairies into hell as a reservation, and the establishment of the bread box delivery from the surface to the kingdom of heaven (mine) and then to hell to the phairies as a choreographed system.

There's a picture in the DragonLance world, Steve Fabian, "A Stone's Throw Away". The pic is black and white, in the "Art of the DragonLance Saga" and in the DragonLance Tales, v.1. I could not find a quick link on google images.

The pic shows two automatons holding Tasslehoff in the castle of some evil necromancer. That is the paschal lamb being brought back by two not-quite-dead automatons in hell, having just bonked the phairie queen. See that grin on his face?

Now look at the two automatons. If you knew who the paschal lamb was, and what he's been doing for the past seven years, do those two automatons resemble, like a caricature artist, any two significant religious figures around the paschal lamb?

Oh Lord... it's almost too much. The scripts, over all of those thousands of years, have been preserved to match those two automaton servants down in hell with the two around the paschal lamb in the gospel running him down. Guess to the identity of the two automatons.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninety-third entry

Today's scripture is nice.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

First reading, a blazing similar to the firepot which father Abram sees. Referencing to mummification.

Second reading. Don't eat anything freely given. They may be packing it with extra farm ham and making you susceptible to desperation and the second temptation "if things are so bad then throw yourself" sort of thing.

Gospel. Paschal lamb, mummified. Small interview. So, what do you think? Why you sons-of-#$&# when I finally get my hands on you! OH HAH HA HA! Teacher, we have you mummified, what can you possible do about it?

They then mine his thoughts to determine what plan he could possibly have for making it through the sphinx society on the surface. He speaks of the necessity of removing the realm of the living and dead. When Ezra the chief (priest?) scribe reads from the book of the law there are two books; the book of the living and the book of the dead. With every removal of a booger his voice improves, clearly interpreting the book of the living. The boogers are remnants of the injuries packed on by the training on the table of the nations and then the nine months of obesity training while putting the eye back in the socket and the joints back into place. With every paving of one of the siphons there is a similar removal of a corresponding booger, near tit-for-tat, and a similar increase in vocal performance; again clearly interpreting all of the "laws" (as in, rumplestilskin, make fast and press the knits out of your baptismal garment else they assist in your escort to hell) which have been added up to count and track the temple modelling the entire world going to hell and then beating the walls to death.

Jesus reference about giving testimony is also part of the plan. Speech is trained. Free will and predestination. Everything in the lower portion of the mouth is trained under the languages from the upper room. That's predestination--play games and juggle constructs of words around in the ordered verse response fashion embedded in the world born into sin. If you manage to clear out the upper room then, along with the other factors influencing the perception of "fasting", perhaps you have a chance at free will. Don't bother planning your speech ahead of time; according to Talmud and then, later, life in the fast lane with the law of Moses, it is all planned ahead of time for you. *grin*

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninety-second entry

The Lord of life, the Lord that makes the trees to grow and the sun to rise, has sent me to report that all of you have been judged as FAGGITTS.

You make love to your dogs, you lord it over your children, you get to play in the cyborg secret spy inferiority complex and run down the ones smaller than you... but you cannot make your voice drop.

What a surprise. Humans come with voices that drop if you do it the right way.

You are FAGGITTS.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Zechariah is from a long lineage of soap pokies. Since long before he was cut down to nothing but a hand his job was to "hit anything that comes through the door". When the eunuch and the adonis infiltrated the temple, Zechariah preserved his job in the replacement models. You have replacement models because your voice will never drop. You are FAGGITTS.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninetieth entry

I almost had the headline for Sodom and Gomorrah correct.

Sodom and Gomorrah
I got'cho mama - z butt in a mayonnaise jar
and
When is your Daddy's voice going to drop?

I got'cho mama's butt in a mayonnaise jar, have a third hand to help, etc.

When is your daddy's voice going to drop? You weren't born, you were hatched, beat up on the table of the nations and shipped up on the stork to the ones with their butts in mayonnaise jars.

The men of Ninevah had their tongues up the back of their noses, like Easter Island. They could approximate voices that had dropped but, if they really had, then perhaps they wouldn't have run out of women.

Zechariah's first joke,"You look all big and tough but I bet you will drop long before your voice ever does."
Zechariah's second joke,"I'm out to get you, too, but the cart keeps getting away from me."
and Zechariah's third joke,"If you're that big and your voice hasn't dropped yet then you must be one of the defective ones and I can do whatever I want with you."

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

The pre-pubescent secret spy hollywood runt-a-billies and the voices that will never drop. With such audibly immature brains they pretend to procreate, and oh the ways do they pretend. I don't think you should be playin' around with all of those extra special feathers until your voice drops. Once your voice drops then you will think better about it because you will have cleared the boogers out.

Until your voice drops you may be my page in the dog wash. They would never put up with a pay-uppage, you would need to talk to their doctor and send the bill out in triplicate (marmaduke, supergoofy, and the pony express to hell). A page is a pay-outage; the eggo almost made it to the sewer drain before it drowned in the dog wash. Call the tire changing team and clear that one out of the way and get the next one lined up. The tire changing team checks to ensure that the page is dead and the tire is flat before helping it off the track and to the sewer. Where's waldo in the sea of them going down the drain?

Eh, you wouldn't know what to do with a real grown up man. Your dad's voice hasn't even dropped, yet, and you dropped him long before his voice ever did. Be-Lu!

When's your daddy's voice going to drop? They know gestation down to a day but they don't know when their daddy's voice is going to drop. Oh, I get it. All of life is a stage and you're playing parts. You get to be the runt and he gets to be the coward all the way to hell!

The prince of lies, a sphinx so good that you will never even miss your dropping voice, or your tiddlywink. Out of sight, out of mind, never to be remembered. What do we do when they ask about their voice dropping? Give 'em laryngitis for a few months (soft blowgun, tell me about it) and they'll quit asking in those tones. Jobbie car horns are designed to hit small hairs smattering no-where. Millionaire car horns are designed to light you up where it counts. Of course you sprouted a few hairs; stick around on the surface long enough and you're bound to sprout a few hairs in the ranges where they scream at you. The only places they ever try to hit you are in the privates and under the arms. Of course you popped out a few hairs. But, really, I know... your voice didn't drop.

Ezra the scribe read the book of the law, spitting out the boogers one by one, interpreting clearly the syllables of the law for the men, the women, and the children old enough to understand,'When is yo' daddy's voice going to drop, beee-----y----otch?!"

I have been reading and studying a lot about the EFI documentation at Intel and Microsoft's implementation of UEFI at the hardware level as a replacement for the BIOS. The problem as I see it is the one facing unwitting consumers. Imagine Microsoft or Intel pushing an update that knocks users of a particular version of the Windows OS that MS no longer approves of, is unofficial, or is pirated.

With the mechanisms built into UEFI, it is possible for Microsoft to write code to it that will allow them to block your system from booting.

Interesting money trail after that....

War in La Jolla, seventh year, ninetieth entry

The plot thickens and the grave becomes more thin and watery at the same time.

How are millionaire children born? That's not a dog they're dropping off. The dogs are waiting around all the corners. Good upbringing, bad upbringing, more time to practice, more familiarity with the script, make it through today (or the week, or however long) and you get to be an "adult" (witch's voices have even dropped), making however much money you made, and going for your magic vacation to take special delight in what the world has to offer.

Consider the walkway at Torrey Pines and Girard in La Jolla, CA, 92037. Eggo in drag, with drag, being towed along, drag racing down the walkway, with the conductor at the irrigation box (mounted on the bottom corner of the warehouse building) rinsing them off at each post stop along the way. The walkway has it's own water access at the top and the bottom bowls into an enormous sewer drain. At what age, as a millionaire, did you first encounter the realization that they don't make it through the day? 4-H club children, or others, witch have begun to talk back too much, talk about the money too much, talk about what they do for the money too much... given their opportunity to earn their way out of the pool party.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

At what age, as a millionaire, did you encounter the excuse "that's all _YOU_ are, anyway", but, because you made it thruogh your award winning testing gamut (learn to play dead better than rover, the bionic dog, and learn to do it at all the right times around the block), you have decided that you are the top of the food chain? Other millionaires ride on the excuse that the eggos are only eggos, and the humans procreate. Amusing, that with such audibly immature brains, they pretend to procreate.

The jobbies are kept right next door to hell.
The phonies are kept right next door to hell.
The kingdom of heaven is kept right next door to hell.
The phairies are kept right next door to hell.
Hell itself is boxed in and kept right next door to hell.
The bugs at the bottom of hell are trying to find the way out, but they're far too small and you don't have much left for them to feed on by the time you make it down there.

The bugs think of you as overly fattened bugs. They don't understand the transformation which allows you to well up at the eyes. That makes them uncomfortable so, as any good surface scientists do when caught in the box of corporate demands, they take your eyes out to make you stop doing that. Down in hell the dogs will have the eyes and the eggo won't. Call it a privelege of your new station and rank. You will be able to eat your eggo without the haunting lights.

Some day, maybe, your voice will drop. Until then you have this playpen with eggos and remote control carnival props to keep you occupied.

6-to-12, age and weight, it's all the same at the millionaire mobile dog wash meet to benefit children's charities.

Millionaires then have a choice to take a job watching the jobbies (or being led around following one of the dead ones in training exercises) or, if they prove themselves to be up to the mission, taking part in the daily eggo theatre shows running in all the millionaire areas of the world. Dress the eggos up as the jobbies being competed that day and, if your eggo lost that bad, then perhaps it is the same as one of the millionaires themselves eating the home plate for your life. Of course they feed your old clothes to the dogs; good thing I began sewing all of my ritz and keeping them in open air. Have my socks... walking up or down you're getting the bottom of the column or proof of how much better than you I am.

How do you like the chocolate on your eggo? Sprinkles? Drizzled? Or utterly caked and covered in it?
How do you prefer your eggo cooked? Bothered? Agitated? or scared f*ing sh*less?

Oh yes. Uncle Sam wants you. Wants you to be the e. l. The eggo (what was it?). Well, the first eggo. Because the first one always gets stuck (for eunuch'd eggos), and if they open the party with a dog then, well, it's a dog. So, in the eggo parties, they probably don't want to lose too many of their own, and likely they train other eggo to want to be the one to do that. Unless one of their own ended up getting nominated through whichever of the thousands of methods available in the sphinx.

Again, consider how special La Jolla is. That wall at the walkway. Where's Wald-o? In the sea of the other eggo being rinsed down the sewer.

Other areas across the nation and globe have similar architectural setups.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-ninth(a) entry

The millionaires killed my last session early. I had two minutes. I checked it. Then, in moment by moment fashion, one of their little babies in the little library _coincidentally_ (all day long for seven years) chirped "buh-bye", the "minutes left" program on the taskbar clipped off, and the session booted. Oh, what clever tricks.

I have uncovered the real reason the millionaires insist that I am decreasing their quality of life. I am standing in the way of their eggo parties! Nobody will hear the tree fall when they do it dreadfully wrong. The millionaires have been present for the entire term of the development of technology. They do not spend their day playing video games because the system inherently detects their identity and, in whatever manner of ways, makes it near impossible for them to even pretend not to win. They do not spend their day with media because it reminds them of why bad things really happen to good people. The depth of "mr. personality" and single-digit IQ is far deeper than I had envisioned. This is the daily pasttime of millionaires across the world in all of their small millionaire districts, with eligible 4-H club children (those bruises are not from their spouse, that's from getting their faces stuck watching the children go down in the pool) and eggos. Drop one off with a hamburger and a milkshake and they'll be back in a few minutes. Then the parade begins, as I have documented.

The sphinx truly is rolling over. A good percentage of these daily floods have been holding for the cues of the terminated paschal lamb or been scheduled to fill the area for the eggo parties after the paschal lamb is gone. They have been scheduled to arrive for years, perhaps decades. The increase in traffic has, similarly, been scheduled for years or decades. The dogs are not only to run on me; they are here because they should be holding massive celebration parties. The bikini pedo dog shows are not only to upset a target; those are cameo appearances. The diamond chips that I pick up may be the kingdom of heaven indicating that, while it is a big block and plenty of space, perhaps I am saving them a millstone or two ($500k each) simply by being here. That is what makes these millionaires so upset. This is their joy in life, the only thing left to them because everything else is so rigged so bad. Ship the jobbies off to work, get the proper watch people in place, and we've proven thousands of times that nobody will ever see anything when they do that one terribly horribly wrong. Those 200 dogs daily are not only to bother me; they're trying to pick the area back up to what they would be doing if I weren't here taking up the space and bringing the heat.

(as they tickle their children in the background next to my belongings to pride their rights)

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

One particular facet of Ham's deterioration and breakdown leading to the full encasement of Isaac's scripts includes a job description or house at gerar event that produces an enormous steam blast to the face on the side opposite the beaten side. The beaten side is not from mummification but a combination of "smack the little guy down" after the bah-ra and then, as the years wear on and ticket sales slump, the inclusion of progressive levels of "only if I get to use this ring". Along with the finalization of the castor bean mash application (ensuring that all newly produced Ham's will live life routes leading to the excuse to make the application, the end of the maharajas) Isaac's life includes a choreographed inclusion in a boiling ethylene glycol blast to the unbeaten side of the face. Should he ever eliminate that injury and wake that back up (eg. after aladdin's lamp) that is called the "razor's edge". The razor's edge also refers to the sliver along the bottom of the unbeaten cheek where the high priest delicated laved a portion of boiling glass to see the look in the paschal lamb's eyes--"holy ef*ing sh*, how deep is this water going to be?"

The exact placement of the particular locations which are shut down (individual muscle cells and tiny regions "knocked out colder than cold" but not dead) is occupied by the typical realm-of-the-dead si-p-honies and those need be cleared out just like any other. The nature of the human body, one of the ways that the sphinx works, is that the body is redundant in several ways and, unless the individual is dedicatedly working on fast and improvement, injuries are redundant. If the injury is sustained in the body proper then the corresponding modifications are made in digestive tract, brain plaque, sinus position, and matching shut-down regions in the cheeks and around the lips. If the injury is sustained in the face itself then, unless the individual frees and heals the region in time, the remainder of the body will seek to acquire the corresponding cramps and crimps--either by physical injury to the corresponding location, the brain accumulating the plaque around the corresponding neurons, the digestion accumulating the corresponding timing problem along it's entire trajectory. If the individual never achieves rehabilitation then, eventually, all of the redundant matching systems will accumulate the proper hindrances and the overall will continue its downward progression. On the healing side of the acceleration curve the range of the voice, the unlocking and stretching of joints, the improvement of overall bricking performance, and the removal of especially itchy boogers often overlaps back and forth with various levels of correspondance. I have no interest in stretching out the residency time to match each event in linear fashion. Do not delay your obligation to the Lord; when the booger calls, KICK IT!

The digestive note brings on a good opportunity to discuss again alcohol. I have mentioned alcohol in the books in reference to Joseph planting just enough sugar in the bottoms of the grain sacks that the carriers would have just enough beer alcohol in their digestion to miss the perfect shroud of turin check with the drill sergeant sometime in the next day or few. Now the world is stocked with alcohol (from the neutralization of the tear gas and bleach torpedo system which was supposed to save both Noah and Zechariah from the eunuch and adonis hordes, Noah found out that the bell rope was broken and Zechariah filed many maintenance complaints over the light switch malfunctioning). Your digestion includes what is called a "parachute". Your parachute is your last resort if the rest of it should, for whatever reason, kick down and give way. You spend most of your childhood ratcheting your parachute if you attended elementary school. A little alcohol here or there and you will continue to hold your parachute together. By the time everybody reaches age fifteen to twenty-five, though, they have had that experience of a summer which allowed them to languish, in whatever form, by the BBQ with the friends all summer long. Parachute gone. Never to be picked back up again. Takes a long walk, and then some, to recover from that alcohol injury. Until then the redundant matching system of the body injuries will always be dropping the parachute, and likely the individual continues to drink the years away and keep the remainder of the redundant systems lagging behind the digestion in the tit-for-tat tracking heirarchies.

So the fella laying in the Etruscan tomb never managed to find alladin's lamp, he'd be the last of the maharajas that went out trying (with or without making a real pilgrimage walk). A good scale for the gospel, as well, because Moses and Elijah tell Jesus that he needs to go for a big walk, but nobody's really been doing that since long before Seth. In his religion you pass a forty-day bread check and, in his station on his career path, they make you the prophet. Well, sorry, not enough people were responding to your dialect in the minor judging meetings, the sadducees say your hand is getting worse, dinah's going blind from eating too much ham, and caesar and pilate are both coming up on holiday expenses for the eggo parties chasing the kiddies around the millionaire district. Then you go and, under Pilate's interrogation, give the wrong response of "I AM" and "blah blah blah blah blah" when it should have been "Amen, Amen" (or "I AM", "I AM", or the same excuse both times). So up the hill with you.

If they would have gone for the walk and done things the right way they would have begun to hit puberty. You didn't hit puberty. They knocked you down with a mild blowgun for a few months running and made you sound more like the other older males. You didn't open up your pipes. You have no idea. It's actually somewhat funny. When do you hit puberty? Somewhere between seven and fourteen years, on the path of the LORD!, depending upon how devotedly you practice. All of these big grown adults and big grown men counseling their children to the green eggs and ham, and none of their voices have even dropped yet. Oh, yeah, real big important adults. Real big men, uh-huh. When is your voice going to drop? Probably long after they check you into hell and excavate your anus to remove the boogers one by one. You're like plants. Kept in small boxes, under bad lights, under too much hydro (debt, water)... you will never hokie-pokie "the right way" on the cribbage board and hit double skunk.

Doing things the right way. "He who blasphemes against the Holy Spirit". The millionaires, running their daily eggo shows, love to confuse this sort of thing with whatever they choose, usually in a sexually humiliating contest against one of their children. If you practice this religion the "right way" then it is impossible to blaspheme against the Holy Spirit. You will find yourself hearing it on the way and you will need to remember to look up and see it. Try using the musical section (not all monks count by twelves).

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-ninth entry

There's a contest involved. The contest in research dollars. A contest in devotion. A contest in interest. A contest in alignment.

How many millions of dollars have been devoted in the past year to the study of the Fem-O? The fem-Ah? Grants, allocations, interests, studies. How many dollars are devoted to studying a woman's satisfaction in bed?

How many millions of dollars have been daily devoted to spying for my dick?

They claim to love their green eggs and ham, and they'll tell you how they love to eat their eggo waffle with chocolate sprinkles (fecal topping; if they are on the hook for this-that-or-the-other to be the one to lick the spinkles off before everybody else gets it this time), but they've devoted more money to spying for my dick raw. Obviously the alignment is less than center for them.

In the contest between the female orgasm and my dick, daily, for the running decade now, maybe longer... I have more worshippers than the female orgasm and half your porn industry combined.

Yesterday's discovery of the Etruscan artwork (have I seen this before? maybe last year? the year before? did I write something mostly similar, only updated for new revelations on eunuchs and green eggs and ham?) identifies a very pivotal point in the scripts sending everybody to hell. The Etruscan is the last of Ham. Ham is the last of Seth. Seth should have gone for a walk to make fast but, by the end of his scriptural lineage, he was doing the carrot-stick-at-the-gates-of-hell before leaving town, being taken into the temple for begging on the steps all the time, and used for temple eunuch developmental technologies as they had done with his father Adam. The Etruscan is yet playing a thin pipe; the carrot stick at the gates of hell for the phaeries and not yet the temple box of green eggs (and later then with ham to ensure the job goes the way it is supposed to on time). Samuel turns the prospects to all in-temple bread boxes or green eggs and ham for the masses. Eleazar, in a different biblical scene being made to eat pork, is the last of the people that remember the phaeries' carrot stick (with possible neurotoxin to claim the servant at will, when ready, when their characteristic flavor is appealing). The Etruscan also is depicted playing the flute, a reference to how the forty thieves ran him down--spying for his dick (and likely with those remote control birds). The birds are remote control to represent the end of the Sodom and Gomorrah ages, the mid-level wire technology and remote control operations exist to be perfected in later Tyre and Sidon. In the painting I found on the network the left arm itself is beginning to swell and then, likely in a life-cycle later stage in the tomb of the artwork, the artwork in the book I was viewing shows a marked obvious oval increased swelling leading to the hand. Seth should have gone for a walk to make fast. According to the chicken-witch-pole architectural viewing area (92037), the three pyramid trees of Ham, Isaac, and Jesus Christ. Ham's lineage was finished when the castor bean mash was perfected; before that Ham's arm would swell according to previous pirate party usage, his siblings banging on his shoulder as he grows up, and whatever job functions they hedged on him after being allowed out of the mummification box and into a life (cramped working conditions meant to demand strange postures of the left fingers to perform the function while hedging the left elbow against a wall or a conveniently placed steel bar meant to smack the elbow if concentration is interrupted, any number of different things). When the castor bean mash was perfected, the Persian maharajas were knocked out, and Ham (continuing on Seth's script of being the temple's prophet, either in house or subsidized out of house) could then be brought in for the final box whenever desired by knocking out the shoulder of his thumb with the nerve agent.

Artwork from a slightly previous time period represents animals with live eyes and job functions more devoted to regimenting the foliage in the pictures.

The trio of pyramid trees represent Ham, Isaac, and Jesus Christ for the financial accounting method which was standardized upon (three stage rocket, rosetta stone, nation corporation tax-shelter method for structuring the financial accounting ledger). The Ham tree is shaped to indicate the entire world rides on his peg and hangs on his left arm. When the castor bean mash was perfected then we hit "0 A.D.", and the christ is brought in whenever desired, when Rebekkah kicks him out and he turns to Job (if a jobbie) or the temple schedules him for a pony express to hell (if a phonie). Isaac doesn't have much of a life, and it really doesn't matter what they do before they smack his (Ham's, now Isaac's) thumb with the nerve agent. The Isaac tree reflects this--no need for all of the branches which show all of the different routes which were plotted out for Ham. The Egyptian monuments usually lend themselves to the worship of "Ra", and in particular, bah-ra (except, again, the oldest art depicting the animals with real eyes). The Etruscan artwork dated 475 B.C. is due to the sliding logarithmic scale which different templates of history progress upon--475 B.C., just before the castor bean mash, just before Isaac, just before Samuel, just before Eleazar, with the remote drone birdies, and that is then also just after Namaan (who recovered, and the new generations of maharajas now, with the nerve agent, never will), just after the phaeries. That's a good number of templates to line up for reference points.

Ham's arm was shipped out for pirate party as was now acceptable. The old morticians from the earliest of Seth's time did not need to dismember the body and beat the arm into stillness, but the art has been lost now. Also featured in this lining up of templates around the Etruscan is Zechariah. Before Zechariah it was not acceptable to albatross the passover lamb (except for the arm shipped off to pirate party), after the eunuch and the adonis storm the temple (with the appropriate hiss of "yessss" from some millionaire around the corner) and rewrite all of the books (all of the references to the nature of bestiality and animal faggittry on the 'net, not a single mention of the food chain... does it appear to be rewritten by thousands of years of infantile idiots?) and make a mockery of the procedures then it is their practice to albatross the baby, go too far, go overboard (as they do with their eggo waffles). Isaac and Jesus will introduce the "three nails" joke to correspond with the "chinese bowling ball" on their abdomen. Jesus was v1 with the initial nail up the center, Peter and Paul later applied Orville and Wilbur on the Wright. Yours truly is v2, beginning with Orville and Wilbur on the right, and the expectation is that, if I had been the usual scripted idiot, to receive v1 down in the kingdom of heaven just prior to the attempt at a mummification... or being stuffed into the eunuch foot pedal box. They probably don't bother trying the heater unless the subject is clear of boogers. Adam was a chicken broker.

The end of Zechariah's time represents the completion of the formal structure of the sphinx as an additional lawn ornament to the (joke)-morticians in the three big pyramids. Zechariah was the final frontiersman staffing the outpost to keep the barbarians away. Since then they moved completely down into the mine.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

Common man and wife photos of egyptian pharaohs are really before and after shots for what they do inside that pyramid!!! Those huge statues... yep!

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-eighth(a) entry

One common disbelief for the previously discussed neurological status of millionaire systems is their ability to participate in seemingly cohesive social interactions when necessary; commonly commercial transactions and short social interactions usually with plenty of their wealth and grandeur surrounding them for effect. The reality is that the millionaires with which jobbies interact are specially chosen out of their population; the remainder participating in the other aspects of the sound stage shipping the meat to hell.

When previously also discussed cast of cartoon characters for the eunuch; including, but not limited to, specialty celebrity appearances by simple siphon and hamburger filter. There was the consideration that such nonsensical rationalizations (excuses) were from a very early time and quite worn out and beaten to death before teenage years. There was the consideration that the syllables would eventually lead into the jokes and games of the upcoming and later years. Consider the BSM material for gumbies at the time of Ninevah, and almost no new mention of that material in Fifo2ed (hilj) until the material of the Reader's Guide to the Sphinx, with some introduction in the Template Timeline.

Oh Mickey (and, as I type this, the millionaires are using some of their children to breathe heavily in anticipation, to show how much they love it, to create that sexual tension, to give to you the impression that their children are lavishing in it just around the corner, here in the library... just the small sounds, what the scene could be... low sounds... it's what they love... using their children)

(It's not about whether or not this call is monitored or recorded for evaluation purposes, it's how many different ways it is monitored and recorded by how many different groups)

Oh Mickey you're so fine.
You're so fine you blow my mind.
Hey MICKEY!
HEY MICKEY!

WANNA WATCH ME *&#*$&# THE &($#($#
or
WANNA WATCH THE %$*%&$* %$*(%$ ME IN %&$*% $%*$#*%$

Many millionaires get caught by that at the early age.

Now that we did that. YOU EAT IT!

WHAT????
EAT IT!
WHAT????!!!!
EAT!
WTF????

It'll help you out of that ransom note they told you about last week.
(millionaire marriage)
or
Then we'll have a million dollars and we'll be able to ditch everybody else!

How about a few pharisees hanging out in the girl's room discussing exploits.

Well, he probably won't eat it, no matter how much you sit there, if you $#%^$ the $%&#*$%&#*
But, if me and a few others get him going, and we know how much he likes your #*$&#, then you could probably get him to eat it if the #$*(# #$&#*$ you in the $%&$*%$
Then you could do whatever you want with him.

How many millionaires know exactly how that went?

EAT IT!

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

--

Etruscan artwork, around 475 BC, depicts flutists. What's wrong with his left arm? Did they not figure out how to localize the swelling to the hand with the nerve agent, yet? The pic in the book in front of me is far more pronounced, quite obvious, in the swelling but not immediately available in an images search.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-eighth entry

24 hours per day, seven days each week, for seven years.
All of the spiteful little games the millionaires play when they intimidate their children
make them eat the green eggs and ham
All of the things they can shut off
All of the things they can turn on
All of the little ways they can cut each and everything down, little by little
All of the spy tricks and tactics
The hate will stop when you go do it
When the millionaires decide to stalk and spy on one of their children this strong
For this long
You know that these are the people (*lewd lascivious raspy airy voice*) that specialize in making the children do it
They _delight_ in it
Teaching them the way
And if something goes wrong...
Imagine how many children that's been
All of the practice rounds and side benefits they are priveleged to extract as part of their training
99 boxes of eggo on the wall...
It's their drug
(*millionaire dripping drooping pouting pitying voice*) Ooooh, Did they do that one *pause, head shake, blurting out* WROONNNG?
Do they... OOOOWE?
Pleeeease... talk to their... d-o-k-t-o-r.
Doctor DOG!

Basically, the sickest of the sickest fucks in the world.

They're not spooking and spying on the homeless guy.
They're practicing the games they run on their own children.
All the methods they use to groom their precious child and make it ready to ...ACCEPT... the green eggs and ham.
The big millionaire power pride complex
Sometimes they get a jobbie or a homeless person
But mostly they use it to run on their children
Get 'em before they hit sixty pounds, knock you down, turn around and call you the faggitt.

Following today's scripture.

Lord of the living and the dead.
Which of you even knows how to count to one hundred?
What are these coins this lady keeps sweeping the house so desperately for?

Women (he/she/it/they) want a Fistful of Diamonds and Widowmakers make their job easier.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

That explains why the police officer returned to me one night,"You're gonna go sleep somewhere else, right? I j-just don't want that guy with the dog to come back."
Officer, sir, your nerve is slipping and all you did was go talk to him for a moment--you didn't even get out of your cruiser.
Oh, I know why... because when the officer went to go talk to the guy with the dog at eleven o'clock at night...
What he heard sounded similar to (with slightly different syllables)...
(*lewd lascivious raspy airy voice*) these are the people that specialize in making the children do it
They _delight_ in it
Teaching them the way...
THE WAY OF THE DOGGIE FAGGITT!!!

The officer only heard the first two lines but returned to me with a few creeped out nerves because the next two lines are in the script behind that particular raspy focal intonation.

--

Today brought to me a book of the wonders of Italy. In reference to landmark modeling. Does Florence appear to resemble London bridge in any way? How about Lucca? Does that appear to be the intersection of Torrey Pines and Girard (slightly humorous; within the context of my work it is marginally more than mere irrelevance)? Maybe we could compare Lucca to La Jolla, Jericho, Jerusalem, Ninevah, Toon Town, 84th and National (53214), 7th and Lafayette (47803), and any number of other architectural models used to prove and reprove the component functions in the bricks of the pyramids--I have written of the architecture of Toon Town previously in discussion of city layouts... archways are common methods of tracking such proofs and reproofs, and triplicate structures (South America, Japan, Tower of Pisa) are good ways to sum up entire sets of archways and prove and reprove that the sum continues to ship all of the component workers to hell in a timely fashion.

The pages for Turin (a drying hair) include a picture of the Certosa five miles from Pavia. Compare to the architectural map of the Branch Davidian compound in Waco, TX.

HA-HA! SUCKERS!

The artwork produced by "Signorelli" appears to include many depictions of the various stages of life between heaven and hell, including some depiction of just how much effort it takes to beat a human completely to death. This, for example, includes references to the book of Tobit. Tobit, stop playing with the dead bodies. If they're going to lay around and pretend to be dead we have entire teams of witches paid to show them what it means. As Ninevah progressed through Sodom and Gomorrah the human race developed the popularity contest to sign and ship the really ugly ones to hell before they got to laying around for the dogs to nose over. Include the consideration of the buffer layer of the newly created phairie kingdoms between the surface overlords and the true gates to hell. Torso models, various amputations, and allusions to sewing combinations.

I have yet to rediscover the picture from Raphael which included the background horses and other centaur type creatures with live eyes.

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-seventh entry

Yes, yes, all the little tricks, the "ways and means", that millionaires use to burn their children into the green eggs and ham. Get the kids before they hit 60 pounds or else, like me, they may be large enough to call the millionaires "the faggitts". Should their child ever call them a faggitt then they are able to turn around, second grade age format, and wail,"You're one, too!"

Is necessary to understand the psychology and mentality of the millionaires. Their neurologics are stuck on a very thin bandwidth. With a computer metaphor, the front side bus is down to three cycles (per time frame). "What's left for me?" "How much money do I have left?" and "How long until I need to do it again?" Whizzing, crapping, vomiting all over themselves (if they claim to be sick, unable to do it, then they may get out of the chamber without taking the beating to the head), they will insist that they can do it. The beating to the head is the dismissal from the millionaire club; if they take the "thunking" then the secret wire gets mangled and smashed into their skull when the thunking is administered. What is the thunking? Well, there's a Hollywood production called "Over the Top". I never saw it. Arm wrestlers with Sylvestor Stallone. Then there's the carnival arm wrestler quarter game in some restaraunts and at some carnivals. A single mechanical arm which you may arm wrestle. That's the thunking. The arm wrestler has been trained for years, with watermelons and such, to "thunk" anything entering his hand. He sits on the other side of the separator (curtain, wall, screen) and, should anything enter his hand, he thunks it. Simple as that.

Millionaires then, with the mad dog disease (scrapie in sheep, mad cow disease, kuru in New Zealand aboriginals... a prion disease, all of the mismatched doubles and triples in the interstitial lymph, as mentioned in yesterday's entry), are stuck on thoughts which are primarily short snippets of desperation. "Get to do" "Do the dog" "Make the money" "It's our right" "It's our way" "Eat the poo" "Make them do". Those are the sorts of snippets which rotate through a millionaire's head along with the secret voices in the back of their head. The secret voices are managed in a relay fashion, very similar to internet relay chat and the monitor screens in police vehicles. There are messages, notices, operator insertions, and none of the millionaires really know how the system is coordinated--it truly is a culmination of thousands of years of monks chasing wires to find a "magnetic moment" from the soap pokies hand... long after all the Zechariah's have been shoved to hell and all that was left was the hands, and before the hands were all installed in the eunuchs. There were, at one time, arrays and arrays of disembodied hands poking soap and the monks remembered that the soap pokie used to talk about the "magnetic moment". I have written about it. The hands were watched closely to see if there was anything to tell, wires were attached, light bulbs attached to the wires as technology evolved and made itself available. From the first formal blacksmithy to the concept of balanced weights and magnets, experiments with balanced weights and magnets, the discovery of incandscence--hardly two thousand years from the smithy to digital technology and the rest is playing catch up with the materials of fabrication and production while the technological basis is readily available. A wizard of Oz machine, and the greatest access they have is primarily PBX style dialups.

Poor wretched millionaires. All the tricks and games their big powerful spy game gives to them that they may run their children down before they hit sixty pounds. Else their child may turn around, call them the faggitt, and drown them in the pool.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

War in La Jolla, seventh year, eighty-sixth entry

The same thing they do to their precious little kids. They get to do these things. They get to spy on them. They get together as communities to chase them around. If you want to live in a million-dollar community then you need to learn what they do for the money. They get to frame everything you do with their dogs, and chase you to the toilet with the dog, and they'll bother you everywhere and call at your ear and run the dog right to the toilet every time until you learn what you need to go do for the money. Yes, with the dog. They get to do this. It's the same way they do up their own precious little children. If the children talk about it too much then millionaires have their private pools, for drowning, or a scheduled interview with marmaduke/supergoofy/or the pony express to hell. They have their secret miracle ear system talking to them, and they get to do these things. You will never know. (liberally apply the bleeding heart pouting whining millionaire voice) It's what they get to do.

They get to hire these "teacher teams", these people that specialize in running down their children. If your child won't do it then they have "swim lessons" (before you get thrown in the pool), get your feet wet with the floats (dog poo), get used to it. Learn and learn and learn where the money comes from.

Learning. The ability to make responses you didn't have before. That involves an increase in voice. Notice that many millionaires don't talk. Notice that many millionaires, when they do talk, if you listen, are spouting nothing but nonsensical babble. That's the dog goo and dog poo in their brain. News and comics. Green eggs and ham. Brain damage and heart disease. In yesterday's discussion of the userfulness of "hamburger filter", the cells in your body are always putting out "leaves", doubles and triples of protein and enzyme sequences which are left over from cellular processes. That is your interstitial lymph. Males have a size exclusion chromatography sorting mechanism to sort through the doubles and triples and convey to the remainder of the endocrine system how the leaves are coming from the trees. Eunuchs do not have that--they have the osmotic filter and hamburger filter.

Jeff Stewart, their favorite rainbowtard rich kid that was scheduled to collect all of the awards when the paschal lamb was finalized (died for your sins), used to go around this town masturbating in the middle of the day, everywhere across midtown, and nobody ever said anything about him. I guess his penis wasn't much for show, though, because the faggitts in this area spend every day and all night long looking for mine, and calling the police to tell absolutely everything I do.

And their drunks. Seven years of drunks crapping everywhere--were the police ever called by the ever watchful ever vigilante system about that? Oh no. Drunks never got caught. They are the "teacher team", the stink, the "beholder" to mess up and destroy everything their child does until their precious little darling learns what to do for the money.

http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/

You will never know about their secret "miracle ear" network. The people that give away millions of dollars and manage that system would not lose track of their investment... would you? All of the millionaires are wired, small impact to the cochlea. Call it the voice in the back of their head, telling them where to turn, where to go, where to hide if necessary, what lie to tell to get out of being caught.

And the voices in the back of their head... where do you suppose that is coordinated from? Well, the Jews are the hood ornament on the whole animal faggitt ship. They get just enough money to look good and be a target for the jobbies, but they really are the bottom of the pole in dollar amount muscle. For the largest part the Jews just want to eat their green eggs and ham, make their money, go home and enjoy their culture and themselves (without getting into how "green eggs and ham" turns into "all in the family" and "playdates"). The Jews don't usually sign up for "murder rides" until they reach the age that the million dollars isn't quite keeping up with their expenses.

So... in return for the hood ornament... Notice that the hood ornament rocks back and forth. Like the cast head in the old "Batman" series to open the secret passage. The Jews get to play mine cart escorts for people going down to the kingdom of heaven. Jobbies going for bankruptcy adjustments or eunuchs going down for paschal lamb duties and enjoyments (and get their own dick back for a while and be able to sort some of that lymph... basically a static garbage sample from the aggregated filtered goo). Jews get to be the mine cart escorts.

Many millionaires sound drunk. Their palette is ratcheted back in disgust from eating farm shit.