for real. I basically put the entire above alien idea together just hours before the pencil appeared. I knew anyway, but now, I’ll wager EVERYTHING

Below Bonneville dam almost all the way to the Pacific the canal side is lined with creosote timber piers that force the current into the center of the canal. The creosote timber piers are of varying length and stretch off the side of the canal at about a 90 degree angle. The creosote soaked timbers are spread evenly apart about 2 ½’ on center. The installers could have easily left a gap in the piers to allow paddlers to stay in the counter current or slower moving water along the shore and to not have to navigate hundreds of feet out into the flowing current without really affecting the piers effectiveness. The installers deliberately didn’t leave any gaps in the piers and one effect is to severely discourage or hinder manually powered vessels. They knew this when they installed the piers and effectively got rid of all but the most determined manually minded people, Hoppy For^th of Jew lie. It takes a lot of time and energy to paddle out and around the piers. Paddling upstream of the piers creates the possibility of the flowing water pushing the manually powered vessel against the pier which would then act as a strainer trapping the boat. So not only is it difficult and time consuming to get around the piers, its dangerous.

The librarians (MUMS) in St. John’s won’t let me talk to a child. The Safeway grocery store won’t let me buy any food and calls the police when I go in the store. All the bathrooms in this town are locked up. Sikeotown.

Park Ranger came down Sunday morning while I was preparing potable water (coffee) at basically the only sandy place I can get off the water ( a superfund site) and said there is no camping allowed…

Bought a salmon from the Yakama’s and was about to slap it and some apples on the Korean barbque and I was told it was illegal to have a fire to prepare food and potable water. The small fire was 18” from Lake Colonbia and it was raining. They don’t want to burn down the cheat grass forest they so eagerly repleaced there rain forest with? Plus they don’t want characters without there dam motorus operonDIE having potable water and food, only them, till…bust

On the cellphone around noon Oct. 21, 2011 with the U. S. Army Corps of Engineers concerning the transport of goods on the waterways and the specific requirements of a vessel requesting the use of the locks. They won’t let me use the locks now unlike years past. Ms. Morris at the BONnEville Dam a few weeks ago said a motor was required. I asked if the motor had to power a propeller and she said “no”. I actually have two motors in the canoe (battery powerdrill and electric grinder) and both could be connected to a propeller, which of course I have. Obviously with dam rules such as these I not only just display my hubcap that says Buick Motors but not so quietly portage on Friday and Sabado in flower adorned straw colored linen with my folding travel trailer (wheels) and investigate further. So today I called The Dalles dam concerning aforementioned. Ms. Green invokes Jesus’s name when asked about the requirements of transporting goods (fruit) up river, then she hung up. At another # a male hangs up after speaking nothing comprehensible. I dialed a # incorrectly when Verizon decided to switch the area code of (541) 296 9778 to (561) 296 9778… the person answered and said “quick weight loss”. I began contacting A.C.E. Washington D.C.… First Ms. DIEanna, then Mr. Rabe (loosly translated, Mr. Hydrophobe (lockjaw fear of water)… nothing, he sounded kinda apprehensive. The time, 1319 on the dot. 4 minutes before 3 PM Mr. Rabe called with no new info and refered me to the U.S. Coast Guard supposedly to get a # for my motorized vessel.

At the end of October, Tuesday, Martes (a taste of the ocean) I approached John Day Dam. I got out of the canoe and approached the castle wall gate of the Army Corpse of EnGINsneers on the Oregon side, morning. As I approached the gate a train pulled up headed in my direction and stopped, DOOM, just as I “knocked” on the wall (chain link fence). Backup. I communicate with the rail guys. Double stacked HYUNDAI (Hi and Die). That’s what they think. From a ¼ mile away I communicated to the engineers an ice pick behind the ear lobe technique followed by a swift kick into the river (or a hydroelectric turbine). That’s what I think. On Trick Night I scoped out, and reconntered, scouted the portage. I found a Coyote skull with all its teeth. On Halloween was assisted over the dam thing by a character who’d just fixed the dam lock tubes. As I put the boat in the resivwhoire I met two old timers in a Starcraft who’d been obviously shadowing me down below the dam in the preceding few days. They were taking their boat off the lake as I got on. The guy driving the truck and trailer had an agricultural hat on and the fellow in the boat was wearing a NAVY sweatshirt. The fish sandwich boys. The navy guy was wearing a Kissimmie River hat. I gave em my card. His eyes lit up like Charlie getting a golden ticket to the chocolate factory. It’ on. Maximum intimidation, scary scary. I’m down to my last of Earl Lawrence’s Indian River knives, the “prison shank” special. You wouldn’t happen to have an extra would ya? Ever seen the movie “Office Space”? I’ve got one of Kelsie Lawrence’s Swinglines too, the 800.

I always tell people not to travel anywhere without at least a box of Jiffy Mix plus there practically on the doorsteps of the Waterloo.

Cor-du-roy 1. Cotton pile fabric. 2. Logs, planks, or pipes laid out transversely or crosswise. 3. The walk of Christ.

I don’t recommend we try to pull off a Maxi corduroy style solution at this time. When one gets to the bench, table, and the plate, they kinda get to explain what they did with their life. Responsibility for and complicity with an ecocide attempt, abortion, wrapped around a dam shitty maxi no corduroy hoax impacts massively and last for all time. I wreckormend one not get stuck holding the “bearer fabricated, installed, maintained, and covered up a dam shitty maxi no corduroy hoax for selfish gain” card. Whatever you do don’t tell em you did it to HELLp the kids. Convert roof to super. Claim the “bearer spent time, or lived, stewarding a massive mini corduroy project” card. The Super Mario card. I’m dealing, pick a card. ~
On the back of the envelope bearing waterfowl prints it says DYNAFLOW DYNAMO all the ducks agree, http://infinityproject.wordpress.com
Today, 12/10/2011, finds me in preparation to deliver an introit to Persico Sr., the head man of the persecuted medusa slayin company, who finds himself in the ho’spatel wing of a Metropolitan Detention Center in Massachusettes. Last night while enjoying a meal at Nick’s Italian place in Umatilla, OR I told the girl next to me that I was sending one Christmass letter out this year, to the Godfather, have a Holy Jolley Christmass this year. She said, “I usually send people gifts for Christmass”. Maybe I should send him a cookie or something. What do you think? “Give him some fudge”, she replied. With a suggestion like that I asked her what her name was. “Marie”. This morning I called up the character I row tightest with, Michael John Abbruzzie, Abbruzzie is Italian pasta central. He’s been working at Canaveral lately, aerating the degreaser/rocket fuel spill sites. He seconded Marie’s opinion. I walked across the street and purchased a 12 piece slab of Palmer’s fudge walnut, outa Souix City, Iowa. On the back it says, “Best Buy 02/23/2012”. Dark Bread. As I walked towards the Library I pulled a cardboard box outa the Firefighter’s Christmas tree stand emergency radio recycling bin to reuse for mailing the brownies. On the side of the box is a label that reads, Fortune Brand spaghetti, MFG. BY Royal Angelus Macaroni Company. When I got to the library the house dictionary was opened and the first word was introit. I scored a gift wrapper (11 happy birthday pennants on a line with 1 of my business cards attached) at the school district office. I’m approaching Hanford Reach, across from the Snake, delivering, protecting my hands, with fresh crafted Mink Mongolian Milkman Mittens.

After writing yesterdays pipe themed letter, on the front page of today’s Tricities paper it says “Pipefitters”. I paddled across the tailrace below McNary dam to deliver the letter and fudge walnut from Plymouth Washington, on Martes, to MDC Devins, Ayers, Mass. I climbed out of the water up on to Christie St., took a left on Olive, to 3^rd and the Post office where a guy wearing an Old Dominion hat (he worked for them) I gave him my card, met me upon delivery. Cool, I thought those were the guy’s who reminded me to write the pipe welders. CHOO CHOO CHOO

Have a Holy Jolley Christmass this year. I wrote you a tune, a remastered version of Steve Winwood’s “Can’t Find My Way Home”. The words go something like this.

”Well, I’m aware and alive, and I just thank space time for gravity…You’re one of the main resons that I’ve stroked strong all these years, take a turn on the key, flip the pig meat, it’s seared ready to eat, (ode to St. Lawrence, the master of the gridiron), Orwell, let’s not wait until it’s done… Come down off your dam flush throne, and leave life’s future roam, take a turn on the key… I’m aware and alive and I FOUND A BETTER WAY TO BUILD A HOME… Well, I’m aware and alive and I just thank gravity for space time”,

THRUST, Campari, Bi tt or toast ~

Santaria apparently delivered 3 Holy Jolley Christ Mass gifts for me and my team.

Santa looks to have sent ya’ll 2 presents. In addition, it looks like the beavers (the only dam geniuses) tailed in around 20 gallons of water in the Marregret, beaver sabatoge.

4 MONTHS IN JAIL FOR GOING TO THE LIBRARY SNAKE RIVER DAM LOOSES POWER AND THE JAIL GETS THE SHIT BLOWN OUT OF IT I TOLD YA SUCKERS DON’T MESS WITH ME

THE PORTAGE OVER THE MOUNTAINS WITH WAYNE A HYDROSEEDER

I got on the Yellowstone River at the peak of the spring flood and descended past the concrete ruble of the Billings golf course dike. I passed the last narrow leaf cottonwood tree, botanically this signifies the end of the mountainous region. The water was fast and I was pushing my luck with a keeled fiberglass boat.

I met a Montana Park Ranger in his 20’s. I explained the infinity project idea as he inquired about it. I’d given him my card and a short version just a week or so before. He got it, perhaps a bit hesitantly. Accepting the obvious dam truth is sometimes tough for humans. He related an idea to me, what he’d been told as he came of age along the Yellowstone. He said he spent a lot of time fishing, in particular at the “Intake”, Intake Dam. When he was a boy sometimes he inquired to the local adolts about this “Intake”. “What was it?” “What was it for?” They told him, “It stops the fish so we can catch them all”. It’s pretty devious how the older humans explained this dam to this particular youth. They were lying to him. It’s an agricultural dam designed to divert water to the “Intake” of the “Big Dig” project where they mostly grow dam and ditch barley for be’ers. At the same time they told him the truth. It stopped the fish, for real, and if maintained we’d be done catching them soon. He got it, the horror. I was the only one he’d ever talked to that was “upfront” with him about it, without any subterfuge. Think about that.

I found a Buffalo skull bow spirit at Miles City. Practically 10 years after I first began searching for one, Bison hood decoration.

POKER WITH THE BOYS AND 66699 DON’T BEAT 8888

COFFEE WITH DET. SGT. GROSS IN PIERRE SD

Pulled into Chamberlain and sent the Pope a pink slip (repossertion & eviction), hand drawn picture of river descending from mountain to the sea with plants and flowers and everything on front along with phone number, on the back all the pertinent info. Don’t delay, act now, supplies of the product are running out, you might as well be walking on the supernova black hole sun, don’t you know. He’s been uncommunicable. I don’t recommend he keep clicking his ruby red slippers together, unless he wants Life to can his ass. I had a little girl finger the post card and look at it just before I dropped it in the box, she liked it.

I got to the Chamberlain Town Hall meeting site about 6:30 PM for the 7 o’clock show and sat out front manuely repairing my case. This makes them nervous, I’ve got tools and I’m fixing something with my hands. Inside there was about ½ dozen board members and the police chief up front and a similar sized audience including the Sun (newspaper) reporter and a high school teacher who was sitting in my chair in the back left when viewed from the front. The meeting started off with a mum and her doter requesting to repeat a traditional parade (with no product) of “4 Wheelers, a couple horses and a goat”. They wanted to pretend to shepard animals (the goat) over some asphalt. The board okey dukyed this and the two women immediately left.

Then the board made mention of a sewer line water pipe installation/bano gig at the park with the Fish and Game dudes overseeing to make sure the digging didn’t disturb any artifacts. They talked about the large cost ($) of this. Next up was a young dame requesting some kind of zoning variance/permit for a child care operation. This topic descended into a long complaint about the neighbors too many dogs that were barking and pooping everywhere.

I was next, and the board requested I stand up front behind the po’ die em/die ass which of course necessitated the police chief moving it from the wall where it was stored out towards the middle (he’s in control). They said I had 3 minutes to present my idea. I requested they go over, again, the child care thing. They didn’t want to, said they’d already talked about it and yes mammed it. I told em it was my 3 minutes and I wanted them to spend dirty seconds going over it again. They did, and I objected for environmental reasons citing the increased strain on the municipal water and sewerage that was destroying the environment and the kid’s future forever. Then I spent a little over 2 minutes delivering my dam shiddy problem/solution idea and pointed out they were guilty of an ecocide/abortion attempt, tossed out a few business cards and sat back down.

Next 3 young dames dressed in red t shits came in late. They were from the High School HO mecuming comm. and made a request to “white wash” a couple dam roads for the event. This was triple okey dukyed and the mietin was adjourned. On the way out, before the board stood up, I approached and pointed out that everywhere I go the opposition or force against my infinityproject idea is a bunch of woe to man types parading around pretending to do something productive while using a child care whitewash disguise. They were witness to this and willing participants and I reminded them that the larger story was told at the site on the back of the card I’d already gave them. The police chief appeared to recognize at least half this idea (he motioned towards the heavens with the palm of his hand). I left the building to discover I’d left my jacket in the hall (I do this all the time). I returned to find the police chief carrying my jacket out to give it to me amongst the town hallers. I told em as I always do that this was part of my M.O., I always return. The chief smiled.

While in town I prepared a large volume of letters most to the Pacific Submarine Commanders, XO’s, Master Chiefs and the other chiefs, Naval Commanders of various bases and the Pentagon’s Naval Command, the U.S. President, the Chinese leader, the West Palm Beach Fishing Club, and FBI Houston. I had to get the address again as the cops stole my last “red book”, I got a planet Jupiter address book now. It took me a day or so to get all the addresses and while in process spoke with an old man on a bench out front of the library.

We were sitting there talking about me getting in contact with the Navy’s Los Angeles class and the rest of the bunch. He and I had already spoken a few times over the preceding days about the dam shiddy problem and the infinity project solution. He was kinda trying to do the correct thing amongst the general hoaxery on this planet, all the concrete dust, condensate, smoke and mirrors and basically the people deliberately trying to be unconscious of the problem. He was walking around town handing out a St. Paul’s “Desert Rat” flyer and I basically told him to put my idea on the Wash. Naval Base. I knew anyway but got out my notebook and took note, don’t disregard what people tell you in situations like this, plus then he knows I’m for real gonna do something about it, which encourages him to do the same.

I went back inside the library and got on the internet and Bangor was where the rest of the subs addresses were located. Bangor had reportedly been muddled into Kitsap after 9/11. Most the subs of this base have a “gold team” and a “blue team”, apparently two separate commanding crews, this is odd, perhaps a relief crew, with the exception of SSN 737 Kentucky (Canetucky, the sacred hunting grounds), and the Pennsylvania which is supposedly under construction. The names of the characters on these dual crewboats are noteworthy. If one was to have an obvious disguise name… I analized the rest of the information presented on the internet about the Thresher (a shark) Ave. Silverdale Wash. Naval Base Kitsap/Bangor site.

I went outside lit up a smoke and called the ¼ deck at the Naval Base at 3:26 PM, Sept. 7, 2012 and spoke with a care actor claiming to be petty officer Martin (Martian) for 5 minutes and dirty one seconds. I questioned him about the incorrect zipcode (wrong area code) as displayed at their internet site. He told me to use Google’s (dam hydroelectric powered) map to get the correct zip. You’re there at the base aren’t ya? “Yes.” Well, why don’t ya just give me the zip code? “Use Google Map.” I questioned him about the “no info” at their freedom of information site and I questioned him about the foggy/blurry individual sub icons or logos on the individual sub’s sites and the crystal clear “New Orleans” plantation/whorehouse icon. Then I asked him if he knew what was going on in this country. He replied, “I’m not allowed to discuss human affairs”. What? “I can’t talk about politicks.” (Poly ticks = many blood sucking parasites.) My phone lost power, rendering communication impossible.

I sent the above idea and the Chinese secrete stealth plane tipoff/super hornet river skipper test run + in handwriting, including a p.s. describing how to complete the letters I had to get a pack of Crayola colored pencils and four Dixon Ticonderoga’s that cost $6.66 along with the 2009 Michigan/Iroquois/Cheyenne radio conversation idea in # denying impact font on the otherside in three different envelopes. Most of em went out in the new USPS “Blackbird of Immortality” purple martin (Martian) envelopes that I decorated on the back in Orisha’s (the ocean goddess) red and black with white background colors. The thing was basically an inverted “diver down” flag motif with my usual nicknamed replaced with “Diver Down” (dive her, the dams, down) along with the usual http://infinityproject.wordpress.com “hook down” presentation in black. The red part of the “diver down” flag was the words “Don’t silently get led to slaughter like a lamb!” in the upper left corner and “Ending the Damages, forcing the collection of that which falls from the heavens and/or your ass!” in the lower left. I signed it in purple big.

A half dozen or so went out in the old USPS “Sea Biscut” envelopes I’d decorated in maroon waterfoul sole prints (a female mallard, poor hunter causulty, that I found dead next to her suffering mate on the Indian burial island on the Columbia River, and used (ate) just about everything but the offal+bill which I left their of course) along with the site address and a message that read, “Put the Clancy novel down, get your dick out of your hands, and read this book underwater or in the garden.” Half these clowns are out at sea insuring the dam doom of the planets life while there wife is back at HOme humping the pool boy. That’s how sad it is, and they know it.

The couple I sent to the Chinese and U.S. presidents (future inmates) were in my cell #202 BCC envelopes where I spent 4 months in jail for basically trying to give the library at the mouth of the Snake River my book, including the tale of the first time descent of the Snake in mankind’s history (they been to the moon a half dozen times, supposedly) with Thomas Charles “God’s letter arranger” Shindelman. In addition, I even sent an antique Cheyenne Chief Whirlwind postcard with the message “Did ya hear about the new “bread” ovens in Leavenworth?” to the USS Cheyenne with the new Bonsai USPS stamp and an antique Apache Chief Geronimo postcard to the USS Texas. My goodness. It was the best, heaviest batch of letters and postcards I ever sent out. I put them in the mailbox on Sept. 8^th and they went out on Sept. 10^th, Japanese National Sewage Day.

“Pooky” a menopausal woetoman who owns the “Anchor Inn” in Chamberlain where I put the letters together threw me out for no reason and called the cops. I left the premise but heard her telling the cops over her cell, “I’ve got a drifter, thinks he’s Jesus, says he’s gonna blow up the dam”, all of which is false. The cops showed up about 30 seconds after I pushed off and paddled away, it’s nice to have a boat.

The next day down aways on the side of Francis Case Reservoir I discovered a bizarre (the usual) scene. Some kind of weird Obama nation of desolation ritual. Approaching noon I discovered a big fire still smoldering, somebody had burned the entire set of “Federal Rules Digest” turd edition. The clues at the scene included ¾ a bag of Kraft Jet Puff marshmallows, ¾ bag of Jalapeno dam potatoe chips, many Bud Light tallboys in the can some unfinished, one unopened, a few Bush Light cans, a couple Corona Light bottles melting in the fire, an unburned Rules 23d-24a (which I use for reference and a booster seat) and the green cover page for bound volume 20 for your Federal Rules Service. Supposedly these volumes were put out by the Lawyers Cooperative Publishing, Aquaduct Building, Rochester, NY but this name and address sticker is covering up a Callaghan & Company, Pfingsten Road, Deerfield, Illinois address. There’s dead deer carcasses all along the waterside, many are dying reportedly of epizootic hemorrhagic (EHD) a viral disease spread by a midge, a putrid smell envelopes practically the whole water side for hundreds of miles, suspect wild food source removal project.

Likely the Navy got my message on Thursday the 13^th, on Friday the 14^th (ten, four) they responded. I was sailing down Francis Case with my flag/sail upsidedown (nation in distress) when many military aircraft began dogfighting/chasing each other above (it kinda looked foreign, almost like they were fighting over a meat carcass). In a scene reminiscent of Horatio Nelson’s Trafalgar 12 fighter jets approached directly toward me, Captain John Laurence Kanazawa Jolliet aboard the vessel “Mar’s Regret”, in a broadside line with 6 jets separated by a gap directly forward and then 6 more jets, “Crossing the T”, the boldest move in Navy parlance. The twelve jets did a 180 before they got to me, turning tail and leaving a puff of smoke “C”, yes. The scene concluded with 2 jets with vapor trail heading east (getting orientated). The letter likely hadn’t gotten to China yet.

I sent the Chinese leader the same letter and another 3 page letter, the letter to the Dali Lama about flooding the “red ants” and feeding them to the chickens imbedded in the Christmass story. On the back of the 3 page Christmass/red ant/chicken food letter I wrote Banzai, Bonsai, Bond’s Eye. The new USPS Bonsai postage stamp accompanied an upsidedown Jackson Hole international stamp (86). To the reader, if one is thinking of contributing to the infinity project idea, which I and Life strongly recommend, use the Banzai, Bonsai, Bond’s Eye flyer, now, and load up on USPS Bonsai stamps (they need the money, Sabedo delivery is nearly canceled, for real). Remember, one is encouraged to “tweak it” a little (10%), to make it their own, for instance along with the girl scout idea one could point out to quit having gay homo scout leaders lure the little boys into the woods.

When I got to the bridge marking Yankton I was met by a gang of locals at the town water pick up. I aggressively piled up the rocky bank into an Indian heritage group of 8 or so men, some fishing. Went into town to find antagonistic venomous characters everywhere, I barely got out of the “Ice House” with a bottle of water. A couple of guys wearing Corona shirts (Gmen) lent some assistance getting me out of there, tough town.

The next evening taking a smoke break while working on “yanking the trap” I entered into a conversation with a man who’d gotten up from his table of what appeared to be 7 or so friends and family and went out front as I saved the idea I was typing and rolled up a smoke. So he was waiting out front of the “Upper Deck” bar and grill for me. I saw all this and his what could be described as a “tough biker guy” disguise.

I went outside and lit up my smoke. What do you do for a living? “Arrest people”, replied the 190 lbs. 6’ bearded man. You’re a law enforcement officer? “Mhhh, hmm.” What are ya, with one of the acronym organizations? “Nope.” Well you’re obviously not Homeland security. I happen to be a law enforcement officer myself, I’m just not affiliated with any known organization on this surface. Who do you work for? “Rather not say.” So you’re not allowed to tell who you work for anymore, huh? Sad! “State Department” he confessed. (It looked like “mama Clinton” dressed him.) For the reader this is the top one in this nation for dealing with other nation states. Appropriate for this occasion.

The cool thing about dealing with me as a law enforcement officer is I’m always trying to tell people exactly what it is I’m doing. This makes it easier for you, as I just tell you. You don’t even need to ask. I’m pulling the space alien trap from Yankton. Look, I’m one of you all (he came with his friends and family, a large statement, perhaps what it’s all about), a Homo sapiens. I’m just more like a Hetero sapiens in that I think differently than most of the Homo’s you know (he was a very intelligent appearing character). I like to get this established because I know there is some question.

I know the law, if they’re travelling through we have to give them food and shelter but we don’t have to let them camp, not during the dam ages. I’m about to offer them a deal. If they’ll undam the planet I’ll give em Manhattan, Puerto Rico and Formosa for starters. To the reader here we are engaged in conversation with a U.S. State Department Officer concerning foreign nation states. One might wonder what his reply to this idea would be. He simply said, “That’s all our stuff”. I smiled (this is very threatening). Yes.

Later that night at “Ben’s Brewing” I entered with my yellow hydraulic oil bucket, U.S. Trunk Company valise and my Toshiba laptop computer in Samsonite shoulder bag. I put my stuff on the ground next to an empty table and turned my attention to the bar. “The Usual?” a young intelligent communicable bartendress asked me. I like it when on the second night at a place they know that a single shot of Gran Mariner de Postial, a glass of bubbly water with a little bit of ice with a slice of orange and a glass of water is “the usual”. I got served immediately on what amounted to a relatively busy night at this place.

Just as I was signing my name to the check a big guy, 6’5” 250 lbs. with a beard came up behind me and kicked me slightly at my Achilles with the point of his foot. With the Danner Super Rain Forest boots this is actually my most protected spot. I took note though, an attack, from what seemed like an otherwise “jolley character”, drank beer by the quart. He inquired to what I was up to. I explained ending the damages, forcing the collection of that which falls from the heavens and/or your ass. He seemed to be more “hip” to the idea than practically anyone I’d ever talked to.

Cue another guy, who seemed overly enthusiastic about meeting me (nobody is). Why is he? He was more my size and played like he was really interested in my idea too. Of course the question came up as to what it was I was drinking and why. I don’t drink beer. “Why not?” asked the two. On the wall of “Ben’s” the proprietor had assembled a cautionary tale expressed as a collection of antique beer cans. I led the two shills to the upper right can of the can wall. This is the beginning of the message (in English or non Asian). It’s by the entrance/exit.

At this point I realized there was another dude carrying all of my stuff walking out the door. I caught up to him just as he exited the structure and forcefully grabbed the handles of my stuff. Do you work here? “No”, answered the 6’ 202 lbs. clean cut creep apprehensively. Grand theft. You realize you just committed grand theft by leaving this structure with my stuff in your hands. He nervously surrendered my stuff. He kind of stood there stunned.

I put my stuff back at the table and continued on explaining to the “trying to ignore what was going on/acting miffed/not really interested in my idea anymore” two distracting characters. See it starts over here and half pointed to the dude who’d just attempted to rob me with my thumb and the upper right can with my fingers “Colonial Be’er”, the beginning, full of nostalgia or a shit farm where the product is either lost or stolen for the colonialists. Half way over just by the speaker (speak her), speaking of woetoman, the only can with #’s, 6 for 99cents, a six pack for denying denying sense. The message concludes with 2 “Coy” be’er cans, too coy.

That’s basically how I busted the thief, cause they were too coy, and in a larger sense it’s really gonna hurt ya. Often times life presents me in one sense what is occurring in a much larger sense. I’m “busting” some alien to the space characters, right now, basically at the door as their intentions are revealed, for grand theft planetary style. So it’s fitting I’d catch a dude, tonight, in the act of grand theft. It’s just the way it is.

LOCAL COPS WOULDN’T ARREST THE DUDE (HE WAS THEIR BUDDY)

That night I got a phone call, the phone didn’t ring, and no #was recorded as a caller. This entity left a message without a trace. Apparently, computer generated “sound of page turning”. I’d just put R2D2 on my flyer. I present this info in a fashion a 2^nd or 3^rd grader could comprehend, any computer would easily “get it”. This could have advantages and disadvantages.

I sent “Bernie” in MDC Butner, NC the rough draft of the pre 1^st edition with a GMO agricultural seed advertisement “Insect Attack” (Formosia) “They Dominate Us” magazine outside cover and City of Washburn newspaper “Cool Pool Escape” with timely exploding city water mains story included inside cover. On the back page of the book I included the receipts from the Bismark and Washburn libraries for the cost of printing. Seeing as Mr. Madoff is a #’s man I knew he’d be able to see it all added up if he just got to look at the covers, the title of the book, my note “Don’t use the soap. Don’t drink the juice.” and the receipt. Supposedly by law at a Federal Correctional Facility the inmate has to be at least shown what was delivered to him. He didn’t get it, and it was returned to my parents address in FL.

I edited the book again and added another 8 pages. I sent this rough draft to the 1^st edition to Timothy Raymond “The Facilitator” Glass in MDC Brooklyn, NY with a black background orange circle orange square outside cover and “Life” theological leaning newspaper inside cover from the Black Snake Creek, Robiduex (Rue be due) Post, the old name for St. Joseph. It left the post office with a Halloween day expected arrival date, no extra charge, on time. As is the 2012 Halloween 1^st edition printed in Rue be due Post (St. Joseph), Missouri for $12.29. It’s got a “Billabong” black linen background, “Grab life by the horns” handkerchief orange linen circle and square front and back cover and Chicago “Food Engineering” “Food Master” 2006 manuel hardback. It’s a “Crosswind Foods Inc.” front inside cover and “Kikkoman” (sushi ad) back inside cover. I got the hardback part from a book just before it went in the Kansas City, MO “River Market” dumpster, perfect. It’s even got a pencil pocket on the front cover, pencil included. The autographed 1^st edition is $666, or $888 depending on how you want to go with it. Wad ya expect? It’s the kinda book you can read by its cover “Bad Water” from about 2 or 3 hundred yards. I and Life doesn’t want any excuses out of you.

I began sewing the cover together at the Abby’s 8PM Mass in Atchinson. The fire department hook and ladder truck was at the dormitory/cafeteria just below the Abby when I showed up and honked their horn and saluted as they left and drove past me. The sermon was from the page 266 #13 and included a personal interpretation from the preacher that referenced the “Pink Panther”, Inspector Cluesseuo and the bank robbery with the blind lookout man. I’d gone out of my way to attend this sermon because a dam free flowing river interested patron of the earlier mid day Mass had suggested I go because the building collected the rainwater. After patiently as possibly listening to a flock member recount his whoreing and beer drinking week to the preachers “Don’t worry we’re all forgiving” thing I used this idea in what became an inquisition of the preacher, Mineradd who confessed he was actually the one who’d cancelled the superdriplinewatercollect project at its inception because of its… “Unfeasibility, or impractically or impossibility”. Mineradd kinda choked here, panicked and fled. They were serving up suspect GMO “Hawaiian Punch” after Mass in supposedly apple growing country at the height of “the press”. I also attended a dam reservoir tailrace side service for 6 men killed in a grain silo “bread” explosion.

DOMINICKS PADDLING HIS UNCLES ASHES TO NEW ORLEANS

Proving you’re for giving the easy way.

It’s been written that it would be more likely to thread a camel through the eye of a needle than have a rich man get into heaven. This is certainly true on a dammed planet. On an undammed planet one could get rich installing urine separating composting no flush less toilets with squirt guns and surely get in. One could get into heaven building domiciles with water collecting supers, cisterns, and aquarium and beehive walls. One could get in the pearly gates as a rich police officer enforcing good laws, a beautiful woman or man engaged in the oldest profession, a teacher teaching the truth, transporting genetic information and other goods in container vessels far far away… the possibilities go on forever. On a dammed planet the likelihood of any Homo sapiens getting in to the celestial city is? Zero. Heavens closed. Hells open on the surface. The Heavens got emptied out on the surface. At present the Infinity Project idea to manually fix the dam shitty sheddy problem is the only chance we’ve got to get in. Basically, we end the dam ages, install the kingdom of heaven on the surface as directed and foretold and then live on, or else, doom for you.

Charity on a dammed planet is not good. I’m not operating a charity. The Infinity Project is an idea for the collection of revenue, for life and the transportation of life in vessels. One of the ways we could end the dam ages is for everyone to submit all of their money to me, or enough to pay for the fluidification of the dams. While the chances of this are slim its possibility needs to be noted. A more likely scenario is that through individual or group donations I, John Lawrence Kanazawa Jolley, could further the dissemination and implementation of the idea. I and Life certainly would appreciate it. It’s really the only idea worth contributing to or investing in. At present I’m the foreperson or point man for the idea. Who better to give the money to?

What wouldn’t I do with the money? I wouldn’t let it be invested in the current dam shiddy scheme. While I use a normal Wells Fargo checking account for small denominations if an individual or group contributed $10,000 or $10,000,000 or more I’d likely put it in a noninterest bearing account of safe deposit box, to avoid the obvious conflict of interest. I wouldn’t spend the money on a mortgage, lease, or rent for a shed with dam or well water and a flush toilet, or property taxes paid to maintain the same. No hotels, motels, inns, or campgrounds with dam or well water or flush toilets, personal motor transportation, pharmecuticles, or batteries.

What would I be most likely to spend the money on? Copies of the book for giving to powerful influential persons, crewmembers on Los Angeles class submarines, carriers and guided missile cruisers, inmates in federal penitentiaries, the M.O.B., Congressmen, world leaders, libraries, Governors and Mayors, copies of flyers, stamps, envelopes, business cards, fruit, vegetables, and herbs, food and beverages as dam drain the well dry GMO free as possible, rowboat, sailboat, gear, clothes, bond money, legal assistance and secretaries.

What would I do with any left over money once I and Life have undammed the planet? Buy a boat and load it with as much of the last of the dam rice, fishing tackle and lamb skin condoms as it could hold, and get away from the humans, obviously fishing close to shore for fruitful swimmers.

Contributions may be deposited in my full name and address at any Wells Fargo bank or deposited into my Wells Fargo account from a Wells Fargo or Bank of America web page with my email address ronjikato@gmail.com

Cash, check or money order contributions may be made out and sent to

John Lawrence Jolley

C/O B.J. or J.C.

515 Sunset Road

Boynton Beach, FL 33435

Proving you’re for giving the hard way.

I am seeking females to put forth effort into the liberation of the world’s rivers, the capture of the elements with our domiciles and other structures we build and the replacement of the flush toilet with thE manuel fertilizer machine. A long time ago I became aware that the quickest easiest way to sell or put forth an idea or product is to wrap nubile woman around it. I am just about convinced that travelling around with one, a few, or a bunch of young girls would make the infinity project idea more attractive than anything else. A dozen dames would be perfect for obvious reasons. So far in my enterprise to end the dam ages, force the collection of that which falls from the heavens and/ or your ass I’ve found at least one girl who kinda got it. I think she’d thought of this idea before encountering my presentation, recognized my figure, and talked with me about it. Her middle name was Theo… Miss. Theo. had a question, which was in a larger sense why are things the way they are?

Explained theocosmologically a long time ago we were operating with all of our marbles. As intelligent and whole thinking as we were we had problems. The heavens (the marbles), our brain, knew it. The problem basically was of collection, containers, and transportation. We didn’t have the technology or tools at the time to solve the problem. 1/3 of the heavens proposed a solution to the other 2/3 of the heavens, that the problem would be solved the quickest, thus the best for life, if approached headlong. The 2/3 recoiled that this would create a dam shitty mess, a “catch” that would be at the same time the easiest and most extremely difficult problem to fix. 1/3 challenged 2/3 to come up with a better idea. 2/3 replied how do you know it’s not my idea? and left 1/3 of the marbles to pursue the solution headlong. Explained metaphysically the DAMe SHEDdy fLUSH TOILette is killing us and life. Things are the way they are so we could come about with the technology to make the tools to solve our water (life) collection containerization and transportation problem on the surface and beyond. We have, now we just have to install the idea.

An older man, who I suspect may have worked at the Federal Building in some position of power and influence, asked relatively the same question as Miss. Theo and I told him I’d determined 48% to 49% of the people were willingly engaged in deliberately destroying life on the planet (the “Boneheads”) and 48% to 49% of the people were following along (the “Pumpkinheads”) while 2% to 4% were trying not to destroy the place, or thinking about and implementing ways to further life. He agreed with my assertion of the situation.

As a bonified know it all, or at least that which matters I get this line of question often and had a mixed sex group ask the same question to which I tailored my answer to the particular questioner(s). I told them that often times the original settlers to an area arrived at the spot by wagon and the wheel or axel broke crossing the river. They turned the wagon upside down and made a small house out of it while fetching water from and disposing of waste into the river. Later developments took place next door. “Town” was born. This is how we ended up living in the floodplains under a dam and behind a dike.

Recently, I was in Hood River Oregon and met a girl at the grocery store. I’d already purchased my groceries and was in the process of consuming as much cream and honey as I could with the double espresso I’d bought from the in store Starbucks kiosk. So basically I was standing behind the Starbucks at the self serve complimentary shelf/ area chugging cream and honey. Call it creative shoplifting, plus I’m trying to figure out if they’re using that new Chinese/ Canadian GMO high fructose corn syruephoney blend.

A gorgeous nubile woman made a pass at me and inquired what I was up to? I gave her the 8 second version. She came a little closer and asked, “Who are you?” I’m John Lawrence Kanazawa Jolley, Scotch Souled, French Underground, Dutch Mafia. I was dressed as a gangster with a red rose attached to the lapel of my Hood River Godfather outfit. She said, “I’m Irish”. I have Irish theological and historical backup. “Do me a favor and show me your eyes.” I lowered my shades. Do me a favor and give me a kiss. A long passionate deep kiss ensued, honey and cream flavored espresso. She told me she was shoplifting from the grocery store, explained she was wearing a disguise, and told me she’d fled from NYC and “use ta be one a Gambino’s goils”.

She headed for the beef section (most likely). I refilled my ice, cream and honey espresso while the store manager gave me the “Boy, you sure are lucky and/or you sure know what you’re doing” look. I smiled, checked to make sure my billfold was still in my back pocket, gave him my business card and walked out probably about the same time she was sliding rib eyes into the shorts under her skirt as she picked out a pint of O.J. for purchase. Outside I repacked the skirt steaks, onion, molasses, mustard and candy bars I’d purchased into my backpack. The Irish girl departed the store. I left my stuff on the side and tracked her across the lot.

When I’m on your tail know one burns a hole in your head like me. She tried to lose me in the lot, walking past and circling around to her car as if to put herself in a position where she could jump in the driver’s side door of her silver Subaru that was the only car parked backed up into the spot for a quick exit. I didn’t fall for this, and didn’t follow her on her “wild goose” chase but instead waited by her parked car for her return. When she came around the hood of her car I timed my turn into the aisles separating the vehicles to match her timing. She guiltily lowered her head as if the gig was up. I ignored this and she was relieved that I let her get in her car.

She quickly related a tale about how she was only trying to feed a couple of children. I ignored this realizing that essentially she was lying. More than likely she was stealing the meat to feed herself while she raised a couple of children, of course feeding the kids some too, but she’s bigger and in control of the portions, so. I know it takes a lot of muscle to raise children. Meat is the easiest way to raise strong children. I explained to her that I was “you know who”. She may have suspected I was a store detective, trying the “I’ll let you get away with the meat if you’ll submit to meeting me later, and I’ll even bring some more meat” idea, that she must have been aware of, if not familiar with. The whole thing is so cliché it’s redickulouse.

My idea harkened back to a time before the dam ages, and I told her I’d scouted out a couple of apple trees that had just dropped their fruit a few blocks away, and if she wanted she could give me a ride in exchange for half the apples, then we could take a short walk up Indian Creek to the best plum patch in the world, which I’d split with her for another ride. Then or even before, we could pick up the kids and go down to the river and have a barbecue. I’ll show you what I’m up to and how to stretch a family pack of rib eyes or skirt steaks into more nutritious meals than one could possibly imagine, including visions of sugar plums dancing in your head. She declined and left. I wonder if she realized that while she was telling me about feeding the kids, she’d through hand signals and almost uncontrollable eye movements explained she was feeding them a mile or so down the main road just on the edge of town (probably in the cheap digs) on the right down about a block or two. Metaphysically I could’ve walked over to her place, knocked on her door and asked if she wanted to reconsider.

I know most likely why she fled. If we were to start trading apples and plums for rides (ya know) and even if we didn’t, by the time we’d finished eating, down by the river, if we didn’t begin by at least then to consummate our desire, it’s… almost indescribable the regretful feeling. In the very least she and I end up uncomfortable with soaking wet underwear. For a day or two out of the month, typically, the dame wants it more or worse than the man. I could tell she was at that point by the kiss she gave me. She knew she probably wouldn’t be able to control her desire. She could conceive, I could leave, she’d be stuck taking care of another child.

None of the birth control methods are fool proof. It obviously wasn’t time for the rhythm method (as if there ever was), this is the most satisfying time for her. I wouldn’t recommend the pill and she didn’t seem like the type to take them, at all. I have a flaccid allergic reaction to spermoxylic-9, latex just doesn’t work, both of these things are bad for the environment and I wouldn’t use them anyway. Lambskins work for me, but I don’t really enjoy using them nearly as much as a skin job. The pull out method is my specialty, but this seems to leave the woman somehow unfulfilled and later nervous. Although it seems this encourages them to try and keep me around for a month. Cunnilingus is my forte and I really appreciate fellatio but somehow most women find leaving a man stuck on second maddening. I’m pleased to just get to first base, manually, but this seems practically irrelevant to most women. While I’m excited sliding into third many women don’t feel the same (probably for anatomical reasons, lack of the prostate). Usually they want to go home, my favorite place too. I’ve found most girls, woman, ladies and dames would prefer me to double, get around third so fast I barely touch it and head for home, or just hit home runs. Just keep hitting homers.

All of this seems extremely unfair from the woman’s perspective, they’re even more likely to get a venereal disease during an encounter, collecting chromosomes that cause many types of illness. One of the possibly good scenarios of chromosome collection is morning sickness, followed by transporting the increasingly heavy fetus in their container. It’s back breaking work that stretches and bends woman out of shape. Then there’s the painful birth, and the whole thing carries with it the possibility of death. Recovery? Get to work feeding the child manually for months, followed by doteful care, and coming up with food, water and getting rid of the waste. The Irish girl sounded like she knew all about it.

And where’s the men? ¼ of em were killed in the last dam war, ¼ of em are incompetent and a ¼ of em are out swinging a deal or hunting for meat (so they say). This has all been going on for thousands if not millions of years. The women who are raising children often times without men, run the nest, home, and in a larger sense town. First thing they want is water, food, shelter, and a way to get rid of the waste. Over a short period of time dam, ditch, and pipe or drain the well dry water and food produced with the same method along with a hastily built structure and a flush toilet has seemed to be the solution to the problem and the “townfolk” would basically subsidize it. Over a long period of time this solution if maintained amounts to abortion of the entire project.

So, I and Life put forth the infinity project idea to solve the problem. Wouldn’t you like to be a part of it? I’m just about sure that if the woman demanded this solution the men would fix it. Quick. I’m looking for a particular kind of woman, a thinking woman. It would be nice if you were “independently wealthy” like me and $1000 a month would have you living in high style on the river, spending $500 a month would work, and you could probably get by with $250 and not be uncomfortable. I’m presently on the Mississippi system (the Missouri) travelling by canoe. If you were by yourself and travelling very light you could get in my vessel but I recommend you (or we) get your own, it’s nice to be independent plus it’s a more versatile situation. A canoe would be ideal but a kayak may be better for you (I may even carry a few things for you). Plus, kayaks are faster and easier to handle in poor conditions. A small rowboat might work. If a group of girls wanted to join they could get a large canoe and travel together. It would probably be fairly easy to come up with an inexpensive vessel anywhere we meet or you could transport yours to the put in. In the very least you’ll get to say you paddled across the continent, ultimately you’ll be able to say you spent time ending the damages, forcing the collection of that which falls from the heavens and the replacement of the flush toilet with thE manuel fertilizer machine. This would look good on a resume. Just think, you could make yourself an apostlette (I’ll even let you put the letters and postcards in the mailbox) and have your name and effort remembered for all time, for real. Learn to read. Draw. Pick a card.

(561) 891-9634

ronjikato@gmail.com

Are You For Trading?

Willing to trade to a capeable non Earth (Oceana) form or entity for entire surface wide undamming of rivers except the Panama and Suez Canals rights to Manhattan, Puerto Rico, Formosa and a handful or so of smaller islands. By the known laws of the universe “If you’re travelling through, one or more may expect food and shelter”. Camping however during the damages is illegal. But if you end the damages I and Life will give ya some places to camp, free and clear. No invasive flora or fauna. If for some reason you’ve really got to have a dammed river I’ll toss in the _____ in SE Australia that flows into the Tasmanian Sea. In addition to the restoration of free flow to the waterways we want at least 2 ships (vessels) with full crews. We’ll “test drive em” and then have the Japanese and Cubans take them apart an make em better according to Chinese and Portuguese cooper ship laws. And we want easily transportable fuel with waste removal plus your entire library.

If said entity doesn’t have the means or tools to effect the dam problem, willing to trade the same for nubile “skin suits” of the opposite sex, apostalettes. I dream an electric dream. 6 for starters, perhaps 12, 22… Must be able to travel by water, willing and able to put mail in the mailbox, have papers.

Your gig is up. It was the perfect trap wasn’t it? You should have known! You’re getting caught holding a straight flush. I’ve got 4 Kings and the big wild card (you threw them away didn’t you? Whoops.) “Darky” is backing me up with 4 Jacks and the other Joker. Life or the “one” as we know it “got caught holdin a” or “busted em” with a pair of 2’s searching for a natural straight, as shown in NYC’s “Riviera”. As I’m cutting em in on the pot it’s backing me up too. Lay em down. Fold. Take the deal. I’ll even toss in surface hunting and fishing permits, they’re expensive though, free Reviere passports.

MissBeehaven