THE REAL BOWL OF LENTILS: HOW TO LOSE RAYMOND KELLY COMMISSIONER OF THE NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT, A KKK AND ROYALIST SPY, FOR A BLOWJOB.

On my way out, at the strategic landing, Wilson Tapiero, Peter Mittler and Carmen Tapiero mention knowing Gennaro Cavallo, an estranged uncle of mine, and say Iolanda Tozzi Pane, another estranged cousin he infiltrated in the police department in Italy, who also is connected to Ford and the Colonna by way of marriage,has contacts in Tenerife. They are happy to announce to the world that the infiltration was due to Alessandra Mussolini, and June Rossi will serve as the cover-up, who married into her mother's family. I walk out to buy my newspaper, and, at the bus stop, there's a suspendered serial killer from Vigevano, arranged by Iolanda Tozzi Pane, and a diminutive Italian who tells me he will cannibalize me. I think of the relevance of a gun permit. The only shop where the newspaper is available is finally free from outer spies, I walk in, purchase the paper, and am still withheld the receipt, a tried but true practice, that is endemic. As soon as "non ci crediamo" or" we don't believe her" is made, as I wait at the bus stop,  a white van pulls up,driven by a Mountbatten Asian Japanese woman, license plate ELV 5750, who also is based on Tosh.2 as a slew of mucus licking prostitutes, and dwellers of small child penis in den mother's mouths as backyard sports, with men clapping at 27, currently who knows in adhesive, still no sign opf a fine in sight. The other van before it had the driver lying somewhere in the vehicle, still white, and was connected to attached house 29, now 27 adhesive, a Tzarist-Savoia-Bourbon -Mountbatten-Anastasio whore's den, with delusions of grandure. Its name, after the murders of trade school graduates, is Upward Mobility Limousine Van, its licnse plate T616229C. I gesture for the bus to stop (driven a a confederate Patton-Bourbon-Lancaster face) and he pulls up at the driver's door of the 29 van, and then shouts at me for not flagging it as if my presence at the stop were invisible. Considering I'm not lower case Austo Hungaric collaborationist, or upper case Nazi, not only court cases could ever possibly be valid in my name, but also bus rides are unavailable to me as a whole. The following scenario ensues: the Asian side of Mastro Gennaro Cavallo says that San Gennaro knows of the assemblea, for them student government is an illegal activity to pay for by heart and liver eating, and she is scolding a small male child with this nonsense. They start intimating that should they be interrogated they will assert with vigor and insistente "Che scentra io no, io no" or, " What do you mean, I'm not involved, I'm not involved" with a drawn French sc, translating to shh, on a Chanel costume jewelry piece, an interlocking Charles and Camilla trinket. The driver says" next stop the World Trade Center" and they "sa vai a fare la puttana" "She knows. Go  whore". The 12 bus heading to Flushing, West on Northern Boulevard at 9:35AM was license plate L45004 , number 6869. I called 911 at 9:34AM, and Type African American woman in her thirties, with no regional inflection but ethnic, answered, and delayed me. I told her she was refusing assistance and hung up. The area from the bus stop to my house was full of "Nancy" and Mary Mittler connected confederate trash. On Francis Lewis, walking toward me, claiming the Midwestern abductions and mass murders of  immigrants to the States was a navy blue thick (nazi) slatted t-shirted relative of the cannibal cook Nancy, who murders parents and jams children in adoption agencies, to turn towns into Confederate death zones. Outside North Shore Diner, a discreet relative of Mary Mittler, with thinner (Austo Hungaric eye specialist) slats was paralleling my steps. When I caught her she stopped and faced the direction opposite mine, or toward the diner, me being the entree, so for them, I can't shoot once I get a gun permit in self defense because they monopolized all instantaneous translators globally. Close to the corner by my street was a facial repetition of 28, who I do not know, who knows everything about me, even the texture of the earth I used to pot my plant, this because she's a true seer. It was a Toyota, a car the Mittlers have an expertise with, also navy (blue was the concentration camp tringle for immigrants, my father being of that stock). The license plate was BLC-8907. The man, in a panic, knows I'm writing this, and shouts for a new license plate. Mittler, Peter, will oblige, and the 911 cliche' of the past week feels tender toward him, and offers to cover for his actions, poor dear. In the meantime Franca Rame has arranged for the court of Sweden to contact a race throwback Austro Hungarian would be Stalinist bookstore revolutionary who calls me a whore for my "past", so I'm a racial genocide quota. 28 and my mother shout their fear of them, becuase for them, they are really, really and truly communists, while they're nothing but Austro Hungarian royalty filth here waiting to dessiccate them alive as immured victims for medical experimentation because they're nothing but Mussolini confederate quotas as rabid idiotic fascists from podunk villages, and easily convinced that they descent, that they're ferocious for eating human meat, and poisoning people for reading a book. A team arranged by 28 walked before me to swaggart their plans for my mom, when they get a hold of her, since in Auburndale, the seer at 28 who knows how I coif my hair because she can read minds, and no one hears her at all, protected as she is by Odin, will organize the immuring, since, hey, she's more Bourbon than my mother. So, because I don't, my carrots were frozen on the same refrigerator shelf my mother's vegetables were, and not frozen, and I had to fix the lighting device on one of the burners, while having my hand pushed away brusquely by self same mother. 911 politely arranged for number 1 112 223 333 to ring as I was entering my mother's apartment. This twice during these escapades. And now for a cup of coffee, and to all, a good fuck you.