"WE'RE IN DEADLY COMBAT WITH THE RACES" Sargeant Granelle, 111 Precinct, New York City, 12:46PM 9/20/2012.


11:50AM. INTERNAL AFFAIRS BUREAU, NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT:

Refusal to take a call seeking assistance based on anonimity  involving a Logan Bus Driver Granelle trying to imply he was in the subway car for Sargeant Granelle, 111 Precinct, to see if I sold myself. There is no investigation involving me. I have made many complaints explaining the situation. Male voice, European intimation, no regional accent, roundish vowels (Nazi cannibalism collusion). Claimed name was Tenaet. For that matter, why not tenant. Car 1924 of the seven train, heading to Manhattan.

12:25-27AM. INTERNAL AFFAIRS BUREAU,NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT:

Voice: woman, African American, in her thirties, no regional accent but ethnic, says "I'll take the complaint regardless of what you say." I hung up. A Condalisa Rice contact.

11:59AM-12:27AM:  F train, headed to Manhattan,organized by terrorist infiltrants in the 111 Precinct: Sargeant Granelle, a female officer speaking racially to whoever seeks assistance in a Slavic accent when she can perfectly well speak English, and AKA or possible Famiglietti, who abducts to Long Island Jewish for the Royal Crown, most notably Prince William, with Karlin and Lowenstein, low 3, but ground floor, as a contact, also Flushing Hospital and New York Presbyterian, with an additional New York University thrown in for bad luck, this arranged by the trash one street South of Saint Nicholas's church, where they throw chemical weaponry on the street for their terrorists to pick up, at the corner of 196th and the said street. Famiglietti or AKA arrests disabled by claiming fraudulent receipt of benefits, all based on race. His stalker in the subway was a relative of his, indentifying himself to me as "The Man" , with brown hair and eyes, medium build. resembles Atkinson and Bava Beccaris. His version accessing the 111 for Licio Gelli, the P2, and P3, Nazi coup d'etatist would be massonic organizations, the first trying to coup d'etat for fascism in Italy in the '70's. The team clamber on car 9598, with two uniformed officers descending from the same car, the same doorway, one in long pants the other in bermudas (leg cut) . I took car 9599. The ride was informative: I was set to die in a slow abduction between Queensbridge and Roosevelt Island, one for a Beata room renter in Long Island City, the other for Marilla Palmer, by New York Presbyterian contact Micahel walton, for the entire hospital. The team, a male and a woman, the male with extremely short hair, the woman with curly brown, knew I was descending at 57th and 6th to buy a magazine and anticipated me. They claimed the 111 had a political division, which is laughable, and I was to tell them who Andreatti was, as if I were their informer. I disregarded them and called IAB. They loitered to see what I was doing, finally crossing over NW on 57th after several minutes, when a woman with brown hair, resembling a well fed afghan, walks by me, to listen in. The team leaving the train at 57th and 6th had a mission: to say, about me, "look at those breasts". Thinking big, the 111 will eventually inform the CIA, when they are absolutely certain they can start abducting to Concentration Camp areas, Torturing, mutilating, mounting, serial fucking, the "races" with absolute impunity and "keep our jobs".

TO BACKTRACK:

11:19AM at Duane Reade  Inc. height, Roosevelt and Main, by the 7 train stop for Krupps, and surveyed by four MTA would be workers of the Queen of England and Citibank Bayside, by 39th and Bell, an African cop substitution nose identified my name for the abduction, torture, mutilation, serial fucking of cops for the Ped Granelle team at the 111 Precinct. They were placed strategically: nose was leaning by Duane Reade, on a cellphone, to Condalisa Rice as well, by the stairs, SE of Roosevelt; two males, both African and guarded, were facing Main, so back at south, facing N; one, the chubby Klan piggly darling, was standing with his back to the rear metal of the subway entrance watching the crowd, facing Roosevelt from the SW.

HERE IS WHAT WAS THERE: a supposed cop car, flat (Nazi prosthetics) licence plated 4014 lower from the middle of those numbers, following:10. No police officers were in the car, but electronic equipment. The license plate number was maked in blue on the rear side of the car as 4014 lower 10, followed by PBQN. Both numbers were edged by the familiar blue stripe. There were four radio antennas on the roof of the car, three in the back. Up front, on the side of the lights was the snuff film camera detail: who cameras, round, with a small lens, about 1/10th of the entire apparatus, placed in a smaller circle, 1/3rd and change (Bammy Mammy). The entire apparatus was three and a half inches. They were placed on the sides pf the roof of the car, at a diagonal (throw a  race to Satan, that, of course, exempting the rest of the world and enlisting them for a good popcorn view of chop chop and gut eating, and with gusto, I say!) of the roof of the car. (Some idiot hacker printed through).

IN THE CAR: On the dashboard, the number 10-84 in white block, followed by a STOP THE CLOCK. After that: "OPERATOR IS RESPONSIBLE TO CHECK ENGINE OIL". 

IN THE BUMPER STICKER AREA:

To the left: "10,000 reward 800 cop-shot" (must be cummunis')

To the right: Police Athletic League, pal.nyc.org 1.800.PAL-4KIDS (and what a pal a dungeon where you eat human trash for reactionary nazi aristocrats must be, especially as bwothews. This courtesy of Granelle, who disregards reality since I'm a race hit and has me swarming with children, truants, den mothers pushing strollers obsessively, all knowing my name, since we are all bwothews under the amplification. Again: I am an only child, have never taken an interest in children, and like other fields which are none of anyone's business, if you don't mind me saying.

So much for the police. Next installment: the informers, or the worst slave messes on earth, with no inkling to get out of the mess they're in but to perpetuate it into us. I was almost run over by a Mott bike rider, just because, hey, I rode a bike as a child. Big no no, for big, big mammy. I should've been sucking cock.

BY THE WAY: Granelle has slayted my mother and I to die in a terrible unavoidable tragedy: us shot dead in a burning house. For the past three days she's been organizing Fire trucks and arsonists by real estate agents as I necessarily walk by, so they can indentify me, and has also inserted the woman Italian Real Estate murderers in East Rutheford, New Jersey  (the r long gone) in a Dwayne Reade at Bay Terrace, with an added local color of 29 here on this avenue, which still obstinately claims it's adhesive 27, a Barbara o (false suicide for a race sadist), and in Manhattan claims it's homeless because damn it all, I will be. See who slummed in the '20's? For that matter, Sargeant Granelle drove her home, in clone, outside my home, so her aim could improve. If they miss me, and kill my mom, Granelle will claim, for Elizabeth the Sickening that I buy the Italian newspaper to foam at murder stories by licking the newsprint, since, what else could I possibly be doing, with a newspaper, being racially illiterate?

And I shouldn't get a gun permit?