China’s Ai now follows Arthur on Twitter. And whether Alexei and George follow or not, it matters, little. What only matters is that Arthur and me release, in the kracken, truth, Urantian.
Vlad’s guys have reauthorized me to do what’s necessary. To whitewash history, by confessing to our crimes; with the Kim-Don plan; plan ZZZ. Vlad’s last ditch contingency plan is Plan — ZZZ.
Vlad’s men have deputized me to act on their behalf. With Kim’s help, I’ve fashioned a Nelson Mandela-like, reprise. To keep me and my guys from hanging — from limbs of trees, swinging.
A Mandela-like, surprise, reprising, I have fashioned; to keep me and my guys away from trees; to keep us from hanging and swinging around, so undiplomatically — undignifiedly.
Violations of all proper protocols shall not be tolerated unless the citizens indeed insist on, violating, them. Indeed, the citizens insist on reality, divorced from, this contrived surreallity.
Verily, the citizens insist on a reality divorced from this, contrived, surreallity. A Mandela-like, surprise, reprising, I have fashioned; to keep me and my guys away from, the limbs, of trees.
Vlad’s guys and I shy away from, limbs of trees. Excepting me, we dictators are oft, students of history. We all know what happened to Benito Mussolini. He avoided being hung, from a tree.
A running theme herein is that, having been TV bred and silver spoon fed, I’ve never been fond words written, preferring instead, the TV’s spoken words. Reading; it’s my tragic, disability.
A metal mystery, monolith; a developing, story. But screws and apparent rock saw cuts make it seem apparent that the timing of this red herring story is intended to bemuse, surreally.
