I am a communist. TickThisTok Reagan broke your laws. Senility is a dangerous thing to exploit the Central Bank, and after you understand that particular rhetoric, you discover there are no consequences imposed up the wealthy. For anything. Anna, the upstairs maid, and Junior is a rich boy who will challenge you in five seconds flat and now look into his That Full Five Seconds just like those demon scratches the fucking demons which is code for the Voices Disappear, but they always come back at the imposition of the reality we, too, are the demons that consume all the Sugar cane on the planet which in order to harvest you have to grow it, cut it, burn it, breathe that sugar cane smoke like a lava flow close your eyes and see us through the prisons’s plastic window four miles thick that could sustain a direct hit of an ICBN. The evening shadows scream of skinning humans whose soft quarters are fed to the den of black wolves which explains another pack I watch, the white wolves. No one had electricity for too long before the rolling of errant Martians struggling through the snow with laser beams and are we really that objectified and stupid. Yes. Why are you a communist. There’s a mystery to it. Why are you here. There’s a mystery to that, too.