Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Dudes, wait a freaking hour . . .
"Dudes, wait a freaking hour . . ."
Like Hemingway now. Bang. Bang. Bang. Wait an hour till reading my Blog. It's automatic. My mortality cannot type that swiftly. I'm being mercurial--fast but erratic. Wait an hour till you read my published Blogs--okay. Wait. Saint Joseph--Mirror of Patience. But me: Happy. Happy you guys are reading and spying. A hater wants to hate, a thief wants to steal, and a wise man wants to merge with the light. We are all characters in a story, but get a grip on your pen. Okay, wait till I edit my mercurial speed, and I don't even read The Flash comic books.
Rattle your own cage; you belong in it
"Rattle your own cage; you belong in it"
Never tell me the odds--a smuggler instructs artificial intelligence gone golden. And they worship that gleaming calf, till a Prophet like Ezekiel comes along. Always takes a prophet, never appreciated in their own time, but I know no prophets, for who can spot the light when the darkness comprehends it not? 2nd LAW, and things will not change. Entropy. Possibly. Gleaming and total purification of awesomeness. Purgative step being the first step in: P + I = U. Ask Saint John of the Cross, Mr. Science. Gotta mortify the senses, as did King George's physician; otherwise, feed the monkey.
They swing on the Cross @ Calvary. Scratch their hairy beards. Stupefied in glaring at the Cross, as if no comprehension, or not a bit of hope in that beyond the banana peel, which fools foolishly slip on. Why not be a child?
Shut your face woman. Nothing worse than a big-mouthed woman. Mother Angelica had no big mouth. Back @ the REAL Catholic school, the Sisters would enter, and the Priests would meekly sit in the lowest places with humility, fearing the Gom Jabbar of it all, knowing spice during burial preserves. A woman in inviolate white, always appearing on the 13th, and they say Catholics hate women, and that Nuns get Priests their coffee. I was there dudes. Even my Monsignor was terrified of their intuition and empathy--high class and solidly chaste. But not big-mouthed. Do as My Son says. Women don't have a hairy scrotum; thus, they should not envy. Wear white like Emily Dickinson, but black, to absorb the negativity.
Don't make the neurologically-challenged sign fraudulent documents lawfully illegal. Don't walk with a straight spine forged from personal pride and put your feet on the General's desk. Don't flash your grill, those gold teeth credentials. A wild dog could rip your throat out, or just piss on your reptilian toenails.
And to think, the POLICE lost Sting, that allegorical Wasp and his infecting Totem.
I leave you with Saint Francis--no wussy, neither was the bullwhip-carrying Christ, for Saint Francis, having spent a year in the Crusades, and next to Vietnam, the cruelest of Wars; regardless, as he asks of the SOURCE: "Where there is darkness, let me put light. Where there is sadness, let me put joy. Doubt, faith. Despair, hope. And may I not be understood, but may I understand." Only in Christ's Name can you ask, or it is an eternity in the vacuous dirt-nap.
Kooky Lucy Frost (6)
"Kooky Lucy Frost (6)"
Lucy did diligently dash home to praise Pap--
The old bibliopole having an Orthodox prayer book in his lap;
Plus, a smoldering piece of dancing cherry and ash,
Looking like a dandy old timer, having had a good IRA; thus, he had some cash;
However, this was TOTALLY about her today,
For she felt the cyanic communication of the Socratic probe thieve her away from utter dismay;
Indeed, she was a stale fruitcake, getting older--though no longer bound,
Like an adopted, aged hound with deaf and neurotic tics can still grow to hear harmonious sound;
Hence, Lucy told Pap about her Christ-like awakening--
That so many people are more than orgasms faking,
And while not to be dirty or impolite,
But better than smashing windows on college campuses due to Freedom of Speech--a RIGHT.
Kooky Lucy Frost (5)
"Kooky Lucy Frost (5)"
Lucy got her blood-work done, as if it was like espionage or something, skulking into a physician's personal house, where his laboratory consisted of a fake or real skeleton, medical equipment, a living room turned into an examining room, and a Rembrandt, depicting Christ on the boat during the frightening storm--she got the idea, but broke away from immediate intuition, getting the creeps; then, calmly breathed, relaxing as the house was clean, the doctor clean-cut, not even a bit of monkey shadow, and his coat was an immaculate white with many objects placed within a pocket, and she wondered if he was going to poke her with any of them. Anyway, after sitting on the examining room table, he asked which arm she wanted the blood drawn from, and she said the left; thus, he withdrew two vials; next, carefully placed them away while she just sat there like a dork, not knowing what to do at that particular point. Then, they started a little conversation.
DOCTOR
My shrink friend has some suspicions about you. Do you mind if I ask a few questions?
LUCY
Sure--I guess, I mean.
DOCTOR
No need for panic madame. But for your entire life have people repeated mantras to you? Telling you you're this way or that way? That things which you sincerely know happened in your personal history, they would insist to you that they didn't happen? That you don't deserve? Or were relationships with males always about them mocking you behind your back, yet they kept repeating they loved you? Did people put mantras into your mind, always trying to influence you against your natural, inborn instincts?
LUCY
Her forest green eyes swirled in weirdness, and as she blew a bit of dirty blonde out of her eyes, she realized this man was clean and honest, most-likely trying to help, and that he was exactly right. Her whole life people had been assholes save Pap, or influenced those she loved to not love her, if they were like her, and that's why her Mom went away--she just knew. Damn Doctor--I think you made me realize something. And the answer to your question is a definite yes. So, do I go now and see my shrink, uh, I mean my psychiatrist tomorrow for the results?
He nodded his head, and kooky Lucy Frost bolted with live-action, knowing most of the world was one fat, hairy, ugly, and unacceptable prick.
Monday, May 29, 2017
Kooky Lucy Frost (4)
"Kooky Lucy Frost (4)"
Beyond the back of the wall, having sat like the protective cowboy Shane and Han Solo, Lucy Frost was invited into the psychiatrist's office, him an older, scholarly-looking man, like a cerebral intellectual from Barney Miller, loving the underground, and not totally trusting the government, unless Harry S. Truman was back in office, and Lucy figured the S. stood for just S; anyway, she entered, ignored the Freudian couch, sitting face to face; next, admitted her internal, kooky lunatic-fringe concerning germs and obese guys making their own gravy; thus, it got quicksand deep--like this:
DOCTOR
You have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics, many Social Phobias, and are an uncanny example of yourself, in that you are gifted, but realize it not.
LUCY
What on Earth do you mean?
DOCTOR
Like the Double Helix of DNA, not of this Earth--neither are you, completely. I'm going to write you a note--do not tell anybody you're going, and I want you to see this physician friend of mine and get your blood-work done. Like I said, don't tell anyone, or the shadow government will be there before you, and put an implant in; moreover, read the Illuminatus! Trilogy.
LUCY
What on Earth?
DOCTOR
Just do as I say. And your mental disabilities are actually a gift. I surmise you might have a weakened immune system; thus, the OCD is being a protective shield of sorts; furthermore, while innate possibilities are possible, so is everything, as energy is transferable. Don't let negative thoughts inside--trust your intuition, and feel no guilt--the Cross takes away all the guilt, even if you smacked a Nun with a vibrator. It hangs in the National Library of Congress, the Nazarene description of Jesus by Pilate, yet they smear the surfer Jesus, and make him wear blue jeans, but I like blue jeans.
LUCY
What on Earth?
DOCTOR
Come back in a day, after your blood-work is done; at that time, I will offer you more. And get your Orthodox ass to eat the Body of Christ.
LUCY
How did you know I was Orthodox?
DOCTOR
The shadow government told me before you entered, but I piss pleasantly on them, fearing no angel, jinn, giant, but only God Himself. And what is fear of God? It is hatred. Hatred of pride, arrogance, and false testimony.
LUCY
What on Earth? Where did you go to school?
DOCTOR
University of Phoenix--of course . . .
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Vietnam: The 80's Truth Lingers
"Vietnam: The 80's Truth Lingers"
I'm no VET. Hell, I'm just a fruitcake redneck born Yankee. Still, as an adolescent in the 1980's, I spoke to many Green Berets who fought in NAM, camped with them, smoked Pall Malls with them, and had them chariot me to Catholic school, such as a Sergeant Major, him never letting himself get promoted to a commission, for officers get people killed, and that was not his job. He said, the best thing in NAM was a hot shower and shave.
Approximately 58,000 killed. I asked my Serbian Pap what that was about. He said: "Population control." Took all the black kids from the ghetto, and the white hillbillies not able to get into college; specifically, wasted the undesirables.
The Sergeant told me many stories as he let me smoke cigarettes in his house. Said air support would lift your ass up 6 feet off the ground, when the bombs hit nearby. What the hell were we doing fighting a Nation without high-dollar economics, though trained in the art of Sun Tzu? Numbers and size don't matter porn girls, for it is spirit and frequency.
These kids, slaughtered for mammon, and tortured for an old bitch gone in the teeth, yet having done nothing wrong but be born poor and supposedly uneducated, when a true erudite is an autodidact like Hemingway, Vidal, and so on. Don't look like you're stupendously stupid, or they will try to kill you, but God Bless America, for She will Free you in the End with a soft disclosure.
Like Rh negatives treated as schizos and such, when it is a higher vibration, and try to get a decent blood transfusion if you have that uncommon blood. Love the government, or hate them; regardless, we must survive and spread Christ's News, Him taking the LAW up a notch.
God Bless the VETS, whether surviving or not, for this life is not the last, and many are at the next level, interrupting for the solace of the wretched.
Dogs: Reward System
"Dogs: Reward System"
Dogs work on the reward system. Canines were always curious about man. Throw it a bone; next, it helps you hunt and gather; plus, offers loyal companionship and protection. Kick it, or lock it in a cage--it might bite the hand that feeds.
Watching EWTN's Latin Mass, I heard the Priest deliver a pretty decent Homily; then, he commented on a certain family having a dog that they believed was almost human, but it chewed a squirrel or other small mammal to death, and this is proof that their essence of being is weaker than ours, but I say no, for many dogs are more domesticated than man, and we as people eat strangled meat and unclean food, though Jesus said: "It's not what goes into your mouth that defiles you, but what comes out of it." But I bet He never ate a pork chop, unless it was protected by sea salt, pepper, and rosemary. Plus, he cast demons into swine. Curious.
And as for man being obese, unhealthy, and totally gluttonous--the fox condemns the trap, not himself, as William Blake would point out, him having breakfast with angels every morning. He was a morning guy.
We are what we are. And while energy cannot be merely created, it can be transferred, as somewhat goes the First Law of Thermodynamics, and this might be how Jesus was from the Father (the Source)--a transference of energy into the Virgin Mary's inviolate womb. Like the Litany of the Sacred Heart says: "Heart of Jesus, formed by the Holy Spirit in the Womb of the Virgin Mary, and Heart of Jesus, Source of ALL consolation." So go out and get you some of that Sacred Heart, a Heart passed from the Father, Holy Spirit, and Mother--to a Super-Symmetrical Son, obedient even unto death.
And don't make love tough by bullying, or you'll craft a monster. Offer the reward system, transferring your energy into another's newborn solace for dandy deeds done.
Saturday, May 27, 2017
Kooky Lucy Frost (3)
"Kooky Lucy Frost (3)"
Kooky Lucy Frost and Cleveland had to make an exodus from the Big Bird yellow apartment complex. And why do they call them apartments when they put them together, as the watermelon-smashing comedian probed? Anyway, her deceased mother's father, her Serbian Pap dubbed Dragic Bradovic, let her move in with him, for he had great empathy and intuition, like a woman, being keen on the non-canonized Gospel of Thomas.
Lucy didn't own much besides her comic books from the Carter Era; plus, of course--Cleveland, her loyal canine pal. And Pap (Dragic) liked animals, never eating one that was strangled, but he boiled his pork chops in a ton of extra-virgin olive oil, along with rosemary, salt, and black pepper--never having had a stomach ache in his entire life; plus, he'd eat whole onions like a normal person does an apple. Dragic had many phobias and concerns as well; thus, understood why Lucy had quit her job and morphed into a reclusive and impoverished little girl, though she was 39 years of age, but always a little girl to Dragic, her Pap.
After settling into his modest habitat, he told her, as she had no health insurance, that he was going to send her to a psychiatrist, not a clinical psychologist. He said he was happy to pay; furthermore, added: "A clinical psychologist will tell you to be King Kong; however, some people are Godzilla; thus, trust only God, let Him be your power source. And when you see the psychiatrist, don't make any eye contact with the patients in the waiting room. There could be meek social phobic types, or raging psychotics, or both. Just be like the cowboy Shane, sit at the back of the waiting room against the wall, never having another behind you. Understand?"
Lucy gave Cleveland a heavy stroke of love; next, said: "Thanks Pap--you're the best."
He stated: "If you had only known your mother, for she was better than me."
Lucy dropped her head, trying to remember, and held back many a tear.
Kooky Lucy Frost (2)
"Kooky Lucy Frost (2)"
Lucy Frost had just bagged groceries for a man making his own gravy during this unusually hot day in the city of Buffalo; specifically, his armpits were lathered in hairy sweat; plus, his forehead was toxically smeared in bubbly beads of grotesque grossness, and he had a set of paws demonically dripping in microscopic germ juice; therefore, as she pushed his cart out to his car, ignoring his small talk concerning the price of silver possibly going up, she had no conscious clarity or true lucid sense concerning reality, only thinking he could lather a bird cooked in the oven with all his man sweat.
As soon as her duty ended, she dashed into the lady's room, and immediately smelled the odor of a stale bowel movement recently flushed, puked in the sink, washed her hands in the second sink, and put Purell up her nostrils and on her washed hands; plus, went all the way up to her elbows with the sanitizing product; next, decided she could get a new job, and ran the hell out of the grocery store, jogging swiftly back to her Big Bird yellow apartment complex, where she entered her apartment by way of opening the door with her shirt tail; then, stripped naked, carefully putting her clothes in the washer, and jumped into the shower, scalding herself to precious purity.
Cleveland, the Sheltie, was used to such furious drive concerning his master's need to glisten, and simply waited for his best pal to be all fresh and minty, a place where Kooky Lucy Frost could find solace, and actually be a real human being, from time to time.
Friday, May 26, 2017
Becka--email me; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries
"Becka--email me; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries"
Ginger. Ruby. Scarlet. Cherry. Wine-colored, and your lips are wine; moreover, I want to get drunk with moderation upon your kisses. Not screw. Don't work @ HOME DEPOT. LOVEMAKE, and all the sins taken away by tears upon a foot not kicked by a Virgin--a heel never wounded, but victory, as is the 2nd Law of Thermodynamics, never ceasing to change.
You're not cottage cheese in the rump. Not sinned into by activity spied by big brother, yet seen by God, Him truly Big Brother. Hell, I've photographed myself naked, for cameras enlarge things.
First earliest pics of Jews in Egypt were of blondes and red-heads. Jesus a Nazarene--from the North of it ALL. The Son of David LIVES forever.
Yes, I understand weirdness. Met a coyote once--the only time I ever called the cops. Its eyes, into me, a few inches away. Second unto the Great Spirit. Bizarre, and teaching through weirdly arcane humor. Misunderstood, yet loyal. The Fool Card, as is the Book of Tobit. A white dog and man dancing, knowing he has all the tools, but no common sense, and I can prove my lack of clarity, yet angelic symmetry wending against the monster of misinformation--enuff.
Email me Becka--you have my business card with my last wife on back--she's Italian and so hairy I used to call her Chewbacca. I've seen yeast infections up close and personal. I've braved a doomed cavity of intercourse, where discharge was delinquent. Just weird and friendly. A dog. A tame dog, but they swarm me like bees with their untruths, as Saint Francis says: "Don't let me be understood, but let me understand." A FOOL for Christ. And what is better than love and matter taking up space and having the mass of kissing a truthful ass? A true friend--to the end. A barber, a monk, a grocery store clerk, and a confessor willing to drink the piss of love for a truthful tradition's sake. Email me.
And as it is Friday, we mourn, but are comforted during the Holy Rosary, knowing the Cross is not the Omega, but just the beginning of a fourth dimensional self.
Kooky Lucy Frost
"Kooky Lucy Frost"
Way up yonder in Buffalo, where all they had was the resonating pigskin memories of Doug Flutie running the best bootleg in NFL history, plenty of snow, too much really, and some considered it the armpit of the world, but most know that the armpit is actually Cleveland, and kooky Lucy Frost had a Shetland Sheepdog; specifically, a Sheltie named Cleveland, for she liked the Browns over the Bills, having a weird fascination with a wild-hued orange and all its digestive deliciousness concerning abdominal chakras.
Lucy Frost was a thirty-something dirty blonde with forest green eyes, so pathetically single, living in a modest apartment complex colored Big Bird yellow, and she was a bag girl at the grocery store, where hand sanitizing was the order of the day, after funky folk that made their own nasal cavity gravy checked out, making her handle the contaminated merchandise; thus, like a metaphorical, phobic cowboy, she always had two bottles of aloe-kissed Purell in each pocket, compulsively cleansing after all the toxic gravy that came in contact with her Levite-lathered hands, and she was't even Jewish, but was well aware that a sneeze can travel thirty feet.
She pondered dating, but kissing a guy after a romantic dinner always meant tasting the remnants of his shrimp linguine. Yeah, Lucy Frost figured life was hopeless, and she was so old school that she carried a pocket watch and never used the Internet, entertaining herself with 1970's Marvel Comics and the occasional jog through her urban geography--her Sheltie dubbed Cleveland loyally at her heels. He was her best pal.
Thursday, May 25, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (9)
"Grizzly Hynrid (9)"
Johnny Starvation
Put away his crossbow without Elvis' thrusting, hip-like gyration,
Like a Pomsky named Quicksand, so soft and sweet;
Next, he inhaled the breath of God, giving the Pomsky a non-GMO treat;
Moreover, listened to Trixie, exiting his house,
Where the Grizzly Hybrid stood monstrously with a mystical ferocity--so unlike a meek mouse--
It growled, stomped, and showed sheer power,
Yet Johnny Starvation knew the Bible; hence, sought and stood like a high-tower,
Making eye contact and a pineal friend,
Though keeping his distance, as the disturbance of entropy has the 2nd Law, which is end;
Specifically, no change;
Thus, the two neighbors would honor but not penetrate that of each others' range--
As it will be in the Omega,
When Thermodynamics cages contagion and lets the light amaze ya.
Civil War: A Modern Myth
"Civil War: A Modern Myth"
The only myth about the word myth--is that it is called myth. Look at the BIBLE, EPIC OF GILGAMESH, the NORDIC SAGAS--where we would be without them concerning Ancient Astronaut Theory and all? Just me blabbering.
Anyway, during the American Civil War, there were approximately 620,000 casualties, and we're erasing these men's souls, whether good or bad. I'm from the North, and we don't talk about it much up yonder, until we get anchored deep down in the hot passion of the blistering South, where it is like a Roman religion. And though I'm a General Grant fan; plus, like Colonel Tecumseh Sherman's holy fire approach in war, in the sense that he was baptized by a Dominican Priest, the word Dominican meaning: Domini Canes in Latin, which translates to Hound of the Lord, and much metaphysical talk has been brought up in pulp fiction that he was a werewolf of sorts, his nickname being Cump.
Nevertheless, Lincoln pardoned General Lee, the Silver Fox, and men like these died in our most horrific and gore-smeared war, when our country was almost torn apart. Hence, why erase history?
The Irish fought for themselves. The Scottish did. Saint Joan of Arc led France as a mystic adolescent. The Patriots against King George's madness using thuggish guerrilla warfare, and yet myriads of Yankee men died to free the slaves, and nobody cares, while they didn't even fight for themselves.
You turn on television and everybody is African-American or homosexual--it's like: Kill the straight white man! Who constructed this country? And at approximately only 12.9 percent African-American today, it wasn't them, but again--erasing history.
Hell, I voted for Obama and drank the Kool-Aid, thinking all the impoverished would get health care, instead America was transformed into a Hollywood Party.
And now there is nothing but division. Over what? A white man in office. So what. Are we supposed to hate the white man? I used to like STAR WARS, and still revisit the original trilogy, but soon they'll resurrect Han Solo as a lesbian or something, and make Greedo transgender. What the hell is going on? And Lando is my second favorite character--Billy Dee RULES!!!
We can't forget our history, or we'll be doomed to repeat it. As Pope Francis recently said of the End Times, kinda/sorta: "There is no more irony or fiction about it."
Saturday, May 20, 2017
The ill and elderly are NOT a burden!
"The ill and elderly are NOT a burden!"
Before my last wife hooked up with a teenage boy and gave me the boot, she said: "You've just been so sick all the time." The night my hands turned blue, as if they had neon ink on them, and a half-pint of blood came out of me, she screamed in a panic; next, drug me across the house, and lifted me up into bed. I was on about 20 pills daily at that point, before the infusion therapy every 8 weeks for years.
When they had to give me a blood transfusion, as I had less than half the blood in my body, and Wikipedia says nobody with UC has ever gotten a blood transfusion, the nurses were all laughing at me as I was chronically crapping blood all over the place. One nurse told me to just give up and die.
I wonder why it took them over 20 hours to get my Rh negative blood, and why I was given so little? They wouldn't let me leave until my blood count was normal, but hell, I just walked out at 117 pounds, put my hands on my stomach, and said: "God, help me." That was 16 years ago.
When a veteran loses a limb, some family members quit their jobs and become their caretakers, their cooks, their physical therapists, their preachers, their solace and peace. But most people throw the sick and elderly away. I've been in nursing homes, seen thuggish caretakers, and listened as a nurse called a guy's hairy rectum the Holy Grail, and all the other nurses and physicians cackled at this poor man going into surgery. That's why I always like to continually remind these spoon fed, quasi-scientists: "Physician and nurse error is a leading cause of death in America, killing more people than gun violence, crack-cocaine, and chain-smoking combined each year." But with Bush League schools on every corner, what can we expect?
My point: Don't listen to your ego and have WANT of the golden calf. Sure, protect yourself economically, but listen to the beat of a Mother's Sacred Heart, and do as Her Son commands. Take care of the poor, sick, ugly, detested, maligned, and don't just run from battle and have pride in yourself, for you are nothing without God having forged you into existence. Unless your father is the devil--the father of lies and murder, as Christ told many a Rabbi.
And the rich man arrogantly comes to Christ--Christ always drawing on the Earth with his finger like an old-fashioned Quarterback, and the rich man says: "I have totally followed all the commandments baby--what else do I do to inherit Heaven?"
Jesus said: "Give to the poor, and come follow Me." The rich man went away, stupefied, and Jesus didn't go after him. Curious.
Friday, May 19, 2017
Grocery Store; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries
"Grocery Store; plus, Sorrowful Mysteries"
In a world, and as Jesus said: "The devil is the prince of this world." Well, in this world, the government offers many folks insidious population control, mind control, hidden secrets, and other forms of bologna, like covering up satellite images proving the most impossible story: "Noah's Ark."
Anyway, as I go to the grocery store, shaking with phobias; however, acting like Clint Eastwood, before I run out and sanitize myself and wash all the canned goods, I see this man sometimes, a little man, approximately only five foot even, and he walks with a limp, but has a dandy mustache and nice wire-rimmed glasses that aren't in style for those worshiping the golden calf. I dream of him being bullied, made fun of, yet getting up every morning, being brave, and doing his shopping, loving God, and probably loving his mother's adoring heart, her, most-likely, having mercy and prayers for her deformed son. I love that man.
Having meditated upon the Sorrowful Mysteries today through the Rosary, I feel guilty during the suffering in the garden, the scourging at the pillar, the crowning with thorns; next, I help Christ carry the Cross instead of Simon, knowing it is my duty to give Him praise and thanks for His sacrifice; moreover, during the Crucifixion mystery, I know many think God has forsaken Him, as He might have mentioned, but as the Author of Life writes the story of us all, there have to be good guys and bad guys. We must forgive them; we must forgive ourselves. We are all vehicles sculpted by passengers who wish to manipulate us--it seems, sometimes, But the Author of Life is the Editor, and has the final word. All we can do is praise Him, and suffer next to Christ. For the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (8)
"Grizzly Hybrid (8)"
The conversation between Trixie and Johnny Starvation continued onward in his modest habitat within the shifting, geographical nature of a mystic Montana. Quicksand, the pantheistic Pomsky, though unlike Spinoza, believing the Multiverse actually gave a damn, was outside milking the Moon with yelps, hoping to attract a mouse for a coyote's pounce. Here we go:
TRIXIE
Mr. Starvation, a Kodiak is like a subspecies, covered in lore and mistaken science, dubbed Ursus arctos middendorffi, it is a bit of a brown bear, but shamans see them as standing 12 feet tall, carrying healing properties, if a willing subject is prepared for pineal telepathy; moreover, they teach herb lore. Once, all I ate for an entire year was salmon and berries--the salmon gave me protein, but the berries got me a bit chubby--I had to walk a stair-master for 3 months to lose my cottage cheese buttocks.
JOHNNY STARVATION
I'm sorry about you getting a fat ass and all, but what does this have to do with me?
TRIXIE
You're half Mohawk; plus, half Serbian Orthodox--you're an intrinsic mystic--if you allow yourself.
JOHNNY STARVATION
I just want to watch 1970's comedy from the Carter Era, laugh, raise my vibrations and frequencies, and be a dude.
TRIXIE
You must transcend being a mere dude, boy.
Monday, May 15, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (7)
"Grizzly Hybrid (7)"
Trixie, Quicksand, and Johnny Starvation were back @ Johnny's little shanty in southern, yet northern, Montana. They were sitting on the floor, since Johnny Starvation had no furniture, Indian Style, and the conversation did sweetly spark, but not before Quicksand, the phenomenal Pomsky got a non-GMO biscuit.
TRIXIE
You'd better watch as many Tony Curtis movies as you can. All he was worried about in his youth was wearing tight, leather pants; next, he made mystical movies--Tony Curtis is the shit, in a sublime sense of not stinking, but coming out, and smelling like a dozen roses.
JOHNNY STARVATION
What are you talking about woman?
TRIXIE
The shoe fits for those that love the American Indian, or part of them, like you. And part Orthodox as you also are--I know these things; plus, Grizzly Hybrids are not out to kill, but protect their property, and their property is you, Mr. Starvation.
JOHNNY STARVATION
All I know is that God is the only God, but He has family, and that family can be invoked, super-position itself, and assist me; thus, why do I need Tony Curtis?
TRIXIE
Everybody needs history, and every metaphor for life can be examined in a full season of Barney Miller episodes, as Captain Miller was the fairest of the fair.
JOHNNY STARVATION
And to think, I've been watching Sanford and Son for all these years.
TRIXIE
There is noble metaphor in that too--if you understand the metaphysics of the character Bubba.
Quicksand gave a howl at the Milk Moon outside.
Sunday, May 14, 2017
Virgin Mother's Day
"Virgin Mother's Day"
She said: "Do as My Son says." Yet we do not. Thus, the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone, as it was with Joseph and David. The Rabbis of His time did not understand, for like Faulkner and Pynchon, Jesus spoke in code--so that only the chosen would understand, and they call these parables, while modern man spins the cotton candy Jesus, forgetting Him whipping them like Indiana Jones, and kicking over their false gods--money. My Jesus is no wimp, but the bravest of the brave, and how do you inherit Valhalla if you're a Viking?--by bravery.
Rasputin, the Mad Monk, saw the Virgin Mary, as the story goes. God's Work is a mystery, sometimes using dark forces for gain, as it was with Job, just to prove that the LIGHT is smarter and stronger. They poisoned Rasputin, shot him in the head, and threw him in frozen water, yet he would not die. Jesus was rejected, and this is why we say in the Litany of Saint Joseph: "Solace of the wretched."
Regardless, as Reagan gave us soft disclosure years ago, Carter unable to persuade Bush (then Head of the CIA) after the peanut farmer's sighting of a craft, we should thank Reagan for giving George a few cocktails, and that sounds like a dirty word.
My point--Jesus' Words: "You shall drink poison and not die; furthermore, you shall pick up reptiles."
As in The Brothers Karamazov, we have the Orthodox Monk Alyosha dealing with 3 brothers: A sensualist, an intellectual, and a cunning bastard child--he perseveres through faith and mystical encounters of the Virgin Mary and Jesus at the Wedding. Russia needs to come home to Mother Church, for Adamkind needs all the help it can get.
But Americans are crazier than the Irish. If we'd forget worship of status and the dollar, we'd be invulnerable.
And as it is the 100 year Anniversary of Fatima, I tell my true Mother, the Virgin: "Happy Mother's Day." She can be your mother too. All you have to do is HONOR Her.
Saturday, May 13, 2017
Notary Fraud
"Notary Fraud"
My mother, born of, more or less, a Serbian immigrant, him--son of Dragan Radulovic, was investigated by the FBI for two weeks, locked in a basement at the Rand Corporation, where she could only read magazines; moreover--she is Rh negative, like me, and became a Head Secretary to the Vice President, meeting all the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
She never gave up her oath. Not even when my Grandma pestered her about crafts in the sky. And I witnessed that she was a devout Catholic, read paranormal books, and watched those types of movies. When I was a young adolescent, suffering from night terrors and sleep paralysis; plus, insomnia, I told her those books were bullshit--she said: "Wait till they come into your room at night." And they have been, since I was stillborn and have been on my deathbed numerous times, poisoned by gregariously Satanic girls during my adolescence, and they put sugar in the gas tanks of the blondes I liked--there is more, but I must make haste, though Alexander Pope mentioned: "Don't be swift, but wise."
My Mom is a true patriot. Red, white, and blue!!! Never missed a Mass or a Vote. But easily manipulated. They misdiagnosed her, on purpose, in my opinion, with Alzheimer's Stage 4 almost six years ago, and she still talks to me everyday, though nobody else in the family has said more than a few mere words to her, or showered, bathed, brushed, washed, nurtured, loved, fed, or gotten the Eucharist for her, save me.
Put on Haldol--five a day; plus, five Xanax a day, and Haldol kills people will Lewy Body Disease (Dementia), she was taken to a Notary, carried in by me; next, I was told to stand outside, while she, under the influence of disease, anti-psychotics, and narcotics, signed numerous Notary Documents, which is Notary Fraud. Two attorneys and a Bush League Cop in Alabama know about this. When I was four years old, this cop used to knock me down by throwing pillows at me, swing me by the feet, and torture me with a scary mask, while I was urinating blood, under surgery, couldn't vocally speak, and had been incubated for weeks previously. There is no statute of limitations on child abuse.
He too, almost drove my mother to suicide. She had to get on benzos to deal with his pride, arrogance, and false testimony against her. A real man, who cried when his big, arrogant mouth had three guys chase him home, and he was woefully weeping for his Daddy, the patriarch, sitting on the toilet and evacuating his big ass bowels--what a life I've lived, and I love it, almost having died numerous times, and if you're Rh negative--it takes them many hours to find your blood for a transfusion.
But I don't care. I'm pissed like Joan of Arc, humbled like Christ, and don't want to be understood like Saint Francis' prayer.
They teach you to lie in Law School, especially if it is a Bush League Law School. I don't care Saint Peter, for I will persevere to the end. And thanks to my Serbian Pap and all my Russian, French, and other European readers, putting me in the tens of thousands, which means myriads of readers.
As the criminally insane Ezra did ode:
There died a myriad,
And of the best among them--
For an old bitch gone in the teeth,
For a botched civilization.
* * * *
God Bless America, and let Her be True again . . .
FATIMA, 100 YEARS: Fair Warning
"FATIMA, 100 YEARS: Fair Warning"
For many American Indians, as all of us born in this country are Native Americans, the Coyote is second unto the Great Spirit--with a weird sense of humor, like the Arch-Angel, Saint Raphael, loving a man who washed compulsively, buried the dead, and had an angel dog--the Fool Card.
Being sick can be a great blessing; it can make you do penance. It can bring you closer to Almighty God. If you align yourself with Him, believe, and have no fear in giving; next, all is well--either way. And as Saint Raphael has a sense of humor--me too. The difference between a cactus and a Mercedes: "With a Mercedes, the prick is on the inside." Food out of the poor man's starving mouth. You are not the car you drive; you are not the job you have; specifically, you are how you treat people.
Pray the Rosary everyday, like a childish Peter Pan, believing. Pray for those in hell; indeed, visit the incarcerated as commanded.
And love your mother. King Solomon kinda/sorta wends against the Oedipus Complex, as did Jesus, always running away from the Mother to find His Father, until Calvary, when He says: "Behold your Mother." King Solomon further stating: "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old." These guys smoked more cigars than Freud, if ya hear me.
So, may we know the Virgin Mary's Sacred Heat. A Mother's Heart, giving Her Son Her last dollar no matter what the circumstance. There is nothing tough about a Mother's Love--that's what makes it so strong and determined--pure LIGHT.
I wish people loved my mother--even more than me. That would be a great honor to her, as today on the FATIMA Anniversary, we celebrate and honor the Virgin's Sacred Heart, passed onto a potently Brave Son, Him picking up the bill for all those that believe and follow.
"Christ, party of twelve--your table is ready."
Grizzly Hybrid (6)
"Grizzly Hybrid (6)"
Trixie explained to Johnny Starvation that he had to have ken
In order to capture the metaphorical Zen;
Indeed, the Grizzly Hybrid was not a misanthrope--
As are those that prosecute people with neurological problems who smoke the hemp rope;
Alas, Johnny Starvation led Quicksand, the animated and playful Pomsky away,
Knowing: Killing an animal is only useful for food or defense in a honorary way;
Thus, he became luminously lucid concerning a mutation's need
To grow benign and benevolent; therefore, he would spread the wondrous wise of a word,
So that sweet solace for the wretched would not be diabolically disturbed.
Friday, May 12, 2017
Wheaten Terrier Express
"Wheaten Terrier Express"
This is old Mark David King and the Wheaten Terrier Express; moreover, I'm talking to anybody who's listening. I ain't saying I've experienced everything, but like I was telling my last wife to stop dressing like a Drag Queen and putting her son in lascivious positions, or how Grandma told me that my incubated, nearly stillborn ass was visited by two men in black suits, and the Virgin Mary never lived next door, but gossips driving spouses to find John Barleycorn and attempt a harvested resurrection of self-worth--just remember, if you've had a taste of getting smacked around cause your blood may not have monkey proteins, just tell those forked-tongued demons from Walmart that the check is in the mail. Have you paid your dues Mark? Yes sir--the check is in the mail.
God Bless Jack Burton.
Thursday, May 11, 2017
OUR FATHER
"OUR FATHER"
Christ, the greatest of all the Rabbinical Sons of Men, said: "The Father already knows what you're thinking; hence, say this prayer." Which is the OUR FATHER.
As a Catholic, I know that King Solomon hinted at your brother being your adversary--just look at Joseph and his older brothers' envy over his coat, or little Kind David, the shepherd boy at first, and how his older brothers tormented him.
Jew, Christian, Muslim--brothers, yet adversaries. Even the Koran agrees with Jesus--God already knows every thought in your head; therefore, He is truly Big Brother--not the government.
And when you get to the difficult part: "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us." Just remember William Blake's mystical words: "The fox condemns the trap, not himself."
Indeed, a thief's job is to steal. A whore's job is to drive her husband crazy. A murderer's job is to kill you. A Wheaten Terrier's job is to be insanely in love with weirdness. A Saint's job is to be mutilated. A Confessor's job is to spill the beans. We are what we are. Jesus is the Author of Life, and He invented the hamburger before Ronald McDonald. So, just know: Yes, people want to hurt you. And yes, even some, may want to help you.
Tuesday, May 9, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (5)
"Grizzly Hybrid (5)"
Trixie
Was a bit meticulously ditzy,
For to know the fundamentals of Truth
Is to be full of fruitcake couth--
And as Johnny Carson said:
"There's only one fruitcake in the world--never dead."
So, Johnny Starvation put away his crossbow,
And Quicksand, the loyal Pomsky, made a bark get groovy with glow;
Next, Trixie said she had an illustrious plan
To save the Grizzly Hybrid, which was from an enchanted, Northern Land.
Monday, May 8, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (4)
"Grizzly Hybrid (4)"
Johnny Starvation and Quicksand spotted the Grizzly hybrid, which was a mutated-like Kodiak--it didn't look like it wanted to shake hands. Was eating some mutilated cow. Tearing it further to pieces, going deep into the exposed sternum to get at the heart of the animal.
Johnny Starvation was hiding behind a rock, like God told Moses to do, when revealing His Hindquarter to the Law-Giver. And Starvation whispered to Quicksand: "That Brown Bear doesn't appear to have any manners." The Pomsky whimpered, yet eyed the ravenous beast, believing it could take it, or at least bark at it, and run around it in circles. Descartes was wrong--dogs do have consciousness, and some even--a conscience.
Johnny Starvation lowered his 100 pound crossbow and took aim. Quicksand's ears pointed way up. Enter Trixie. Her running from a distance, shouting: "Don't kill it Johnny Starvation! Don't kill it!"
Johnny Starvation looked a bit stupefied concerning the stranger as she rushed towards Quicksand, him, and the danger of an arcane Brown Bear.
Sunday, May 7, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (3)
"Grizzly Hybrid (3)"
Johnny Starvation kinda/sorta knew--not it ALL, but the fundamentals. Do not sacrifice Liberty for Security; however, S. E. Hinton says: "That was then--this is now--lighten up, dude."
Who trusts an Ambassador to France in kite-flying, hippie sandals, and with no education, further bringing Paine's alcoholic, non-educated ass to make the Colonial Press go crazy, them printing and literally proclaiming: "Without the quill of Paine, the sword of Washington would never have sincerely swung." I"M ASKING????????
Morrison's words: "The West is the Best--it's all a bunch of bullshit."
Robert Plant jealous of WHITESNAKE's lead singer, for the dude had more matter concerning genitalia--anything that takes up space and has mass.
Johnny Starvation just needed to make himself a duplicate of Christ, Saint Paul spurting: "Be an imitator of me, as I am of Christ." The Non-Canonized Gospel of Thomas going further, making the woman into the man; the man into the woman, loving living like a child, without the pressure of the Moon's spermicidal pull--you picking up what I'm putting down? Of course not, for Johnny Starvation has an eating disorder; thus, he can't purchase a single action .44 Magnum in Montana to protect himself from Brown Bear, cause a cotton candy world of a fake, Marxist, pneumatic, black, historical, plural Dude dubbed "Jesus" dominates the headlines, yet when an Orthodox Jew uncovers HIS tomb recently, the only coverage on ABC News is that Beyonce is preggers--who gives a fucking shit!?!
Johnny Starvation loaded his 100 pound crossbow and waited for the mixed Kodiak from Justin's Canada to attack, and Canada will let in terrorists, but not the disabled, or G. Gordon Liddy, yet they forge the finest silver in the world. Oh well, King Solomon mentioned that fear of God is worth more than silver.
Johnny Starvation hugged Quicksand, the Pomsky; next, took out his crossbow like Legolas, more or less, and with his wiry frame, brought the hunt to the hunter--in Jesus' Name.
French Elections--my Yankee opinion
"French Elections--my Yankee opinion"
It's always borders, language, and culture for some; on the flip side, others prefer a mix. The axiom about the United States is: "It simply can't absorb everyone." Yet my mother's family were immigrants; at the same time, they learned the culture of their new country.
Saint Catherine and the EU flag speaks to something mystical--some say, maybe me; however, there is Saint Joan of Arc defending her homeland. We must all pray for wisdom.
Le Pen seems tough and strong. Again, we must all pray for wisdom. Wisdom is: Du Feu de Dieu, so I might say. Regardless, love the Lord, and search for truth. Dieu Merci!!!
Saturday, May 6, 2017
Friday, May 5, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (2)
"Grizzle Hybrid (2)"
Friday; thus, Sorrowful Mysteries on the Holy Beads--it always hurt Trixie. She wasn't a master of Euclidean Geometry; however, could enter the Fourth Dimension through the mystical meditations of the ivory-like, white rose. Too, lived in Bozeman, Montana--same place as Johnny Starvation, but she didn't know the wiry scrapper and mixed mutation with Rh negative, just yet; at the same time, her candle was lit before the architecture of time, and engineers only need to lay railroad tracks for Lincoln's firm, symmetrical log.
Trixie was a survivalist. Like her Great Cousin Joey in the population control of NAM--poor black kids and white hillbillies; regardless, Great Cousin Joey was a Black Beret, when it, not in French, meant: RANGER--only using a knife and barbwire behind enemy lines. Now, it is shit, but God Bless all the kids, and we all should feel special, at times--but be of not two minds, and slap yourself.
Indeed, Trixie was baptized with John's water, the best man born through a womb; plus, the fire of Christ, more like ice, if King David and Scorpios are concerned. But nobody pays attention. Trust man. Trust the 3rd leading killer of man--physicians and nurses. But never enter the Fourth Dimension, in the minimum.
Trixie too did Algebra in her sleep. She dropped out of school, but could do Algebra in her sleep, and like Joyce the Irishman, prove by Algebra that Hamlet's Ghost was kinda/sorta his actual father--more or less. Who the hell knows? All we need are the fundamentals.
Trixie ate her canned food, slept in a tent, and dreamed of Johnny Starvation's buzz cut being hunted by a Kodiak gelled with a Grizzly. She was older. Remembered when Kodiak snuff was out before Grizzly. Remembered Reagan's soft disclosure, but everyone was playing PAC-MAN. She wasn't a cougar. Had no trans-vaginal mesh. But Johnny Starvation needed a big sister. And the Author of Life would write her part, transcending prose--into a state of pure poetry.
That's everyone's, even the fallen's, greatest fear--nobody knows the Father's next move.
Thursday, May 4, 2017
Grizzly Hybrid (1)
"Grizzly Hybrid (1)"
Johnny Starvation's father was a Serbian-born immigrant, but he took the boat to the Big Apple, after a few railways, here and there, from Eastern Europe. His mother was of the Crow Tribes of Montana, which are Federally recognized; anyway, Johnny Starvation wasn't that knowledgeable of the historical axioms in Montana, though he resided there, in the southern portion, knowing it was something like: The Last Great Place, but he wasn't axiomatically positive.
He took a little funds from the government, giving it to the Great Spirit in his mind, which was the Trinity, him being an Orthodox Church believer, drinking the true Blood and eating the true Body, but had a sense of nature and animism, for the genes did hide within, Christ having said: "The Kingdom of God is within you." Again, taking from the Old Testament He first wrote, especially in the Heart of a man named David, him having said: "Bless the Lord O my soul, and all that is within me."
But Johnny Starvation wasn't pondering theology @ the moment. Too busy worried about the Brown Bear on his small portion of property, which was driving his Pomsky puppy wacko. Her name was Quicksand, and she always got into stuff, like his spaghetti or Corn Flakes. Johnny was a bit thin, but his Mom gave him a lot of milk, and he still drank 3 cups a day, not listening to Doctor Spock, and having no gastrointestinal issues. Hell, he figured he should buy some Tiger Milk off the Internet and beef up his ectomorphish frame a bit.
Anyway, they said the Grizzly had mated with a Kodiak up in Canada, wending its way down to Montana for the celebration of life. A Bear's Totem is confidence, patience, and grounding; plus, many other things. And all Johnny Starvation had was a small Pomsky and a 100 pound crossbow--the boy had to get working, if he was to live.
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Virgin Mary: Ark of the Covenant
"Virgin Mary: Ark of the Covenant"
Plenty of theological theories--Saint Helena bringing armies to investigate Israel; plus, many a Rabbi kept the secrets. Just theory. I'm a fruitcake, but here we go.
In THE LITANY OF THE BLESSED VIRGIN, She is described as the Ark of the Covenant, Tower of David, and more. Some theologians suggest that She was a Levite, the only people able to carry the Ark of the Covenant, as they were clean, washing perpetually. And the Ark held the LAW, as did the Virgin Mary hold the New LAW in Her inviolate Belly. Thus, at least metaphorically, She could be dubbed the Ark of the Covenant.
Some say She had to be a Levite mixed with the Tribe of Judah. A patriarch or matriarch describes the truth of you though. And of course, Saint Joseph was from the House of David.
But the Torah was offered to many nations, according to the college dropout Philip K. Dick, a sci-fi prophet of sorts, yet all nations rejected it, due to it allowing you to have no fun in life. Ya know: "Thou shalt not do this; thou shalt not do that." Nobody but a bunch of slaves would accept it--according to Philip K. Dick's words.
But Christ raised the LAW, saying: "Follow My Father's LAW, and Mine."
He jacked up the legality with the Beatitudes. And told people to spread His Living Flesh and Blood. And like Saint Peter in his constant anxiety freakishly asked: "Rabbi, we have given up everything to follow you--what's in it for us?"
Christ basically replied: "You will be persecuted greatly if you follow Me." And I'm sure Saint Peter's eyes got filled with more anxiety, yet Christ was kinda/sorta like: "Relax Peter, because after all the bad stuff is out of the way, you will inherit a geography with many Fathers and Mothers; plus, many Brothers and Sisters, and there shall be no contempt."
Indeed, Christ is the New LAW, yet forsakes not, but fulfills, the Old LAW. Verily, one day--Justice and Peace shall kiss.
Tuesday, May 2, 2017
King David: Seed of Jesse
"King David: Seed of Jesse"
Little brothers, like Joseph, are kinda bold in their multi-hued coats; thus, thrown to die or sold into slavery; next, shave their heads, and embrace the salacious scold of exile--you'll get more.
Little David, seed of Jesse, a little brother made fun of for being a mere shepherd, yet they said of King Saul, who stood head and shoulders above the rest: "Saul has slain his thousands; David his tens of thousands." And even though Saul attempted to kill David--David writes love poetry for his King after Saul fell on his own sword, not to be slayed by Philistines.
King David, as I read on the Internet and hear the babble of pagan shrinks, is described as bi-polar, OCD, and having other psychiatric conditions, being in a psychotic state of love for God, and God alone. He loved God more than any other; specifically, shared God's Heart.
And he does sing: "God does not chide forever against those that fear him." And he does this to reassure us, of God's love if answered, as the Virgin Mary quotes him, as does Her Son, more or less; indeed, Christ's Words are plays on the Old Testament, with a little new wine mixed in, speaking in parables, so only the chosen and called will comprehend.
King David wrote of venereal disease, loins burning, yet through the herb and mysticism, he was made healed, until freezing, more or less, to death.
Bat Sheva, or as we say: Bathsheba, was more than his lover. He assisted in the mortal destruction of her first man, Uriah, and King David paid in Aces. Absalom against him, attempting to rape a sister, his brothers pulling him off.
But through sin, endurance, but most of all--AN UNCANNY LOVE for GOD, King David is at the top of the list. Who said the meek will inherit the Earth? The metaphorical Son of David, Christ, but King David, His allegorical father said it first.
And on Saint Joseph's time of celebration in Catholicism--we sing: "The Son of David LIVES forever." And He does, for His world is not of this world.
Monday, May 1, 2017
Saint Joseph: A Soul of Silence
"Saint Joseph: A Soul of Silence"
When I enter the confessional, getting the Holy Sacrament, since it is the time of the NSA, I always probe: "Bless me Father, for I have sinned--you don't have your cell phone turned on, do you?"
I wish. I am not that comedic in social scenarios, but act like Jango Fett or Clint Eastwood; next, wash, sanitize, and evacuate my bowels in odd places--as this is me, and be yourself--if it is from the heart and pleases God, the Father, yet the Mother, in my opinion, is the inviolate Eye of the Storm, for a Mother will give Her Son Her last dollar.
Saint John of the Cross and Saint Teresa of Avila, both super-mundane mystics, though seeking this can be dangerous, for as the Southern Baptists told me, once you accept Christ--there will be a target on your back.
Anyway, Purgation; plus, Illumination = Union. A Theological Equation. Purge the Church window with cleansing; next, the Sun comes in, illuminating; then, the Church is full of LIGHT, and so are you--connected to God. And they tried to kill Saint John of the Cross, as they did Saint Joan of Arc, before Twain, in my humble opinion, had her beautified and canonized.
Saint Teresa of Avila reminds me of a bold Stevie Nicks, living in Arizona at times, and keeping her crystal visions, wisely, to herself. Yet Saint Teresa of Avila speaks of wending your way deeper into the crystal, and when you see the small reptiles, be not concerned, for even a dirty mouse gets into a clean house's box of FROSTED FLAKES.
So, as Saint Joseph was the TERROR of DEMONS and SOLACE of the WRETCHED, most likely due to Eastwood's silent and Solomon-like countenance of eye-squinting tough, or maybe not; nevertheless, his mystery is contagious, and protective. A celibate protector of Mother Church, though I argued with this due to a partial Protestant education, yet I acknowledge even the non-canonized texts, as the Four Gospels were meant for the masses, while the hidden works were meant for the uncanny in their zealous pursuit of Christ. But I'm just Jack Burton, without the 18 Wheeler, but I have a CB, and you can find me on channel 3, or 4, or even 19--listening to the truckers, still alive on the highway, before computerized-driving thieves away their jobs. But maybe we can tax computers, use no money, and be giving in life, with Health Care for ALL. Trust me sister--you don't wanna be sick, unless it is a blessing, and it can be, for we all are called to repent.
Business Man--B'dn-man
"Business Man--B'dn-man"
Of course Rh negatives are mutants, but the mighty Wolverine lives--and with Canadian government implants. I'm a fruitcake, but Saint Joan of Arc and Saint Francis--this is not thousands of years ago, but a few centuries before our time, and they have witnessed score cards; thus, get in line with the Virgin, even if She caused a Great, Cleansing Flood.
He's a fox. Or like General Grant--a coyote, second only unto the Great Spirit. Protestantism was founded on gastrointestinal issues and a singular verse, though the Spirit takes Christ up onto the mountain--Matthew 4:4, and the adder quotes scripture, malignantly--yes, the scripture can be used for iniquitous purposes, but the Living Word says: "Man lives not on bread alone, but on every word breathed from the mouth of God." It's ambiguous, but DUDE--know the fundamentals, and all is cool.
He tells my doctors that they're not physicians. That the Cowboys never won a Super Bowl. That you're the problem, cause a man saves his son on the Sabbath as the boy has fallen into a well of water that you need to drink, but we all drink the Kool-Aid, cause people that like artificial sweeteners have the worst relationships with food. And it doesn't even matter--if you make yourself like Peter Pan, boasting against a Captain who died of jock itch, and you count your money, laughing all the way to the bank, and internal ingestion, like Jabba knew, as did Dante, and Saint Peter sincerely complains: "We've given up everything--what's in it for us?" While the Eagle, Saint John laughs, knowing only exile, as he took care of the Mother, and law school teaches you how to lie, not justice like Saint Uriel, but false testimony to win, because America has forgotten the seed it sowed, and Franklin was a hippie, having no Adams-like law school and a crazy cousin; hence, an autodidact-directive towards making Independent Films; plus, Toilet of the Dead, a Japanese flick, really frightens me, but as old Jack Burton says: "What the hell."
There's enough money in America, though approximately 19 trillion in supposed debt, that EVERYONE should be covered. Health Care for the Minute Men, and trust me--I know, you don't want to be sick. Pray you're never sick. Cause if you are; next, we'll see how tough your ass thinks it is after you shit blood for near 20 years straight.
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