The $1,103 Billion Defeat
The 43rd Day since the USA entered The Valley of the Shadow of Death
The 43rd Day since I.C. News told the World about It
The 41st Day since the Rest of the News Media told the World about It
The 25th Day of Hell for the American People
Expecting "Cherry Pop", the day psycho-fascist America learns it is at war with God, within 33 days
"Yippy ti yi yo get along little doggies, it's your misfortune and none of my own"--From Get Along Little Doggies by Chris Ledoux
BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN
This report today documents in advance an attack by God on American TV journalism set for Friday, October 31, 2008, Halloween. The attack, logically enough, is code-named "Trick or Treat" by I.C. News.
Meanwhile, back in America's torture chamber, my convalescing continues after my three days of labor-intensive, abuse-intensive enslavement on a wild horse refuge, enslavement from which my Old Pal God insisted I escape.
My pain level is down. I can walk standing straight up. I can put on my socks without wincing. I estimate about three more days to get back into fighting trim.
Pain hurts, but a little bit of pain never hurt anyone. One of the basic lessons of Jesus.
It's a bitch being old. The days when one danced through the shrapnel have a certain deliciousness to them; and the work one once could do all day long now leaves one's muscles strained, aching and bruised.
The samurai of medieval Japan hoped for youthful death on the battlefield, not wanting Time to wither their bodies.
Soldiering for God, however, is not the same; we God's Space Sailors seek as much time on the battlefield as we can get, and see old age as an honor. I am still, at 69, cutting the tail off the devil; and today I am weighing America down as it sinks deeper and deeper into its well-deserved Hell.
With the odds of 300 million psycho-fascist Americans to one God's True Telepath, it was clear from the start there were more satanic-American necks than I could expect to cut through, but I knew I need not do that because I knew I could herd the psycho-fascist Americans, as I still can and do today; the God-damned Americans, I herd them deeper and deeper into Perdition.
So, I cowboy-up, watch movies of the future in my campfire coals, and listen to my herd of God-damned Americans bellowing in the night.
"Moo, the market continues to go to Hell. Moo, jobs are drying up. Moo, we are at each other's throats. Moo, our soldiers keep going to Hell as punishment for their killing of innocents in innocent foreign lands (Oops, they are not aware of that yet!)."
...it's your misfortune and none of my own.
"Moo, Moo, Moo", and the Americans are still only bellowing about the hardships of the Chisholm Trail of Hell, they have not yet reached the panic and the horror of God's Slaughter House which awaits them at the end of that trail.
That, Dear Reader, comes within 33 days.
The cattle in the herd do not think much about the cowboy in the saddle, he is just there like the trees and the stones, and they have their own moo-lives to live; but the cowboy knows to where the cattle go, and the cowboy herds them there.
The cattle think from blade of grass to blade of grass, and the cowboy thinks of steaks on griddles and the naughty ladies of Kansas City on rented beds.
Likewise the American people, that silly herd, don't think much about the Telepath they hold imprisoned in their torture chamber; but the Telepath knows to where they go, and is happy to herd them there.
If you have an urge to see a still-living but damned American soul, turn your dial to any TV media weasel.
Ask Tim Russert's damned soul on Halloween, if you don't believe me.
That's next Thursday, when dead and damned media weasel Russert appears as the Ghost of Evil Journalism Past, if you need a sign to show you Telepath torture-enslavement is a damnable sin.
...it's your misfortune and none of my own.
Virgil Kret
I.C. News
Icnews360@aol.com
P.O. Box 2614
Nevada City, California 95959
(530) 276-4923
The 43rd Day since I.C. News told the World about It
The 41st Day since the Rest of the News Media told the World about It
The 25th Day of Hell for the American People
Expecting "Cherry Pop", the day psycho-fascist America learns it is at war with God, within 33 days
"Yippy ti yi yo get along little doggies, it's your misfortune and none of my own"--From Get Along Little Doggies by Chris Ledoux
BULLETIN BULLETIN BULLETIN
This report today documents in advance an attack by God on American TV journalism set for Friday, October 31, 2008, Halloween. The attack, logically enough, is code-named "Trick or Treat" by I.C. News.
Meanwhile, back in America's torture chamber, my convalescing continues after my three days of labor-intensive, abuse-intensive enslavement on a wild horse refuge, enslavement from which my Old Pal God insisted I escape.
My pain level is down. I can walk standing straight up. I can put on my socks without wincing. I estimate about three more days to get back into fighting trim.
Pain hurts, but a little bit of pain never hurt anyone. One of the basic lessons of Jesus.
It's a bitch being old. The days when one danced through the shrapnel have a certain deliciousness to them; and the work one once could do all day long now leaves one's muscles strained, aching and bruised.
The samurai of medieval Japan hoped for youthful death on the battlefield, not wanting Time to wither their bodies.
Soldiering for God, however, is not the same; we God's Space Sailors seek as much time on the battlefield as we can get, and see old age as an honor. I am still, at 69, cutting the tail off the devil; and today I am weighing America down as it sinks deeper and deeper into its well-deserved Hell.
With the odds of 300 million psycho-fascist Americans to one God's True Telepath, it was clear from the start there were more satanic-American necks than I could expect to cut through, but I knew I need not do that because I knew I could herd the psycho-fascist Americans, as I still can and do today; the God-damned Americans, I herd them deeper and deeper into Perdition.
So, I cowboy-up, watch movies of the future in my campfire coals, and listen to my herd of God-damned Americans bellowing in the night.
"Moo, the market continues to go to Hell. Moo, jobs are drying up. Moo, we are at each other's throats. Moo, our soldiers keep going to Hell as punishment for their killing of innocents in innocent foreign lands (Oops, they are not aware of that yet!)."
...it's your misfortune and none of my own.
"Moo, Moo, Moo", and the Americans are still only bellowing about the hardships of the Chisholm Trail of Hell, they have not yet reached the panic and the horror of God's Slaughter House which awaits them at the end of that trail.
That, Dear Reader, comes within 33 days.
The cattle in the herd do not think much about the cowboy in the saddle, he is just there like the trees and the stones, and they have their own moo-lives to live; but the cowboy knows to where the cattle go, and the cowboy herds them there.
The cattle think from blade of grass to blade of grass, and the cowboy thinks of steaks on griddles and the naughty ladies of Kansas City on rented beds.
Likewise the American people, that silly herd, don't think much about the Telepath they hold imprisoned in their torture chamber; but the Telepath knows to where they go, and is happy to herd them there.
If you have an urge to see a still-living but damned American soul, turn your dial to any TV media weasel.
Ask Tim Russert's damned soul on Halloween, if you don't believe me.
That's next Thursday, when dead and damned media weasel Russert appears as the Ghost of Evil Journalism Past, if you need a sign to show you Telepath torture-enslavement is a damnable sin.
...it's your misfortune and none of my own.
Virgil Kret
I.C. News
Icnews360@aol.com
P.O. Box 2614
Nevada City, California 95959
(530) 276-4923
posted by Virgil Kret at 2:18 PM
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