Today is Tuesday the sixth of September in 2016, the day of the grace and peace of our Lord, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit. The day of salvation, grace, blessing and redemption. If not today, then what other day?
Been away from computers for a few years. Most libraries have committed to photo identification. So, a quick recap since the last time I remember posting.
After La Jolla's finest paid those two thugs to jump and beat me in the middle of the night (their voices still haven't dropped, I continue to get bigger and better daily) I stuck around for another year or so. Then the La Jolla's finest people sent four of their children swinging baseball bats; not literally. Remember that video, from the early 2000s, though? Four kids show up at night and beat a homeless man to death? Turns out that is standard practice for rich people (see http://mapfortu.wikidot.com/ for additional information about the nature of the rich wealth in the world). When the rich people don't want you around anymore they begin rushing their dogs and, if that won't work, they send four kids. What are you going to do when four kids show up picking a fight? I tried to counsel the kids to go home. Apparently that was too much. I spent six months in jail. The original filing was five counts of public exposure (one for each child on the scene) and five counts of offending a minor (one for each child on the scene). I asked the responding officer that day,"What's with the peanut gallery hanging out on the porch of the bank across the street?" "I don't know, I was going to ask you the same thing", was the response from the officer. So we both established that neither one of us had any idea what these kids were doing hanging out in a bank parking lot heckling a homeless man from across the street and halfway down the block, cheering and waving and jeering. Just before the police arrived I had even asked the children, who had been screaming "Look over here! Hey, homeless guy! We're over here!" Of course you're _there_, you've been waving and screaming at me from across the street for the last fifteen minutes. So I called and asked,"What are you even doing here? What could you possibly want?"
"SHOW US YOUR DICK!" they screamed. I waved them off and called,"You need to go home!"
Well, instead, the police arrived and I spent six months sitting in a dorm of societies largest rejects. The original filing was for ten misdemeanor counts and LIFETIME registration as a sex offender, because the called claimed that there was a homeless man parading up and down the sidewalk exposing himself and masturbating on the open sidewalk. The final result after six months? One misdemeanor count and a ZERO DOLLAR TICKET.
Do you know how many zero dollar tickets I have? A zero dollar ticket is the courthouse way of sweeping things under the rug. Zero dollars, nobody needs to talk about it. I have a ten year running record of zero dollar tickets, and I still get extra crap from police. Or, how about tracking? The police have been taking my personal information, name, SSN, DOB, for ten years. One, two, three times each month, on average, I get interviewed by police... but they still get me confused when they are "getting calls". They get calls because somebody is panhandling, begging, laying out drunk, drinking, or trying to buy "drugs". In ten years I have zero dollar ticket after zero dollar ticket, and none of them have ever had anything to do with marijuana, but the police still come hassle me because "we've been getting calls". The police have been taking my personal information, name, SSN, DOB, monthly for ten years and they still come hassle me because "we've been getting calls". You don't know who I am yet? You don't know what I do yet? The judge knows I smoke marijuana and has never seen fit to press any ticket against me for it.
A complete SNAFU and FUBAR. Ten years I've beeen homeless and the rich people can still send the police after me with a telephone call, a defamatory telephone call, a malicious and defamatory telephone call.
Well, if that doesn't work, maybe they'll just send four of their kids.
Could you search the court dockets? Find the number of filings that begin with ten counts and request for lifetime registration and then get dropped to one count and zero dollars.
And the officer on the scene and I had both determined that neither of us had any idea what those kids were even doing there.
Those are the rich people.
After that I left and went to Riverside county for the last year. Complete rip-off. Here's a summation of Riverside county. They've got 2-gram eighths (eighth of an ounce, do the math) for $40, they've got leaf shake for $10 per gram, and everybody in the county flies around hitting the hash vapo openly all day long. Perris? Jay owes me five, Abraham owes me twenty, and Too Tall has nothing but shake at $10/gram. Murrietta? Noah owes me twenty five, and both Mike and Rashik would routinely hit me up for lunch and "spare a couple bucks?" every time I passed through. Teme-killah? Haven't seen any of it. Stash in Sun City will hook up okay, but it's all shake with barely a few flavor crystals (little bit nuggets from right next to the stem). All the shanty-campers in Wildomar are tweekers and won't sell you a bud to save their own lives. Lake Elsinore, dude still owes me five and begs me for spare dollars every time I'm through there.
And everywhere in Riverside the people are hitting the hash vapo. You can catch a contact high almost anywhere from the hash vapo, smell it walking down almost any road, but if the homeless guy sparks a bowl then it's helicopters, sirens, and people screaming everywhere, and if you ask anybody about buying a bud they're either ripping you off completely or calling the police. Nothing personal, but, from the honest bud business point of view: F*$K riverside county, CA. Twenty after twenty after twenty went out the window as the pretendo street people (they aren't real homeless or street people, they're rich kids kicked out of mommy and daddies' basement, scamming people like me so they can buy alcohol and lunch) would play the "I'll be right back", or "I'll be back in an hour", or "I'll be back this afternoon", and really all they were doing was keeping you waiting so the dog-faggit rich people could begin calling the police.
There's one police officer, in Murrietta, fat-ass old piece of shit. He knows I go to church daily, he knows I practice a religion, so his game is to wait in the parking lot by the donut shop down the street and he has told me,"If I see you again I'm going to write you a ticket for loitering, and then you'll have to go to jail, and you see all your stuff? You will lose all of it." OOOOOOOH! You're so big and tough and powerful. You think this is the first time I have "lost all of it"? You fat-ass prik piece of sh*t. That should be a religious hate crime and criminal stalking, for your stupid punk-ass to wait by the donut shop after morning mass to give me a ticket if you so much as see me.
But, those are the rich people. Somebody make sure that fat-ass officer doesn't get too close to any children, fat ass pedophile faggit (all rich people are pedos, that's just what they get to do after whoring themselves out to a dog for their money).
After my first two months in Riverside all of my gear was lifted up and stolen by a passing car while I sat at the Hidden Springs Starbucks having coffee one morning. Come to find out later that was also an unofficial police job.
Have I reminded everybody that the rich people, across the entire world, are all part of an animal sex whorehouse--specifically with their dogs?
One green eggs and ham (blow the dog, eat the poo) is club membership and about one million dollars. Children are about $300k/each for sex. They don't have to be "millionaires", but, with the spare change they have left over they still have more money than any working man this year. That's the way the world works.
You are not real humans. Real humans have halos and wings. You are re-rolled sacks of poop, and the "women" are eunuchs. You must walk about 5000 miles to begin tightening up to be a "real" human and begin dropping your voice, for real. Until then you are all part of an arranged train set that runs on a 400 year script. Call it predestination. You are going to hell.
So rich people are still dog fags and pedophiles, the police are still paid thugs for rich people, and there are plenty of "rich kids" in the police forces everywhere. Marijuana is still near impossible to buy with an honest dollar, but, as long as you don't need your job as a working man, the hash vapo is available as a medical for just about anybody with a runner's knee or tennis elbow.
Your brain is not open. When you make sound, you make sound with the brain stem only. You need to walk about five thousand miles to open that back up--keep going. The condition is known as faggit, runt, witch... kicked out of the garden. That's where humans begin if they are a re-rolled second generation human. The real humans all went to hell already, long time ago.
I need twenties, cash and bud. I don't drink, I don't "do drugs", I don't beg, I don't leave trash, I don't dig, I don't camp. I keep all of my belongings with me, packed up tight, and carry everything I have. I stay clean, I continue to observe the Liturgy of the Hours (said nine of the book prayers yesterday, and usually make three or four of them), and I'm the only human on the planet since before Adam (and Eve, that hottie eunuch) to walk far enough to drop his voice, for real.
"You do the hokey-pokey and turn yourself around" and THAT'S what it's all about. A real human, with halos and wings, may indeed turn themselves inside out. Like a chinese yoyo going through paper rollers. You stick your tongue up your nose, keep working on perfecting yourself, and when "she" (your brain) is ready then the brain reaches from behind that wall in the back of your nose (that's where the boogers come from, out of and off of your brain, past that wall on either side, and then out your nose), and sucks you up. If you are divine clay then you will unroll in layers and your brain will take what it needs to fill out like a balloon figure. If you are all fat and wet between the layers then you would blow apart, so you can't even stick your tongue up your nose to try, and your brain is all clogged out with boogers. It's not what you think, honey, it's all in your head, the real woman of your dreams is right behind your eyes, you need to go for a walk. Until then you can play with the eunuchs on the way to hell. Maybe you can be one of the rich people and have homosexual sex with the dogs (and other animals), too.
Did you know that there's a space in the back of your nose to stick your tongue into, like a resting gliderport? If not, that's okay, that is what we call "kicked out of the garden". Your tongue is kicked out and you can't get back in. Five thousand miles to go, try to be holy and perfect on the way.
Ask those two punk thugs that jumped me in the middle of the night how their life is these days? Are they proud of what they did? Did their little night raid improve their life? The first one that jumped me, how's your knee, fag? When he came back the second night with his buddy I managed to take his legs out from him (while being punched by both of them) and he landed pretty hard on his knee. Serves you right for jumping a homeless man. Using a cane yet, or still trying to work with whirlpool therapy? And the other fellow... how's your life? Your friends probably think you're a real tough guy (*HAHAHAHAHA*).
And those four kids that the rich people sent at me. How's your lives, little doggie kids? Do your friends look up to you for the scene you put on that Saturday morning. I bet the funniest joke with your friends is still "show us your dick". And you'll be living with that for the rest of your life.
Eff with me. Just eff with me. Just keep up your little faggit rich game playing keep away with the bud, calling the police, and following me around at night. Keep that up, see how that works for you. I know of six individuals in particular that wish they had never taken the occasion to come and mess with me.
Come and get it. Maybe you will win, so to speak. Maybe you'll get to punch me, and maybe you'll get to hurt me, and maybe you'll get to throw my blankets away, and ruin things... but, between now and next year, I'll will be better, your voice still won't drop, and what little wretched life you have will turn into a comedy show. AND you're still going to hell.