The Coroner

A coroner must be among the most bribed of men. An honest coroner would not be a coroner long -- I take it.

How many of those politically-charged "slain" people have we seen on a slab in a photo spread? Particularly the ones we saw getting done-up on grainy video. Why is the video always grainy? Grainy like mosaic grainy. Grainy like gravel. Video with so much "noise" that it looks like speed metal sounds.

Not so, however, with close-up 1963 glossies of the "not cold yet" John Fitzgerald Kennedy. We can all see who it is. They want us to see. More for them to gloat about. Wikipedia is a good gauge for their gloat-factor. The Wik' is a gloat-meter.

Look up Che Guevara and see what I mean. The Commies' equivalent of "head-on-a-lance." They love displaying the corpses of their killed-off challengers. Che cracked heads with Castro (I take it). He got cocky and wanted more pie. So the Commies got to scrappin'. There's a big convoluted write-up about how Guevara was out to lay new tracks in Bolivia, etc. Yadda yadda. What commie/Bolshevik/Zionist does not want to own and rule the whole world?

They are internationalists -- not nationalists. So they get greedy during their bloody revolutions and take-overs. And start crackin' heads amongst each other, typical of organised criminals. Stalin killed-off loads of his "comrades" during his stint as top dog. Woof.

For example, fake-named Leon Trotsky (Lev Bronstein, not Bronshtein as the Wik'ster has it) got on Stalin's bad side. I read in an article that Josef Stalin had an assassin slip Lev "Leon Trotsky" Bronstein some poison. Remember what they did to Mr. Litvinenko at the sushi bar. Poisoning seems popular among commies. On page 43 of July/August's edition of The Barnes Review, however, is an article that said an assassin killed Bronstein with an ax.

Trotsky/Bronstein was a proud atheist. As they wrote of Shelley, "Now he knows if there is a God or no." So watta 'bout chya, Lev. Want some ice water? Live by the sword -- die by the ax. Or was it poison? Either way, bad deal for Mr. Bronstein. All that usurping and over-throwing got him exactly squat. Now he can answer to God for what he did to all the priests and nuns. And for erecting statues of Judas Iscariot. Let him fast talk his Bolshevik bullshit to Gabriel and Michael and see how far he gets.

Deal is with the Marxists that they have no loyalty to each other. There is no brotherhood among criminals. Nor a Divine Law among them that states "love thy neighbor as thyself." So they don't. Ain't it just like a commie?

When they kill somebody they hate, they want to rub it in deep. President John F. Kennedy didn't even look asleep. Eyes wide open. Fresh kill. You could tell by the limpid clarity of his iris. Wide-eyed stare to nowhere. They hated him so hard. I wager even harder than they hated Czar Alexander.

Isn't it appalling how they want to make sure that Kennedy's family saw those photographs. What decorum would release photos like that into the public domain? He was missing most of his brain.

When I use the pronoun "they" -- they know who I mean. "They" read my blogs from all their lairs. Amsterdam, Moskva, London, Geneva... Hi guys.

Where are the photos like that of Jeremy Boorda, Seung Hui Cho, Daniel Pearl and Osama bin Laden? Hey Mr. Coroner, got any pictures for us?

On Fear and Ferocity

Ever see a momma bear in defence of her young? I say that her ferocity is no more mighty than what I have seen in barn yard hens. Momma chickens are no chickens -- to those of us who bear the scars of their station. No fiercer keeping have I seen.

Imagine then what a warrior is capable of when he is fighting for his family, home and lands with the wind of God in his back. His wherewithal comes from more than what thirty pieces of silver will buy. It comes from On High.

Ferocity thus established, I must address fear.

Fear is an affliction. It has the power to paralyze. Back at the school yard, you will recall how the bully always threatened, blustered and shoved his way around before a fight. That is because his aim was to instill fear in his victim. Once fear attacks the mind, knees go limp. Equilibrium and muscles disengage.

That is how global zionism operates. First they seek to bully, menace, terrorize, frighten, scare and cow, subdue, threaten, browbeat, pressure, harass, harry, hassle, hound, torment, tyrannize, persecute, bulldoze, railroad and twist someone's arm into submission. If that doesn't work, they go the next step in their shtick.

As their "business end" they wield purchased armies to pick their fights. Military forces offered up as hecatombs to Moloch if you will. Treasonous sacrifices from impoverished governments who were hoodwinked into signing for international loans. So now the governments are over a barrel. And pay with the blood of their sons.

Right now the zionists are playing God with high technology. They think they can harness a lightning bolt. Ballistic missiles have a way of biting them in the ass, so they scramble after natural forces to multiply the military ones already in their harness.

Tornadoes, hurricanes, rain and drought. Cloud cover and dissipation is what it's all about. Harness the winds and dehydrate the monsoon. Be Zeus, Jupiter. Be the devil's dragoon.

But first make people afraid of you. Wobbly-kneed cowards are easy to control. Use the Internet to spread CIA/ADL-cranked bullshit about how the sky is falling. Fabricate lectures, books and videos to that effect and spread it like a farmer spreads manure. Cultivate your bad seeds with every aspect of media under your control. Get cowardly lions to sell their soul.

As for God's people, demoralize them with bulldozers and push over their houses. Cut down their orchards. Rape their daughters and wives. Dam-up their rivers. Poison their crops. Cut off their electricity. Blockade their supply lines. Assassinate their intelligentsia. Wreck their economy. Bleed them out with taxes. Impoverish their nation states. Maim their children. Shoot their ponies. Bury their babies.

What Abaddon (Team 666, the world money-power, zionism, whatever you wanna call it) is learning about God's people is that they are immune to cowardice. It is God's stamp upon them. They are Mujahideen. I would like to make clear that these men are not terrorists. They are God's resistance against the devil's terrorism.

Abaddon, Apollion, Lucifer, Satan, zionism, the Beast whose number is 666, eternal damnation, hell on earth -- it's all the same. Like feces or carrion by any other name.

Muslim Mujahideen in Hamas, Hezbollah and the Taliban are not to be confused with mercenary imposters purchased by our central intelligence agency and Israel. These jackals are paid to do the devil's work so it can be blamed on God's people -- who are presently under siege by armies who are under the thumb of zionist Israel (the devil's people). Same jokers who tried to sink the USS LIBERTY in 1967. And the same jokers who pulled 9/11. Are the same jokers running the USA today.

But know that they (Israel and their ADL-aided intelligence lap dogs) want you to be confused. Confusion is the crux. They want to keep you muddled so you will turn to their guiding media to keep you "informed" of world events. They want you to consult your TV so it can tell you what to think, feel, see and believe. Seeing is, after all, believing they say. If you see something on TV does that make it Gospel?

At college they showed me video software that can create a world within a world. You can fabricate a lot with videography today. What you see on TV does not prove what you see on TV. Nor does it mean that CIA/ADL's bullshit organ is anything less or more. They have a cyberspace drivel-swivel slinging lies in a global radius. Complete with publishing houses that crank their canards. As Daddy used to say, "The truth ain' in 'um." They purvey gross falsehoods to sway public opinion. An example of their work are the Phil Schneider videos. The lurid fear-mongering shtick of "Mr." Pam Schuffert is another one. And an ocean of other such frauds peppering cyberspace.

Back to the Ummah's Mujahideen. That is video shot by those getting shot at -- now that is worth your time. Do not ignore videography from God's people. They have no motive to lie to you. Your zionist media has every motive to lie to you.

Only two forces in the universe. Right and wrong. Learn it now or learn it too late.

The Devil's Work

You dare represent me and my Nation?  You dare stomp with your mercenary boots into Muslim lands and kick in their doors?  You dare slaughter innocents for Israel?  You dare to be the business end of Talmudic Zionism?

What sadism possesses you to shoot their ponies and kick their chickens?  You kill their sheep?  You disrespect their women and elders?  Cut down their trees and burn their homes?  Rocket their villages from unmanned aircraft?  Bomb babies in their sleep.  Force children and old men to walk at gun-point before you as mine-sweepers.  Have you no moral compass?  Have you no mind of your own?  What man gives orders like these?  And what man follows them?  Ask yourself that while posing with your trophy kills.

Who can blame the Mujahideen and Afghan Taliban for defending their land, homes and families from such as you?  If you were in their shoes, invader, what would you do?  Whatever happened to the Golden Rule?  "Do unto others as you would have them do unto you."  The words of the Lord still hold true.

There are some military orders that should not be taken.  You got a gun in your hand?  Then no man is in a position to tell you to do a damn thing.  Keep that in mind as you carry on in Afghanistan building the clanking chain of Jacob Marley.  The longer it gets, the heavier it gets.  And you will drag it to your grave.

Unlike past wars, today journalists can publish your deeds faster than your speeding bullets.  "The evil that men do lives after them.  The good is oft' interred with their bones."  So let it be with you.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GuBSTlzuof8&feature=feedlik

Poppies for Pat

"Why am I guarding the poppy fields?" -- had to be one of Pat Tillman's last thoughts as somebody picked him off at close range with o'-so-friendly fire.  A brother-in-arms watched him expire.  A sell-out to the regime.  A servant of the team.  Another black-ops android going about the devil's work.  Thinking and doing exactly what he's told.  Mercenary bastard.  This is for you.

"Momma, why am I guarding the poppy fields?  I thought I was sent here to fight terrorists..."

So the advertising department saw that their glorious poster boy back-fired on them -- oops.  He wasn't just brawn and a pretty face.  Red alert you doers of the dirt.  He did his own thinking.  Wrote home to Momma.  And threatened to expose your bitch-ass reason for another fake war.  Just like Vietnam except now there's even more.  Afghanistan makes the old opium business look like small beans.  

Revenue revenue.  It's all about the money.  No matter that my sister was buried long before her time because she couldn't leave the smack alone.  I saw her friends at the wake.  Mostly skin and bone.  They were soon to follow.

Hey sniper-boy.  I hope you feel good about what you've done.  Gone the sun.  All the river has run out.  Nobody left to scream and shout.  No bird or insect sounds.  No guard to make the rounds.  What chya gonna do then?  Who you gonna call?  Your Daddy?  Your Momma?  Your government handler?

Wow

Arthur, you're out-banging me.

         http://www.radicalpress.com/?p=1315

Google Ads Anyone?

A few minutes ago, I clicked on a link to one of my blog articles and saw this “ad” at the bottom of the page.  It  has a local phone number for me to dial.  The article, however, had nothing to do with the ad (they are supposed to be automatically generated based on text content).  The un-related article was written over a year ago.

But my cat was stomped to death a few days ago.  He was killed two houses over by new neighbors who do not know me.  We are in possession of evidence and a medical report that supports what I have written on the following link:
http://shpearson.wordpress.com/2011/03/17/palmer-tycho/

Here is the ad from Google that was found on my blog today:

Ads by Google:   DEAD Animals  305-232-1100, Dead Pets and Unknown Animals - Fast Pickup/ Cremation and Burial,  www.HumaneAnimalRemoval.com

 

Brad Renfro

The Hollywood party syndrome – sometimes it gets the best of people. In the case of Brad Renfro, the Los Angeles fast lane slammed him into a near-silent knell – the kind Hollywood rings for you when they don’t want to know you.

Renfro was a field-day for the yellow press. His long line of arrests were well-publicized as he tore along. We can hardly call his acting career a canter. It was an impetuous gallop and always through some farmer’s cornfield. Kicking up the sod, tearing up the rows. He was going to have his fun.

At the age of ten he was discovered by one of those Hollywood casting scouts, plucked out of his native Tennessee like a flower on a hillside. They slapped him into the lead role of John Grisham’s The Client surrounded by big-name actors like Susan Sarandon, Tommy Lee Jones and Mary-Louise Parker. This was Renfro’s baptism into the roiling kettle of Hollywood hedonism. There went his childhood.

For not long after that he was emblazoned all over those feverish teen girl rags in sexualized clothes and poses. What kind of journalist writes for those? What kind of photographer takes pictures of boys his age and hawks them like sexual commodities to anyone who can turn a page? They had Brad Renfro shirtless; wearing low-riding black leather pants like the ones Jim Morrison wore in Gloria Stavers’ photo spread.

The difference, however, was that Gloria Stavers was shooting a man for her teeny-bopper magazine, not a child. Morrison in those pictures had not only been around the block, his elk-baritone rattled jaws. He was a thing to be protected from, Stavers should have caveat’ed, and not corrupted. After that shoot Ms. Stavers may not have recovered her gait for weeks. Nobody has a problem with that. The Editor-in-Chief of SIXTEEN Magazine got what she deserved (and probably wanted), but some of the pictures taken of Brad Renfro for that genre of periodical are another story.

After The Client, Renfro was sucked into the Hollywood machine. They got their money’s worth out of him every year. He worked steadily from his first movie in 1994 until 2006 even despite his horrendous drug addictions. In 2001, for example, he turned out five movies. Usually he would work in one or two films per year.

There was no childhood for Renfro after he left Tennessee. Soon the Hollywood vampire would suck blood from one vein while he injected coke into another. This became his life – moving in a world that vacillated between the brightly-lit camera eye and orgasmic underground of the L.A. Baiae. Like many who bit the dust before him of the same disease, they would concede that the glittering smog-pit was a pleasure dome until you fell out of her favor.

The money was good, the lanes were fast and the drugs were hard. Once a thrill-seeking rebel without a cause gets a taste of that, often it is like a reef shark at a feeding frenzy. The eyes are sheathed in white and nobody comes up till the drugs are gone. The director of Bully, Larry Clark, said that Brad Renfro was the worst case he had seen.

In order to get the cameras rolling on Bully, Clark had to kidnap his star from Knoxville, Tennessee, personally. He lured Renfro into his car and took off for Florida while the young actor went through cocaine withdrawals. Renfro had been injecting cocaine into both arms when Larry Clark came to collect him. By this point Renfro was riding high on a wave of status that his previous film roles had given him. As long as he had what they call “the magic” in Hollywood, he could get in trouble, get arrested, go to rehab and still enjoy the ride. At 18, however, he had reached his zenith. Larry Clark would see the last of Brad Renfro’s heyday.

It is a sad thing to see how rapidly and rabidly the Hollywood machine exploited young Mr. Renfro. He was marketed as a child sex symbol by teen magazines and then as a porn star on the set of Bully by an industry knowing that nothing sells like sex. It was as if they could not wait until he turned 18 so they could cast him in a movie riddled with soft-core pornography. To some folks this might appear unwholesome. The word “wrong” might even rear its head.

Naturally the selling point of Bully was naked teenagers having sex. This took off like a rocket in Japan where eager-to-please, smitten young women were lined up outside of Renfro’s hotel. One of these girls would become the mother of his son, Yamato. Daddy was a rolling stone.

In 2002 Renfro’s acting career had crested and was on its sad descent. The fire had gone out of his deliveries. The Hollywood party syndrome had aged him. He looked older than his years at 19 and 20. The magic that had catapulted him to stardom was gone. His performances had mellowed like the oratory of an aging politician. He no longer spat fire, but rather mumbled his lines in a kind of lackluster insecurity. He had resigned himself to the downward spiral of his addictions.

This resignation is supported by the lyrics of the songs he wrote. He suffered the characteristic highs and crippling lows of all addicts. “I don’t want to feel this way” was a salient anthem. Renfro, a consummate musician since childhood, pleasured himself with strings and vocals. He spent a lot of time singing and playing the guitar, banjo and mandolin. Unlike with Elvis, this musical turn was kept separate from his Hollywood life. But like Elvis, it would be the same machine that laid him low.

Music was a comforting nurse to him in a childhood devoid of guardians and it became his therapy as he grew older. It was a way for him to lick his wounds. Sometimes it was his “hard jazz and needles.” Music became a private world into which he would retreat from the circus outside. Between takes on a movie set, in his trailer, he would pick up his guitar and disappear into strains and riffs. Music came streaming from his guitar with the vigor of a mountain river. He was a natural musician in all facets unlike Elvis who was mostly a vocalist. Who says you have to know how to play guitar or write lyrics to get crowned the King of Rock and Roll? Life is unfair like that.

From the looks of Renfro after 2002, his drugs of choice were no longer the speeders, but the downers. He was consuming a lot of booze which gave him a bloated appearance. That heroin was wreaking havoc with his digestion was obvious. To the trained eye the ravages of his addictions told a tale. The racing white lady of his teens had given way to a comforting warm gun. He was now in the firm clutches of heroin – a smothering embrace that would carry him to a lethal injection at the age of 25.

What one might find as curious is how Heath Ledger, a foreign contemporary of Renfro’s, was canonized as a Hollywood saint by the media and movie industry after his drug-related death in the same month. It begs the question: is it because Ledger was better at not getting caught or is it because Hollywood is a kind of fickle fraternity that not everybody can join?

A popularity contest is always in progress in Hollywood. You can’t put your finger on what it is exactly but one determining factor seems to be that they have an unspoken code that must never be broken: “Don’t get caught.” If you get caught it reflects back on the industry. If you get caught journalism students like this one will write feature stories about it. Implications will be made that Hollywood is a festering cesspool of iniquity that fosters vices and rapes youngsters of their childhood. Don’t get caught Golden Boy – if you do we’ll drop you like a sack of rocks and pretend we never knew you.

Brad Renfro was shunned on Oscar night. Every year the Academy commemorates its dead. Not a peep about his departure. Renfro died a silent, unacknowledged death in the arms of his L.A. Woman. To the industry that sucked his life-force he may as well have been road-kill.

The expired wreckage of his remains was quietly spirited back to Blaine, Tennessee, for burial. Instead of an Oscar for his pains he got a toe-tag. The scarlet seductress that is Hollywood, California, has gotten her last bang out of Brad Renfro.

Like a disgusted paramour, the L.A. Woman was finished with him. “Back you go now boy, no longer golden, to your redneck kinsmen. I got all out of you that I can get. Let’s just pretend we never met.”