Here in Peep Town
My circus adventures in the midst of San Francisco's criminal mob of homosexual Peeping Toms
At a certain point I began to realize that the career I'd work so many years to establish was lost forever. The blackball threatened by Hal the Pig had taken effect. Something snapped. I started waking up in the middle of the night and calling people on the telephone; people I knew, people I used to know, people I didn't know. I never had anything particular to say. I was just terrified.
The Peepies by way of their FBI agent under contract tapped into my cell phone every time I made a connection. Consequently FBI, which was spying on the Peepies who were spying on me, set up their own tap on my phone without my permission. I never knew which tap was operating at any given time.
FBI quickly became aware of my malady and decided to turn it their advantage. They wanted to find out who else besides themselves was listening in to my phone conversations. The longer they could keep me talking, the better their chances of tracing any eavesdroppers.
They tried to keep me engaged by putting on the phone different people at different times. They discovered two of my former bosses and got them on the phone by lying to them, telling them I was trying to called them. They unearthed a former girlfriend and got her to talk to me, a miracle in itself. I have no idea what kind of lies they told her. She wouldn't say. They also enlisted various public figures, primarily from the sports and entertainment fields. I don't know what lies FBI told them either, but my guess is they had something to do with nonsense about protecting national security. I'm not going to embarrass these folks by identifying them, but you would instantly recognize their names. I spoke to several members of the 49ers football team, three of the most famous musicians of our generation, and even some stooge impersonating Muhammad Ali.
One of these public figures was the late senator from Massachusetts Edward Kennedy. I know it was he, not just because the FBI agent who was conducting the tap insisted it was but, more importantly, because I could hear the anger rise in his voice when I responded insultingly to his disrespectful tirade. His vocal chords became constricted.
Completely disregarding my privacy rights and focusing entirely on his own interests, he attempted to convince me that, far from objecting to my phone's being tapped, I ought to be concerned with helping him break up a child pornography ring that was operating in his state.
"I can compel your cooperation," he puffed.
I was very rude to him. I called him a "limp-dicked Chappaquiddick piece of shit."
On another occasion, this same senator had asserted to the girlfriend I referred to above, who was now a constituent of his in Massachusetts, "Might makes right!"
Could the good senator, overshadowed as he was by his brothers Robert and John F., have been nursing a self-esteem issue?
According to CNN, in 2007 he had surgery to clear his carotid artery. In 2008 a malignant tumor was removed from his brain. In January 2009 he suffered a seizure. Until his death later that year he continued to experience back pain from a 1964 plane crash.
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