A group of women from the Focus on the Family for Profit charity foundation cried out in protest Monday after soon-to-be-Former First Lady Melania Trump disrespected the President in front of their Israeli hosts by selfishly swatting Donald’s hand away as he reached out for support. Continue reading “‘Donald Trump did nothing wrong’: Critics SLAM Melania for refusing to stand by her man”
INTERNET — President Donald Trump, facing a legal mire as subpoenas and indictments pile on his administration, requested asylum this afternoon in a personal call to King Salman of Saudi Arabia. Continue reading “Donald Trump to seek asylum in Saudi Arabia”
Wild Bill Cosby – who was finally accused by enough women of rape that the world began to believe them – spoke for the first time in two years. Continue reading “‘Hey, Bungalow Bill, What Did Ya Kill?’ Cosby Speaks For the First Time in Years”
When I think of South American drug cartels, I’m reminded of the beheading videos I used to download from Limewire and Kazaa in the year 2000. Continue reading “Season 2 of hit Netflix show ‘Narcos’ a far cry from decapitation videos of liveleak.com”
DADDY IS HOME
President Trump returned home Thursday, for the first time since becoming national daddy.
Thousands of demonstrators appeared at the Intrepid military museum, a decommissioned warship docked in lower Manhattan, where President Trump met right-wing Australian Prime Minister Malcolm “X” Turnbull. Continue reading “Trump’s first visit to home town of New York City met with [glorious praise]”
Within its Red, White, and Blue packaging the bone-melting acid of Dew SA rips into your kidneys while torturing your taste buds with memories of watered down cough syrup, the flavor of force-fed childhood trauma. Continue reading “Purchase a bottle of Dew SA today!”
A couple days ago I visited Union Square during the opening remarks of the Democratic Socialists of America. It was boring, and I did not stay for the 5 o’clock march to City Hall.
Kilgoar and I anticipated seeing Twitter personalities there, but they were all reportedly wearing masks, so I could not identify or contact them.
Beyond showing up, barely on time, little to no effort was put into coverage of this event.
Expect the same during tomorrow’s coverage of the protests scheduled during President Trump’s first visit to his hometown of New York City.
“You’ll have to clamber with great effort to beat other protesters to the front,” Kilgoar advised, “because they have been hardened by the city.”
Upon arrival, I slept for 12 hours.
This morning I woke up, took a long shower, and hit the road. I walked a mile through Queens to the Rosedale Station, where I’m sitting now.
On the way I purchased half a chicken, a half pound of Spanish rice, and a bottle of Coke for $9. So much for kicking soda. I am now carrying a quarter chicken and most of the rice around with me.
Yesterday, out of desperate starvation, I bought a $3 hot dog from a cart near Penn Station, where I took this photo:
I turned around from the hot dog vendor and accidentally made eye contact with an old man, from three feet away, who was literally eating meat off a chicken bone from the garbage, and staring intensely at me as he did so, as if I were the one making him do it. There was something simultaneously punk and horrifying about meeting eyes with a man hunched over a trash can for his dinner plate. And that is when I realized I am one stolen debit card away from jockeying for position over the good trash cans around tourist hubs.
So what did I do next? I stuck my fucking debit card into the greasy, diseased, yawning hole that is the MTA ticket box, and bought a ticket to Queens.
Sleep is my home now. Everything else around me is temporary and unfamiliar. It’s exciting and dreadful at the same time. But as long as these uncertain days are punctuated by quality sleep, then everything else is going to be just fine.
Today I am purchasing a monthly MTA card, so I only hear the cash register bang once, instead of repeatedly throughout the day. It’s usually not so much the price that bothers me, but the experience of spending.
Fortunately, I give off that vibe. Yesterday I was approached by a bum on the street who took one look at me and threw out his hand in dismissal. He grunted and, under his breath, muttered, “Forget it.”
I am on my way to Manhattan, for no particular reason.
“CRAZY. CRACKPOT. FOOL. CRIMINALLY INSANE.”
These are words I once used to describe my schizophrenic writer, an inventor, artist, poet – and a visionary unlike any other person in this world. Today, nothing has changed, except to say he is no longer with us.
Recently the one-year anniversary of his death – and his birthday – came to pass, and I would like to honor my dear friend, Alistair Robin Rowntree, by sharing his story with you now.
I met ALRart through a Yahoo! Group of pseudoscience aficionados – talking about stuff like free energy, faster than light travel, things of that nature – well, ALRart was so far “out there” that even these guys wouldn’t have him. “Who was that guy?” “Just some nutcase,” another said. I wanted to see who they were talking about and I found ALRart’s website:
A maze of links – some of them hidden – that documented his progress through the research and development process of free energy devices, torsion fields and a very special “RINGGO STARGATE” capable of carrying humans to other, possibly better, dimensions.
So I asked him to write for us, which he immediately accepted. We gave him an avenue of pure insanity wherein our friends and readers supported him, without teasing or berating his efforts. He spoke of free love, eternal life and spiritual peace, recoloring what would otherwise be failures into endeavors of scientific purity – innocent trial-and-error. We never once questioned his integrity as an inventor – only asked for explanations, or request that he further his ideas. We shared thoughts with him and it was beautiful.
We have a running joke that ALRart never died, but that he finally got his stargate running.
During experimentation, ALRart claimed to stand in the center of his stargate where he “felt a strangeness” but no word on whether he ever perfected it. However, over the course of designing what may have amounted to a massive collection of functionless sculptures, ALRart created elaborate visual works of unintentional beauty and intricacy using glass and imaging software. After all, there was a fair deal of math involved, and he may have been crazy but he wasn’t stupid.
And that is why for the longest time we did not trust him to be who he said he was, in spite of his intensely loving personality.
And because of the great distance between us – he lived in New Zealand – he became this mythical, legendary persona, like God, only somewhat more real and he answered our questions. But even though I spoke to him over Skype, and we exchanged email, we were never fully certain ALRart was a real person. That is, until I searched him out recently to try to find out where he’s been.
ALRart loved to travel, and I hoped to see something on his website about exploring New Zealand, or to learn he’s been getting high in the attic and no longer trusts the internet. But right there in the first few links of my google search was an obituary I thought I would never see.
Around three o’clock in the afternoon, on his 56th birthday, September 24, 2010 ALRart’s heart stopped. He was diabetic and didn’t take his medicines right, and he died in an ambulance en route to the hospital. Well, that’s the official story the papers ran.
We, of the chronicle.su, know otherwise. At 3 p.m. On the 24th of September, 2010, ALRart secured his place among the stars after successfully passing through the world’s first completed RINGGO STARGATE and into a dimension where there is no more pain, no more suffering, no unhappiness or ridicule. Where there are no failures. No fear. ALRart is at permanent unending peace.
Noam Chomsky said “society is to be dismantled and replaced with nothing by sundown” in a recently typed order to his black bloc legion.
Lebal Drocer attorneys have blacked out all windows and severed communications from the outside. Through a one-way radio, Raleigh T. Hatesec barks orders to a pig army, starving for his attention.
Armed gunmen are closing in on the premises from no general direction, really – just gunning for power pigs and capitalist pimp hustlers – and they threaten to take over the means of production!
What is to be done about these unapologetic miscreants? Why, name them on Twitter, I say. DOX THEM into the system! YOU CAN NOT FIGHT THE SYSTEM! YOU ARE BECOME MY SYSTEM NOW.
No, that’s … too sinister. I won’t allow it.
Make it more so the people we destroy are toxic threats to total disorder. We’ll herd them into ‘stables’ where things are chill, and totally fine what goes on inside.
That’s what the good men and beautiful women of Lebal Drocer say! And it bears repeating.
The people we destroy are toxic threats to disorder.
This is an erroneous interpretation of pure anarchy. Let’s give it some love, though, for Lebal Drocer, Inc.
They paraded those women out like cats, didn’t they? The beautiful women of Lebal Drocer are rumored to appear on this year’s Soviet Catwalk, новости where Jessica will finally give us a glimpse into the musical number for which she has been practicing since her mother and father put her to work learning violin, at age 4. She, and her people, have come so far since back then.
That’s all for Internet Chronicle tonight. Please join us again as we self-investigate an invented troll crisis dressed as the trolls themselves! KILGOAR Reports LIVE from the inside (of many fine ladies)!
Chomsky said (he said this directly to me): Read widely.
Well, I have news for you, Mr. Chomsky, I’m reading as wide as I can, and the WALL STILL AIN’T LONG ENOUGH.
Raleigh T. Hatesec