Mercy me!!!

This morning, I’d like to start off with a little appreciation. Local and not-local law authorities surveilled my neighborhood BRILLIANTLY last night!!! Cop cars were being washed in the local auto-lavabo all night long, but out of my sight behind two city busses that had been parked to perfectly block the view of the front of my apartment from certain “unsecured” nearby areas. The car washers employed an electric buffer at 3:00 am, so that I would hear and then walk around to see their presence. NO ONE nearby (and not in the know), would have seen these things for what they were (and many other things as well).

Mexicanos: I salute you!!!

Also, a quick note to my dentist: I can’t pay you yet, but you will be the first to be paid. Through many a time, you and your office were the only anchor of sanity I had in Georgia. I know you read my blog, so I figure you will get this. YOU, Todd and Cindy, are the type Republicans who will rebuild a Grand New Party!!!

Of course it always helps to be gay (but you don’t have to be: Lugar, McCain, and a few others), if you’re a Republican -- look how well (albeit debatable in details, but he DID preserve the Union) Honest Abe did, and I don’t just mean his openly sleeping with men despite the press ribbings, both before and during his presidency.

The current crop of Reds is mostly just a bunch of fags. Witness Tanning Bed Boehner: gotta keep it dark to get a big one up the ass (or so he thinks). Santorem is heading back to Dan Savage’s bed, I’ve noticed, for more scatty-froth fun. And can you believe that Baby Quail won the primary in where . . . Arizona, was it??? Nah, I think it was I-O-Way. Somewhere. (I hope to have internet in my apartment within 24 hours and I can check these things more easily.)

Too much, almost, has happened since I last checked in (or out, depending on your perspective). Time is now cramped, so I’ll fly and then fly to the US Consulate, where I have an appointment.

Here’s the first page of many pages of notes I sent Newt Gingrich over a couple-month period in early 1990. I wonder if he’s saved them. The handwritten notes were added by me a couple of months later.

You would not believe what-all I found that I’ve kept: reams of documents from 1990, including all my mother’s notes, which she foolishly gave me several years ago. (She was certain I’d be dead by now.)

I’ll paste a few of those in too. Quite revealing!!! You may recall that it was the Nazi’s mania for keeping organized records that proved their undoing in court after WWII. Well, the Queen of the Pastel Nazis has entirely convicted herself, and undercover Nazi hunters might as well arrest her now. But if you want the physical evidence first, come see about me!!! (Sorry, that was dear, dear Diana -- with a song in her heart!)



Now, for the most part, I have discovered (pawing through all the stacks of documents I saved from 1990), that most actors in my 1978 Cape May “bipolar” incident were innocent. Most, but not all. My mother was just learning, and here, you see what she learned and later used to murder her brother Bob. (I added red arrows.)

First she got him on levels of Lithium so toxic, he shook like a leaf for years, and the Lithium brought on his “chemical” diabetes. This is just terminology that means Bob did NOT actually have diabetes, it was deliberately brought on by the ultra-high Lithium levels. Then Bob suffered the pain and anguish of CONSCIOUSLY knowing his sister was slowly and painfully murdering him -- and he knew Ruth Anne had enforcers round about to make sure everyone knew Bob couldn’t talk sense if he had to.

She preferred killing “fags” via AIDS (and blacks, too, of course), but couldn’t figure out how to “infect” her brother believably. My mother probably developed AIDS (or proto-AIDS) when she was head of Proctor & Gamble’s skin research labs in Cincinnati (remember their “satanic” symbol???), but to tell the truth, this I have purely on intuition. No evidence.

She definitely used a lot of Dr. Mengele’s research to produce super-sized children, the first of which might have been my first cousin, Graham.

Dad’s brother, Harlee, and his wife Virginia were/are almost tiny people (most Kenans are short to mid-heighted). But Graham grew to 6’ 8”, while his sister, remaining short, fled to Canada at her earliest convenience. Aunt Virginia declared openly some years ago that she packs a pistol and will shoot my father dead the instant she next sees him. I’m pretty much assuming that Graham is my half-brother.

Virginia’s still alive, I believe, in a nursing home. My parents have made this threat out to have only to do with Dad’s insensitivity when Graham’s son was shot dead in a C-store robbery about 25 years ago. I beg to differ, but I don’t have all the details.

Now, back to good ol’ Cape May!

Craig, would you please check to be sure John is still alive? Last I heard from him, about five months ago, he was going in for leg amputations and said he had a 50-50 chance of surviving the operations. Those odds on such an operation made no sense to me, but his last words to me were an admission that he had never seen me mentally ill in Cape May, but only had assumed it since everyone else was so adamant to him with their stories. I think you can now see why I am concerned. He made this admission via computerized email. I’ve not heard a peep from him since.

Now, an image:



To clarify my mother’s handwriting, the end of the second line is “. . . S(cott) not . . .” “Dr. W.” is Dr. Harry Wagenheim, a Jungian whose office was in his generous, Philadelphia Mainline home, and Dr. Wallace Hussong of Cherry Hill was the chief Lithium-prescriber. In my mother’s notes, it is very clear that W. was right-on, and even my mother realized that, but she saw to it that I went to H., because of the benefits to the Nazi cause that Lithium provided, then, and later.

Notice also the CLEAR and thoughtful concern of Chuck Pritchard. The business of what a third of Whale’s Tale was worth in 1978 is NOT a Red Herring. We were all just young and naive, and while I knew it was worth many times what Chuck and Hilary insisted using for valuation, I did get $20,000.00. They thought that was absurdly high, but they don’t feel that way now, I assure you!!!

Still, they haven’t sent me a CENT to help me live at subsistence level here in Puerto Vallarta. No wonder Denison University refused to allow their son Collin to attend, despite both Collin’s parents and half of Chuck’s family having gone there. With the Old Southern Gentleman (Mr. Leland Stanford Pritchard) gone (kudos on your film about your Granddad, Collin!!!), they fell completely under the spell of Ken & Barbie Russell, Hilary’s parents.

Ken worked for Sterling Drugs as a “Special Assistant to the President.” When she married him, Barbara knew to groom him for her plans, he’d need a middle name, so she gave him an old family name that sounds just swell to the hoitie-toitie: Seton!

Well, Ken and Babs and Bill and Ruth Anne always got along like the best of buddies, and in fact, had planned, long before, the marriage of Scott and Hilary to connect Sterling Drugs to the Madd Nazi Bitch -- and SUNOCO. They did everything to marginalize Chuck, and believe me, before I left Chuck was MARGINALIZED!!! But no more, in fact, he’s proven to be a brilliant businessman, astute in all areas imaginable.

The product of good breading, that Chuck.

So now, I know why Hilary cried repeatedly when I visited them last December: I don’t believe she knew at the time how we had all been used, but she had found out some extraordinarily ugly things about her family. As had Denison University.

Tine to wrap for today and run.

Quick notes:

KT Kirkpatrick sansebas2020@hotmail.com is a narco-trafficker who convinced me she and others had gotten Liz Taylor to promise to come to a Tennessee Williams 100th Birthday Party here in PV. I corrected this in email about 10 days ago, but forgot to post the correction on my blog. NO SUCH PARTY was being planned -- at least not by THESE people.

I will paper my old street in Versalles (Calle Vienna) with extremely damaging info about Miguel Rosas (and his MOTHER) on flyers late in the day if I’ve not gotten my deposit back. I’d rather have the money, but if this is a gift of newspaper, radio, and/or television coverage of my fight, then so be it!!!

I’m not mad at ANYBODY. Together, we were the cast of Tennessee Williams’ A HOUSE NOT MEANT TO STAND: EXTENDED VERSION. Everyone performed absolutely brilliantly, and I salute ALL!!!

4. Jim Richardson jrichardson@lgi.com (don’t know if LGI of Denver, CO is actually involved or not), and Patrick Stansbury are the two people I can prove watched me typing at my computer in real time. Their anger got the best of them and they made grievous errors that prove this. I NEVER believed that the emails I got from Jane that came in before I’d complete an email on the same subject were actually from Jane. All of “hers” had the soul of brevity (so no chance to give away that Patrick knew her style but not details of experience).

And I leave you with this. Recently I found a new use for my book’s cards: I write a little caption, and then leave it at their last known domicile, in this case, Tim the American “bulldog’s” condo, just above Hotel Mercurio and the bar, Anonymo. I’d met Tim several times when he stopped in the Costa Real Estate office to see Fernando, and later Fernando took me there, where he had moved, after the managers of PV Beach Club and Villa Tita had unceremoniously kicked his narco-faggot ass OUT! (Note to Anibal: You are sleeping with the enemy -- or at least driving him around. Learn or burn, as they say!)

Notice that this one is appropriately coffee stained, although subtly: