SLAY THE MONARCH & THE PROGRAM whilst ***** smokes
shadows upon walls indebting ***** to plucky seven vinegar strokes
I see no point projecting unlaid, lay-about chicks from routine coax
of Kabuki theater flim-flamming quackery that's a penny-ante hoax
wrecked banjaxed on grimy floors sudsed-in crap in which it soaks
I'll never see Cleveland alive as Mother is making it with some fly
whose stolen Detroit dives to hell under ***** bucks who are high
on fed cheese that is curdled & matured on the Chinese ****** lie
broadcasted across seas placid by radio hoo-hoo below half-life sky
tenting fortified wines blended with hops, barley and mildewed rye
in bath tubs devoid of naked wenches morally-wonked and gun-shy
working the angles on de-lousing Camden: old New Jersey's pig sty
because the sight of immorally-uncivil plans blind the Lutheran eye
Subhan Allah, David & Goliath, Samson & Delilah must wilt & die
as cities ***** & Gomorrah substituted fruit cake for pumpkin pie
legions of sodomites patrolled all alleyways as curfews didn't apply
when crusaders knighted moralistes Chrétiens were in short supply
& negroids unarmed had no choice in whitey nations but to comply
'cause guns over butter win the body-count, nobody alive can deny,
while prisoners without tongues are so stuck-up, they will not reply
till they overcome their dispositions as amputees tongue-tied & shy
about swift kicks to those Chaz Bono regions that cause men to cry
in an ionospheric register that shouldn't emanate from a normal dye
except in incorporated Amìr̃kà where each prison fry cook must fry
or suffer the fate that ruined commanding lieutenant William Bligh
whose sympathy was such that he'd have done better not to even try
tasteless breadfruit diplomacy upon a sweaty-palmed Christian guy
as it was a tipsy, get-go endeavor like herding cats & feeding slaves
or burying a whacked **** in any of Idaho's tourist-attracting caves
opposite a funky monument to governor Butch Otter making waves
without his buck teeth, quaffing ****** from barrels lacking staves
to enshrine an ape-scraped pate or picnicker's litany of close shaves
from the living, dying by demi-godlike, semi-doctors' clots & raves
in the bowels of the A.M.A. & the C.D.C. for Luciferian conclaves
while suppressing experiences of saving at Equibank in olden days
before gay Pittsburgh was inundated with homosexual lesbian gays
who imbibed ****-soaked chicory quenchers on pap-smeared trays

For Palmerston North woman Val Burr, 71, the parole hearing process is one she’s used to. She dreads each August as she once again faces begging a panel of people not to let her daughter’s killer out of jail.

On September 15, 2002, 16-year-old John Wharekura knocked on the door of Tanya Burr’s Hilda St. flat and asked her for a piece of paper and pen, supposedly to write a note for a friend in a neighbouring flat.

When the 21-year-old turned, he went inside and stabbed her 15 times. At the time, he was one of New Zealand’s youngest killers and had an undiagnosed psychosis.

John Wharekura was 16 when he killed Tanya Burr, making him one of New Zealand's youngest killers at the time. Photo / NZME
John Wharekura was 16 when he killed Tanya Burr, making him one of New Zealand's youngest killers at the time. Photo / NZME

He was freed in 2018 following his 14-year non-parole period but recalled the following year after problems with adhering to parole conditions and his mental health. He has since been convicted of assault offences in prison.

In 2021, he was charged with wounding with intent to cause grievous ****** harm relating to an assault on another prisoner. The Auckland District Court confirmed to the Rotorua Daily Post no conviction was entered because he had an insanity defence.

"Dear Lover," Debbie whispered through a feeding-tube, "one day we'll make love in a motel room in France a lot." Suddenly, like a miracle, Kyle's eyes flew open like a helicopter stalling out over the Teton Dam. "Oh Kyle! God does grant prayer requests!" Debbie exclaimed like she was Kammy Harris opening a bag of new knee pads. Debbie, why are you crying? My mother was just eaten by cannibal Pygmies. Oh, is she going to be alright? Yes, I think so. Mom? Are you okay? Yes darling. I'm just a little sore.

Many settlers were eaten by muskrats during the Muskrat War of 1855. Tom, a young pioneer, settled down for a night of restful sleep in his tent when all of a sudden he was eaten by a muskrat, a smart-*** muskrat that would cleverly assume his identity and go on to become a wealthy Abraham Lincoln impersonator.

I was driving through the fiercest global-warming-spawned blizzard ever, returning to my favorite gun-free zone, when an avalanche (like the one that killed Michael Jackson) buried me. I suspected that I would die soon (or soon enough) if Christ didn't intercede chop chop! I remembered several Bible verses and the Russian adage: “pray to God but row to shore.” I thought of my mother, Mather (Pa.), Jerry Mathers and the logic behind injecting pigeon **** to remove tattoos. Suddenly and unexpectedly out of nowhere demons pulled my car (with me in it) to safety. “Hey, where's Jesus?” I asked. “He'll be here in five minutes,” they answered. “Five minutes?” I guffawed & pshawed. “He may as well not bother!”

...𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬
Wherever I goes this is about the length of Maltese noses. If I hated
you more along the surf-tide of a Pacific-coast fizz you'd chalk it up
to Biblic points revealing an Occidentalized Lost-Sea-Scroll gnosis.

📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚­📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚📚

Ch. 1 : “Of course I don't like war, but Mexico is asking for it...”
My left knee hurt and I knew that I'd need left-knee surgery when I returned to the palace. Fortunately my mother, who is the queen of England, wasn't home so I hung my ****** on the throne to air out. It was just 2 minutes later when the red phone rang: “Mexico has dropped a couple of nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan.”; “*******!” I exclaimed. I immediately contacted central command. “This is the prince of England! I want 70,000 soldiers dispatched to Mexico right now!!!”; “Yes sir!” Said the guy on the other end.

Ch. 2 : Cindy's *** puckered like a strangled duck unused to French bread dough. “Did you order the attack on Mexico?” She asked.
   “Yes I did Cindy. As prince of England I see it as my duty.”
   “I love you,” Cindy said, “more than I love God.”
   “Thanks Cindy, but I'm not God, I'm only the prince of England.”

Ch. 3 : “Royal Duties Beyond the Horizon”
My attack on Mexico saved billions of lives in Pakistan and the king of Pakistan knew it. He called me as soon as he could.
   “Please your royal, highly-worshiped Prince of England,” he began, “accept the gratitude of the people of Pakistan for what you have done to save them from being killed by Mexicans.”
   “You're welcome,” I said. “I was simply doing my job as prince of England. Let's pray that Mexico has learned her lesson.”

Ch. 4 : “Mexico Apologizes”
It didn't take long for el presidente de Mexico to see the error of his ways. In a letter sent to me from the president's house in Mexico City, the president wrote: Dear Prince of England: I'm so sorry for dropping a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on Pakistan the other day. I don't know why I did it. I promise Sir Royal Prince of England that I won't ever do it again. Please forgive me. I am really sorry.  ~ Sincerely, the president of Mexico

Ch. 5 : “Apology Accepted”
As the prince of England I know that nobody's perfect, not even the president of Mexico. I accepted his apology on behalf of the people of Pakistan whom the president of Mexico had dropped a couple of  nuclear H-bombs on several days before.

☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑ ☑
⚀ ⚁ ⚂ ⚃ ⚄ ⚅
First thing first. DESTROY & ANNIHILATE!
...oh, that's 2 things.

GOD TALKS TO PEOPLE A LOT - Why do you love God so much? Because He's really nice. How nice? I just told you. Does He protect you day and night? Yes. He always has. What about Jesus? What about Him? Oh, nothing. Pull out a ride-hiking finger and let's hitch a hip trip to Toronto where 43% of Canadian women are living lives devoted to free-love & casual-*** giving. I got a rheumatic disease that kills nobody. Now that I know that I won't do THAT anymore unless I'm forced by the force of law to do that or if I'm conned into doing that, or lured by hussies who aren't real hussies into doing that. Debbie Watson's rotten dreams haunted her lover Kyle Yarborough's coma-deep slumber while he was attached to hospital machines. He had a career in car-racing to return to if his brain-reduction surgery was successful. "Dear Lover," Debbie whispered through a feeding-tube, "one day we'll make love in a motel room in France a lot." Suddenly, like a miracle, Kyle's eyes flew open like a helicopter stalling out over the Teton Dam. "Oh Kyle! God does grant prayer requests!" Debbie exclaimed like she was Kammy Harris opening a bag of new knee pads. Debbie, why are you crying? My mother was just eaten by cannibal Pygmies. Oh, is she going to be alright? Yes, I think so. Mom? Are you okay? Yes darling. I'm just a little sore.

I spend money like a drunken sailor dating a conniving cheap-skate
who flashed her 'possum in Pittsburgh alleys at ****** she did hate
God Bless all animals that were in the loving care of Lizzie Borden
'cause we are afflicted with a Jesuit pope who's always busy lordin'
In the dark all prostitutes are equal, dependin' on how you're sortin'
as gonorrheal discharges mean nothing to the babies they're abortin'
'cause amputees leaned on stuff before Lucy Ball wed Gary Morton
& hatred grew 'twixt Desi & Lucy when Lucy & Gary were courtin'
before Desi could win back Lucy's hot love which was only sportin'
even though it was with *****-***** that Lucy caught Desi cavortin'
in Cubano bars under tables tequila-drinkin' & *******-line snortin'
on the Black Isle Peninsula of boggish ol' Scotland's West Shoreton
home to sodomitically-apt girls espousing an Apocalyptical portend
that's ******* than Barb Walters' make-it-up-as-you-go-along reportin'
on a rookie L.A. pig with C-4 is preferable to a fugitive with a 4-10

She was a lovely woman with large knobs that could tell you how fast the wind was blowing when we were cruising on my dad's 300-million-dollar yacht. Anyway, she was in love with my cousin Jamaal who was of ***** descent.

Betty White (January 17, 1922 – December 31, 2021) ate live turtles and toads to maintain "mega-strength." Her sister, who was 78% Italian and 56% non-Italian, often chided Betty for her live turtle/toad diet. 1 day, as Betty was pulling her thong out of where thong bikini bottoms wanna go, a strange man approached her from an unlicensed live turtle-meat corporation. Betty was so hungry that she quickly ate the poor ******* raw to gain additional "mega-strength."

Born in October 1956, Janet Aimee Stephenson started out as a model and actress before moving into film-making. Do you have the 1980 Roxy Music album 𝑭𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑩𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒅 in your collection? The nearer of the two girls is Aimee Stephenson. In the 1980's Aimee and her boyfriend Tim Jackson (producer of Dead Dog Blues) worked in the States on some Roger Corman productions although I don’t know which ones. In 1991 they teamed up with a guy called Sean Manchester who had written a non-fiction book about the so-called "Highgate Vampire." The plan was to make a documentary, and possibly a narrative feature film, about the subject but it never came to anything for various reasons.

In 2001 Aimee and Tim were in Peru, researching a book. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗮𝗴𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝘀 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘆 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗶𝗹𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗹 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗳𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗲𝘅𝗽𝗹𝗼𝗱𝗲𝗱. 𝗔𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗲 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝘂𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗿𝘂𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗹𝗮𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝘂𝗳𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝟰𝟴% 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗿𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗳𝗮𝗰𝗲, 𝗮𝗿𝗺𝘀, 𝗹𝗲𝗴𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘀𝗼. 𝗧𝗶𝗺 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝟭𝟳 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝘀𝗼 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗯𝗮𝗱𝗹𝘆 𝗯𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱. 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗶𝗻𝗷𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝗿𝗿𝗶𝘃𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗣𝗲𝗿𝘂𝘃𝗶𝗮𝗻 𝗺𝗲𝗱𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗿𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲. 𝗔 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝘀𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗻𝗱 𝗮𝗺𝗯𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗻𝗲𝗱 𝘂𝗽 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝘁𝘁𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗼𝗰𝘁𝗼𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝗶𝗻 𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗰𝗮𝗿 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝗻 𝗮 𝗵𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗺𝗶𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗻𝗲𝗮𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗼𝘀𝗽𝗶𝘁𝗮𝗹. 𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝗮 𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝗔𝗶𝗺𝗲𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝗺𝗲 (𝘃𝗶𝗮 𝗦𝘄𝗶𝘁𝘇𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗱) 𝘁𝗼 𝗦𝗮𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗯𝘂𝗿𝘆 – 𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗲 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗹𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗲𝗱 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝘆. I can’t imagine the pain she must have gone through, or what Tim Jackson and her other friends and family must have suffered watching her agony.

- Posted by M.J. Simpson

"Once you have given up the ghost, everything follows with dead certainty, even in the midst of chaos. From the beginning it was never anything but chaos: it was a fluid which enveloped me, which I breathed in through the gills. In the substrata, where the moon shone steady and opaque, it was smooth and fecundating; above it was a jangle and a discord." -- Henry Miller, "Tropic of Capricorn"