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This is an atomic bomb dropped on Nagasaki. This is 6.66 World Trade Center bombings. I would now like to thank the dead rubber mouse John Murray, Jr., and the TD Ameritrade Cary Police Department for making me the son of the President of the Galaxy that I am today. Before $185,000 was stolen from an estate account, I shot the sheriff in self defense. As the son of the President of the Galaxy, I nuked the whole town of Cary for not believing in the existence in a primordial god that is capable of turning the whole planet back to the dinosaurs and the apes.
The son of an English God believes in God. I do not talk to the birds and the trees and the statutes in the park and believe that they talk back to me. I have not been abducted by aliens, and if I did disapear and then reappeared in resurrection magic, I only travel 50 feet. I did not travel to Jerusalem, which is the faith of Mohammad and the faith of Islam. I traveled 50 feet more or less. I was sitting in the Park at the University of North Carolina and suddenly, I became the smartest person in the world. It was dark, there was not light inside, but the color of heaven was dark brown with flecks of gold inside. Heaven was the same color of the glass on the outside walls of Luxor Hotel, Las Vegas. As the son of the English God, I am the co-producer of Stars Wars, Ragtime, American Graffiti, The End (Burt Reynolds, Sally Fields), four albums, 50 songs, and a little bit of Walter Cronkite god violence in the news. At the time, he thought that he was a son of an English God with a nod, but that is another story altogether.
