The $260 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws Five
Shark America Five
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 147
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Looking for the Peru-Chile Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle--Probing
If God were not key to the battle of Smallville I would not tell you what I am about to tell you.
If God were not key I would consider this information a military secret because it reveals two profound weaknesses in the defenses of the two cowardly "men" who have tortured me at night in my home when I sleep ever since I arrived in Smallville about three months ago.
God is going to destroy these two, not I; but even if I were alone and without the help of God I have learned how to defeat these cowardly psycho-fascists, one who lives at 316 Second Street and one who lives at 302 Third Street.
I could have defeated them on Tuesday; but I want them cooked up and served on a platter to the non-criminal people of Smallville.
So, we return today to be Battle of Smallviile, which I say will blossom into world-wide Armageddon; and which during our recent absence of coverage has gone through some distinct developments, developments not looking good for the psycho-fascist enemy.
Bear in mind as this battle progresses, they threatened to burn down my home down with me in it. They might have been joking, they might have been practicing innocent American terrorism, but that chip is on this poker table.
I assume on the most part you are forbidden from commenting on this work by your masters in Washington Deceit, so I am not sure what you know and what you don't know about what has taken place in the Battle of Smallville thus far.
When I worked for the now defunct and sold-away wire service called United Press International, which still exists but as a pancake of the three-layer cake it was, the rule was to write as if the reader knew nothing about what had already taken place; which--along with right-wing twisting of the words of reporters in the field by editors in New York City--might have been what brought on the downfall of UPI.
I am going to assume you have something more than rice pudding between your ears, and with just the slightest preamble tell you the latest development in the Battle of Smallville, a development which I call "The Wheelbarrow".
The Wheelbarrow should be considered a probing action. This is common in battles. I probe the enemy's lines and see what happens. I look for weaknesses, and if I find them I exploit them
When your enemy is the United States of America such probing actions are hardly necessary because the United States telegraphs its punches, and an astute enemy always knows what America is going to do next.
An astute enemy also knows the American government, Republican or Democrat, will always lie to the American people in order to enter into war, as examples the Gulf of Tonkin lie by Democrat Johnson that opened the Vietnam War calamity and the WMD lies by Republican Fascist Bush that opened the Iraq Invasion calamity.
An astute enemy also knows America favors a weak enemy, a little South America country, a little Middle East country, a little or seemingly weak Asian country, and that America reserves diplomacy for the Big Guns but the rest get threats and extortion.
America loves those cakewalks; but it keeps stepping on cow pies. This is because America is easily read by its enemies. Hmmm? If I look weak the American will attack me; I will pretend I am weak.
So, The Wheelbarrow episode was a probe. If I do this, if I go get the wheelbarrow in this way, what will the enemy do? If this were classic human warfare it would be a platoon action, but since it is God's Space War it is just me, God's One True Telepath, with a pitchfork.
In this part of northern California, just south and east of Mount Shasta, the landscape is littered with large, heavy, reddish brown volcanic stones, and to work a field these stones must be gathered up and put somewhere, much as was the case in stone-rich New England, where so many beautiful stone fences can be seen..
I decided to attack this problem of stones on this property because they make mowing the high grass with a power mower risky. The hidden stones can break the blades.
To do this I needed a wheelbarrow and arranged to borrow one from the village atheist a block or so away from my home down Second Street.
One of the two cowardly psycho-fascist Americans who come by at night and pound on my walls to wake me lives at 316 Second Street, just across the dirt cul-de-sac at the end of Second Street, his home some 30-40 yards away from mine.
I have told you about his pack of dogs, one leader of which I had to drive off with a pitchfork when it menaced me on Second Street. This was about three weeks ago.
So now any time I walk past 316 Second Street I carry the pitchfork, because, frankly, I prefer to bite than to be bitten.
The cowardly psycho-fascist American at 316 Second Street has about six dogs, two of which habitually leap the fence and harass the fenced in dogs on the other side of the street; and being dogs, given this licence by their owner (not master, owner, this cowardly American psycho-fascist is not master of his dogs)...given this license they tend to expand the license to menacing human beings.
As this expansion of menacing continues, especially when the dogs are in a pack and their primordial pack instincts come into play, they become more and more dangerous, and eventually a child walking in front 316 Second Street could be attacked by this pack, and killed.
We have seen in this report how this pack killed a cat a couple weeks ago.
This pack behavior always expands. It is pack-intoxication. It is a dangerous force, like a cocked revolver ready to go off at the slightest stimulation.
This problem of menacing dogs is a serious one in Smallville; because while there is a leash law there is no law enforcement.
When I told a lady at the seniors' lunch about my fending off the menacing dog with my pitchfork, she said she had had to stop walking along a certain street because she was menaced by a dog there; and she told me of another woman who had had the same problem.
This means that in several parts of Smallville menacing dogs own the streets. If Smallville had an office of mayor, I could be elected on this issue.
So, as I walked down Second Street to borrow the wheelbarrow I carried my pitchfork over my right shoulder; and the cowardly psycho-fascist American "man" who tortures me and who owns the pack of vicious dogs had gone away and left his gate wide open.
While the original one dog who menaced me is now afraid to do so alone, I was faced this time with the whole pack of dogs, who ran out onto Second Street and who were menacing me and attempting to surround me.
The great 17th Century Japanese fencer Miyamoto Musashi wrote in his work on swordsmanship and battle tactics, A Book of Five Rings, that when the swordsman is confronted by a number of enemies he should herd them together and not let them surround him.
So while Old Virgil walking down Second Street with his pitchfork slung over his shoulder did not look much like Toshiro Mifune in the samurai movie "Yojimabo", walking along a country road with his sword slung over his shoulder, I did in fact use that Musashi technique, and kept the pack of dogs at bay, kept them herded together, and chased them back into their own yard.
I knew that pack of dogs could kill me with their teeth, Dear Reader, once the frenzy of pack-attack began, and that pack of dogs knew I could kill them with my pitchfork.
So, that accomplished I put the pitchfork back on my right shoulder and started walking toward the village atheist's house where I would fetch the wheelbarrow, when a couple of very interesting things happened.
The cowardly psycho-fascist American who lives at 316 Second Street reportedly was able to buy that beautiful house and large acreage, and geese, and goats, and a pony or two--and those vicious, cowardly dogs--with money he won in a lottery.
Frankly, he is not the type to have earned that estate. White rash, riff raff, hooligan, bum; and coward.
He was also able to buy a house trailer for his mommy right next door, and it was his mommy who came out of her door and began yelling at me for defending myself against the pack of dogs, telling me they would not bite, and acting if I were some kind of anti-dog monster.
I love dogs, Dear Reader, but I won't let them attack me; I love America, Dear Reader, but I won't let it attack me.
Well, first of all, the dogs were telling me they would bite me and the old bitch mommy of the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" was telling me they would not; so I preferred to believe the dogs.
Second of all, there is the above-mentioned leash law in Smallville and it is a violation of that law for those dogs to be outside that fence, and certainly it is illegal for them to be menacing people.
Third of all, these are dogs and I am a human being and dogs do not menace human beings, that's the way it is and that's the way it should be.
You see, I have a clear right of self-defense in this situation, a right which has eroded away to great extent in the United States of America, and a right I don't have, say, in defense against the two cowardly psycho-fascist "men" who attack me in my sleep.
But there is more to this, and what comes next reveals the weakness in the enemy lines I discovered.
There being no common ground for discussion with the psycho-fascist coward's mommy, I just continued on my way to borrow the wheelbarrow.
Then a very interesting thing happened, one that brings to mind the Smallville Battle code God gave me, "Killing Two Birds With One Stone".
Whiie the mommy of the psycho-fascist coward had been haranguing me for defending myself against her white trash boy's pack of dogs, someone else not visible in the scene had made a telephone call...and can you guess who call was made to?
Yes, Dear Reader, to the second cowardly American psycho-fascist who lives behind me at 302 Third Street, who tortures me in partnership with the first.
The whole incident, fending off the dogs, being harangued by the white trash mommy of the white trash "man", took no more than three minutes, and my walking down to get the wheelbarrow must have taken less than a minute.
So in less than four minutes, just as I got to the village atheist's house, the second cowardly psycho-fascist American pulled around the corner in his beat up old pickup, I suppose going to the rescue of the dogs or the old bitch, I don't know; but coward that he is, with courage enough only to attack me when I am asleep, he drove past me up to the house owned by the dogs without saying a word to me.
So, I got the wheelbarrow and put the pitchfork in it, handle handy if needed, and pushed the wheelbarrow back to my place passing behind the pickup parked partway in the dogs' driveway; the old bitch shooing the dogs back into the yard, and some old guy, perhaps the old bitch's pathetic husband and the one who made the telephone call, was standing at the passenger side window of the pickup talking to the cowardly psych-fascist, who was behind the steering wheel.
No one said anything to me, or as far as I know even looked at me as I passed by with the wheelbarrow, until my back was turned, of course. That is the way of cowards..
What did I learn from this probe?
One, their dogs represent a weakness to the enemy. The enemy cannot control their dogs and that puts me into a position of legal self-defense.
Two, my fighting back against the dogs is seen as something very bad on my part in their group mentality, and this has been discussed among them, and a rapid reaction system has been put into place since I first drove off the first menacing dog with my pitchfork some three weeks ago.
Three, a broader alliance has formed than just the two original sinners, and I should expect more white trash and riff raff to come out of the woodwork as the Battle of Smallville progresses.
Here is my strategic advantage.
This gives me a perfect stimulus-response situation. I can be almost certain that the next time, or the next time, or about that time, I take on the dogs with my pitchfork I will be attacked by the two psycho-fascist white trash "men" who otherwise only attack me when I am asleep.
This, Dear Reader, is a vast improvement in my combat capability, since I fight much, much better awake than asleep.
Of course, this work can be read by my enemies as well as by my friends, and these two enemies and their allies will see this and likely alter their behavior slightly;but these two cowards, Dear Reader, are psycho-fascist idiots, and I am way ahead of them.
The Wheelbarrow story happened on Monday.
You may remember that about a week ago I left a code on my computer's reminder calendar. I told you the code was "Splatter?" but I did not tell you when I had scheduled the code to pop up.
On Tuesday the code popped up. On Monday I had passed up an opportunity to "splatter" my enemies because only one of the two birds was present.
It was not time, Dear Reader, but the Tuesday code "Splatter?" gave us the timeline of the battle; and on a day the town of Smallville was splattered by a hard, cold rain; reminding me God, not I, will throw the stone when the two birds are together and ready to do battle because of my pitchfork.
This will be The Miracle of Smallville I have been promising since I arrived, and it will give the citizens of Smallville the rosy glow I promised, because the citizens of Smallville do not like these dope addict, white trash, riff raff bums; and they will be glad to see them gone to the damnation they so richly deserve.
Shark America Five
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 147
Note: Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2007
Looking for the Peru-Chile Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle--Probing
If God were not key to the battle of Smallville I would not tell you what I am about to tell you.
If God were not key I would consider this information a military secret because it reveals two profound weaknesses in the defenses of the two cowardly "men" who have tortured me at night in my home when I sleep ever since I arrived in Smallville about three months ago.
God is going to destroy these two, not I; but even if I were alone and without the help of God I have learned how to defeat these cowardly psycho-fascists, one who lives at 316 Second Street and one who lives at 302 Third Street.
I could have defeated them on Tuesday; but I want them cooked up and served on a platter to the non-criminal people of Smallville.
So, we return today to be Battle of Smallviile, which I say will blossom into world-wide Armageddon; and which during our recent absence of coverage has gone through some distinct developments, developments not looking good for the psycho-fascist enemy.
Bear in mind as this battle progresses, they threatened to burn down my home down with me in it. They might have been joking, they might have been practicing innocent American terrorism, but that chip is on this poker table.
I assume on the most part you are forbidden from commenting on this work by your masters in Washington Deceit, so I am not sure what you know and what you don't know about what has taken place in the Battle of Smallville thus far.
When I worked for the now defunct and sold-away wire service called United Press International, which still exists but as a pancake of the three-layer cake it was, the rule was to write as if the reader knew nothing about what had already taken place; which--along with right-wing twisting of the words of reporters in the field by editors in New York City--might have been what brought on the downfall of UPI.
I am going to assume you have something more than rice pudding between your ears, and with just the slightest preamble tell you the latest development in the Battle of Smallville, a development which I call "The Wheelbarrow".
The Wheelbarrow should be considered a probing action. This is common in battles. I probe the enemy's lines and see what happens. I look for weaknesses, and if I find them I exploit them
When your enemy is the United States of America such probing actions are hardly necessary because the United States telegraphs its punches, and an astute enemy always knows what America is going to do next.
An astute enemy also knows the American government, Republican or Democrat, will always lie to the American people in order to enter into war, as examples the Gulf of Tonkin lie by Democrat Johnson that opened the Vietnam War calamity and the WMD lies by Republican Fascist Bush that opened the Iraq Invasion calamity.
An astute enemy also knows America favors a weak enemy, a little South America country, a little Middle East country, a little or seemingly weak Asian country, and that America reserves diplomacy for the Big Guns but the rest get threats and extortion.
America loves those cakewalks; but it keeps stepping on cow pies. This is because America is easily read by its enemies. Hmmm? If I look weak the American will attack me; I will pretend I am weak.
So, The Wheelbarrow episode was a probe. If I do this, if I go get the wheelbarrow in this way, what will the enemy do? If this were classic human warfare it would be a platoon action, but since it is God's Space War it is just me, God's One True Telepath, with a pitchfork.
In this part of northern California, just south and east of Mount Shasta, the landscape is littered with large, heavy, reddish brown volcanic stones, and to work a field these stones must be gathered up and put somewhere, much as was the case in stone-rich New England, where so many beautiful stone fences can be seen..
I decided to attack this problem of stones on this property because they make mowing the high grass with a power mower risky. The hidden stones can break the blades.
To do this I needed a wheelbarrow and arranged to borrow one from the village atheist a block or so away from my home down Second Street.
One of the two cowardly psycho-fascist Americans who come by at night and pound on my walls to wake me lives at 316 Second Street, just across the dirt cul-de-sac at the end of Second Street, his home some 30-40 yards away from mine.
I have told you about his pack of dogs, one leader of which I had to drive off with a pitchfork when it menaced me on Second Street. This was about three weeks ago.
So now any time I walk past 316 Second Street I carry the pitchfork, because, frankly, I prefer to bite than to be bitten.
The cowardly psycho-fascist American at 316 Second Street has about six dogs, two of which habitually leap the fence and harass the fenced in dogs on the other side of the street; and being dogs, given this licence by their owner (not master, owner, this cowardly American psycho-fascist is not master of his dogs)...given this license they tend to expand the license to menacing human beings.
As this expansion of menacing continues, especially when the dogs are in a pack and their primordial pack instincts come into play, they become more and more dangerous, and eventually a child walking in front 316 Second Street could be attacked by this pack, and killed.
We have seen in this report how this pack killed a cat a couple weeks ago.
This pack behavior always expands. It is pack-intoxication. It is a dangerous force, like a cocked revolver ready to go off at the slightest stimulation.
This problem of menacing dogs is a serious one in Smallville; because while there is a leash law there is no law enforcement.
When I told a lady at the seniors' lunch about my fending off the menacing dog with my pitchfork, she said she had had to stop walking along a certain street because she was menaced by a dog there; and she told me of another woman who had had the same problem.
This means that in several parts of Smallville menacing dogs own the streets. If Smallville had an office of mayor, I could be elected on this issue.
So, as I walked down Second Street to borrow the wheelbarrow I carried my pitchfork over my right shoulder; and the cowardly psycho-fascist American "man" who tortures me and who owns the pack of vicious dogs had gone away and left his gate wide open.
While the original one dog who menaced me is now afraid to do so alone, I was faced this time with the whole pack of dogs, who ran out onto Second Street and who were menacing me and attempting to surround me.
The great 17th Century Japanese fencer Miyamoto Musashi wrote in his work on swordsmanship and battle tactics, A Book of Five Rings, that when the swordsman is confronted by a number of enemies he should herd them together and not let them surround him.
So while Old Virgil walking down Second Street with his pitchfork slung over his shoulder did not look much like Toshiro Mifune in the samurai movie "Yojimabo", walking along a country road with his sword slung over his shoulder, I did in fact use that Musashi technique, and kept the pack of dogs at bay, kept them herded together, and chased them back into their own yard.
I knew that pack of dogs could kill me with their teeth, Dear Reader, once the frenzy of pack-attack began, and that pack of dogs knew I could kill them with my pitchfork.
So, that accomplished I put the pitchfork back on my right shoulder and started walking toward the village atheist's house where I would fetch the wheelbarrow, when a couple of very interesting things happened.
The cowardly psycho-fascist American who lives at 316 Second Street reportedly was able to buy that beautiful house and large acreage, and geese, and goats, and a pony or two--and those vicious, cowardly dogs--with money he won in a lottery.
Frankly, he is not the type to have earned that estate. White rash, riff raff, hooligan, bum; and coward.
He was also able to buy a house trailer for his mommy right next door, and it was his mommy who came out of her door and began yelling at me for defending myself against the pack of dogs, telling me they would not bite, and acting if I were some kind of anti-dog monster.
I love dogs, Dear Reader, but I won't let them attack me; I love America, Dear Reader, but I won't let it attack me.
Well, first of all, the dogs were telling me they would bite me and the old bitch mommy of the cowardly psycho-fascist "man" was telling me they would not; so I preferred to believe the dogs.
Second of all, there is the above-mentioned leash law in Smallville and it is a violation of that law for those dogs to be outside that fence, and certainly it is illegal for them to be menacing people.
Third of all, these are dogs and I am a human being and dogs do not menace human beings, that's the way it is and that's the way it should be.
You see, I have a clear right of self-defense in this situation, a right which has eroded away to great extent in the United States of America, and a right I don't have, say, in defense against the two cowardly psycho-fascist "men" who attack me in my sleep.
But there is more to this, and what comes next reveals the weakness in the enemy lines I discovered.
There being no common ground for discussion with the psycho-fascist coward's mommy, I just continued on my way to borrow the wheelbarrow.
Then a very interesting thing happened, one that brings to mind the Smallville Battle code God gave me, "Killing Two Birds With One Stone".
Whiie the mommy of the psycho-fascist coward had been haranguing me for defending myself against her white trash boy's pack of dogs, someone else not visible in the scene had made a telephone call...and can you guess who call was made to?
Yes, Dear Reader, to the second cowardly American psycho-fascist who lives behind me at 302 Third Street, who tortures me in partnership with the first.
The whole incident, fending off the dogs, being harangued by the white trash mommy of the white trash "man", took no more than three minutes, and my walking down to get the wheelbarrow must have taken less than a minute.
So in less than four minutes, just as I got to the village atheist's house, the second cowardly psycho-fascist American pulled around the corner in his beat up old pickup, I suppose going to the rescue of the dogs or the old bitch, I don't know; but coward that he is, with courage enough only to attack me when I am asleep, he drove past me up to the house owned by the dogs without saying a word to me.
So, I got the wheelbarrow and put the pitchfork in it, handle handy if needed, and pushed the wheelbarrow back to my place passing behind the pickup parked partway in the dogs' driveway; the old bitch shooing the dogs back into the yard, and some old guy, perhaps the old bitch's pathetic husband and the one who made the telephone call, was standing at the passenger side window of the pickup talking to the cowardly psych-fascist, who was behind the steering wheel.
No one said anything to me, or as far as I know even looked at me as I passed by with the wheelbarrow, until my back was turned, of course. That is the way of cowards..
What did I learn from this probe?
One, their dogs represent a weakness to the enemy. The enemy cannot control their dogs and that puts me into a position of legal self-defense.
Two, my fighting back against the dogs is seen as something very bad on my part in their group mentality, and this has been discussed among them, and a rapid reaction system has been put into place since I first drove off the first menacing dog with my pitchfork some three weeks ago.
Three, a broader alliance has formed than just the two original sinners, and I should expect more white trash and riff raff to come out of the woodwork as the Battle of Smallville progresses.
Here is my strategic advantage.
This gives me a perfect stimulus-response situation. I can be almost certain that the next time, or the next time, or about that time, I take on the dogs with my pitchfork I will be attacked by the two psycho-fascist white trash "men" who otherwise only attack me when I am asleep.
This, Dear Reader, is a vast improvement in my combat capability, since I fight much, much better awake than asleep.
Of course, this work can be read by my enemies as well as by my friends, and these two enemies and their allies will see this and likely alter their behavior slightly;but these two cowards, Dear Reader, are psycho-fascist idiots, and I am way ahead of them.
The Wheelbarrow story happened on Monday.
You may remember that about a week ago I left a code on my computer's reminder calendar. I told you the code was "Splatter?" but I did not tell you when I had scheduled the code to pop up.
On Tuesday the code popped up. On Monday I had passed up an opportunity to "splatter" my enemies because only one of the two birds was present.
It was not time, Dear Reader, but the Tuesday code "Splatter?" gave us the timeline of the battle; and on a day the town of Smallville was splattered by a hard, cold rain; reminding me God, not I, will throw the stone when the two birds are together and ready to do battle because of my pitchfork.
This will be The Miracle of Smallville I have been promising since I arrived, and it will give the citizens of Smallville the rosy glow I promised, because the citizens of Smallville do not like these dope addict, white trash, riff raff bums; and they will be glad to see them gone to the damnation they so richly deserve.
posted by Virgil Kret at 8:48 PM
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