When the brown people, they make the bombs and the shootings, in the cities in the countries of the white people, the white people, they wonder: why for art thou, the brown people, making the bombs, and the shootings? Do they hate us for our freedoms? Are they wanting to put food on their familes? Are they, like, maybe, a little Mad, because we, the white people, are making the bombs and the shootings, in their brown-people countries, and on their freedoms, on their food, on their families? Or are there, really, no bombs or shootings at all, just holographic false-flags, produced and directed by Alex Jonze, for the greater glory of the nefariousness of the neozioneolibcons?

It is all very confusing.

Except, not any more. Because now, we Know. Why there are these bombs, and these shootings.

Mason Wells. He is why.

On April 15, 2013, Mason Wells, he was standing at the finish line of the Boston Marathon, waiting to greet his mother, who was in that race a runner. When, quite near that finish line, the Bombs, they went off, killing three people, and injuring 264 more.

On November 13, 2015, Wells was in Paris, when the Bombs and the shootings, they claimed the lives of 130 people there, injuring 386 additional human beings.

On March 22, 2016, Wells was at Brussels Airport, when the Bombs exploded there, and also at a city metro station, killing 31 people, and injuring 300. Wells, this time, was himself one of the injured, suffering a ruptured achilles tendon, shrapnel wounds, and burns to his face and hands.

Wells, he is, for whatever reason, a bomb magnet. Wherever he goes, there are Bombs. He should therefore not be allowed to run loose. His wandering around, without restraint, this is demonstrably dangerous for people—and now, yea verily, even dangerous to himself. This man, he needs to be put in some sort of deep Shelter. I am thinking maybe an abandoned missile silo. These can be made comfortable. Really.

Wells, he is only 19, and he is a Mormon missionary. And so, if he is not put in the Shelter, there is no telling what ruination he might wreak, if allowed to continue to catastrophically trot around the globe, everywhere trailing Bombs, and Mormonism, in his wake.

Wells can be provided, there in the Shelter, with some sort of video apparatus, so that he can emit Mormonism, to various foreign lands, without actually physically going there, and so thereby setting off the Bombs. Wells, I am afeared that he is going to have to stay in the Shelter, until the Science Men, they are able to Learn Why, as the 22nd Century Gregorian klezmer combo The Grateful Dead put it: "wherever he goes/the people all complain."

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7BlFyBQemaA]

Many more humans possess these sorts of unaccountable powers than Science Men can explain or will even acknowledge.

For instance, I once worked with a man to whom electricity was allergic. He would stride through a room, and, over his head, as he passed blithely below, the light bulbs would blow out. Someone would be using a xerox machine; he would walk by; the machine would abruptly shut off. If you tried to give him a ride home from the bar, well, once he slid into the passenger seat, the car would refuse to start. We eventually figured out that if we kept him in the bar until the car had been started, he could then stumble out and pour himself into the vehicle, and be delivered home without mishap. Except sometimes the turn indicators or windshield wipers would cease operating.

I myself extinguish streetlights when I drive. At first I thought these were some kind of "smart lights," that doused themselves when my headlights flashed across them; the smarty-lights, they thinking, by the light of the beams, it was day. But no. It didn't matter if the headlights were low-beam, high-beam, or off; didn't matter what car I was driving. They'd just go out. It was, me.

I finally decided this was happening because when I was a sprout I really liked how Jack Lemmon (this was back when he was a cocky little witch, before he became a swollen embarrassing ham), in the true-life documentary film Bell, Book and Candle, he could witch out all the streetlights, when he was walking down the street. I'd wanted to do that. So now, I, sorta, was. Can't control it, though. Any more than poor Mr. Wells, he can control the Bombs, that go off, wherever he happens to Mormon.

Tomorrow, they are having the Easter. This day commemorates that time when some Mean Boys caught and captured the rabbit who lays, colors, and hides the eggs for the children. The Mean Boys, they nailed the rabbit's feet to a board. But then a girl found the rabbit, and took him to some kindly veterinarians, who extracted the nails, and fixed up the rabbit, and made him all better. The Mean Boys, they were sent to a reform school, until they learned how to pat the bunny, and then they were allowed again to walk among the Good people.

It is right and meet that, in this universe, all the holidays, they are simple and sensible and sane and straight-forward. Because, in some of the universes, like in universe ULB7010(b), as seen in the video embedded below, the holidays, they are pretty mucked up.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3gRGMOhslq0]

But first, before tomorrow, there is today. When the Democratic versions, they are making the president. In Alaska, Hawaii, and Washington. The Cranky Brooklyn Deli Man, he is expected to earn most of the delegates, and thus creep ever closer to The Mad Bomber. But the televisions and the tubes, they will not say this, because the Narrative is that the Deli Man, he is the Loser, while the Bomber, she is the Weiner.

But this Narrative, it is Wrong. Because the Deli Man, he is already the Winner.

And we know this how? Because of this:

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FV2wCXKgG1E]

Because this little bird, of three little birds, came to the Deli Man, to tell him, and the people of him, and people everywhere, and all and every creature in all and every, that every little thing, is going to be alright.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eqqWfsIxbPo]

The Republican versions, they cannot be bothered with making the president today, because they are, once again, busy publicly pounding their puds. Zed Crud, and The Hairball, they are bestaining the nation with some sort of ur-mammal display of strutting and sand-kicking, involving their wives, and various and sundry other animals, minerals, and vegetables, into which they insert their peni.

These people, I suppose there is now no hope, that they will ever bottom out. They are like a cartoon, where Daffy Duck, or The Roadrunner, or Yosemite Sam, or somebody, is in an old weathered multi-story wooden house, and they crash through the rotten timbers of one floor, and then they crash through the rotted next floor, and so on, crashing and crashing, until they crash into the basement, and then they crash through that, and, finally, it's into the septic tank, except then they crash through that, they keep going, crashing and crashing, as the septic tanks, they are never-ending, one atop another; they keep crashing through, lower and lower, deeper and deeper, into ever new and toxic levels of sepsis. For they are like a really bad variation on Shakespeare's "Bottom's Dream": they, too, "hath no bottom."

Why was I not surprised to learn, amid this muck, that a real good buddy of The Hairball, he is the CEO of the National Enquirer? And why was I further not surprised to learn that this man's name is David Pecker?

This Pecker person, he has been enlisting his rag in The Hairball crusade, from the beginning. His claim of today that the creepy, sinister vampire Zed Crud, he has with his peter been harpooning women not his wife, this is hardly Pecker's first tabloid jihad bent to benefit The Hairball. For, earlier, after Star Trek Head was said to have bested The Hairball in a televised debate, Pecker shrieked from his paper: "Homewrecker Carly Fiorina Lied About Druggie Daughter!" When Uncle Ben Carson briefly surpassed The Hairball in the national polls, Pecker's paper cried: "Bungling Surgeon Ben Carson Left Sponge in Patient’s Brain!" When that didn't take, The Hairball, you might recall, he took to personally referring, to Uncle Ben, as a brain-damaged narcoleptic child molester.

But that didn't bring down Uncle Ben. Oh no. For Uncle Ben's dirigible, it did not crash and burn, until it became apparent that he was unaware there existed any other nations on Earth, besides the United States. And Egypt. Where, according to Uncle Ben, Joseph, he used the pyramids, to store grain.

That's what did it. Because this Joseph-grain notion, it went totally against the historical understanding of the Americans. Which they had derived from the true-life documentary film The Ten Commandments. Where they had learned that the pyramids were a vanity project, erected by the sweat of the pecs of Charlton Heston, at the head of a bunch of goyim, for Yul Brynner, to honor Brynner's father, Sinead O'Connor.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u1kqqMXWEFs]

The Pecker paper, it has also said:

[The Mad Bomber] is on her deathbed and is "engaging in a massive cover-up about her health." The Enquirer claims she is suffering from strokes, brain cancer, depression, alcoholism, multiple sclerosis, endometriosis, and paranoia, among other dire conditions.

Well. Okay. They got that part right.

There are so many Cro-Magnon in Texas that the state expects to soon issue its one-millionth license to swagger around in public yoked to a killing machine. This will certainly make the Magnons happy. Because they can then have a Million Mongo March.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SKRma7PDW10]

Remember that Alan Lomax guy, who wandered up hill and down dale, recording various folk musics? There was something sort of like that a few years back in Texas. A team of Science Men, they went into Texas, with sophisticated brain-scan equipment, hoping to document, there in that state, intelligent human life. But, after just a few months, the results, they were so meager, so paltry, that the Science Men, they became discouraged, and so went back to the Lab. And switched over to studying slime mould.

I am not a Science Man, but I am aware of various Science Man theories and inventions. Like flubber. This is a compound invented by Dr. Fred MacMurray, which can enable persons or objects to fly—even to travel into space. As set forth in the true-life documentary films The Absent-Minded Professor, and Son Of Flubber.

So I was thinking. There must be some essential element that is present in all the bombs and the bullets. So Anonymous, they should sneak into all the places where are made the bombs and the bullets, and attach flubber to them. Then, whenever anyone tries to make a bombing or a shooting, the bomb or the bullet, it will fly up into space. And so, no one will get hurt.

Fred MacMurray, he is a good example of how anyone can be rehabilitated, redeemed. Because in the true-life documentary film Double Indemnity, he conspired to kill a man, because he wanted to put his penis into Barbara Stanwyck, and also get a lot of money. But after he was executed in the gas chamber, MacMurray came out and became a Science Man, and invented the flubber, that will now stop people from getting hurt in the bombings and the shootings.

That Double Indemnity thing, that was a real cock-up, all the way around. Like, Barbara Stanwyck, she didn't even want any penises. Because she was a lesbian.

Several years ago there was a burst of anarcho-communism in this town. The town obtained tens of thousands of daffodil bulbs, and then gave them away, free, to anyone who wanted them.

Some people, they were suspicious. Mostly teabaggers, and/or meth monkeys. "Why is the town giving us these bulbs?" they whispered. "Why are they wanting us to plant them? Is it because the bulbs, they have Radios in them? And so the town, with the Radios, it will be able to Hear, and See, and Look, and Know?"

No, no, the town told the teabaggers, and the meth monkeys. There are no Radios. But, anyway, you don't have to take the bulbs, if you don't want them. But anyone who wants them, can take some. And plant them.

And so that's what people did. And today, they're all over this town. The daffodils. You never know where you might see some. They are even all around the fire station, and the police station. This last, it is real good. Because even when you are a Police Man, it is hard to be an asshole, when you are standing, in a bunch of daffodils.

The daffodils, they all bloom at different times. Because they feel like it. Some come on in late December. Some are just flowering now.

You kinda gotta like a place. That hands out flowers to people. And says: go ahead and plant them. If you want.

This below is a daffodil song. The guy singing it, he isn't famous, or anything like that. He's just a guy.

I like it. When it's just a guy. Singing a mushy love song.

When it's just a guy, and he is singing a mushy love song, he is not making the bombs. Or the shootings. He is, in fact, repelling them. And all over the world.

[video:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_enNK8gdQjI]