Ms Maxwell and The Art of The Deal
For her silence she wants the Ruby Slippers back — along with her broomstick — The Lolita Express … Better yet … she Wants the jet Qatar gifted grifter Boss Tweet.
She wants all alphabet agencies who Spy on the American People Mobilized/weaponized to find out which Hedge fund flipped a house on her sister.
She wants ICE rounding up a million Munchkins a month For her pleasure. She wants scores of other peoples’ babies. She wants impunity to work Quinceañeras, Bat Mitzvahs, Sweet Sixteens with former father figure, Jel-Low Puddin Man.
She wants a new psyop to co-opt left language. She wants to use “What’s the call? Free ‘em all!” To Free Harvey! Free Diddy! Free R. Kelly! And Allow Russell Simmons to sing, “I believe I can fly!”
She wants Slick Willy notified that honeypots and Sandwiches will return shortly. She wants Cuomo To know he can come and go. She wants Papa Cop To know that he can fly— free — to Turkey.
She wants baby oil tariffs removed. She wants Diddy as mixologist aboard the Love Boat her Father fell from and drowned in waters off the Canary Islands.
She wants use of some 800 plus bases run by Greasy-thumbed generals. Preferably, those Named for confederate traitors. She wants to erect a new Headquarters. A station. A secure location for predation. She wants to “steal” reich-cult blondes for weekly workouts. Smoothie-fueled saunas, steam baths and mani-pedis in secure White supremacist, settler-colonial, tropical paradises. Built on Profaned bones of indigenous ancestors.
Finally, if she’s found “unresponsive.” Entangled in sheets. Tumbled from 10th floor window. Or, reciting autopsy, a coroner crows, “A little poison!” Bury her atop her triple-agent Pop. In Jerusalem’s Mount of Olives Cemetery. With international intelligence community elite turnout — With 21 gun salute …