There isn’t much more detail to this one, the bit about Sparky Anderson, making players have gay sex with him.
Former Detroit Tigers pitcher John Hiller‘s presence on the team made it unfavourable for black players, who didn’t want to be near him. He was a son of the Canadian branch of the Franken/Franks leadership family, nominally a son of Canadian MP John Munro, but biologically the son of Phil Marchildon, former Global Satanist Leader and pitcher for the Philadelphia A’s, whose practice of sawing off people’s faces inspired Tobe Hooper’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre.
(Given that there’s no evidence being presented here that isn’t circumstantial, this post and the others like this are exercises in hypothesizing for entertainment purposes only, whether or not the accounts presented correspond to real, not-fictional events.)
Hiller is an idiot in the afterlife, and he’s been irritating me with his says-he-can-do attitude. Virgin, incel, and he killed Gary Carter for calling out the motorcycle gang world for, basically, being afraid of girls. Judgments of others, free pass on himself.
The guy wants to be respected, wants to be considered intelliigent, doesn’t want to be dismissed as a dumb jock; apparently, the “arts” side of his family did gel with him, because he was an athlete. The arts side included Lorne Greene‘s sons, Leon Redbone and Joseph Franks. He’d hurt his pitching arm giving himself a big ol’ pat-on-the-back.
He lived alone and that was it. He took Kraft Macaroni & Cheese away from the world because he thought he could improve upon it. He was very wrong, and he needlessly eliminated the business that supported over 800,000 jobs, because he was one of these Ontario podunk dumbfucks who doesn’t know what he’s doing, and/or doesn’t give a shit because he’s so deeply steeped in Boomer self-love.
He’s also responsible for the presence of coyotes in Burlington these past several years—he dumped them in the ravine off Shoreacres Road.
I’m in a bad mood tonight. This guy’s presence is irritating. Others, too, from the Freemason motorcycle club world. I’m not pleased with these sniggering degenerates that I have to channel because I’m a medium who has to interact with dead people all day.
I lived in the Shwa for four years, Hamilton for nine. I know what their communities are like. I like a lot of the people in those places, but it takes just one person’s flatulence to ruin the entire elevator ride for everyone.
Part of the deal with Baby Boomers, I’ve channeled, is that the advice of Dr. Benjamin Spock, who suggested that parents tell their children that they are smart during the pre-operational phase, leads to children with borderline personality disorders—they have a pre-operational-self-defined idea about what “smart” is. “Smart” is, more or less, whatever they think or feel.
Forgive the nature of this rant, but I’m a person here who has been saddled with a nightmarish spiritual condition in the name of the Grand Scheme of Things, spiritually.
This is why you don’t abuse kids, spiritually, emotionally, and especialy, sexually.
The reality of things that I’ve channeled, about these things, these past few years, is this nightmarish thing to me, but, apparently, commonplace in the motorcycle club world.
