The Horrible Script for Zürich 2008 packaged as Joke

[MattMarriott]

BOTELLON, not BOLT

First race of Usain Bolt, after the performances that made him the world's greatest athlete ever, was totally censored (1) by the secret society that controls the mass media in NATO and satellites (2).
Additionally the "BOTELLON, not BOLT" script foresaw:
- for the very same magic night where the Letzigrund stadium was celebrating Usain Bolt and Pamela Jelimo;
- for a location just a couple of blocks away,
... the first "botellon" of Switzerland, which had been previously sold to to the youth (and particularly to teens) non stop on the media.
Last and not the least in this agenda, the swiss media can have the right headlines the day after. (3)

Notes
(1) It's not possible to totally blackout the 100 m race at the Olympics on TV. So TOTAL censorship means using that time to let the TV "commentators" accuse the athletes of doping.
It's not possible to totally blackout the Zürich meeting in Switzerland.
So TOTAL censorship means additionally "no TV coverage anywhere else". Part of implementing this agenda is done by broadcasting it on a swiss channel that is accessible only in Switzerland.

(2) The swiss government has now been for years 100 pct controlled by this secret society.

(3) Example (most read newspaper):
- Headlines: Botellon produces 6 tons garbage
- Bolt somewhere between two ads
http://www.blick.ch/

[SQUACKEE]

Re: The Horrible Script for Zürich 2008 packaged as Joke

BOTELLON, not BOLT

First race of Usain Bolt, after the performances that made him the world's greatest athlete ever, was totally censored (1) by the secret society that controls the mass media in NATO and satellites (2)

The placement of these numbers appear to be completely random.....Matt is just like a bum, he makes no cents. :P

Matt is pulling our leg! Why? If he really believed there existed an evil and all powerful secret society why would he risk being discovered by them after posting his messages here. They certainly could track him to his computer and then liquidate his ass. :twisted:

[EPelle]

Headline from stated page: "Kein Bolt-rekord im Letzi" aptly anagrams to: "Kill kind boozer termite."

Matt Marriott should get the drift.

[Pego]

He just forgot to take his pills this morning.

[mump boy]

Re: The Horrible Script for Zürich 2008 packaged as Joke

BOTELLON, not BOLT

First race of Usain Bolt, after the performances that made him the world's greatest athlete ever, was totally censored (1) by the secret society that controls the mass media in NATO and satellites (2)

The placement of these numbers appear to be completely random.....Matt is just like a bum, he makes no cents. :P

Matt is pulling our leg! Why? If he really believed there existed an evil and all powerful secret society why would he risk being discovered by them after posting his messages here. They certainly could track him to his computer and then liquidate his ass. :twisted:

or at least try an explain himself coherently so we would all know the threat and rise up :P

[tandfman]

Re: The Horrible Script for Zürich 2008 packaged as Joke

or at least try an explain himself coherently

Oh, come on, mump, that would spoil all the fun!

[az2004]

http://www.lightningdrink.com/

usain, this is your product

[Marlow]

I useta sorta kinda think I could make some vague sense in Mattie's drivel, but I'm more and more with lonewolf in my assessment of his meaning: Say what??!! :shock:

[lonewolf]

Uh, what was the question?

[Kevin Richardson]

When this tripe starts to make sense, fill the bathtub with cold water and submerge your head until these thoughts disappear.

[Madd Marine]

If anyone has his address I'll be happy to send him a crate of Reynolds Wrap (aluminum foil) to line his, eh, is it an apartment or is it a sealed room in a "facility" that he's living in? He should also remove all the mirrors from his dwelling, as they allow the people controlling things to watch what's going on.

The Illuminati have no interest in track and field. Everyone knows our sport is under the thumb of the Tri-Lateral Commission. :mrgreen:

[Marlow]

If anyone has his address I'll be happy to send him a crate of Reynolds Wrap (aluminum foil) to line his, eh, is it an apartment or is it a sealed room in a "facility" that he's living in?

Oh, please do!! Contact him here for shipping instructions!
[email protected]

[Flumpy]

Re: The Horrible Script for Zürich 2008 packaged as Joke

or at least try an explain himself coherently so we would all know the threat and rise up :P

Completely. Bonkers as he clearly is I'd actually like to try and understand what he's going on about. But seeing as he fails to understand the most basic principles of sentence structure, I fear we're all doomed

[lonewolf]

Has anyone considered that Matts mutterings may be created by an artificial intelligence robot that strings words together without aim, purpose or coherence?
Has he ever responded to an inquiry? He has thicker skin than our most impervious posters. Perhaps there is no one there.

[EPelle]

Matthew "Nicky" Marriott:s true name is Shirley. Nicky is not a man, but a woman who wears low heels - unless it is a thursday, where she has every week for the past 14 years without exception had on her six-inch pumps and shops at her local market in search of love in the isle nearest to the immitation prune juice. This wasn:t a thursday, however - it was a tuesday, and it was the final hour of a very rotten day which closed out the year 1974.

Sixteen lousy seconds remained on the clock before the quick switch to the new year was meant to make a new you out of everyone alive with the exception of Shirley Anne Buckwheat, the second of four children born to Millie Paige and Stanley Lee on the fourth day of the seventh month since lightening first struck twice in the same spot on the farm and killed a milk cow - a conspiracy her father used to say...an accident, the insurance company said...and 1956 according to state records.

Shirley had endured a long and tumultuous december month - one which would see the budget alllocated for her talk-show, Shirley:s PomPoms, cut and bring an end to the free speech she enjoyed providing and was afforded by a gentleman higher up the food chain, whose salary level was in a postal code outside of her wildest dreams. Shirley:s musings and macho talk were first what were enlightening to the masses, but it was her uncanny ability to predict random and unforeseen events square-on which made a believer out of cynics... a god out of the lonely... a miracle out of unlucky bastards whose last pay check went up in smoke on a horse who ran out of gas down the stretch.

Folks called in...wanted to hear more... needed to get a fix on important things like the next lottery numbers... if their spouses were cheating on them... and the winning team in the Rose Bowl. They didn:t care that she was a woman - or that she smelled like cigarettes, only that the damn tickets they bought could be turned into cash and more booze and babes could be purchased with that money. Her boss, an Ivy League-type, only cared about the profet turning a profit so that he could eventually make the cover of GQ.

All was grand, and went according to plan. Three years later, in January 1972, Shirley got a raise, a new microphone, a new time slot and, most importantly, a new toll free number and a national audience. Naturally, she couldn:t have been any happier - or more frustrated, as she could see into the future, and knew of her ultimate demise, namely that she would eventually be on a clear path to the inevitable - one which led straight to the unemployment office under the name Bambi.

Word spread of Shirley:s PomPom:s... folks knew that when she shook those at the end of the show, something incredible would happen... a lost dog somewhere in the country would return home... an unfriendly post delivery man would sit down for a piece of pie... a beautiful woman would wink at an ugly chap wearing floods... accidents would continue to befall unwanted people...the Thanksgiving Day snowstorm was on its way.

The night was about to draw to a close. The clock was soon to strike midnight. She:d watched an earlier newscast on the six-o-clock evening news of the final predictions she:d made: Catfish Hunter was signed by the Yankees... Nebraska was up three on Florida in the Sugar Bowl - just as she had stated, and as callers had thankfully reminder her in the closing hours before her microphone was muted for the final time. What she couldn:t bear, however, was the shape and manner in which she knew she:d go out of the business - and be out of business, once-and-for-all.

31-December-1974
23.59.44

Shirley is at centre stage at The Governer:s Mansion at Detroit:s City Centre, and was leading the masses in the final words of the customary Aud Lang Syne...

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere !
And gives a hand o’ thine !

Then it happened in one fell swoop. WTF?!

Single women covered their mouths with their hands in disbelief...married ones covered their husbands eyes...children were whisked under the tables. Horny bastards stood there with their champagne glasses raised high above the crowds. The air first grew silent in shock. Then the room was consumed with laughter and jeers. Confusion turned into championing the cause for tighter bras and less loose-fit blouses.

The inevitable had happened - despite Shirley:s fight against it.

She had a nipple slip in public.

Television camera men - staring through tight little peek holes zoomed in on Shirley - were frozen in disbelief and continued rolling on film. Despite the network:s plea to cut to commercial, the producer, awaiting a big bang and a splash to end the new year, dared not deter from the action, knowing that this was his answered ticket to the big leagues.

Long story short, Shirley was removed from stage in utter humuliation, and driven by a taxi driver with a scruffy beard and a missing left front tooth to a local hotel by captain:s orders. The driver, having not a clue what had previously occured, made a comment on Shirley:s inner beauty and charm.

Sixteen days later, on a thursday, they were married and moved to Dallas. Shirley changed names to Debbie and later got a very bad reputation involving men, cheerleaders and pom-poms which, to this day, young boys across America can learn about in first-hand on the internets.

Her husband, Matthew, divorced her and left her for a civil servant some 10 years later after having an affair at a Marriott Hotel outside of a large metropolitan area.

Revenge has been on Shirley:s mind ever since the day the judge threw out her lawsuit charging her husband with being unfaithful.

"According to what I have heard," he said in his closing statement in the case, "you have gotten around." Not just in Dallas, but in New Orleans and Wall Street, as well."

Shirley to this day has been charging that the government has interfered with her life and is simply doing what she can to help other precious men and women out there avoid the same catastrophe which can ruin the lives of former porn queens. She later met a nice old man with a bundle of cash in Aisle 4 between the orange juice and the prune juice; he:d been constipated and needed a quick remedy. He excused himself and said he:d be right back... that thursday was his day to go to the market.

Never been seen or heard from since, and that was some time ago.

The point to be made is that one shouldn:t be so hard on her, because she does have some power, don:t forget.

A great man here once wrote the following excellent observation about MM: Actually, as I type this, I just remembered my policy about responding to trolls. Talk about them not to them. He's a troll people.

Then, poof...gone... he disappears... swallowed into the depths of the earth - somewhere on a deserted island? No post cards, no hate mail - simply vanished. UFO?

People, beware of the power of the dark side from which Matt Marriott - er, Shirley - cometh, lest ye happen upon an unfortunate "accident", you as well.