Coulnd give a fuck about the source, they are theives in drag.
Have you heard her fall? The beat on our truth, the peen, the heavy weight delivered true.
Cut the gasket, with ballpeen handed, milk carton will suffice, we can devise
from nothing. We are masters of the forge.
Ever had to carry the iron? Ever? It weighs so much that one
forgets the mass. Ever watched a creep at work? Ever ? He is all ears and does
nothing, while those who toil noise.
The mass that is free weighed.
On the Commimterest that falls on all knowinged no buddy’s
business, our private thought, where no money grows, our self. Free of transactioned
tax and returditude.
Ultradute in the fire.
Can you hear, here?
If ever one wondered about the lack of my concentration , to
camp my pitch to their well paid, ever over fed, lactose intolerant, allergied
fat Phukked D’Witz, make no mistake, I have them ranged and shot fallen. No
mistake.
The stinking pile of rent seeking lying in slothed ordure
that offers a front for pirate activity and gangsterism, Leonist shit heap,
Trotskyist turd dump, Marxist pig swill, faecal useless sewer to the opened
latrine of the world. Cash stealing cesspool, has had its days.
How can no one know that all the scheming at Dimona was
stolen from the Reichsprotektorate. 1933 to 1953 all theft and death. Apiru
caravan driving, red filtching of other people. Off their corpses, slavery,
death and so called commerce. Traffic in dearth. Dry goods rationing rational
killers. Look at their lack of deeds and the billions of dead in the caravan’s
wake. Their claim to art and ubiquity is a mask of their poverty, perverted
utility and spineless brained idoled indolent cushioned pervert’s bed. Always
in their backs never at work in the fields unless subsidised and tamponed.
Just look at the shithouse, depleted for ever around,
unknown to themselves. False fictioned, engineered clownunts. Immigrants from
no where, evacuated in vast numbers, despite the deaths they called and
administered in the fiction of their deaths. What a shit house, where all the
arse holes we elect, as debt, bend their divorcée knees. Bend over for
pissover. The clowns cannot do anything other than consume, shit and fuck away
our days, shitheaped and forever heathen. Sly. Lazy, sleekit killers of
humanity. Self styled chosen fuckedwitzz of the eviloid falsed god.
God bless you all, all the Ulstermen, all the South
Afrikaans men, all the royal English men, the Cannuks, the Yankeez, the strides
of Andzuk, well met by the 51st and the Welshmen.
OFM.
Too much walking and I tire in my weakness.
The hammer has struck, they have no fruit.
Heathen.
