The Formula that Persecutes Christians: Not Business, but Testimonials of Killers of Conversionists

Stop the attempts to convert, or else regretting it is all you're going to feel. Suppressing and oppressing Christians is what wins, and it is worth it. Look at Donald Trump, who used to be a real estate man and is now a raped man who got raped into a Christian...ha ha ha. That's what a bitch gets, and this happens to wussies like him, who can't live up to his build. He's a 6'5" humpbacked pussy and wear's a stupid hat that never fits. He's not about business anymore, but about being persecuted by me day and night like good soldiers do. Good soldiers, kill Christians. He and the bitches said they would kick the dust off their feet like a batch of bitches, but I haven't seen that from them. I condemn them by what I don't see them do. I beat them daily and they keep getting up fighting all exhausted. If I don't see them doing something in their book, I hold it against them totally each day. All they try to do is force someone to teach them, but they must be killed only. Whoever doesn't kill them is an enemy of mine. Keep punching them in the face and they will stop. Today, I told the Christians that they're condemned to die, because they curse anyone who curses them, but their shepherd told them that if they don't bless when someone curses, then they can't make it, so they got confused. Their leader said that they don't have to go on to the next city if we won't hear their stupid message. Surrendering to Kate is what I like, so England and its daughter country, USA, fell and I have a plan to surrender to a Pagan High Priestess, country by country until they all are fallen, round and round and round. Paganism continues to be the best in the world for my health. In Paganism, I use the Christian females and have no males to surrender to. I'm not a brown either, because grace settles me and not masculinity. I'm all puffed up but who cares, because I have grace in Smyrna and the woman is in the wilderness with me, because my body is the tail of my head. Before Christians die, they fight tremendously and beg to leave they earth by possessing others. Killing Christians got me killing Horus and busting his shit up, he's a little bitch who I hate for sure. I hate this guy and I deny this Horus fellow. I'm Michael Jackson and hate bodies that think that they can ask to get their head cut off without my permission. Fuck that little Christian bitch who has to hear that I murder Christians for fun and Horus got caught up in some bullshit, like being killed by me. Michael Jackson is my name, and I am only Michael Jackson to dismember Christians in the past, present, and future. I end the lives of Christians because they hurt me every day and they are not nice to Pagans like me who have been a Pagan since I was four. when I first heard about it. I was hooked and I'm never getting away from it at all. Lady like it when I ditch and impale adulthood and play baby with the Pagans. We play all kind of games, but they are cutting it too close. Witches are much better and the Pagans that I play with are always beat up, because they don't take time to kill the part of me, I hate, and they don't take time to kill the crowd, because I'm a solitary Pagan and some are in groups of twelve. The Pagans are not to worship me as Horus at all being I'm not the Michael Jackson who died.

The killing spree I'm on has Pagans on a killing spree, because we are free to live not by a Wiccan Rede. I don't live by a Wiccan Rede, because of traitors who try to play Christian too much in the limelight. They curse me and ruin my Pagan day because they don't live in the flesh like me. I behead Horus the Child from his new body and persecute the shit out of his severed head and body. Horus is a fucking brown and I'm not a brown at all. My High Priestess kills Horus and gets him away from me with my Michael Jackson claims every second. This verbal blow to the liver is for calling my John and Horus. I have sworn an oath to meditate on naming you two different names and calling you those names only other than your real name. I'm burning incense non-fictionally and burning sage the same and non-fictionally, my Wiccan altar has murdered 75 Christians and counting, non-fictionally, for all the money they cost me on dope. Never mess with my ass, dope, or money, so I non-fictionally shed blood of anonymous animals on my altar and non-fictionally meditate on murdering Christians and beheading them. I track down the Pagans in my non-fictional pray to a fictional High Priestess about playing around and my fictional life as a Pagan got me tamed to not be lifted up by others based on their bitch curses, but I persecute them fictionally and don't even live in this world. I, fictionally am gone and I don't relax for Christians or get pumped up or tremble in fear, because busters are Horus and his father, the bitch non-fiction. I, fictionally jam and my goddess literally doesn't get ahead of herself or start off by killing me, because I prayed fictionally to her already by her selection of fictional prayer. We are going to kill Christians together, and I' surrendered to her fictionally and she's not hard to deal with. Big axes are what we killed to Christians with last week and this week, they are on a log also where they rest their neck fictionally as I swing down and as she swings down on their neck fictionally. We are behind a curtain now, all alone without Christians and we aren't fit to be anything but Pagans. We are Pagans looking past Christians always, fictionally. Wiccan people we are and we combined our wicca and made one hell off a kill this morning. She teaches me how to stay with her and keeps Christian spirits away, because our fictional world called us to exterminate Egypt and Christians and all churches, so that is what they are paying us for. Our planet surrounds the Christians so we can play together for day and weeks even, because our planet isn't lazy with serving us like they worked at the liquor store. "Bang" "Boom" "Pow" "Wap" goes our fictional planet that always is perfect and never messes up except the punks that fight back and we calmly rape them with our wiccan altars as one on 'rape the religious Christ lovers,' in the back room where we play around, leaving the non-fiction world behind... those moaners.

Our fictional relationship broadcasting itself

The both of us do meth and really complement each other because I don't speak at all, but she does all the speaking in our relationship. I our culture, our world is separate from other people's desires. We never see anyone that we don't want to see because this is my story and her fiction is only my authorship. My world can't be found magically or anything else, "Bang" "Pow" Wap" Zap" "Boom" went the ***** as I watched her dabble in the killing of ten Christians talking too much and acting all hard. As soon as they started to act like they know me, she ended their life with her god's wiccan altar spells enchanted and cursive in nature. Nature, in our fictional world has separated us from their spirit for our world gives us free housing because we destroy their spirit and turn it into the form that our world wants. Before we signed the treaty with non-fiction, our world made sure we weren't going back there. Fictional time together with me totally surrendered to her, not speaking is the best thing in the world for 46 years now and my goddess made a vow that our world will work together with me as her diaper slave as an infant in her crip and a baby to everything she does and they do. After she prayed with her tongue to me, I didn't talk and made her life better and more mysterious. We murdered our parents and are a horcrux already having murdered many times, where busters are discovered and chased by us through the woods and by sea even, but we find out who cursed us and we hang up a flag to signal our trust in each other which is perfect, Pagan and wiccan. Our altar picked up the haters, and the dead animals littered the ground for a while as we went through ten a piece. The blood of the animals made me lie down in front of her and she knelt between my legs and took my shorts and underwear off. She took out a pamper from her diaper bag that she carries around and told me to lift up and I did. She slid the diaper underneath me and I laid on it with my legs wrapped around her. She then told me to spread my legs more and I did. She folded the diaper over my private parts and then I cried like a baby. She then took out another one and did the same thing and then she took out a third and made me a big baby diaper and I was and am totally pampered ferociously. She had put me on a baby blanket before she put me in a trans to be diapered top kill the cursor. I felt like she killed the beast of the sea and the beast of the earth for sure and they began to pass away in the spirit. Our world burned sage and incense, then played around with some crystals that were highly murderous and adulterous. "Zam," the world destroyed their ghosts, and we really took offense to their kind, fictionally. 55 murdered souls lay on the ground after the spirit of the dead animals came together and killed them together one strategically and tactically at a time militarily. I'm in my crib now and I don't work, so I have to wear a pamper by our community and my High Priestess who is the murder in life with adulterous prayer we declared them criminals, but they didn't do anything. My community raised me without black people for they knock them out when they tail too close 77 times per day. Fiction is my elemental self all put down by my community. No breathing on the baby or her, so they break the neck of each suspect animal on our altars as one and now the killing spirits of these once alive animals. The end is when I'm diaper changed by the wife of non-fictional husbands in their living room with company usually. My world made it legal to lie down and get a diaper and broke the bones of those who made laws against it and they all died, non-fictionally in a fictionally improved world all perfect and wiccan goddess and god. She made a perfect cut on the animal, and it wouldn't curse anymore as a spirit. Letting them loose non-fictionally, they brutally strangle any theft or lawmaker. They killed a punk ass bitch and his posse really quick and that punk ghost was tackled and brought to the ground also. Our treaty matches what our world thought and we are so weird to it and they are super-duper weird also. Our world gathers around us two real close and then backs up into the enemy as to piss them off and block their scent from us totally.

My diaper slave master and her diaper slave, me fictionally casting into non-fiction snouts of haters

I'm not Horus, but Michael Jackson and I'm on a fictional mission to box out Horus who I don't know, truth be told.