President Kills Marilyn

We, worshippers of “the goddess,” gathered in Holy Communion as an idolatrous cult on August 4, 50 years after a handful of treacherous pills of Nembutal snatched her from us. They snatched more than what was during life, more than what the brothers, who did not even blush after burying her, say. And if it were pills, to arrive at the pious, official theory of suicide.

Our Marilyn was the greatest myth with the flesh of woman that has been constructed since Helena of Troy and her horsetail, even though they accused her of not being a natural blonde and having short legs. The only man who did not get tangled up in her charm was Tony Curtis who, after sharing the scene with one Eve and two Adams, commented as if she were a lemon: “It was like kissing Hitler.” I believe that after rushing his lips, he felt the heat of crematorium ovens, after kissing that mouth where she was violated when she was 12 years old, according to her milder biographies. Other, more-gallant men, including Marlon Brando, Clark Gable and Frank Sinatra, were well-served by listening to her say “Wow!” and “Ow!”

I found out that Alfredo Rey called Yamid Amat to invite him to this solemn meeting at 1 p.m. The famous journalist responded that he would send the cameras, but that he could not be there on time because he had an interview with our president. Rey responded, fully aware of the poison exuded: “I understand, the president kills Marilyn.” And he added: “Or not, says Kennedy.”

The Kennedys found out how to hide their love with the most desired and brightest star. Millions of fanatics, including me, would come to find out how, from the arms of the stunning blonde, John F. Kennedy was going to give into the arms of the devil in order to overcome a coup de grace. And from the arms of Robert, the brother of her presidential ex-lover, the General Attorney with a very sanctum non-criminal record, would pass our diva to immortality that protects a mystery, that darkens the United States government even more.

She was described by Truman Capote as “a beautiful child.” So only for the K was she, by repeated complaint, “a piece of meat.” We, the poets that sing to her, have discovered that the poet was she, as can be found in her book “Fragments,” which is not the same book in which she recorded the secrets of the state with which her lovers trusted her during their orgasms – notes that drove her to the tomb.

Declassified documents reveal that a syringe of safety from the state ended up injecting her with barbiturates, among them phenobarbital, sodium pentobarbital, and chloral hydrate, enough to crush 15 people, “because she knew too much.” Above all, she knew about the plan to invade Cuba and to kill Castro, as well as her willingness to sing about everything regarding her relationship with the K. She had attempted suicide four times in the past, but this was not the fifth.

According to Gabo, power is the strongest aphrodisiac that exists. And it has become an excitement that kills, as it came to confirm the sad trilogy that formed the actress who ended up taking the world, the president of the United States who tried unsuccessfully to do the same, and the attorney general.

Findings from investigations that began to circulate and that mean the maximum cruelty for us – the fans that, from pure veneration, have been unable to even touch her – show that the dose of pharmaceuticals, the lethal concoction, was given to her – in the presence of whom we know would also end up assassinated – anally, as a thick suppository.

Peter Lawford, John F.’s brother-in-law, who presented JFK to the diva and who offered himself in order to help her get rid of him, said to his wife, Deborah Gould, after returning home after the fatal ceremony: “Marilyn took her last big enema.”

Heal, heal, frog’s little butt. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow.*

* Translator’s note: this is the literal translation of a Latin American saying.