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4 April 2022

My Cloaking Device


I use a VPN on my home computer network. The Virtual Private Network — on top of the Brave Browser (which blocks the Ads coming at me), and the DuckDuckgo search engine (which will not allow Them to track me) — scares the willies out of a very high percentage of websites.


They are scared s—-less of something, and I think I know precisely what it is. They know too, but, let’s keep it all hushed and secret, behind Our Cloaking Devices.


Thus far, E-tailer Department Stores (that are all but out of business), song-lyric sites, even certain Book E-tailers do not let me into their dens of digital iniquity — unless I remove my cloaking devices.


It’s a very telling ultimatum.

The payment-platforms are gearing up for some cyber-atrocity, judging by the layers of codes, passwords, and bot-puzzles that I must correctly complete before I even attempt to enter into their cyber-sphere. I’m still not good at those multiple-choice visual grids. (See I am NOT a BOT!)


The Corporately-Owned News Propaganda Website identifies me as Bot-Kryptonite. My laptop gets blocked even before even getting to the Initial Rejection Stage. Reminds me of my youth, in New Jersey and in Washington, D.C., with the Dating Game amidst nouveau-riche brats and snobs.


I always react to rejection with a sense of victory. Being told “no”, “get out of here” and “you’re not wanted”, through various guises, ruses, and disguises, brings out the best in this outsider. The fighter in me rises to the occasion.


And there are so many occasions for me to seize and to celebrate my rugged individuality.


First, however, I must properly gird my loins.

I’ve purchased my Volodymyr (yes, Pages, LEARN that name) Zelenskyy (learn that name too, Pages) Ukrainian Coat of Arms (Maltese Cross) t-shirt from an online tee-shirt palace. It’s taking forever for that piece of merchandise to get to my house, from whatever screen-print shop is producing them by the thousands, in the USA. Shipping&Handling amounts to 1/4 the cost of the merchandise, which is a real bargain, considering the fact that S&H is almost 1/2 the cost of mailing many other online commodities to the customer.


We’ve only just begun with that one!


I’m hoping that The Russian War of Invasion is over by the time the tee-shirt reaches my doorstep. My fervent wish runs completely counter to the chaotic profit-plans of the Covert Cabal that runs my presumably free and democratic country. They want rid of Zelenskyy (and They have since his landslide election in April 2019), much more than They want rid of Putin, the KGB Thug turned Tsar turned War Criminal.


Believe nothing of what you read in the Snews, and even less of what you hear, especially from the Potomac Pravda and, above all, from the Sleepy-sleazy Prez-Puppet.

The fraud can’t stay awake, even while standing up, during the commemoration of the USS Delaware, in his own sleazy state of Delaware. It’s been called quite a trick, but not really. History, real history, indicates that this historic sleep-walker and sleep-talker excels only in cravenly taking orders from his masters. That’s the trick of the globalist pawn reaching the Oval Office in modern times.


The trick of reaching the Oval Office in the olden days might have also been the enthusiastic willingness of Guy Smiley to rubber-stamp decisions from the wealthy industrialists, Americans who were concurrently looking out for themselves and for their nation. What we disgustingly lack in America are industrialists, wealthy or poor, instead of those rich, lazy fat-cat crony-hacks who are, in reality, chi-comm cat turds.


We also need a commander-in-chief with a will of his own. Or a spine. Or a functional brain, particularly in a time of war.


There are, currently, many bloody wars taking place on many fronts — world-wide, nation-wide, state-wide, county-wide, city-wide. Even the domestic sphere has undoubtedly become a bigger battlefield than it used to be.

This morning, I attempted to purchase, on my laptop, a paperback copy of On War, by General Carl von Clausewitz. You would have thought I was about to start a war.


My password, which, on many websites, has already been changed at least 3 times this month, and it’s only April 4, now requires a backup deciphering of the fuzzy letter-number code. And my vision is excellent. The problem is — it’s too excellent.


Next, I had to await the e-mail verification of someone attempting to use my password to log-in to my account at this business site. They detected the person as located somewhere in Michigan. I declined my own log-in.


Round Two of the giga-gauntlet placed me somewhere in NY. Probably NYC. With a thrill of adventure, I permitted my own log-in to go forward, and went back to the website. I thereafter noticed that this gargantuan selling platform is running slower than snot — and has been during the past week.


One must not publicly mention the word snot, as in mucous, because it’s one of those mortal secretions we humans produce. All nazi-nanny-state hell could break loose, just in a grocery store, at the ominous verbalization of yet another symptom of the pseudo-germ warfare that’s been perpetrated on freedom and on humanity since the dawn of 2020.

Spit, as a word, is also due to be banned in the public square. The act itself has long been forbidden to humans on the sidewalks of Paris. Spit makes for bad ecology, as does the air-polluting smoking of tobacco. The illegality of sliming the boulevards of the City of Lights, and fuming up the air, pales in comparison to the bloody beheadings, as well as to the blazo-ing of Notre Dame.  That historic city has become a dark hole of globalist dunces. Cracher is happening more to human heads than to le troittoir.


I’m therefore proudly and publicly spitting mad about the once-simple electronic life that We the People were supposed to get used to having, because the Mall is dead, and the brick-and-mortars are cesspools of virii, filled with bare shelves. The Overlord Plan in 2020 was to illegally prohibit face-to-face shopping, shove everyone inside their houses, get them keyboarding that corporate virtual life that is Life in the Global City, kill small business, and reap the payola from the windfall profits for the tinpot titan technocrats.


You know what?


Hosea 8:7 declared: “For they sow the wind, and they shall reap the whirlwind.”


And they sure are.


Hallelujah, one and all. Welcome to the world of reality.


I haven’t stepped foot into one of those rotting sewers called The Big City in decades. And I haven’t flown a plane in decades either.

I had foolishly believed, during the past decade, that I was somehow behind the times:


navigating life without a passport, and without a bucket list, and with an almost physical aversion to going to the airport and to flying that bus-with-wings called The Airplane, an enclosed space. And there is no escape, no exit door, from that closed container filled with loonies and emotional-support-animals such as turkeys.


I’m not behind the times. I’m ahead of them!


Turkey-on-board has come to be our national government motto!


Commercial airplanes zoomed from accommodating passenger-turkeys to accommodating Big Pharma mask-mandates. I’m pleased to have missed out on those dehumanizing experiences.


My years of flying cross-country in the USA had typically placed me amongst businessmen, many businessmen, on business flights of the once-coveted Business Travel. I still recall the non-stop night-flight (not a red-eye, though most of the guys were sporting them) from the Newark Airport to the Sacramento Airport. It was the cheapest rate, so I took it!

I got seated between 2 males of private industry interests. Their interests, however, were more along the lines of romance than of tax write-offs.


“What did I tell ya — we’d get a good-looking cookie to sit between us?”


My reading of Atlas Shrugged was my only response to dealing with what can only be described today as A Potential Lawsuit. I guess you could say I shrugged those wolves off!


August 2017 was my last excursion to the Sacramento “International” Airport. My innate sense of claustrophobia got me in and out of there in record time!


I like the way I live. Out in the boonies, lurking behind my cloaking device. Playing possum with the prigs and pigs who pompously mandate how life by us peons is to be eked out, while they swill big-money largesse behind their fortified castle walls. Those walls cannot protect them from the cyber-revenge, and the citizen-revenge, that, in all likelihood, are coming the way of the corporations who set up this mega-mess of an America in the years of our Lord 2020-21-22 . . .

I’ve got my hardcover books and my poetry to protect me. I’m not a rock or an island. I’m a patriotic American, who sees with clarity that the Officially Sanctioned Lies of Govt. Inc. aren’t working anymore, and they didn’t work very well to begin with. If that thug of a genocidal murderer named Putin decides to crash your capitalist-swine website, so be it. You’ve paid for the amoral privilege of being avenged by the ghost of Kyiv.


And I’ve paid for the principled privilege of spitting in your digital faces.


I shall, of course, proceed to carefully and diligently wipe the screen clean with a paper towel that has been moderately sprayed with Windex. The almighty Apple must be treated with due respect.


Although the other day, I accidentally sprayed Clorox, instead of Windex, on the paper towel. I wiped the screen, the keyboard, and the entire plastic (the carbonic-titanium-alloy-looking) exterior of the Chi-comm-made machine. Worked like a charm! There’s something to be said about the bleach-bit method of germ, and data, removal.


Disinfectant: use it!

It must be quite a cross to bear for those atheist plutocrats, especially during the Easter Season. Aping true morality has started to wear a bit thin for the holier-than-thou hypocrites. They histrionically act the role of a person crucified by his own corruption and cupidity. That act’s not selling well in the heartlands, where people with hearts, and consciences, live.


The next time you Creepy Capitalists try to make my lovely fingers create and then race through a 16+letter&number&symbol password, I shall click away to another website. I’m a virtual spirit, behind my cloaking device, and I go where I want and do as I see fit, on my time, not yours. You can take that labyrinthine password and shove it.


You greedy godless buzzards can choke on your cyber-smarts till all those Christian chickens come home to roost, and lay chicken-sh— at your fourth-quarter doors.