HA HA HA AND HA: RE/MAX and YOU

Emmanuel Adikimenakis a realtor and a nazi, who thinks Jews are dirty and plans on demolishing our houses to have us sell cheap and in desespoir, is an agent of Re/Max at 718.225.6500 Universal Real Estate, then 718.757.6345. When in Valley Stream (our house flooded) my credit showed a T Max account and I had never been at the store. Adikimenakis had me followed by his Hispanic tonto on the subway, knows the tenants, works for Saint Nicholas in particular, then Saint Kevin and the Lutheran mess further on 45th to damage houses, throw good homeowners out and resell to trash. As I went out today, 45's car horn started going off with no one, but no one in the driver's seat (why is that?) and, for the next war, I was declared a casualty for Marcegaglia at the fourth house in from Francis Lewis, North West (good night Irene) on a street that was labeled a road, and the two women already started trouble with me, this after a Tapiero contingent at 64, and how can it be 64, since it's the first house South East corner at 45th Avenue. The Tapiero are hoping for a continuation of dead beats like them at this rental, so that we go bankrupt and they can splay us publicly for their masters. They haven't paid rent since July. So there they suggested I fear dogs to be eaten by them, and along with the "Jews are dirty" realtor, had a tractor trailer with South Caroline heart flaps (for nazi nibbling pleasure) lining the side of Francis Lewis I was on, and threatening a house clean out: It said: MAX thermo sale Trusk and Trailers Miami FL 305. 691.6619 Old New York license plate BB 62720. This could also be an Elan Portnoy-Creedmoor contact, so also Chase.

At about 11:40AM Astoria Federal Savings a Chairis (or Sid Charisse and Gene Kelly)  who gave me her card only to have her thief steal my watch and it back for Condalisa Rice, a Gonzales Queens College contact tries to frisk me through a whole series of criminal tellers, a Hamas Condalisa Rice Tapiero contact by the name of Fakhrunnaz Azam (fake runners as soon as possible) by approching me in two tone eye shade, and saying that I had caused trouble at the branch twice before, and that I needed to go to the next available teller. Then she denies ever seeing me, saying she had never said that I had caused trouble. This after the bank was deserted when I entered, only to fill with dregs of Tapiero, Mittler, Petain, Chamberlain, a would be Italian mentioning Gennaro to a Helen Borough of Queens President lookalike who switched her name to something Nicholas (yesterday the Capulli cargo whore's project was to force me to wear preppy clothes so they could say I was their whore, and it turns out that none are married but they live underneath the Reggia of Caserta as dungeon slaves, or say so) . More Mountbatten Davis line up, Atkinsons in various shades of prospective prosthetic disarray, a Marzella, Frank with a Tibetan Concentration Camp cemetery somewhere on the planet connection: the Tibetans resemble Geoge Washington's political nemesis, who resembled Washington. The choice of tellers was not appetizing : you wonder where actual people are. There was an Alabama green white and red contingent of Mott birds and Dow Jones big eyed campers, I'm assuming Bergen Belsen. The Tapiero associate asks False Runner "Can I have our paychecks for now?" then "sovieguesta" , The runner nods no, and there's talk of funds trasfer (In my presence?) from account 82150295646. I get corraled by Charisse to this Hammas Rice teller, because it's either her or me ejected from the bank, and I don't care because I know enough dirt on all of them to send them away, without even being involved in their crime ring, but they can't let go, and they can't believe that I won't work for them, and they're convinced I will do their will, so who cares. Charisse looks like Ayn Rand with a tan and a cross of George the III on her face.

At Dime, where I'm $9.19 (oooh) short by internal genocidal warfare,World Jew Center  211-16 50th Avenue thinks it wise to follow me in (Springfield and Horace harding, in Queens New York) and gets her Chase (that glitzes her) contact in Edward IV Loggia P2 (Nazi satanic eversive: tried to coup d'etat in Italy in the 70's) to tell Dickson (KKK woody) at the window  in dogjo that Eddie So is a comunista, meaning his house is next, if they can arrange it. The deposit receipts are Hammas green - they knew I was there for that so I'm  a Hammas terrorist now? I mean, COME ON: what has gotten into Coon de Lee Side, or Coon the Lazy Italian Rice -riri (what? She's a multiple personality Ripley's believe it or not)  At my window Hasmita tries to insult me as a whore for Mary Mittler, I tell her that I've gone through much trouble with Mittler and have nothing to do with her, so should that be the implication, she will hear from me legally. She seemed to accept this, and who the hell knows what that means. This at 12:10PM.

I go to Carlson stationary on Bell and Northern with another Tibetan reactionary passing for Korean who had a two dollar receipt ready for me at around elevenish time. I say, look, I need  the actual receipt, please ring it, and he does and time is frozen on the same as the first, as if I were a back to the future voyager trapped in a reading habit (Redding?) . I mean, it's not like you have an option: you have to deal with this trash and they continue to try to frame you and make you human fat, as if that were the norm.

The deli at Francis Lewis and 47th may have some contact with night poisoners to solidify the gum in those glaceau vitamin drinks that have way too much sugar in them. I mean, 31 grams or 40 in fruit juices is absurd and that's all I can find. And that's the healthiest food gets. Now even Odwalla is dumping acetate and phosphates in its fruit juices. How do they get away with it I'll never know.

At Bell Boulevard FFZ 1133 is a Wilson Tapiero expedite whit epick up truck (my kind of ride) telling me that he's his friend and I should be too. I say nothing (!) and walk away. Then I'm intercepted by another Tapiero special, the next faces not to pay rent for years and damage the house they plan on leaving my mother and me with, who say something like what does this mean in Italian, like I like them and like I speak to the strangest strangers and like like I even know them and like I can make ANY SENSE of formulating a question like that when one is walking to catch a bus. i stop and there's a scrum forming: some Dogjos popping out from nowhere, and the sidewalk bicycle that has made its presence known lately. When the rider, also a Dogjo, sees me look at him, he's disappointed. So sorry I couldn't put him in a better mood and have myself run over, kidnapped and prosthetic plastered to death. Now I know why my father and his friends had to walk back and forth trying to get home in the early 20th Century. But it was the early twentieth century, pre World War One, now, wasn't it? Condalisa rice announces that she wants me as her criminal plaything and EVERY single bus servicing the Queens area gets involved by using the microphone system, like this is the most normal thing to do on earth. And I haven't done anything wrong, so there's no excuse. It was back into the 90's the last time when I took a normal bus ride, and, thinking back, I remember seeing many drive off their routes, but who knew why. Now I do.Every single bus I have been on since the 90's has been involved in criminal activity so abherrant one can't even call it criminal activity anymore.