*************************
No - No - No - Grandma! Not This One!
Have a grandchild explain it to you.
*************************
QUICK! CIRCLE THE WAGONS! THE 'ASSHOLES' ARE COMING!
*************************
Did I use the wrong word? You judge.
Do you see that cloud of dust over there, on the left horizon?
That means 'trouble' partner!
It ain't no tornado -- nope. It's them radical critters! A whole herd! And, they's being wrangled right for the Iowa Caucuses.
Don't you mind, that they are running backwards and butt-naked. This here is serious business!
The Iowa Caucuses happen thirty-three days from now.
*************************
Can you see it? Thousands of 'Backwards Assholes' trying to keep the Iowa Caucuses from being honest, and truthful, and representative, and straight-forwards. Not to mention properly dressed.
If you can't see it coming, you need to change eyeballs and find a 'Life'; cause them critters is headin right for Iowa! At a gallop!
-----
Here are some websites concerning this situation:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iowa_caucuses
http://www.iowacaucus.biz/IA_Caucus_Howitworks.html
http://campaign2012.washingtonexaminer.com/article/web-and-debates-change-rules-presidential-race
http://hillbuzz.org/occupy-iowa-caucus-occupoopers-planning-to-disrupt-iowa-caucus-with-violence-and-mayhem-47308
http://www.thefastertimes.com/news/2011/11/01/99-will-occupy-99-counties-occupy-iowa-targets-caucus/
http://caucuses.desmoinesregister.com/2011/11/12/occupy-des-moines-expects-hundreds-from-out-of-state-to-protest-in-days-leading-up-to-iowa-caucuses/
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/2803569/posts
http://patdollard.com/2011/11/fascist-occupy-mobs-plan-to-shut-down-candidate-offices-during-caucuses/
http://gawker.com/5857123/how-your-bullshit-anonymous-hacking-threats-get-made
http://www.pixiq.com/article/occupy-dc-activist-threatens
-----
Since we are dealing with lunatic and worthless deviates and radicals in this case, why not brand the Bastards and Bitches for later identification? The best thing to do right now is to start building hundreds of little blacksmith shops, to put outside each Iowa Caucus meeting place -- to brand them Occupy and Anonymous Buttocks when they show up. Won't none of them be 'anonymous' again after they try to mess with our business here in Iowa. 'Brand em, on the Butt! Shops', we'll call them. Or, was that 'Butt Chops?'
We could set up Barbecue Shacks right next door, you know.
Either way, we cannot let them 'disruptors' and Anti-Americans to taint and befoul our next Iowa Caucuses!
The Iowa Caucuses are scheduled for January 3, 2012 ...
So, what are YOU going to do about it?
How are YOU going to get involved and prevent this deliberate outside interference from those BatShitCrazy Bastards and Bitches of the Democrat/Homosexuals?
Does anyone really think that 'Il Duce Branstad - The Neuter Maker' is going to get 'tough' on punks and derelicts from the same Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead sewers that it came from?
-----
Let us all collectively ignore the fact that we now have positive proof that they DO have the asses of Baboons; and proceed forth with a think tank session on how to stop those monkeys from queering OUR POLITICS HERE IN OUR STATE OF IOWA.
[[ By the way -- I think I see Mitt (the Rat) Romney in there. I recognize that 'butt face' from 2008. ]]
I would suggest that everyone in the Real Iowa get their cameras ready and make this next Iowa Caucus the most recorded one in history.
'Queers' and DemoCraps hate having their real filth recorded and photographed. That is why they will be putting on many staged performances for the cameras of the Little Charlie TV Stations, when they attack the Iowa Caucuses.
But, they will not want Real Humans taking Real Photographs of the snidely tricks and deceits and doubtlessly queer activities that they will be doing.
I also suggest assigning photography teams to each and every DemoCrap Politician of DemoIowa, until the 2012 elections are over.
Get every Real Human of Iowa that you know to take part in the Iowa Caucuses.
Demand to see a valid driver's license from Iowa of all Iowa Caucus participants.
Never allow a DemoCrap to participate in the Republican Caucuses. That is their number one idea for sabotaging the Human Selection process, in these Caucuses.
Remember how they queered the special election for Senate District 18, using Satan Tube addicts and absentee ballots to create a false count in their favor. Homosexual/Democrats will resort to any and all schemes and tricks and crimes possible to keep the People of The United States enslaved by a few percentages of violent and radical extremist 'Queers' and Liberals.
Get Real Identities of all Disruptors and Assholes who try to bother our Human Caucus -- you know they will only fake any protests against Homosexual/Democrats -- and put those names and addresses and photographs into a permanent file of Human Enemies. For later purposes.
Bring large quantities of delousing powder to all Caucus Meeting Places, and douse any Disruptors and Assholes that try to interfere with our Human Caucus Meetings.
They also dislike sticky situations, such as being shot with water cannons filled with water and pancake syrup, or water and molasses.
They are also very unhappy with fireworks, under their asses.
Baboons-for-hire, like the ones that will be attacking our Human Caucus Meeting Places, have a built in threshold of pain -- a limit on their acceptance of pain-for-hire -- after which they suddenly start to gyrate and roll their eyes and foam at the mouth and shout -- "Fuck This Shit! This Shit Ain't Worth It!" Make them shout. Make them squirm. Make them try to escape. Remember why so many prisons are located out in the countrysides, where prisoners from the cities are taken to. If the city prisoners do somehow escape, they will have no idea where they are or where anything in the countryside is located. The city prisoners therefore have a built-in disadvantage when it comes to escaping. They are easier to run down that way.
The scum from out of state, that are coming to Iowa to cause problems, will have no idea where they really are, or how to escape.
Bear traps are nice.
I like the idea of identifying those things for later recognition by Humans, wherever they try to peddle their Chaos-For-Hire. Vermin like that, hate being 'known' and 'recognized'. It reduces their commercial value to the Democrat/Homosexuals. I really mean it, when I say that we Iowans should be taking many thousands of photographs of those Bastards and Bitches.
Getting information from them is also a great idea. Like, who hired them? Who trained them? Who pays them? Who they attacked last? Who they expect to attack next? Where were they hired? Where were they trained? Where do they live? What do they call their organization, for real? How violent are they allowed to get, this time? How violent have they been trained to be? Do they know how to handle C4 explosives? Do they know the range of an M72 LAW?
Pool whatever information you get, including the verbatim words of the phony raps that they give you about being non-violent.
Use your noodles. Be inventive and deliberate. Remember that you are supposed to be cowardly. You are supposed to be intimidated by those Bastards and Bitches. The absolute lack of the reactions that they want, on your part, will ruin their first plans and force them to resort to more violent and revealing behaviors. Thus, exposing them for the gutter trash that they really are. Record it all.
*************************
In case there are any doubters and skeptics left in my reading audience -- and believe me those two SQLD Analysts and their Uncle's monkeys do not doubt a single word or syllable of what I write -- let me give you a small glimpse into Reality.
Just when you think to yourself -- "Naw, it just must be Peters. Those P-O-S can't really be THAT bad!"
-----
A DemoCrap Takes A Vote:
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
It was the words from a radical drug-crazed Filthy Monkey song, being repeated on the loudspeakers overhead.
Near me, eight feet too close, was a shit-stupid DemoCrap -- ugly, paunchy, raunchy and the lowest type of truck driver on Earth. It had typical DemoCrap ugly clothing on, and its face looked like it had spent all of its life looking at assholes.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
The loudspeakers were tied into a Filthy Monkey Station that was trying to brainwash any listeners into supporting the Occupation Zombies of the SQLD -- which they happen to be also -- of course.
As the music pounded down on the DemoCrap, that was eight feet too near to me, it looked up from the candies it was gazing at, and drooled. Then, a single thought came to its perversion-dulled brain -- "peckers on da drums!"
Then it grinned, like someone it liked had died and gone to Hell. It drooled again, and then looked around sheepishly. As it did so it farted. Big. A big wet messy fart, that obviously filled its dirty underwear.
Part of my mind said -- "That's what they do when they vote for their Queer Masters at the voting places."
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
It shuffled up and down once, and spread out its legs to adjust to the load in its pants; and it looked up at the loudspeakers with a grin of enjoyment.
It started to think something else, but I blocked the generators, and it came to a stare and a halt. It stared up at the speakers, but could not remember why.
Slowly it walked away down the isle, stopped and grabbed a bag of something, and walked to the counter to pay. At the counter, it looked back at where I had been, with a puzzled expression. Then it paid, and slowly walked out of the truckstop.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
I usually avoid this Hell Hole. Tonight, I had to stop here to get supplies. In all of Eastern Indiana, it is the worst truckstop there is, at Remington. I have written about this pestilence before. It used to be a headquarters for Killer Queers. Now, it is just a cesspool for the shittiest drivers on the road. It is just the kind of place that White Radical Extremists would like (such as the KKK), and they probably recruit here. There are two other truckstops downstate (of the same brand) that are quite pleasant, so it is not the company -- it is the place.
There has to be a worst, and this is one of them no doubt. For some reasons, which I know about, Indiana is infested by some of the worst swine and degenerate turds in the world. They make messes of everything and anyone that they can. Southern Indiana, for example, has some of the most god-awful trash on any planet. They are rampant, uncontrolled, deviated, demented, and dangerous. That is because, of course, the Homosexual/Democrats are in control down there. But, there are other places in the Midwest that have the same terrible DemoTopia disease, fueled by the so-called Homosexuals; and (with the exception of Madison, Wisconsin) they are not nearly as foul and vile and homicidal as the White Queer Trash of Southern Indiana.
Like I said, there has to be worst places, and Southern Indiana is one of them. Still, the plain facts of the matter (Homosexual Agenda, DemoCrap Politics, Queer Public Schools, Rampant Labor Unions etc) are not unique to Southern Indiana. That kind of putrid mess can be found in Des Moines at the Rearsniffers cesspool, or in Cedar Rapids at the queer newsrags and the Little Charlie TV station there; or in Omaha where there are some very ghastly and hideous queer newsrags attacking the people daily -- and yet nowhere else in the Great Midwest (with the exception of Madison, Wisconsin) is there such evil and absurdity and low-grade moronic displays of sub-bestiality.
Those Queer White Trash that disease Southern Indiana are not good enough to be categorized as satanic beasts. They are too stupid to be satanic beasts.
So, why are they allowed to run rampant in Southern Indiana?
Answer: It is not the fault of the land. It cannot be the fault of the people who work those lands. It must be an especially virulent virus of Queer Politicians. Nothing else can explain it. Kentucky, which is right across the river, is nowhere close to being so hideous. Kentucky is completely the opposite, and quite Human.
I have learned, from great experience, that there is always only one (and only one) reason why such sickness becomes institutionalized in an area -- but does not effect the areas around it.
Politics. Satanic Politics.
Satanic Politicians need such an environment in which to thrive and build armies of berserkers, to carry out their wicked and anti-Christ plans. Thus, DemoCrap politicians have made out of Southern Indiana a reflection of the horrendous evils and puke-bag perversions that are the every-second-awfulness of 'Wash This Death City', and such grotesque styes of death and stench as the Hideous Boston Horrid Zone. Only this time, it is spread out across a region instead of confined to a city, or cities. A countryside diseased by every kind of lying, scheming, crap-talking scum bag that the DemoCraps could make (out of who was here to begin with), or could import.
That in itself is a terrible crime, as all DemoCraps are terrible criminals. But, there is another crime as well. Southern Indiana was innocent. Southern Indiana did not commit some horrible crime against God and Nature, for which God decided to punish them; and thus God allowed the murdering swine called DemoCraps to take over Southern Indiana. No.
This is entirely the work of evil. Twisted, jive ass, shit-stupid, egomaniac evil. It is a real shame to see such a bad cloud of Filthy Monkey Insanity overcome such an otherwise beautiful land. But, what do Filthy Monkeys care about beauty or nature?
Answer: Nothing.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
The orders are out in Southern Indiana to try to bump me off (which is why I have a lock on my pants), but not because of any Righteous Indignation on the part of the Good People of Southern Indiana -- Hell No.
It is because, the Good People of Southern Indiana are starting to wake up to the horrendous crimes that have been committed against them by the scum of politics -- the DemoCraps.
So, what else is not new?
*************************
In case anyone is getting the impression that Southern Indiana is a boogeyland full of Zombies and Vampires -- it isn't. It is the 'Queers' and the DemoCraps and the Butt-Ugly Windmills that make boogeylands out of Human Lands.
By the way -- one thing that they do right in Indiana is to put the Butt-Ugly Windmills near interstate highways like I65. The placement of Butt-Ugly Windmills is all important to the beauty of our country. Putting them near and around things that are already ugly (like interstate highways) minimizes the ugliness that comes over any land that is under their oppressive ugliness.
[[ Those things don't eat people too, do they? ]]
It is an ugliness of greed, masquerading as beneficial service. Wherever you see a farm that has Butt-Ugly Windmills on it, you are looking at a place of self-deprecation, scrooge-like greed and total disdain for the land it rests upon, and the country in which it resides.
Only Butt-Ugly Minds love Butt-Ugly Windmills.
The novelty of windmills has been worn off for years now, and everyone can see that they are nothing more than the ugly mechanisms of the big business greed from whence they came. They are already as obsolete and anti-productive as the Governor's Mansion in Iowa -- which hasn't seen a Real Human Governor in decades.
Period.
Done.
----------
Just to show that my heart is in the right place, I am going to dedicate my next message to the Good People of Southern Iowa.
There are many Good and Decent People left in Southern Indiana, even though the hideous Democrat/Homosexuals obviously think that they own the place 'lock, stock, and barrel'.
*************************
But first -- The Dream: (Recently, like yesterday.)
This dream was part of a DreamStream, that previously included many diverse situations and objects such as: piloting the controls of a Boeing 747 over Central Africa (looking for a place to land) -- making a close-order and exhaustive study of front-opening bras, with live ladies of course (a recurring favorite) -- riding the weekly diesel passenger train out of San Bernadino bound for the small towns along the eastern rim of Owens Valley, California and getting off at Black Rock Station (with a loaded Mini-Gun in my hands) -- something about playing cards on top of a moving and very large turtle's back with a cigar smoking Pigeon-Toed Under-Growd One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater, who was more interested in playing rock and roll music through the horn in his head than winning at cards. All of those dreams were clear, but they were not important; so they just drifted along and I drifted through them -- and then ...
I was inside a large building that was crowded and confused. Somehow, I was very much involved in getting a very large group of people, about a boat load, into the right rooms and suites inside a very large Grand Resort Hotel. It was a hotel with many floors and many rooms and many kitchens and many servants, and many guests who had to be shown where to go for some reason.
I do not remember what I was wearing, so it must not have mattered. I do remember that I was wearing a long beard at the time. There were men helping me though, and they were all sterling fellows in formal attire. They were all white, but that had no meaning because everybody there was white; and all that anyone was thinking about was which rooms were theirs, and how could they get from the front desk (very large) to their suites.
[[ The view reminds me of the hotel lobby scene from the Jean-Paul Rappeneau film entitled 'Bon Voyage'. ]]
With an appropriate amount of work and thinking, and a few hours, we managed to get all of the hotel guests into their appropriate rooms. The hotel settled down to a regular routine of guests calling for room service, or guests going back out to their automobiles for more luggage, and so forth.
The interior decor of the hotel's main lobby, where I spent all of my time, was gold and white marble; with gold leaf wallpaper and great white marble columns inside the building that bracketed a great golden staircase, which led up to the floors with rooms above.
I was satisfied, and it was time for me to leave. I put on my brown suit coat (no hat), said goodbye to the hotel staff, and walked out onto the front porch. Instantly, the porch changed from a rustic brick architecture (reminiscent of Old England) to a bright and white look of the 'Old South'.
Huge white pillars appeared along the front and sides of the very large porch, and the front lawn (very large) turned to a deep clover green color. I gave this 'no nevermind', and began to walk down the street to my right. As I was walking on air, I did not notice what the street was made of, but the buildings were a mixture of colorful residence neighborhoods and groups of older brown industrial buildings.
I proceeded for a while, and after a few miles a black child (a young boy) dressed in blue overalls and without shoes came running towards me from the far distance ahead of me. He was running on the atmosphere as easily as I paced along with my timely stride; and as soon as he reached my proximity he pointed down the street and smiled broadly -- "They just got done making a movie down there!"
Where he went after that remains unknown, because suddenly I was sitting in an elaborate and brass-trimmed horse carriage (very walnut and very expensive), to which was attached a very large and beautiful chestnut-colored horse. I was sitting in the driver's seat with the reins in my hands, but I was not concerned with going anywhere at all.
The horse and carriage were situated on top of an elevation (grassy knoll) to the right of the street, which I knew was North. The street was all dirt now, a rich tan and brown colored earth that was hard and showed no wheel ruts. It ran from the east (behind me) to the west (ahead of me); and there ahead of me sat an unusual mixture of buildings and fixtures.
To the south was a row of factory buildings, made of white wood and red bricks, in four pieces; with all of it measuring about two hundred yards in length. Each building had a tall black smoke stack protruding from its roof. Just north of them was a broad and flat area made of the same tan and brown colored earth, and then as the ground proceeded north it sloped upwards about twenty feet to a row of silver silos, six abreast, that ran parallel to the factory buildings.
The sky and backdrop comprised one of those rare sights that look almost as though they were painted. The street continued into invisibility underneath a light yellow colored sky, in which sat a round and orange star with concentric yellow circles radiating out from it. I almost expected to see a spiraling and dark tornado in the distance, and a little girl holding a little dog running up the street towards me saying -- "Where Is Auntie Emm?"
I noticed that something had been changed for the movie, because there were now four smaller and green silos on the ground level, below and near the row of six. They had not been there before, and they were not connected to anything. Clearly, they had been set there as props for the movie set.
All of this however, was just the background view because what really interested me was the many black children that were coming along the street from the far western approaches. They were very happy and very mellow, dressed in all manners of colorful countryside attires -- and the girls were singing songs. They made a loose procession of playing and laughing youths, and a lot of them waved at me as they passed me by. Some of the older girls, about five of them, came up the knoll and said hello to me. I remember that I said hello back to them, and that I was smiling.
Then, quite naturally, I was sitting in a black box that was about five feet long and four feet wide, with sides two feet high. The box had hand rails along its rims and there were four strands of heavy hemp running upwards from the sides, to a pulley above me. A pulley that was attached to a steel wheel, that was riding atop a long golden rope.
I was quite comfortable, and I was still looking south towards the five black girls, who were now smiling very much. They were all pointing northwards at something behind me, so I turned around in my seat and saw that the golden rope (very thick) ran across the span of a wide and deep gorge, which had a white water river at the bottom of it, moving very fast.
Halfway across the gorge there was a knot tied in the golden rope, and when I turned back to the girls they all said -- "It can be a difficult!"
I turned around again, and this time I was sitting facing north. I saw clearly now that the far end of the golden rope ran right into a long and high wall made of great grey stones, on the far embankment. In the side of the wall was a large square opening through which ran the suspended golden rope. Above the large square opening was a broad grey stone, onto which was carved a big lion's face, again of Old English design, with a broad and flattened nose.
Without hesitation, my adventurous spirit getting the better of me, I pulled on a release cord and went zooming down the length of the golden rope. The tramway box moved faster than I thought it would, but there was no bump or jar at the knot in the middle, as I had expected. Somewhere behind me the black girls were laughing merrily, but I was getting within camera range of the big square opening at the far wall.
Now, I had my trusty digital camera in my hands, and as I was zooming along I started to take photographs of the approaching stone structure, and the castle beyond it. I had to shoot pictures quickly, because I was moving along the golden rope very fast.
I only had time for three shots before I, and my airborne box, flashed through the opening and into the forested inner courtyard of the castle. I just had time to see that there were big and leafy trees on either side of me, a lot of green grass below me, and the golden rope was going right into a large open window in the side of the castle.
I burst into the main kitchen of the castle at about forty miles an hour, dressed in a fine grey and silver pin-stripped suit, wearing a rich grey tophat with a golden band around it, spit-shinned black leather shoes and my beard was trimmed considerably.
I made an impossible soft landing in the middle of the kitchen, took off my hat, and bowed immediately to the two ladies present; who were standing at cooking stoves along the far wall. They both turned to greet me, one black and one white, with smiles and an air of my being expected. I quickly noticed that both of their light blue aprons bore the unmistakable symbol of the Chicago Cubs, otherwise their dresses were quite fine -- as though they had taken time out from a formal dance to attend to the cooking.
I was about to introduce myself, though it hardly seemed that such was necessary, when I heard a commotion going on from outside the window. I quickly turned with my new leather shoes, put my hat back on, and stepped to the window that I had just flown through.
Through the open window, I could see back across the steep gorge that I had just traversed. On the far side, up on the knoll where the horse and carriage had been, was a sour lemonade stand with a banner over it that read 'Mass Suicide -- Nasty Buttf**k Club' (MSNBC). In the stand, were too many jive-ass White 'Queers' with microphones stuck in their mouths. They were trying to do a lucrative business in dildos, all of which had the MSNBC label on them. The sour lemonade stand, and its vile inhabitants, now possessed the opposite side of the long golden rope which I and the black box had just run upon.
Next to the overcrowded sour lemonade stand was a 'Model Darkie' wearing a dark blue t-shirt, that had the MSNBC logo on its front. The 'Token Negro' was jibbering and jabbering fiercely. Its constant stream of jive nothingness was laced with the repeated words "and then the GOP ate the pie!" It jumped up and down in place, and waved its arms about like a puppet.
On the rope itself were many white monkeys (filthy, as though they had been playing in a dung heap), all trying to get across the gorge by crossing hand over hand along the golden rope. The rope itself ascended up to the turn wheel on the far side, that I had just left.
Without meaning to bother the ladies in the kitchen, I pulled a .50 caliber BFR (10 inch barrel) out from under my pinstriped suit coat, aimed at the rope on the far turn wheel and fired.
With shrill screams and chatters the many white monkeys dropped hopelessly into the depths of the gorge, never to be seen again. The conflagration of clowns and assholes in the MSNBC sour lemonade stand, just kept on gesticulating and shouting demonic sounds and spitting out meaningless gibberish.
I quickly turned about and bowed to the women in the kitchen -- "It's alright Mamms -- they were from Saint Louis and Southern Indiana. They have a few little plots going."
The two cooking ladies began to applaud and giggle; and I began to say something like -- "My, my, my -- those potatoes and onions do smell delicious!"
But, I woke up instead.
----------
Interpretation?
Don't send monkeys to do what no one can do -- just because all you have is monkeys.
*************************
Oh and Thank You, 'Queer' at the Walmart in Boonville. You just provided the link. You cannot even know that I was attacked by 'berserkers-for-hire', without being a part of it. I am not supposed to be alive right now. You know that too, don't you.
Too bad for you it didn't work, faggot.
You are just going to love the next message.
*************************
Markel Peters
http://www.voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com/
No - No - No - Grandma! Not This One!
Have a grandchild explain it to you.
*************************
QUICK! CIRCLE THE WAGONS! THE 'ASSHOLES' ARE COMING!
*************************
Did I use the wrong word? You judge.
Do you see that cloud of dust over there, on the left horizon?
That means 'trouble' partner!
It ain't no tornado -- nope. It's them radical critters! A whole herd! And, they's being wrangled right for the Iowa Caucuses.
Don't you mind, that they are running backwards and butt-naked. This here is serious business!
The Iowa Caucuses happen thirty-three days from now.
*************************
Can you see it? Thousands of 'Backwards Assholes' trying to keep the Iowa Caucuses from being honest, and truthful, and representative, and straight-forwards. Not to mention properly dressed.
If you can't see it coming, you need to change eyeballs and find a 'Life'; cause them critters is headin right for Iowa! At a gallop!
-----
Here are some websites concerning this situation:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iowa_caucuses
http://www.iowacaucus.biz/IA_Caucus_Howitworks.html
http://campaign2012.washingtonexaminer.com/article/web-and-debates-change-rules-presidential-race
http://hillbuzz.org/occupy-iowa-caucus-occupoopers-planning-to-disrupt-iowa-caucus-with-violence-and-mayhem-47308
http://www.thefastertimes.com/news/2011/11/01/99-will-occupy-99-counties-occupy-iowa-targets-caucus/
http://caucuses.desmoinesregister.com/2011/11/12/occupy-des-moines-expects-hundreds-from-out-of-state-to-protest-in-days-leading-up-to-iowa-caucuses/
http://www.freerepublic.com/focus/f-news/2803569/posts
http://patdollard.com/2011/11/fascist-occupy-mobs-plan-to-shut-down-candidate-offices-during-caucuses/
http://gawker.com/5857123/how-your-bullshit-anonymous-hacking-threats-get-made
http://www.pixiq.com/article/occupy-dc-activist-threatens
-----
Since we are dealing with lunatic and worthless deviates and radicals in this case, why not brand the Bastards and Bitches for later identification? The best thing to do right now is to start building hundreds of little blacksmith shops, to put outside each Iowa Caucus meeting place -- to brand them Occupy and Anonymous Buttocks when they show up. Won't none of them be 'anonymous' again after they try to mess with our business here in Iowa. 'Brand em, on the Butt! Shops', we'll call them. Or, was that 'Butt Chops?'
We could set up Barbecue Shacks right next door, you know.
Either way, we cannot let them 'disruptors' and Anti-Americans to taint and befoul our next Iowa Caucuses!
The Iowa Caucuses are scheduled for January 3, 2012 ...
So, what are YOU going to do about it?
How are YOU going to get involved and prevent this deliberate outside interference from those BatShitCrazy Bastards and Bitches of the Democrat/Homosexuals?
Does anyone really think that 'Il Duce Branstad - The Neuter Maker' is going to get 'tough' on punks and derelicts from the same Satanic and Queer Lying-Dead sewers that it came from?
-----
Let us all collectively ignore the fact that we now have positive proof that they DO have the asses of Baboons; and proceed forth with a think tank session on how to stop those monkeys from queering OUR POLITICS HERE IN OUR STATE OF IOWA.
[[ By the way -- I think I see Mitt (the Rat) Romney in there. I recognize that 'butt face' from 2008. ]]
I would suggest that everyone in the Real Iowa get their cameras ready and make this next Iowa Caucus the most recorded one in history.
'Queers' and DemoCraps hate having their real filth recorded and photographed. That is why they will be putting on many staged performances for the cameras of the Little Charlie TV Stations, when they attack the Iowa Caucuses.
But, they will not want Real Humans taking Real Photographs of the snidely tricks and deceits and doubtlessly queer activities that they will be doing.
I also suggest assigning photography teams to each and every DemoCrap Politician of DemoIowa, until the 2012 elections are over.
Get every Real Human of Iowa that you know to take part in the Iowa Caucuses.
Demand to see a valid driver's license from Iowa of all Iowa Caucus participants.
Never allow a DemoCrap to participate in the Republican Caucuses. That is their number one idea for sabotaging the Human Selection process, in these Caucuses.
Remember how they queered the special election for Senate District 18, using Satan Tube addicts and absentee ballots to create a false count in their favor. Homosexual/Democrats will resort to any and all schemes and tricks and crimes possible to keep the People of The United States enslaved by a few percentages of violent and radical extremist 'Queers' and Liberals.
Get Real Identities of all Disruptors and Assholes who try to bother our Human Caucus -- you know they will only fake any protests against Homosexual/Democrats -- and put those names and addresses and photographs into a permanent file of Human Enemies. For later purposes.
Bring large quantities of delousing powder to all Caucus Meeting Places, and douse any Disruptors and Assholes that try to interfere with our Human Caucus Meetings.
They also dislike sticky situations, such as being shot with water cannons filled with water and pancake syrup, or water and molasses.
They are also very unhappy with fireworks, under their asses.
Baboons-for-hire, like the ones that will be attacking our Human Caucus Meeting Places, have a built in threshold of pain -- a limit on their acceptance of pain-for-hire -- after which they suddenly start to gyrate and roll their eyes and foam at the mouth and shout -- "Fuck This Shit! This Shit Ain't Worth It!" Make them shout. Make them squirm. Make them try to escape. Remember why so many prisons are located out in the countrysides, where prisoners from the cities are taken to. If the city prisoners do somehow escape, they will have no idea where they are or where anything in the countryside is located. The city prisoners therefore have a built-in disadvantage when it comes to escaping. They are easier to run down that way.
The scum from out of state, that are coming to Iowa to cause problems, will have no idea where they really are, or how to escape.
Bear traps are nice.
I like the idea of identifying those things for later recognition by Humans, wherever they try to peddle their Chaos-For-Hire. Vermin like that, hate being 'known' and 'recognized'. It reduces their commercial value to the Democrat/Homosexuals. I really mean it, when I say that we Iowans should be taking many thousands of photographs of those Bastards and Bitches.
Getting information from them is also a great idea. Like, who hired them? Who trained them? Who pays them? Who they attacked last? Who they expect to attack next? Where were they hired? Where were they trained? Where do they live? What do they call their organization, for real? How violent are they allowed to get, this time? How violent have they been trained to be? Do they know how to handle C4 explosives? Do they know the range of an M72 LAW?
Pool whatever information you get, including the verbatim words of the phony raps that they give you about being non-violent.
Use your noodles. Be inventive and deliberate. Remember that you are supposed to be cowardly. You are supposed to be intimidated by those Bastards and Bitches. The absolute lack of the reactions that they want, on your part, will ruin their first plans and force them to resort to more violent and revealing behaviors. Thus, exposing them for the gutter trash that they really are. Record it all.
*************************
In case there are any doubters and skeptics left in my reading audience -- and believe me those two SQLD Analysts and their Uncle's monkeys do not doubt a single word or syllable of what I write -- let me give you a small glimpse into Reality.
Just when you think to yourself -- "Naw, it just must be Peters. Those P-O-S can't really be THAT bad!"
-----
A DemoCrap Takes A Vote:
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
It was the words from a radical drug-crazed Filthy Monkey song, being repeated on the loudspeakers overhead.
Near me, eight feet too close, was a shit-stupid DemoCrap -- ugly, paunchy, raunchy and the lowest type of truck driver on Earth. It had typical DemoCrap ugly clothing on, and its face looked like it had spent all of its life looking at assholes.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
The loudspeakers were tied into a Filthy Monkey Station that was trying to brainwash any listeners into supporting the Occupation Zombies of the SQLD -- which they happen to be also -- of course.
As the music pounded down on the DemoCrap, that was eight feet too near to me, it looked up from the candies it was gazing at, and drooled. Then, a single thought came to its perversion-dulled brain -- "peckers on da drums!"
Then it grinned, like someone it liked had died and gone to Hell. It drooled again, and then looked around sheepishly. As it did so it farted. Big. A big wet messy fart, that obviously filled its dirty underwear.
Part of my mind said -- "That's what they do when they vote for their Queer Masters at the voting places."
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
It shuffled up and down once, and spread out its legs to adjust to the load in its pants; and it looked up at the loudspeakers with a grin of enjoyment.
It started to think something else, but I blocked the generators, and it came to a stare and a halt. It stared up at the speakers, but could not remember why.
Slowly it walked away down the isle, stopped and grabbed a bag of something, and walked to the counter to pay. At the counter, it looked back at where I had been, with a puzzled expression. Then it paid, and slowly walked out of the truckstop.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
I usually avoid this Hell Hole. Tonight, I had to stop here to get supplies. In all of Eastern Indiana, it is the worst truckstop there is, at Remington. I have written about this pestilence before. It used to be a headquarters for Killer Queers. Now, it is just a cesspool for the shittiest drivers on the road. It is just the kind of place that White Radical Extremists would like (such as the KKK), and they probably recruit here. There are two other truckstops downstate (of the same brand) that are quite pleasant, so it is not the company -- it is the place.
There has to be a worst, and this is one of them no doubt. For some reasons, which I know about, Indiana is infested by some of the worst swine and degenerate turds in the world. They make messes of everything and anyone that they can. Southern Indiana, for example, has some of the most god-awful trash on any planet. They are rampant, uncontrolled, deviated, demented, and dangerous. That is because, of course, the Homosexual/Democrats are in control down there. But, there are other places in the Midwest that have the same terrible DemoTopia disease, fueled by the so-called Homosexuals; and (with the exception of Madison, Wisconsin) they are not nearly as foul and vile and homicidal as the White Queer Trash of Southern Indiana.
Like I said, there has to be worst places, and Southern Indiana is one of them. Still, the plain facts of the matter (Homosexual Agenda, DemoCrap Politics, Queer Public Schools, Rampant Labor Unions etc) are not unique to Southern Indiana. That kind of putrid mess can be found in Des Moines at the Rearsniffers cesspool, or in Cedar Rapids at the queer newsrags and the Little Charlie TV station there; or in Omaha where there are some very ghastly and hideous queer newsrags attacking the people daily -- and yet nowhere else in the Great Midwest (with the exception of Madison, Wisconsin) is there such evil and absurdity and low-grade moronic displays of sub-bestiality.
Those Queer White Trash that disease Southern Indiana are not good enough to be categorized as satanic beasts. They are too stupid to be satanic beasts.
So, why are they allowed to run rampant in Southern Indiana?
Answer: It is not the fault of the land. It cannot be the fault of the people who work those lands. It must be an especially virulent virus of Queer Politicians. Nothing else can explain it. Kentucky, which is right across the river, is nowhere close to being so hideous. Kentucky is completely the opposite, and quite Human.
I have learned, from great experience, that there is always only one (and only one) reason why such sickness becomes institutionalized in an area -- but does not effect the areas around it.
Politics. Satanic Politics.
Satanic Politicians need such an environment in which to thrive and build armies of berserkers, to carry out their wicked and anti-Christ plans. Thus, DemoCrap politicians have made out of Southern Indiana a reflection of the horrendous evils and puke-bag perversions that are the every-second-awfulness of 'Wash This Death City', and such grotesque styes of death and stench as the Hideous Boston Horrid Zone. Only this time, it is spread out across a region instead of confined to a city, or cities. A countryside diseased by every kind of lying, scheming, crap-talking scum bag that the DemoCraps could make (out of who was here to begin with), or could import.
That in itself is a terrible crime, as all DemoCraps are terrible criminals. But, there is another crime as well. Southern Indiana was innocent. Southern Indiana did not commit some horrible crime against God and Nature, for which God decided to punish them; and thus God allowed the murdering swine called DemoCraps to take over Southern Indiana. No.
This is entirely the work of evil. Twisted, jive ass, shit-stupid, egomaniac evil. It is a real shame to see such a bad cloud of Filthy Monkey Insanity overcome such an otherwise beautiful land. But, what do Filthy Monkeys care about beauty or nature?
Answer: Nothing.
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it!" (we're guilty!)
"we're not going to take it anymore!" (we don't care about 'guilty'!)
The orders are out in Southern Indiana to try to bump me off (which is why I have a lock on my pants), but not because of any Righteous Indignation on the part of the Good People of Southern Indiana -- Hell No.
It is because, the Good People of Southern Indiana are starting to wake up to the horrendous crimes that have been committed against them by the scum of politics -- the DemoCraps.
So, what else is not new?
*************************
In case anyone is getting the impression that Southern Indiana is a boogeyland full of Zombies and Vampires -- it isn't. It is the 'Queers' and the DemoCraps and the Butt-Ugly Windmills that make boogeylands out of Human Lands.
By the way -- one thing that they do right in Indiana is to put the Butt-Ugly Windmills near interstate highways like I65. The placement of Butt-Ugly Windmills is all important to the beauty of our country. Putting them near and around things that are already ugly (like interstate highways) minimizes the ugliness that comes over any land that is under their oppressive ugliness.
[[ Those things don't eat people too, do they? ]]
It is an ugliness of greed, masquerading as beneficial service. Wherever you see a farm that has Butt-Ugly Windmills on it, you are looking at a place of self-deprecation, scrooge-like greed and total disdain for the land it rests upon, and the country in which it resides.
Only Butt-Ugly Minds love Butt-Ugly Windmills.
The novelty of windmills has been worn off for years now, and everyone can see that they are nothing more than the ugly mechanisms of the big business greed from whence they came. They are already as obsolete and anti-productive as the Governor's Mansion in Iowa -- which hasn't seen a Real Human Governor in decades.
Period.
Done.
----------
Just to show that my heart is in the right place, I am going to dedicate my next message to the Good People of Southern Iowa.
There are many Good and Decent People left in Southern Indiana, even though the hideous Democrat/Homosexuals obviously think that they own the place 'lock, stock, and barrel'.
*************************
But first -- The Dream: (Recently, like yesterday.)
This dream was part of a DreamStream, that previously included many diverse situations and objects such as: piloting the controls of a Boeing 747 over Central Africa (looking for a place to land) -- making a close-order and exhaustive study of front-opening bras, with live ladies of course (a recurring favorite) -- riding the weekly diesel passenger train out of San Bernadino bound for the small towns along the eastern rim of Owens Valley, California and getting off at Black Rock Station (with a loaded Mini-Gun in my hands) -- something about playing cards on top of a moving and very large turtle's back with a cigar smoking Pigeon-Toed Under-Growd One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater, who was more interested in playing rock and roll music through the horn in his head than winning at cards. All of those dreams were clear, but they were not important; so they just drifted along and I drifted through them -- and then ...
I was inside a large building that was crowded and confused. Somehow, I was very much involved in getting a very large group of people, about a boat load, into the right rooms and suites inside a very large Grand Resort Hotel. It was a hotel with many floors and many rooms and many kitchens and many servants, and many guests who had to be shown where to go for some reason.
I do not remember what I was wearing, so it must not have mattered. I do remember that I was wearing a long beard at the time. There were men helping me though, and they were all sterling fellows in formal attire. They were all white, but that had no meaning because everybody there was white; and all that anyone was thinking about was which rooms were theirs, and how could they get from the front desk (very large) to their suites.
[[ The view reminds me of the hotel lobby scene from the Jean-Paul Rappeneau film entitled 'Bon Voyage'. ]]
With an appropriate amount of work and thinking, and a few hours, we managed to get all of the hotel guests into their appropriate rooms. The hotel settled down to a regular routine of guests calling for room service, or guests going back out to their automobiles for more luggage, and so forth.
The interior decor of the hotel's main lobby, where I spent all of my time, was gold and white marble; with gold leaf wallpaper and great white marble columns inside the building that bracketed a great golden staircase, which led up to the floors with rooms above.
I was satisfied, and it was time for me to leave. I put on my brown suit coat (no hat), said goodbye to the hotel staff, and walked out onto the front porch. Instantly, the porch changed from a rustic brick architecture (reminiscent of Old England) to a bright and white look of the 'Old South'.
Huge white pillars appeared along the front and sides of the very large porch, and the front lawn (very large) turned to a deep clover green color. I gave this 'no nevermind', and began to walk down the street to my right. As I was walking on air, I did not notice what the street was made of, but the buildings were a mixture of colorful residence neighborhoods and groups of older brown industrial buildings.
I proceeded for a while, and after a few miles a black child (a young boy) dressed in blue overalls and without shoes came running towards me from the far distance ahead of me. He was running on the atmosphere as easily as I paced along with my timely stride; and as soon as he reached my proximity he pointed down the street and smiled broadly -- "They just got done making a movie down there!"
Where he went after that remains unknown, because suddenly I was sitting in an elaborate and brass-trimmed horse carriage (very walnut and very expensive), to which was attached a very large and beautiful chestnut-colored horse. I was sitting in the driver's seat with the reins in my hands, but I was not concerned with going anywhere at all.
The horse and carriage were situated on top of an elevation (grassy knoll) to the right of the street, which I knew was North. The street was all dirt now, a rich tan and brown colored earth that was hard and showed no wheel ruts. It ran from the east (behind me) to the west (ahead of me); and there ahead of me sat an unusual mixture of buildings and fixtures.
To the south was a row of factory buildings, made of white wood and red bricks, in four pieces; with all of it measuring about two hundred yards in length. Each building had a tall black smoke stack protruding from its roof. Just north of them was a broad and flat area made of the same tan and brown colored earth, and then as the ground proceeded north it sloped upwards about twenty feet to a row of silver silos, six abreast, that ran parallel to the factory buildings.
The sky and backdrop comprised one of those rare sights that look almost as though they were painted. The street continued into invisibility underneath a light yellow colored sky, in which sat a round and orange star with concentric yellow circles radiating out from it. I almost expected to see a spiraling and dark tornado in the distance, and a little girl holding a little dog running up the street towards me saying -- "Where Is Auntie Emm?"
I noticed that something had been changed for the movie, because there were now four smaller and green silos on the ground level, below and near the row of six. They had not been there before, and they were not connected to anything. Clearly, they had been set there as props for the movie set.
All of this however, was just the background view because what really interested me was the many black children that were coming along the street from the far western approaches. They were very happy and very mellow, dressed in all manners of colorful countryside attires -- and the girls were singing songs. They made a loose procession of playing and laughing youths, and a lot of them waved at me as they passed me by. Some of the older girls, about five of them, came up the knoll and said hello to me. I remember that I said hello back to them, and that I was smiling.
Then, quite naturally, I was sitting in a black box that was about five feet long and four feet wide, with sides two feet high. The box had hand rails along its rims and there were four strands of heavy hemp running upwards from the sides, to a pulley above me. A pulley that was attached to a steel wheel, that was riding atop a long golden rope.
I was quite comfortable, and I was still looking south towards the five black girls, who were now smiling very much. They were all pointing northwards at something behind me, so I turned around in my seat and saw that the golden rope (very thick) ran across the span of a wide and deep gorge, which had a white water river at the bottom of it, moving very fast.
Halfway across the gorge there was a knot tied in the golden rope, and when I turned back to the girls they all said -- "It can be a difficult!"
I turned around again, and this time I was sitting facing north. I saw clearly now that the far end of the golden rope ran right into a long and high wall made of great grey stones, on the far embankment. In the side of the wall was a large square opening through which ran the suspended golden rope. Above the large square opening was a broad grey stone, onto which was carved a big lion's face, again of Old English design, with a broad and flattened nose.
Without hesitation, my adventurous spirit getting the better of me, I pulled on a release cord and went zooming down the length of the golden rope. The tramway box moved faster than I thought it would, but there was no bump or jar at the knot in the middle, as I had expected. Somewhere behind me the black girls were laughing merrily, but I was getting within camera range of the big square opening at the far wall.
Now, I had my trusty digital camera in my hands, and as I was zooming along I started to take photographs of the approaching stone structure, and the castle beyond it. I had to shoot pictures quickly, because I was moving along the golden rope very fast.
I only had time for three shots before I, and my airborne box, flashed through the opening and into the forested inner courtyard of the castle. I just had time to see that there were big and leafy trees on either side of me, a lot of green grass below me, and the golden rope was going right into a large open window in the side of the castle.
I burst into the main kitchen of the castle at about forty miles an hour, dressed in a fine grey and silver pin-stripped suit, wearing a rich grey tophat with a golden band around it, spit-shinned black leather shoes and my beard was trimmed considerably.
I made an impossible soft landing in the middle of the kitchen, took off my hat, and bowed immediately to the two ladies present; who were standing at cooking stoves along the far wall. They both turned to greet me, one black and one white, with smiles and an air of my being expected. I quickly noticed that both of their light blue aprons bore the unmistakable symbol of the Chicago Cubs, otherwise their dresses were quite fine -- as though they had taken time out from a formal dance to attend to the cooking.
I was about to introduce myself, though it hardly seemed that such was necessary, when I heard a commotion going on from outside the window. I quickly turned with my new leather shoes, put my hat back on, and stepped to the window that I had just flown through.
Through the open window, I could see back across the steep gorge that I had just traversed. On the far side, up on the knoll where the horse and carriage had been, was a sour lemonade stand with a banner over it that read 'Mass Suicide -- Nasty Buttf**k Club' (MSNBC). In the stand, were too many jive-ass White 'Queers' with microphones stuck in their mouths. They were trying to do a lucrative business in dildos, all of which had the MSNBC label on them. The sour lemonade stand, and its vile inhabitants, now possessed the opposite side of the long golden rope which I and the black box had just run upon.
Next to the overcrowded sour lemonade stand was a 'Model Darkie' wearing a dark blue t-shirt, that had the MSNBC logo on its front. The 'Token Negro' was jibbering and jabbering fiercely. Its constant stream of jive nothingness was laced with the repeated words "and then the GOP ate the pie!" It jumped up and down in place, and waved its arms about like a puppet.
On the rope itself were many white monkeys (filthy, as though they had been playing in a dung heap), all trying to get across the gorge by crossing hand over hand along the golden rope. The rope itself ascended up to the turn wheel on the far side, that I had just left.
Without meaning to bother the ladies in the kitchen, I pulled a .50 caliber BFR (10 inch barrel) out from under my pinstriped suit coat, aimed at the rope on the far turn wheel and fired.
With shrill screams and chatters the many white monkeys dropped hopelessly into the depths of the gorge, never to be seen again. The conflagration of clowns and assholes in the MSNBC sour lemonade stand, just kept on gesticulating and shouting demonic sounds and spitting out meaningless gibberish.
I quickly turned about and bowed to the women in the kitchen -- "It's alright Mamms -- they were from Saint Louis and Southern Indiana. They have a few little plots going."
The two cooking ladies began to applaud and giggle; and I began to say something like -- "My, my, my -- those potatoes and onions do smell delicious!"
But, I woke up instead.
----------
Interpretation?
Don't send monkeys to do what no one can do -- just because all you have is monkeys.
*************************
Oh and Thank You, 'Queer' at the Walmart in Boonville. You just provided the link. You cannot even know that I was attacked by 'berserkers-for-hire', without being a part of it. I am not supposed to be alive right now. You know that too, don't you.
Too bad for you it didn't work, faggot.
You are just going to love the next message.
*************************
Markel Peters
http://www.voices-of-iowa.blogspot.com/
