A Critical Offer

 
I have been asked today to offer my good offices in gaining the release of the two American soldiers captured in Iraq.
 
Stating my credentials briefly, it is arguable that I assisted in the release of some young Japanese peace activists early in America's stupid and fascist invasion of Iraq, and I documented in advance the top secret American maneuver that resulted in the killing of the famed Jihad soldier last week.
 
Islam recognizes me as what I am far more than Christianity does.
 
That said, let's return to the ongoing American disaster in Space War, expected to be apparent to the American people before the sun sets on this month.
 
Before I was asked by God to offer help in the matter of the captured soldiers, I had written this for today's report:
 
Courage does not understand cowardice, kindness does not understand meanness; perhaps that's why I don't understand you Americans.
 
You Americans, you outnumber me some two hundred million to one, yet you fight me like slimy things that crawl along the forest floor, and you killed my children as a joke; perhaps that's why I don't like you anymore.
 
We are approaching that glorious moment, that moment of truth, when America's smug anti-telepathic meanness becomes jittery friendliness, when you Americans tell me you destroyed my life in order to save it, that moment we space sailors call "Cherry Pop", that moment when America knows I am not alone.
 
How America has managed not to learn that I am not alone is difficult to fathom, after the thousands of dead Americans and the hundreds of miracles from God to me.
 
I think it must be because the Americans have a kind of gluttony for pain-infliction, the glutton not realizing he is dying from his luxury of endless torture-food.  So it is, the Americans have become evil-obese with the luxury of endless mass sin, endless mass torture of a single human being.
 
I am looking through my memories for an example of just how un-alone I am, and just how isolated you psycho-fascist Americans are.
 
My favorite story is called, The Great American Disaster, the event so horrible that is scarred the world; and I would tell it to you but it hasn't happened yet, and I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise.
 
Hmmm?  A good story that would illustrate this point, a story that has already happened?
 
How about the first identifiable American to die in Space War?
 
This death continues to be considered accidental, but it was the intentional killing of a US Congressman in direct response to America's torture-enslavement of me.
 
It was an event I knew about some two weeks in advance, but I was living in tortured poverty on the streets of San Francisco, and there was no way nor inclination to warn.
 
That Congressman's name was Jerry Pettis, he died in the early morning hours of February 14, 1975, while piloting his own plane from Palm Springs, California, to Riverside, to be with his wife on that romantic day.
 
The interesting thing is how I came to know that Congressman Pettis would be killed, and make no mistake he was killed, his death was not an accident, and make no mistake, he died for America's torture-enslavement of me.
 
It came about this way.
 
I had been America's torture-slave for only a few years, and I still expected the torture to come to a natural end; I still expected the horrible and illegal punishment of me for some unstated crime and with no trial held to at some point be ended because of the sheer indecency of it.  That is, I expected the American people to come to their moral senses.
 
I had already documented the kidnapping of Patty Hearst (1974) with the Salinas, California, police and suffered extreme abuse for the attempt, including a stick stuck up my ass and twisted; so living hand to mouth, being abused every five minutes by the psycho-fascist citizens of San Francisco, I wasn't in much of a mood to help; so I just watched the death of Congressman Pettis as it unfolded.
 
What was I to do?  Call the police?
 
Remember, I had done that in my attempt to prevent the Hearst kidnapping and I got a stick up the ass for my trouble.  I had begun to think the police were not my friend.
 
It was in fact seeking to see if I had any American friends at all which took me to the East Coast a few months before the Hearts kidnapping, where I visited my Jewish friends in New York City, who raped my mind with glee and evil genius, and my Christian friends in Florida who pretended not to know I had become audibly telepathic, thus bearing false witness against me; and as the time for the Hearst kidnapping grew near I decided I wanted to be back in California for the event.
 
Riding the Grey Dog from Florida to California, harassed by fellow passengers all the way, I decided to rest in the town of Indio, just inside the California-Arizona border and not far from the resort city of Palm Springs (remember, Pettis died flying out of Palm Springs).
 
One day I decided to stretch my legs and walk toward Palm Springs, past the date orchards and into the desert dunes.
 
Along the way I was thinking about things, thinking what a pickle I was in and thinking what an opportunity I had, and amidst the dunes I wrote with a stick in the sand, "I Love God".
 
Flash forward, past the kidnapping and all the drama that went with it, and one day I get a message, a telepathic message, and the message was, "P.S. I Love You".
 
So, I hadn't been born the day before, and I had been talking to God for a very long time, and I knew from experience that "P.S." meant Palm Springs, and "I love you" meant I love you.
 
So the message was repeated day after day and I realize we were approaching February 14, Valentine's Day, the day of I-love-you; so I wasn't surprised at all when Congressman Pettis died flying out of Palm Springs to tell his wife he loved her.
 
Does that demonstrate that I am not alone?  Frankly, Harlot, I don't give a damn if it does or not.
 
By the way, there is a hard P.S. to the P.S. I love you story, if Congressman Pettis' smashing hard into the hard Earth was not hard enough.
 
If Congressman Pettis knew of America's torture-enslavement of me, no matter how just or deserving he might have thought it is, Congressman Pettis lost his soul when he lost his life on February 14, 1975.
 
Generally speaking, those Telepath torturers who die in Space War, or even die of natural causes, lose their souls.
 
When you play for keepies you play for keepies.