20-07-2012, 11:58 PM
Peter Janney grew up in Washington, DC, during the 1950s and 1960s. His father was a high-ranking CIA official and a close friend of Richard Helms, James Jesus Angleton, and Mary's husband, Cord Meyer. His mother and Mary Meyer were classmates at Vassar College.
Let's be clear: Lisa Pease is killer. On Angleton. On the RFK hit. It's not colorized, juiced, speculative, floating like a zephyr on the summer air.
Janney's cashed his cheque with the extremely extreme ballistic hyperbole exploding like a billion supernovae with a blinding Wagnerian crescendo of Valkeries firing up their Hueys on a beer run.
Janney merely continues the Hunt for Patsy Johnson, that deflection to Cord Meyer. Instead of a French Gunman on the Grassy Knoll we have a CIA Hit Man on the Jogging Path.
A lurid pulp cover for yet another sausage from Red Herring Press.
Dorothy Kilgallen had an exclusive interview with Jack Ruby. Mary Meyer had a sketchbook.
And poor Peter Janney has to carry Mary into the fiftieth year in the manner of the basketball play labeled The Barking Dog.
The poorest player runs to the out-of-bounds line, gets down on his knees and barks like a dog, drawing the defensive focus so the best shooter can score.
Poor man, he's the only mind in Western Civilization who can grasp that JFK revolved around Mary in the Sky with Diamonds, and for his gifted insight he must be shot full of arrows, stretched upon the rack, lap-danced by the Iron Maiden, and thrown out de do' flambeau.
That's him, out in the garden, eating worms; no one loves him.
Let's be clear: Lisa Pease is killer. On Angleton. On the RFK hit. It's not colorized, juiced, speculative, floating like a zephyr on the summer air.
Janney's cashed his cheque with the extremely extreme ballistic hyperbole exploding like a billion supernovae with a blinding Wagnerian crescendo of Valkeries firing up their Hueys on a beer run.
Janney merely continues the Hunt for Patsy Johnson, that deflection to Cord Meyer. Instead of a French Gunman on the Grassy Knoll we have a CIA Hit Man on the Jogging Path.
A lurid pulp cover for yet another sausage from Red Herring Press.
Dorothy Kilgallen had an exclusive interview with Jack Ruby. Mary Meyer had a sketchbook.
And poor Peter Janney has to carry Mary into the fiftieth year in the manner of the basketball play labeled The Barking Dog.
The poorest player runs to the out-of-bounds line, gets down on his knees and barks like a dog, drawing the defensive focus so the best shooter can score.
Poor man, he's the only mind in Western Civilization who can grasp that JFK revolved around Mary in the Sky with Diamonds, and for his gifted insight he must be shot full of arrows, stretched upon the rack, lap-danced by the Iron Maiden, and thrown out de do' flambeau.
That's him, out in the garden, eating worms; no one loves him.