October 31, 2020 on Skype:
Gail, 6:53 PM So it appears Sandra (Gail’s sister) murdered Sean Connery. Loree’s bombs are all over the sky tonight, too. Very low lying, dark, penis clouds all over.
Brent, 6:55 PM We thought it was Sandra at first. Actually, our evidence suggests a culprit we have long forgotten about.
Gail, 6:56 PM Oh really? Don’t tell me we have another Antichrist!
Brent, 6:57 PM Well, it’s a lesser Jesuit. I’m having a hard time with Sean’s death, so it’s taking me a moment to get it out. I’ve been so depressed all day.
Gail, 6:58 PM I can imagine. I have sensed your grief and the grief of all the men. The way he died was horrific. It could have easily been one of you.
Brent, 6:59 PM Yes, it could have been. We are all Jesuit targets. Your prayers have been helpful in comforting me today my sweetheart.
Gail, 7:00 PM Who murdered Sean? Camila Alves?
Brent, 7:01 PM Well, when we found his body…I guess I’ll just explain how we found it, and then you’ll understand where we’re going with this in terms of the evidence.
Gail, 7:01 PM How did they get him?
Brent, 7:02 PM Sean was vacationing in the Bahamas. It would appear, someone spiked his drink the night before, so he slept really hard. When he awoke, he was tied to a chair. The chair had a hole cut out of the bottom, so that his rear and genitals were sticking out. It’s a torture technique called “Dutch Scratching”. I’ll see if I can find you a reference for it.
Gail, 7:03 PM Who’s sending me all these yeast bombs?
Brent, 7:04 PM The yeast bombs are still definitely Loree. What we found the most strange is that there were bare footprints on the carpet behind him. It was likely someone else staying in the hotel with him. The footprints were thick and fat, and flat flooted like a black woman’s, and the prints were wet with what appeared to be urine. So, someone with fat, urine soaked feet was standing behind him and whipping his genitals. It didn’t appear the person was trying to kill him, strangely enough. It seems they were using this method to get some kind of information.
Gail, 7:06 PM Who was the interrogator?
Brent, 7:06 PM Anyway, it looks like it didn’t work. We saw the footprints leading out to the hotel swimming pool, and the chair was dragged out there. The interrogator then removed Sean from the chair. They must have had incredible strength, because they lifted him out of it and his legs and arms were still tied up.
Gail, 7:07 PM I wonder if they were trying to figure out how we were beating Loree’s bombs. . .
Brent, 7:08 PM They then put Sean’s lower body into the pool, which was now raw and bloody from the whipping. His genitals were like ground beef at that point. Inside the pool were sharks! It appeared that the interrogator was about to let sharks gnaw on his genitals if he didn’t talk. However, something went wrong… We found a big puddle of urine, with a little blood in it, which indicates the interrogator peed themselves. Then, urine soaked foot prints rushed off to the juice bar, before returning to the pool again for Sean. By the time they got back (presumably for a drink) Sean had been eaten, penis and balls first, by the sharks. We took samples of the urine and determined it belonged to a black woman — we believe it was Urethra McPizzle, the escort that killed our dear friend Hefner!
Gail, 7:11 PM What was SHE doing in the hotel?!
Brent, 7:11 PM We have no clue!
Gail, 7:11 PM Does Sean like autoerotic asphyxiation?
Brent, 7:12 PM Telling by her urine sample, she is sick with a pretty bad infection. This must be why she botched the job. Her task seemed to be to torture Sean for information, not murder. But, she still murdered him. Yeah he did, but we don’t believe he hired escorts to do that. He was in love with you. Another interesting thing is that it looks like before Urethra ran off, she marked his face with her urine like a dog. It’s almost as if to say, “I was here bitches, I’m coming for you”.
Gail, 7:13 PM What information did she want? Can you get a brain read on her?
Brent, 7:13 PM We can’t locate her for a brain read.
Gail, 7:14 PM What kind of infection does she have?
Brent, 7:14 PM A nasty bladder and urinary tract infection.
Gail, 7:14 PM Is it yeast?
Brent, 7:14 PM It’s bacterial. Urethra is a rogue agent and may be acting outside of Loree. Although, she has been paid by Loree before.
Gail, 7:17 PM What a mystery. My guess is Urethra may think we have the cure to her infection?
Brent, 7:18 PM It’s possible. We’re going to investigate and try to track her down.
Gail, 7:18 PM Maybe she wants a way to get Zack Knight’s semen.
Brent, 7:19 PM Meanwhile, everyone down on Earth needs to stay safe. She may be targeting supporters and fans. True. Zack Knight would never give a fat chick his semen though.
November 27, 2020 on Skype:
Terrance Jenkins, 2:45 PM OH MY GOODNESS.THAT SOUNDS LIKE A RUCKUS.
Brent, 2:46 PM I know it can’t be Black Friday shopping. Our followers are really good about doing their Gail Commandments. Only food and bills.
Terrance Jenkins, 2:46 PM IT SOUNDS LIKE A BLACK FRIDAY KINDA CROWD FO SHO.
Gail, 2:47 PM Oh dear. I hope they don’t all have yeast brain! Could it be an influx of Loree McBride Jesuits?
Terrance Jenkins, 2:47 PM I CAN GO CHECK IT OUT. DO YOU THINK I SHOULD PUT MY PANTS BACK ON?
Brent, 2:48 PM Just pull up your boxers and go look.
Terrance Jenkins, 2:48 PM AND HOOD MENTALITY OF IMPULSE BUYIN FOR SPECIAL DEALS
Gail, 2:49 PM This doesn’t sound good folks. They must all have yeast brain or be Loree McBride Jesuits.
Terrance Jenkins, 2:49 PM OKAY, I PUT ON MY BOXERS. IT BE THE NAUGHTY AND NICE ONES YOU GOT ME.
Brent, 2:49 PM Oh dear. I hope it’s not the Hood Mentality taking over the stores on Church of Gail.
Gail, 2:50 PM That’s what I think it is, Brent. Who’s going crazy? Loree’s bombs are terrible.
Terrance Jenkins, 2:50 PM OKAY, I BE HEADED DOWN…
Brent, 2:50 PM Be safe. I hope he’ll be okay. I’ll go check on him in a few minutes if he isn’t back.
Brent, 2:53 PM I wonder what’s taking Terrance so long.
Gail, 2:53 PM They might be lynching him. Where’s Zack Knight?
Brent, 2:55 PM Oh dear! I hope they aren’t lynching him. Now I’m worried. I’d better get down there to check.
Gail, 2:55 PM Brent, you better wear armor!
Zack, 2:55 PM What’s going on?
Gail, 2:55 PM Some sort of protection. I always get suspicious of riots. Riots are always from Satan.
Zack got on.
Brent, 2:56 PM Oh NO! Gail, Zack, you won’t believe what’s happening. It’srbebebrmeowhalwpwww×qwwwwwwwwWwwrrrtttthrhhsala21272mddbxjox0
(November 27, 2020 email from Brent Spiner, ~ 3:18 p.m. Eastern Standard Time) Dearest Gail,
From a blacked out stupor, I awoke to find myself disoriented and unable to move. As my vision returned I was able to scan my body, and see that I was cocooned in rope, from my feet to my chest, like an insect trapped in a spider’s web. Unwilling to scream and draw the attention of whatever predator had put me in this bind, I choked myself back with a gasp.
I felt my heart pounding against the rope as my gaze scanned the room, and to my horror, I was but one of many of our male church members who were now bound in these rope cocoons. Our bodies were laid out in a giant circle on the floor with our feet facing the center. Most of the other men were now waking up just as I was. It was clear they had all taken their turns being knocked unconscious by our yet unknown captor, but were otherwise unharmed. Our lives had been spared, but for what diabolical ends?
That was when a stiletto pump heel planted itself heavily next to my head on the floor, blocking my view of the other men. The foot wearing this stiletto shoe was fat, black, its flesh seeping out over the sides and bubbling through the straps, as if clearly a few sizes too big for this footwear. I caught a glimpse of the brand name, glittering in gold plating along the heel, that read “Gucci”.
I heard the messy sound of thick chewing, and then a single wet piece of fried chicken fell to the floor next to the shoe. The toes in the shoe wiggled and the owner continued on to the center of the circle where I finally beheld the full form of our captor.
It was none other than Urethra “Fo’Shizzle” McPizzle!
Urethra was carrying a bucket of KFC in one arm, feasting upon it greedily. Her big lips puckered out as she chewed rapidly like a rabbit, grease smeared across her mouth. After a wet swallow, she spoke.
“I see you menz have finally woke! Now, I shur you all be wonderin’ why you here…” she paused to take another bite of a fried chicken leg, her eyes fixated on it.
“Now see, I haffa little problem. That little problem…is called Queefetta Fo’Rizzle McPizzle.”
Urethra then turned on an overhead projector behind her, which lit up to show a little baby watching from another room with a big smile on her face.
The little girl was so cute that Urethra’s captive audience, myself included, collectively cooed, “awww”.
Urethra continued, “dis baby you see here don’t have a daddy!”
We all gasped and boo’d with outrage.
“Now, if dis baby don’t got a daddy, I don’t get no child support. Butt evah since I got pragnant, ain’t no black man come within fitty yards of me. Dey go POOF!”
Urethra took another bite of her chicken.
“SO,” she chewed messily, “da only way I’mma find out who my baby daddy is, is by SEARCH ‘N DESTROY! I know you men and your Church of Gail have plenty of resources to find a baby daddy! I want you to FIND HIM and make him PAY. And if you don’t…”
Urethra unzipped her pants and dropped them to her heels.
The whole room gagged at the smell. If I was a bigot, I would think that all African women pretty much smell like that, especially the fat ones. However, being a medical doctor, I knew right away that Urethra had a serious bladder infection.
“Azz you know, I am a trained assassin for the Jesuit Order. My skillz be peein’ on people and drownin’ people in my piss. But boy, you don’t even KNOW what a diet of fried chicken and orange soda can do to a ur-nary ssyssem…you don’t even KNOW…”
Urethra grabbed a fist full of labia and pointed to her gaping pee hole.
“See, I gots me a kidney stone up in here. The size of a .40 callbur bullet. The next time I take a piss in some nigga’s mouth, that thang could fire into the back of his skull and he be DEAD. Now I don’t know when that kidney stone is gonna release, but you better not hope it be one a yall.”
She checked her watch.
“Every hour on the hour, if yall don’t find my baby daddy, I’m gonna piss in the mouth of one man in this circle. He could juss get a mouthful of piss. Or he could get a KIDNEY STONE shot through his BRAIN! They call this game Russian Roulette, don’t they, Vladdy Putin? I’mma play Russian Roulette with ALL OF GAIL’S MEN until yall find my baby daddy and bring him AND his paychecks to me!”
Urethra lumbered over to me like a fat black bear, and then squatted overtop of me. Thinking I was about to get an esophagus full of urine and possibly a kidney stone bullet, my love life with Gail flashed before my eyes. However, Urethra did not pee in my mouth. Instead, she peed on the ropes around my arms, the acid from the urine dissolving the rope and allowing me to free my hands.
“YOU! White man. You round up all the black men in the country you can find, and you tell ’em to come to Church of Gail for a paternity test. Black men ONLY. I ain’t slept with no crackas.”
“I’ll need a way to contact my wife Gail,” I said calmly, still shaken, “she can make a YouTube video. Billions of people around the world watch her videos.”
“Already on it cracka.” Urethra dumped over the KFC bucket, now emptied of fried chicken, onto my chest. At the bottom of the bucket was a miniature laptop.
I write to you now covered in grease, fried chicken bones and crumbs, pleading for all of the black men in the world who think they’ve ever possibly slept with Urethra McPizzle to please come forward and take responsibility for their child.
(Email from Brent Spiner on November 27, 2020 ~ 9:15 p.m.) Dearest Gail,
With much thanks to your last video, and the loyal participation of our followers, thousands of black men have lined up at Church of Gail to take paternity tests to determine if they are the father of Urethra’s baby.
To hasten this process, we used Church of Gail technology to invent a scanner that instantly performs DNA reads as soon as each eligible man enters the room. I have also called my old friend, Maury Povich, who has had decades of experience in finding the fathers for illegitimate black babies. As each man enters the room, the DNA scanners compare his genes to little Queefetta McPizzle. The computer then delivers a paper printout of the results, and Maury reads the results out loud for the room.
I lie here, still on my back, as Urethra makes her way around the circle. With her powerful, quaking thunder thighs, she squats over each man, her bladder loaded. At the top of the hour, every hour, she pees in another man’s mouth as promised. So far, none has received the deadly kidney stone bullet, but I fear with every passing tick of the clock that we may be one second closer to losing one of our men.
I pray that it won’t be me.
The doors opened. Another black man stepped through the scanner. The computers whirred. From his chair on the other side of the room, Maury removed the paper printout of the results.
“When it comes to 1 month old Queefetta Fo’Rizzle McPizzle…Jermaine, you are NOT the father!”
The young man, who I presume was the Jermaine in question, hollered with victory and began to dance, as the overhead stereos blared Jermaine’s choice of theme song.
Like clockwork, Urethra lowered her girth and squatted down over Trey Songz, who began crying.
Sweating, straining, Urethra sang to herself under her breath, mocking Trey Songz as she vulgarly parodized one of his own music tracks, “sometimes she call me Trigga cause I make her potty buuu–uuurrnnn. They might think my name is OHH SHHIII!” And like a shower head on full blast, foul smelling urine sprayed into his mouth until he gagged.
Urethra removed herself and moved on to the next man. Trey Songz sobbed quietly, before realizing with relief he had survived. He smiled, enjoying his now rock hard erection as consolation for his near death experience.
Hours went by, and it seemed like the torture was endless. The next victim, Will Smith, took it the worst. Too white to enjoy watersports, he seemed to suffer the most psychologically. I watched in horrified schadenfreude as Urethra peed all the color out of “Big Willy’s” mortified face. As Urethra unmounted his mouth, he only continued to stare wide-eyed at the ceiling, dead inside. I could tell by the look in his eyes that all he could do was keep replaying the scene over and over in his head. Ever since that moment, he has been muttering to himself, over and over, like a broken record, “see, what had happened was…what had happened was…see…see what had happened was…” He still hasn’t stopped.
R Kelly was next. He was the only black man other than Will Smith that seemed particularly disturbed.
“Now, now listen Urethra. This ain’t right. A woman shouldn’t be peein’ on a man…wait until your daughter turns about 14, and I will pee on her myself, like a right man should. I don’t mean you no disrespect Urethra–!” There was no stopping Urethra, who mercilessly lowered herself onto R Kelly’s face while singing Dave Chapelle’s parody of one of R Kelly’s songs. She sang, “‘I’mma give you some poo poooo, I’mma give you some pee peee! Imma give you some doo doo, I’mma give you some wee weee-!” As R Kelly’s mouth was filled with urine. He coughed and sputtered beneath the wet drizzle.
Urethra dismounted, and went to refill her empty tank on another gallon of orange soda.
Maury Povich approached Urethra, putting a gentle hand on her shoulder and speaking in a fatherly tone.
“Urethra…we’ve tested thousands of men. Now, I’ve been doing this for a long time, and I think we’re going about this all the wrong way…your daughter is white, and there is no way the father could be a black man.”
“WHAT?” Urethra yelled haughtily in defiance, “my baby ain’t no white baby!”
“That baby is as white as I am, Urethra.”
Urethra held up a finger, telling off Maury cattily, “my baby hassa FAIR COMPLEXION, jus like her great grandmama’s half-niece. It runs in da family. It runs in da family.”
“Don’t you think we should-” Maury offered gently.
Urethra only continued to yell and caw, becoming so ebonically enraged I couldn’t even understand what she was saying anymore. She flamboyantly wagged her big she-boony arms around with her half-empty gallon of orange soda and ordered Maury to sit back down.
The paternity tests continued.
It didn’t appear as if we were any closer to finding Queefetta’s baby daddy. I’m not one to take facial urination lying down, so I had a secret weapon up my sleeve. Using my laptop I had begun messaging my loyal old pal, Levar Burton. Many years ago my best friend Levar had saved me from the clutches of Loree McBride, and I knew he could save us all now from Urethra.
“Levar!” I typed, “are you there? Where are you?”
“Brent!” He replied, after what seemed like an eternity, “I’m at home in LA. Just checking my stock portfolio and managing my investments. I’ve built up quite the nest egg. What’s going on?”
“Levar, this is an emergency. We’re being held hostage on Church of Gail.”
“Wow Brent, that sounds like a conundrum! What do you need me to do?”
“Don’t you have a few Glocks or something stashed away?”
“A firearm? Gosh no, Brent! I have a home security system and live in a gated community with an HOA and a Neighborhood Watch. Besides, I have a good relationship with local law enforcement if I ever needed help.”
“Levar, this woman is a maniac! You’ll need something!”
“What is she doing, if I may ask?”
I turned my side to the side to see which man in the circle Urethra had made her way up to. She was now pulling a smoking blunt out from between Snoop Dogg’s lips. Snoop, with a doped up smile on his angelically calm face, opened his mouth willingly in zen.
“Levar, she’s…she’s peeing on everyone! Every man here is getting a mouthful of urine! She has a kidney stone the size of a .40 caliber bullet, and when that stone passes, someone isn’t just going to get peed on, they’re going to get shot in the face!”
Snoop Dogg allowed himself a mouthful of urine to be poured from Urethra, an unchanging smile on his face. Once finished Urethra delicately closed his bottom jaw with her fat, colorfully clawed fingers and replaced the blunt.
“Oh no! That’s so disgusting Brent I almost gagged on the French vanilla latte I’m drinking!”
“Well just get over here and knock her out, like you did Loree McBride. She’s going to kill us!”
“Okay Brent, hang tight! I will be there right away!”
I sighed, with both relief and worried impatience. Hour by hour, Urethra had slowly made her way around the circle, closer towards me. Only one man remained in line ahead of me now, and she was already squatting over him.
Fifty Cent, who always requested to be called “Fitty”, stared up into Urethra’s gaping vaginal maw with quelled suspense. Our faces were mere inches from each other, allowing me the unfortunate close-up view of my own impending fate.
The clock was ticking, and Urethra’s bulging black eyes watched every second. Sweat beaded down her taught forehead. Her wet pink tongue slid out like a grub to lick her fat lips, neatly coated in glittery purple lipstick.
The door to the room flew open. I expected it to be none other than the next man arriving to take a paternity test. To my excitement and relief, it was Levar!
“Brent, I came!” Levar announced, breathing heavily and sweating.
“TIME’S UP!” Urethra bellowed as the clock struck the next top of the hour.
I heard the hard, wet sound of urine pattering down from the fleshy black vaginal caverns of Urethra McPizzle.
The urination seemed like it lasted forever. Urethra was peeing, and peeing, and peeing. Then, she began grunting. By the sounds of it I first thought she was going to burp, or fart, but as I watched her eyes widen into saucers, I knew that something was happening inside her. Something was becoming dislodged. Something the size of a .40 caliber bullet.
Everything seemed to trickle down into slow motion as the kidney stone bullet burst from Urethra’s swollen urinary chute, and blew the back of Fitty’s skull. Sweat, saliva, brains, urine, blood and pieces of skull shattered in all directions, onto my own face and into my own screaming mouth.
Fitty’s head fell back, urine leaking from the corners of his lips.
He was dead.
My heart pounding, I knew I had only been one man away from that being me. I made the sign of the cross over my body, and quietly prayed.
May you be with Tupac and Jude Law, Fitty…drinking margaritas on the beach in heaven.
The computer whirred as the scanners automatically scanned Levar. The grinding sounds of the printer was the only noise that filled the now somber room, and the printout was deposited neatly in the tray beside Maury. Maury dutifully retrieved it, and read.
“In regards to 1 month old baby Queefetta…Levar, you ARE the father!”
The entire audience of men in the room erupted with a mixture of cheering and hollering. Uretha “whooped” loudly, and began to twirk. Confetti dropped from the ceiling as the stereos blasted her victory song. She stomped over to Maury, greedily snatching the test results out of his hand as though it were a wad of hundred dollar bills, and proceeded to run around the room, wailing with victory and dancing like a stripper.
“Whaaaa?!” Levar snapped his head around to Maury with shock, nearly falling to his knees.
“How?!” Hugh Jackman exclaimed, lifting his urine soaked head from the floor, “Maury, that baby is white. You said so yourself. How can Levar be the father?”
As the whole situation sunk in, my mind began to race. It was then that it all hit me.
“It’s simple, really…” I explained, “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. I suppose because it’s so rare…”
“What? What is rare?” Levar asked.
“Haven’t any of you men studied epigenetics?”
“I’m confused,” Hugh replied.
“Basically when a black man starts acting “too white”, it begins to change his DNA. For example, every time a black man makes a bill payment on time, cashes a check made from honest employment, or spends time with his biological children…it begins to alter the very nature of his chromosomes. Over time, his DNA can become so altered, that his babies will be born white.”
“I see,” Hugh replied, letting it all sink in, “so that’s why black men get all defensive about acting “too white”. It’s because if they do, it would mean racial genocide! All their babies would be born white and the black race would go extinct!”
“Exactly,” I said. I turned my head to Levar, concerned for him, “but Levar…did you sleep with Urethra McPizzle?”
“Gosh, I don’t know Brent…” Levar replied sincerely, scratching his head.
“You don’t know? You wouldn’t remember?”
“Well…” he explained, “every year the local Popeyes has a Black History Month special, 50% off all menu prices. When I drive by I just feel this…this pulling inside me, Brent. The best way I can describe it is like, you know how Galapagos turtles return to the same island every year to mate? No matter where they are, they all get the same urge at the exact same time to return to the exact same island. The turtles don’t know why, or what they’re doing. They just feel compelled. It’s mother nature calling them, deep inside. That’s how I felt Brent. I stopped at the Popeyes earlier this year. I felt like I really needed to go to the restroom and the next thing I know I…I blacked out.”
“You blacked out?”
“Yeah. I just blacked out.”
“Levar, if you had sex with Urethra McPizzle while you were blacking out in the Popeyes bathroom, that means you could have fathered her baby!”
“I’m really a father?” Levar asked, a tiny spark of pride in his voice.
Urethra lurched over. “Don’t be getting no ideas, you cracka ass Oreo muthafucka!”
Levar was undeterred.
“I will gladly help raise our daughter, Urethra. I’m a responsible man and I-“
“HA! I ain’t lettin’ you see yo daughter! If you start bein’ all up in her life and tha courts know dat, I don’t get no child support checks! And dat be a shame too, cause I ain’t expect dis baby daddy to be makin’ millions like you do, shiiiii! I be RICH!”
Levar’s stomach turned as he gazed upon the heaping black Urethra, who began whooping and twerking once more.
“Brent,” Levar bemoaned, unflinching as Urethra bent over in front of him and twerked against his crotch, “this is awful! I’m so ashamed! My daughter! My nest egg! Everything has gone to hell in a handbasket, Brent! What do I do?”
“Run,” I told him.
“Run away? That doesn’t feel right. My daughter-“
“Run,” I repeated, “trust me on this one. Run back home and I’ll be in touch on what you need to do next. Don’t have any contact with Urethra.”
“Okay, I trust you Brent…I don’t run as fast now though, ever since I started making all this money from my stable job. Unless I see a spider in my house or something. Then I just lose it, it’s crazy.”
“That doesn’t matter. Just run as fast as you can. We’ll make this better. I’ll be online later,” I paused, realizing I was so concerned with helping my best friend that I had forgotten about myself, “but first, untie me from this rope please?”
“Sure thing, buddy.”
With great relief, and some residual unease for Levar Burton and profound grief for our dear fellow man Fifty Cent, I am otherwise happy to report that myself and the rest of our men are free from our untanglements, and safe. We will be holding a memorial service for Fitty on the Church of Gail.
I will keep you updated on our friend Levar. With my medical and legal expertise, I am confident that I can keep Levar from unfairly owing Urethra any child support.
Thank you so much for your love and support, my dear. I am so lucky to have such an awesome and beautiful wife.
(Email to my men on Nov. 28, 2020) Here is an email I sent 4 months ago where I redefined what is a Loree McBride Jesuit. If this law was enforced, we could have possibly saved both Sean Connery and Fifty Cent, because Urethra would have been executed as a Loree McBride Jesuit before she could carry out her murders. The ONLY THING I ADDED to Sect. 14 was this: “and Loree McBride Jesuits can also be defined as anyone who has willingly and knowingly worked with Loree McBride or the Jesuits in the past, present or future and/or would be willing to kill for money, power or sex (this can be determined by scans).”
Actually, I don’t blame this on you all, but on Donald Trump. After all, he is the President and should have issued an executive order that all of my Conspiracy Law be enforced. Now, that I am the President I will issue that executive order: All of my Conspiracy Law is to be enforced and I task the military with this job. They need to start with the most recent updates to my Conspiracy Law and then work back. https://gabriellechana.blog/2018/05/07/gails-latest-updates-to-conspiracy-law/
Obviously, any laws that contradict later laws would be modified or annulled to be in conformity to later laws. To honor Rule 13, who will be heading up the military with Sergey Shoygu, here is the symbol for our military forces: https://gabriellechana.files.wordpress.com/2020/11/swastika-and-star-of-david-for-rule-13.jpg
The Final Solution is to execute all Satan worshipers. I have stated this MANY TIMES. Now, that I’m President, this is an EXECUTIVE ORDER and I task our military with the job.
Also, check out this update to my post about 13: https://gabriellechana.blog/2020/11/21/rule-13-appointed-u-s-deputy-secretary-of-defense/
I am hoping we get a lot of Jews in our military. They are the best fighters!