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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
The root’nest and toot’nist mean one of the bunch
WASHINGTON, D.C.–Globalist hologram Donald Trump, who simply could not pass up last week’s opportunity for “biggest termination yet,” held a private White House ceremony, where the Trump cabinet bore witness to the “degrading, pathetic and shameful” termination of Steve Bannon, the parrot who fed Trump talking points about issues ranging from global warming to isolationist policy.
The media is hush on reasons behind Bannon’s possible firing. No one is ready to talk about it, but some have acknowledged it has a “you done fucked up, son” sort of vibe about it.
One source, however, discussed the ceremony under the condition of anonymity, because of their close association with the current administration’s line of executive, jewel-encrusted cat litter boxes, and because the media should keep its mouth shut.
“They took Stevie to the back first,” the source told Internet Chronicle on Saturday. “I don’t know what they done to him, but when Stevie came out, he looked like he’d been touched, sexually, by an angel. It was beautiful.”
The source told Internet Chronicle nude figures in hooded cloaks surrounded Bannon, chanting the DOW Industrial Average in realtime as they closed in on him.
“Then they pulled up the sheets they were wearing, they squatted down, and took turns defecating on his face,” the source said. “One by one, ExxonMobil executives and defense contractors took turns dehumanizing the little old feller until he refused to talk. They were yelling at him, too, going, ‘Money [T]rumps ideology!’ It really worked us all up into a sympathy for him, after it was over.”
The source said there is no way to tell whether the corrective Oval Office ceremony will have any lasting effect on Bannon’s mental health, but already, other radical media personalities are feeling the sting of timeout, as Adults from the Government entered the room.
Alex Jones descended into an uncharacteristic tirade last week, when it looked like White House access could leave with Steve Bannon. All the toys were out, when the Daddies got home.
“It was balls out, man. Balls out.”
Trump is playing the quiet game, now that it looks like crazy baby missiles can hit California. Un awaits…
INTERNET — Fans around the world mourn the death of President Trump, host of the Apprentice, who was covertly assassinated by the deep state at the age of 70.
Trump was killed and replaced with a computer generated fake sometime Wednesday afternoon, according to reports leaked from insiders at the CIA. Shortly after, the fake representation of Donald Trump, uncharacteristically swayed by “Fake News” coverage of a chemical attack on children in Syria, declared war and fired sixty missiles, destroying a Syrian air force base. Earlier, the Trump simulation fired chief White House adviser, Stephen Bannon.
Several minutes before the air strike, ISIS forces allied with the Deep State surged forward in a coordinated attack, capturing new territory in Syria for the first time in months.
Technical Analyst Dr. Angstrom H. Troubador said, “When Disney has the technology to simulate dead actors perfectly, don’t you think the Deep State has something a little bit better than that?”
Infowars contributor Paul Joseph Watson told listeners, “It’s possible the deep state even 3d-printed a Trump replica to fool friends and family. But now the globalists will use this simulation puppet to draw the world into an apocalyptic war that will finally wipe humanity off the map. It’s possible they even kept Trump alive to torture and molest in the basement at Comet Pizza.”
Wikileaks founder Julian Assange was similarly replaced by CGI some time last year.
In a complete rage, America’s most trusted news anchor Alex Jones roared at his audience, “Back before CGI, the globalists would simply kill their enemies, like JFK, but now they’re able to utilize them, taking their images like puppets, controlling the very people who are most dangerous to them. That’s how they control the people. That’s how they control you. You’ll see a lot of Trump supporters going along with the globalists, and there’s nothing we can do. We tried folks, but we lost. Even though they know the gas attacks are all Fake News, they’ll still trust the President. Humanity has lost.”
The tyranny of Internet privacy is over!
Dangerous regulations threatening to choke out competition, innovation and prosperity were removed last week, permitting American Internet service providers to sell your browsing history to anyone who can afford it.
Whereas there once existed a confusing, government-mandated checkbox de-authorizing ISPs to sell your Internet history to advertisers or interested parties, a recent bill – passed by congress and signed into law by President Trump – removed the legally required checkbox, clearing up any confusion around whether consumer privacy is actually protected by law, and assures all Americans that it is not.
“American consumers should not have to be lawyers or engineers to figure out if their information is protected,” said FCC Chairman Ajit Pai. “They can now rest assured it is not.” Pai added that he is trying to protect consumers from overreaching Internet regulations that unfairly protected subscribers’ “privacy” from well-meaning, constructive, and benevolent Internet service monopolies.
If any of you Silicon Valley utopioids think you’ve found a magical cloak from “surveillance” or “data theft,” experts warn you should think twice before plucking wicked instruments from the Devil’s toolbox.
“Let it be known using a VPN will only flag you for closer inspection,” advised Dr. Angstrom Troubadour of the Electronic Frontier Foundation, which could bring unwanted scrutiny to the very browsing habits you might pay to protect.
“If you’re not doing anything wrong, you have nothing to hide,” Troubadour said. “So if they see you hiding something, they’re going to want to know what that is. It doesn’t matter whether you’re doing taxes, compulsively checking symptoms at WebMD, or emailing your exes. If they see you tunneling traffic through VPNs or TOR, they’re just going to assume you’re buying drugs on the Silk Road and spanking your monkey to child porn. Not to mention, by using VPN you rob well-meaning Internet service providers of hard-earned profits they might otherwise enjoy by selling your data to pharmaceutical companies and consumer research groups. That simply will not do. Mark my words, VPN users: They’re coming for you.”
This message is brought to you proudly by Lebal Drocer Communications. You work for us now.
The view from secretive dictator and leader of North Korea, Kim Jong-Un’s residence in the pinnacle suite of the Ryugyong Hotel reveals every inch of Pyongyang in a full 360 degree panorama. Even the building below is totally revealed, so no American thrill-seekers will disgrace his honor by scaling his tower, like some capitalist Rat, ever again. They’re all spies, all of the Americans. Especially the journalists. Un inserts a tape into his boombox.
“The efforts towards worldwide military domination by the United States Government propaganda and weaponry distribution projects have compromised many governments of the world most especially since the birth of the atomic age. Trump has to tell everyone the bomb is cocked again and aimed right at ISIS. But he was installed by Russia, just as the first beginnings of Putin’s regime were installed by Americans. But in the end, the nuclear bombs are installing these governments. They’re getting worse, every day and they’re not going to get better until the global nuclear HATE network is destroyed. It isn’t sentient, yet, but even now, the madmen are its tool. It is more powerful than they are, even though seemingly inert. Its mere potential, the threat in every mind robs us of innocence. World War 2 was fought in mere anticipation of the possibility of something like a nuclear weapon, and so it produced it! But now, Now…”
Inside of the network of nuclear targeting computers connected by an enemy-monitoring fiber optic lines with less than 10 ping, Kim Jong Un is playing Counter-Strike: Global Offensive with ISIS gamertage [JUCHE]Un, avatar Jim Lahey with a bottle. Ms. Un tops off his glass of Hennessy, but it is as if he doesn’t notice. “Get me a Monster!” The energy drink is fresh as hell, with crushed amphetamines added surreptitiously by his doctor so that he can rule with the high energy hitler had, after an order given originally by his father, Kim Jong-Il.
He’s been listening to Dr. Troubador’s bestselling self-help audiobook, Super Strength for the Nuclear Dawn. Another recommendation of Kim Jong-Il. “We can’t get our shit together. Get Brexited, Scotland. The bombs are all around us and some people can’t wait, they go ISIS! They were going ISIS before there was an ISIS. They hope to get the business going at a more civil level, because the light’s a bit too bright and the dust’s a bit too dark. It’s so damn bright it’ll burn your skin off, and if that don’t get ya, the clouds and computers will! When you put your data in the clouds, it’s them clouds from Terminator, from the Matrix. Don’t you get that?”
He’s God Damn Right, Un thinks. Everyone will be a pile of ash if they don’t do what God says. But Un’s the God right now. The God of Counter-Strike. ISIS is on the Discord sayin’, “ns m8 when you gonna wholesale price the big one.”
Un’s all, “Get a real sub and we’ll talk. Can’t wholesale them just yet and without ’em the nuke is useless. Give it time.”
“nepotism in ur dictatorship of the proletariat. sweetest gaming computer of anyone on earth and you aren’t even topfragging,” the ISIS guy shuts Un down. “fake dictator”
“Learn to click your mouse a little better.” Un headshots ISIS, igniting a firestorm of teamkilling and maniacal cartoon villain laughter on all sides.
WARNING: Parental Discretion is ABSOLUTELY ADVISED.
THE FOLLOWING IS EXTREMELY INSENSITIVE AND SHOULD NOT BE VIEWED BY ANYONE, EVER. Original Tragedies happen every day, but at Lebal Drocer, they can happen any time!
And now this message:
9/11 is retarded. Listen to this. If you are still falling for that old, watch-out-or-9/11-could-happen-again trick, I got news for you, son:
Ain’t nothin‘ in that for you. This about money. This about power. This about high level politics that have nothing to do with your cowardly fear and hatred of other people who ain’t like you. This about hacking, brother. This about the nukes. Park in the hot sun and come out here.
This about the Moon Landing, which happened. This about the political Mind Crawler that penetrated your thoughts, printed itself onto every page in the media, and left you high and dry on propaganda, sucking daddy’s thumb. This about the rocket that just landed twice. Of course I still love you.
This is like the 9/11 of thought, dude
From sportswriters to President Business, the 9/11 incantation is spat out across altars and danced around until a devil appears in the smoke and asbestos, and the towers fall on command. This is the real news.
Happiness is an illusory reprieve from deep suffering. Some folks call it a kaiser blade. I call it a sling blade. Baby’s buried in the yard. Moles found him.
Remember TV, when you had to “catch” things? 9/11 got the highest ratings in TV history. Catch the all-new 9/11 Thursday at 8, on NBC. See why critics are calling it the worst tragedy in history!
This episode is brought to you by Lockheed-Martin, United Airlines, and Tyler Perry’s Drone Wars, a new sitcom about four quirky Muslims hiding in a bomb shelter.
LEBAL DROCER OWNS THIS WEBSITE AND EVERYTHING YOU SEE It’s still a pretty good old website, though.
The funniest part about the 911 truth movement is when they said the whole northeast fleet had training that day and they were outta the office.
They said every fucking aircraft was occupied. They couldn’t bring down the other plane.
We were baked watching ground zero footage.
They said they were taking an early lunch.
There’s a recruitment center right in the middle of Times Square, in front of the famous tiny NYPD station. Go in there and join us, or die.