Ted Kacyznski

The most legendarily misappropriated comic book character in Massachusetts history, Ted Kacyznski was everything that a superhero was to a cop, a terrified man horrified by the potential of children’s fantasies in the mind of an intellectual that wanted fame. In the mind of a comics store owner, a common criminal to discuss as theory, lending to his power in the mind of the cop, his slave from such a contemplation.

But who was the Unabomber?

Ted Kacyznski, entered into a violent argument, after indoctrination of the MKULTRA program, at MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. At a midterm swing election, MKULTRA would activate, to take select high IQ irregulars, men and women that didn’t follow fashion cues but however achieved at school, as acid dealers. They would provide CIA field agents, as the victims of acid binges, the medication developed upon release of the program prior by CIA experimentation in the Hashbury, the Haight-Ashbury, Kacyznski never offered his chance at mental freedom.

But, the MKULTRA program offered a single way out for Ted. Its purpose, necessary upon engineering incipient, the study of the mind inside its neuroscience, from the simple act of comedy, the movement of a large shape unseen, into base elements, to produce an imprint, a medulla obloganta bowel movement. That is why Kazycnski excelled.

He pushed acid, and he created Stadler and Waldorf, Kermit the Frog and Miss Piggie, and became a permanent part of comics history, as NEC Comics’ “Red Scare” under the Tick imprint franchise, plus the subject of Commissioner Gordon during the Denny O’Neill tenure of the Batman franchise editorship, in “The Killing Joke”.

He never rambled, never seemed harsh, but something was deeply wrong with Kacyznski. He never had proper casefiles, about American justice, only cherrypicking rare cases, that resembled on the surface comics history, a standard MKULTRA media operative. Pushing American police logic, through media, not acid dealers with your wife. No, Ted, had figured out that he hadn’t been hypnotized, the common delusion of an acid dealer on a breakup.

Ted figured out, that being creative, meant being invaluable as a slave, but worthless as a corporate seller, a made up term so cops didn’t kill him for being on pot. Actually, someone that could negotiate a treaty with a foreign culture, with nobody the wiser, not a single soul, and prior busted, until a prison cell criminology meeting with a foreign stockbroker on bust for pot. That was Ted’s key.

Ted, figured out how to make journalism scripts, from a few simple tricks. Forwards Hebrew into English, a misspelled version of Goyim classics as Jewish in stereotype, and of course, his “newsletter”, a set of media advice to overseas terrorists financing the War in Afghanistan.

Within years, there were cops killing journalists, with threats for fishing hats at cheap prices, from a newspaper featuring a hat in an advertisement.

Not the intended purpose, he wanted to be a Hollywood screenwriter, viewed a low probability, but he pulled it off. Hollywood’s worst nightmare, printing the Mad Hatter, someone who thought a particular mugshot had to have a reference to pedophilia, a rapist, instead of a thief, a cop. Someone, had turned Kaczynsky, into a pedophile, in the process of his MKULTRA program.

He couldn’t tell the difference from an inmate with glasses, and himself. All inmates wear glasses in a mugshot that have contacts, and pedophiles refuse to take them off, they were struck upside the back of the head but still want to remain sexy. Pedophilia, is refusing to accept limitation, and Ted, couldn’t figure out that he couldn’t be rich, from a heated argument with an MIT military sponsor from comics, about the name “David”, being Jewish.

The MIT sponsor was named ‘Mort’ to everyone, but was actually “David”, and a Jew.

Ted was an actual spy, and a cop, an illegal combination. KGB. A college professor.

And so went the cop frame on Ted Kacyznski, cornering him in his cabin in a circled hamlet, inside a mild mannered suburb in the forests, for convincing the entire Mounted Police to bomb journalists for kid’s hats, at random. As if he could escape, the compulsion to move forward.

Acid is a funny drug. It doesn’t melt your mind or change your soul. It breaks apart, the situation you’re in on acid, even being queer, and afterwards, you reimprint, with yourself.

A deal for your soul, an odd medicine, each time returning.

We don’t know where you are out there, Ted, if you managed that last acid trip, before you went away in those cruisers. But I hope you’re happy, being a cop. I’d like to think the FBI dipped you a tab.