Opening Cantina Scene [1080p]

MATTHEW 10:34-36

   
   "MATTHEW 10:34-36"
   
   Keep reading this passage--it gets more hardcore, theologically and truthfully.  

34)  Think not that I am come to send peace on earth:  I came not to send peace, but a sword.

35)  For I am come to set a man at variance against his father, and the daughter against her mother, and the daughter in law against her mother in law.

36)  A man's foes shall be of his own household.  

Coyoting Jokes

   
   "Coyoting Jokes"
   
   Like the wily, humorous coyote, always chasing God, second unto the Great Spirit, and having stole fire from the gods to craft life--I will showcase OPP.  Here we go:

DENNIS MILLER
I want Air Marshals, for if a guy sits next to me on a plane and looks like Jeff Goldblum on a three day meth bender, something is wrong.  
What's the difference between Tom Brady and Chuck Schumer?  Tom Brady is a patriot and a winner.

CONAN O'BRIEN
If your favorite movie is the APPLE DUMPLING GANG; next, you know you have problems.

DAVID LETTERMAN
If the Navy Seals weren't able to get bin Laden, the President was gonna send in the Jersey Boys.

ARCHIE BUNKER
Jesus isn't really Jewish.  Well, on His Mother's side.  

Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)

   
   "Prison Planet; plus, a Serb (1)"
   
   Dusan was an older man.  Arctic blue eyes, a balding, symmetrical cranium with silver hair on the sides of his head, a build like Tebow from lifting steel in Pittsburgh, and a habit of protecting his neurology with charcoal-filtered cigarettes.  It was 1950, Steel City, and he was a gorgeous man.
   Dusan had a fourth grade education; however, was fluent in all the Slavic languages; moreover, knew education was enslavement.  Party--a four year vacation, joining Hellenistic frats, and the art of deception, meaning you become deceived.  Money, a distraction.  Phony education, a distraction. 
   Keep you in a state of anxiety, unless you follow the system and the prince of this world.  Seeking the flesh, ignoring the spirit, and having attachments that make you weak, like women.  Hell, look what a woman did to James Joyce, but in the end, it made him stronger and a great confessor; thus, God tests the just man, just as Dusan tested his steel.
   It's who you know.  It's how much money or corporeal favors you give them.  It's bologna.  For you must remember where you came from.  That light.  Counterpoise--a father and a mother.  That's true balance.  Yet the Second Law of Thermodynamics, and the Father and Mother infuse their child with both sides of their knowledge; next, stellar evolution ceases, for the star is perfection personified.  
   Dusan kept lifting steel.  

Conan - The Riddle of Steel

Five Haldol A Day, Rand, & Sheriff

    
   "Five Haldol A Day, Rand, & Sheriff"  
   
   Curious.  Boy, give her five Haldol a day.  Doctor Edwards diagnosed her with Alzheimer's Stage Four many years ago, ya--five Haldol a day, to kill dementia patients.  The info age.  Like Blake lived in the Age of Enlightenment; regardless, it was malicious and murder.  Hey Monica, ya fat ass, fat girls stick together, if thugs don't write your plan, you put Mom into a death facility.  And I can't pray for Mom, or speak to her?  Can't bring Priests over and giver her the Eucharist?  Just five Haldol a day, and keep her in the black?  My step-dad saying, "Don't talk to her; you totally can't get through to her demented brain."  He wants to live his life and be free, even though he took an oath--in utter sickness and hopeful health.  My Mom worked for the Rand Corporation, a higher level of FBI investigation and knowledge than any other, and she never broke her oath.
   They torment her with thug-like pseudo-caretakers that don't understand the Queen's English. They don't ask you a question, but they "axe" you a question.  No teeth.  Grills.  Dope use.  And the Sheriff lets them get away with it.
   I never threatened.  I only said I would use my magic.  An allegory.  Like this:  Joan of Arc!  Joan of Arc!  Joan of Arc!  Why can't I chant a Saint's name, but they can lock her in a dark room, and utterly neglect  her--curious?
   Based on an intruders lack of the Queen's English, they can put her in a home.  Why?  She lives for six years, diagnosed, falsely with Alzheimer's Stage Four, and the physicians said:  "The feeding tube is coming."  They've been saying it for four years--where is it?  And they cut off physical therapy two years ago. Why?  Cause they had her dead, yet she still breathes life, and laughs.  
   Phony doctors, and false testimony, because they don't want to deal.  They don't want to wash, brush, bathe, love, pray over, and enjoy a living soul.  Euthanasia is their tactic.  Good for them, Sheriff, ya milkweed.  Why would you not look at my videos, but look at my brothers--the filthy rich man?  Got you in his pocket?  And you kill a woman, allegorically, at least.  Love ya some Jesus, Bubba Cheese.

Pulling Poop: God's Work

   
   "Pulling Poop:  God's Work"
  
   Having lived with Ulcerative Colitis for over twenty years; plus, being told my colon would be out by now, and it isn't, I'm used to scatological scenarios.  And while taking care of the elderly, which is a blessing, I sometimes have to pull their firm, symmetrical Lincoln Logs out.  Has a medical student ever been five inches from the anal cavity in a state of fecal evacuation, watching as Mr. Poop slides out, the anus opening happily to detoxify a determination to live?  Nope.  Most physicians like the prestige and money--not the care; thus, they're dumb shits, not reading their journals, but flogging the bishop after an episode of the insidious Game of Thrones.  I like Sanford & Son; plus, Barney Miller reruns.  Say what you will about the peanut-farming Jimmy Carter, but during his Administration--television had true metaphors, without the rancorous raunchiness of the late Roddy Piper's kilt displaying dancing genitalia.
   So, no problem.  Everyone has got to poop.  And I thank God for assisting, for it's not gross, as gross is a frat boy eating olives out of his pseudo-brothers rectum before a cocktail is mixed; next, the world saved by a progressive education, and we all go trans-human, forsaking the Spirit.  Chief Mojo Rising is not mad, just disappointed.  
   Like Christ would mention that giving water to the poor, sick, and thirsty was actually giving water to Him, for we are all, mostly, the face of God Himself, in the Maker's image, unlike angels, who can be fallible; indeed, a Guardian Angel is so possessive it may instruct you not to run into a burning house and save children, for your face will be burned off.  Sometimes you have to argue with angels and negotiate.  Saint Francis said he always saluted a Priest before an angel, for the Priest performs the ritual of Transubstantiation.  
   Oh well, don't pity the sick--they're tough.  But pity yourself for not assisting them.  
   

Saint Francis & the leper

    
   "Saint Francis & the leper"
   
   Saint Francis was disgusted and ran away at first when God instructed him to kiss the leper.  But he got over it, obeying his Lord.  This from a guy who tamed a wolf; plus, would strip himself naked and jump into the thorn bushes if arousal hit him due to hot chicks walking down the street.  Gotta love it, definitely.  The Patron Saint of Ecology, his seed firmly sown in the fertile Earth.
   My family is disgusted by sickness, taking the approach of Dr. Jack Kevorkian, believing the sickly should be put out of their misery, one way or the other.  And Dr. Death was actually considered for Surgeon General by the Clinton Administration before they chose Joycelyn Edwards, her dumb ass wanting to teach American adolescents the proper techniques of masturbation.  You can't pray in school, but you can flog the bishop and get free condoms.  
   They neglected her for six years.  Wouldn't even let her go to her granddaughter's graduation, ashamed of her sickness.  Saint Francis kissed a leper--get over it.  They told Saint Pope John Paul the Second that if he went outside with his Parkinson's he would embarrass himself.  He told them to get over it, and that his sickness would give others hope.  
   I bled for five years, having sometimes 17 bloody bowel movements a day, my entire large intestine ulcerated and inflamed, and a nurse told me:  "I know when it's my time to go--when I lose control of my bowels."  I took care of a family and ran a household, not shedding a singular tear or questioning God.  Just kept laughing, knowing I would endure.  
   People give up.  Leave soldiers on the field to be eaten by vultures.  Cowards.  No faith in anything save their money that they manipulate the law with.  But they cannot conceal from God, nor manipulate Him.  They will face the Divine Justice System, as Spinoza referred to it.  
   And I will come into the Courts of Christ, praising Him for all of my sufferings and humiliations.  

Angry people (Michael Clayton VS Karen Crowder)

Poltroon Sheriff (1)

   
   "Poltroon Sheriff (1)"
   
   Danny knew the words of King Solomon:  "It is God's glory to conceal things; next, a King's glory to uncover them."  Danny had been stillborn, but cooked to life by incubation; moreover, dropped on his head by a step-brother, autistic, and with toddler eyes watched as that step-brother tortured his mother, causing her to contemplate suicide.  His step-father belting him, saying, "You're totally nobody.  You don't like yourself."  Plus, a headlock or two along the way, continually fed false mantras.
   The rich man doesn't want to be distracted from his riches.  Does not want to work in the fields and harvest good crops.  The sick are a burden.  Danny adored the sick and downtrodden.  Loved the underdog.  But the Sheriff was too phobic of digging deep into the truth.  Would turn a blind eye to torture and neglect.  Would allow Danny to bleed internally, due to all the stress of his youth.  Would fixate on shining his badge, as the Confederate Generals wore feathers in their caps, but wouldn't pay for the enlisted to have shoes, while Sherman and Grant dressed in dull uniforms, nurturing their enlisted men, the cornerstones of war.  
   Danny took nothing for himself, yet watched as the world got fat on the lamb.  They make Christ easy, when it is all blood and guts.  Always loving Him through the sorrow.  Thirsting for righteousness, while their pets are killed, the elderly tormented by thugs with no teeth, and they say they are helping.  The Sheriff believes the false testimony, due to lack of ethics.  Doesn't want to get his hands dirty.  Doesn't want to pick the fruit of love, because he has trepidation concerning a richer man.  Bows to the system.  Worships the false god, known as the dollar.  Let's a patriotic and devout woman be undone, for he trusts in death, not believing in light and life.
   For evil to sprout, all it needs is for a good man to do nothing.  

80's Movies and Cotton

   
   "80's Movies and Cotton"
   
   What I learned from 80's movies:  Fat girls come easy, and piss as much as you can; moreover, always marry a girl that looks like she was kicked in the face by a donkey.  Why?  Because a beautiful girl may leave you and break your heart.  But what if the ugly girl leaves you?  Who gives a damn.
   And pick your own cotton southern man.  Lazy.  Importing people, bringing them over cause you can't even work your own industry.  After Stonewall Jackson died of friendly fire, the Confederacy never won an offensive battle.  They told General Lee:  "Grant will retreat."  Lee's eyes lit up with phobic fear, him whimpering:  "Grant is not a retreating man."  
   They had no industry.  Can't make a country on selling tampons.  
   Sheriff, why would you look at the rich man's phone, but not mine?  Can a rich man not sin?  Not if he has you in his pocket.  You can't handle the truth.  Neglect.  Abuse.  And I love every minute of it.  
   Now, a pic of my Mom:  

Six Man Football

   
   "Six Man Football"
  
   They say it's still big up in Montana; anyway, my family knew this shy child, him not even able to speak until he was at the age of four; moreover, once he learned the gift of language, he didn't use it much.  So, when he put on the pads in the fourth grade, playing on dirt fields in Arkansas, where it was half African-American and half Hillbilly-American, they were astonished at his mercurial speed and skill.
   The kid was All-County Quarterback that year, scrambling continually, and running back the kick-offs--nobody could touch him, mostly.  He once had three touchdowns in a game.  And it was Iron Man football; as a result, he played Safety.  Still remembers the words of his Coach:  "Boys, it's a crispy Autumn night, and I want you to go through the other team like a hot knife through butter."
   When this anti-social punk made it to Junior High, they said he was too short to play QB; hence, the coaches put him on the corner.  All they did in Junior High was run the option.  His Defensive End always stumbled, and his job was to be blocked to the outside and let the Safety do his thing; however, the agile Cornerback didn't listen, dodging until leading with his helmet, and had an interception every game that year; thus, they let him return kicks, mostly due to his swift forty and vertical leaping ability.
   He soon became the Captain of the Defense, called the plays, returned kicks, played QB when they needed to run the option, and knocked himself out twice in one game before the Razorback Great, Kevin Scanlon lifted him up into a state of consciousness.
   Into High School with all the social aspects of the locker room, he wanted no part; still, made Special Teams, and fractured two bones.
   Yet nothing could match his Dad.  Pennsylvania's little tank.  Cigarette burns under hypnosis in the locker room for fuel; next, running it down their throats in College Ball like John Riggins.  

The Young Messiah Movie CLIP - A Son Named Jesus (2016) - Sara Lazzaro, ...

Amphibology Adal (2)

   
   "Amphibology Adal (2)"  
   
   Out in the Idaho plains, carrying her .410, not sawed off, but if she were a cowgirl--it would be, with a custom-made holster, that small scatter-gun equipped with double-barrel love-make for the dynasty of the devil's rich men, them sowing weeds among the fruits, yet Adal was positively in charge of keeping her own crop clean, not defiled by any man, and as frigid as Antarctica breaking away from its Continent status; moreover, morphing into the State of Florida--just look at Florida--it's geographically well-hung and perverted , and dirty shit happens there with them mosquitoes; plus, the little Cubans--all they want to do is dance and have sex, knowing a dictator is the order of the day for Halloween, putting a potato on your male arousal; thus, you're a dictator.  Anyway, Adal's great niece came to visit--a real tart with the heat of the American South infused into her lascivious loins, never getting enough of a modern education, where they don't climb the scholastic ladder of academia for information, yet drink Kool-Aid and go to frat parties, where the boys are always dropping X and ready to pet the panty hamster, but girls shave now, and infantile allegiance is an agenda of the Real World while the welder pipe-fits and gets no respect, yet dignity is deserved by all, especially those in the womb, dodging a pencil's insertion that wishes to iniquitously erase life,; next, they arrest due to the rich man, yet deny the non-pernicious pauper who loves to invoke Huckleberry Finn, though not listen to Tom Sawyer and throw rattlesnakes at the lovely Jim, before Robinson Crusoe made a movie franchise.  So, at her humble habitat, Adal, the 53 year old German immigrant, sat across from her great niece, Tanya, the brat pierced with perversion. 

TANYA
I was so upset when I heard River Phoenix died.

ADAL
Why?  You never had a chance with him anyway.

   The German way.  Be a bitch, and fight.  

Amphibology Adal (1)

   
   "Amphibology Adal (1)"
   
   Old Adal had learned the Pledge of Allegiance; plus, most of the Bill of Rights as a German immigrant launched into this wondrous web of woven America.  She didn't fly her old country's flag, but Betsy Ross' flag, remembering and having reflection upon the old ways, and thirteen already here, not seated at the table or born Nordic, but Fatima and the design of inviolate-white and cool-blue Dodging like an L.A. player in the outfield.
   She was 53 years of age, had a shotgun, merely a .410, but it would scatter some teeth, and make a squirrel into a pot of soup with one blast.  Living in Idaho she knew of much Native wisdom, adhering to not only the animism of true Americans, but old European folklore, of course, it gelled with the Trinity, her always chanting:  "Holy Trinity, One God--have mercy."  Knowing the Koran states not to put God next to the Gods; however, Saint Patrick's 3 leaf clover example displays it the best, for they are separated, yet ONE, the Father being the Crown; next, a 4 leaf clover, and you're talking the female phantom of luck known as the Virgin Mary.  But people have their heads in their phones, chasing robots, not knowing the SPIRIT is greater, forsaking Matthew 4:4, Christ bluntly saying:  "Man lives not on bread alone, but on every Word breathed from the mouth of God."  
   Adal was single, and she liked it that way.  Didn't want a yeast infection, or for John Barleycorn to resurrect her into a state of stupor, though she fancied the Green Knight, knowing decapitation puts Sir Gawain on an honorary quest for the totality of truth.
   Sad.  Every one has a nefarious agenda save the tradesman.  Sad.  Phony news.  Totally phony doctors.  Bush League schools.  But the welder always fits a pipe, baby.  And Adal cranked the fire, lit a cherry, and purified her lungs; next, exhaled prayers to the Father.  Her father.  And possibly yours too.  Perhaps . . .

Conan The Destroyer intro

Last supper

Birds and Baseball

   
   "Birds and Baseball"
   
   There are plenty flying phenoms as mascots in MLB.  Blue Jays that feed on eggs and can mimic the call of larger birds; plus, Cardinals that show us to take care of ourselves, yet counterpoise it with compassion for others; next, the Baltimore Oriole, 1 of 9 Oriole species in North America.
   Orioles generally are omnivores.  Their bill is aquiline, measuring to the same specs of their head, mostly.  Males generally taller than females.  Cal Ripken, Jr. could slam-dunk a basketball too; moreover, a sign that the hard times are over.  That the Sun is gonna rise on you 
   I wish they had a Grackle or a Robin.  Maybe a Raven would be nice too.  Anyway, wherever I go, I ask people:  "Do you like baseball?"  And they all explain that they enjoy going to live-action games, but ignore it on television.  I tell them to just make a hot dog and drink a beer, imagining that they're actually there.  We need to appreciate the game more.  One word:  CHARMING.  
   

Tim Tebow smacks home run in 2nd game for St. Lucie Mets

Kooky Lucy Frost (30)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (30)"
   
   The crisp foliage of Fall had fallen, crunching beneath Kooky Lucy's feet as they pounded the asphalt ballet, her jogging, slowly, with a baby bump--walking swiftly would be wiser, as anthropological records indicate this was the way of archaic man; nevertheless, fuel to the internal toddler, already ignited with a sense of consciousness blooming, eating baby crackers, very crispy, within her hardly used womb, and the Bills of Buffalo had already won a few games, though her eyes were on the Browns; plus, Cleveland, her loyal pal, at her sneakers scurrying throughout the suburban sprawl, dynamite blowing here and there, America ever expanding, forgetting to control intercourse with prayer, crafting a deluge of delinquents, college like the credit card scams of the 80's and 90's, you not even able to rent VHS Tapes without one, and the poor man has a trade, like Christ, or mops up fecal matter, and so happy to hug his children, for him--the six pack is never cold, and reality television has not yet happened, for he has a retroactive reflection of radio and crystals, being off the grid of Facebook, and in the Heart of Christ, living not to serve a dollar, but only as James T. Kirk can't believe we're still using money; however, Kooky Lucy Frost had no regrets, loving Pap, Conor, Cleveland, her growing child locked within a graced womb, and mostly God, not minding the bizarre scenarios of blood types and agendas aged and outdated, for honesty and a path less traveled offers a fresh romp and roll for a junkyard dog with a tick collar, serving him best with fresh grass to mark his turf, Mother Earth letting him know, She can absorb it, for he is rooted in a Mother's sandals, them, as clean as a virginal whistle, never wheezing, but trumpeting the prophecy of a time terrific, when there is no change, and the rainbow's promise is returned eternal; as a result, Lucy smiled inside herself, and at the other precious life she housed within.  

Celtic Woman / Chloe Agnew - ''O Holy Night''

La Santa Maria Gracias

   
   "La Santa Maria Gracias"
   
   Bovine anti-brothers are like a mouse trap's sticky stuff, adhering with sophisticated synergy.  Jesus, she says--don't speak against riches--they'll kill you.  Love ya Mom.  Portly eating disorders, swallowing aggression.  Sean Hannity is not your adversary--it's called:  COMPLEX CARBOHYDRATES.   Make a funnel cake.  Plenty of frosting boss.  He totally and sincerely had four beers Sheriff.  
   Nope, Deputy Dawg; they did a blood-test, ya milkweed.  Wake up and smell the Folgers.        
   It's called an eating disorder.  Me:  Groin Injury.  God forbid she has toe-jam.  I'll knock your teeth out boy.  Don't mess with an old man and his gun.  You're outta the house--threats.  Anxiety.  Your father hates you.  Let's drop him on his head as a baby, and punch him in the face.  Jesus loves you.
   Whale-like women of wonder-lust wandering Wendigo.  They're cannibals Jerry!!!  I should've moved to Canada and joined ALPHA FLIGHT; next, met the Shaman and Puck and Vindicator.  Hell boy, Wolverine did it.  
   Porcine poop.  How can you insert that into cottage cheese.  Jesus loves you.
   Anyway, yup, Martin Luther had an Oedipus Complex.  Had bowel issues and a superfluosity; moreover, wore the checkerboard game of dungeons and dragons; plus, loved the Virgin Mary just a little too much.
   Way to code it Pynchon, Faulkner, Jesus.  Keep them parables flowing.  Riddle me this; riddle me that.  @ the nuthouse, I like the unjust snacks.  First Amendment Babe.  It belongs to the poor man; as a result, God Bless America.  

Memories of a Green Beret

   
   "Memories of a Green Beret"
   
   He was Polish.  He was Catholic.  Still is.  Was a Sergeant Major when he retired.  They offered him a Commission after numerous Tours in Nam, but he said:  "Nope."  Officers get people killed, some say.  
   He drove me to Our Lady of Holy Souls every week.  Best days of my life.  The Virgin Mary glowing like a Tower of Ivory out front--very Gothic stuff I'm talking.  A Monsignor.  A Priest.  Sister Pauline, and my favorite, the ex-Carmelite Nun--Miss Nelson; moreover, she taught me the TRUTH about Our Virgin Mother, saying the Virgin is not to be worshiped, but honored with great reverence, as we say in the Hail Mary:  "Pray for us sinners."  We are invoking Her platinum intervention, and a true Mother will give you Her last dollar.  
   Anyway, I used to spend the night with Sergeant Major Stipsky since his son Brent and me were close pals.  We'd watch ninja movies--hey, it was the 1980's, and the original American Ninja was the stuff of legend.  He too, was an enlisted man in the movie--he worked for a living; thus, you never had to call him sir.
   Furthermore, as the movies would end, the Sergeant Major would gather us around and tell stories about Nam.  Like on how the Fourth of July Charlie threw a grenade into their campsite.  He got a Purple Heart for that, I believe.  Said his buttocks was filled with shrapnel.  Too, said nothing was better in Nam than a hot shower and shave.  Made you feel alive again after being out in the jungle--and never follow the trails.  I guess God is right:  "Take the path less traveled."
   But one night another kid was there.  A prankster type.  A Nordic kid with blonde hair and sparkly blue eyes.  He asked a horrible question.  He asked the Sergeant Major, that honorable Green Beret, if he had ever killed anybody.  The Green Beret humbly dropped his head, and said:  "Yes."
   That's a true American hero.  God Bless Sergeant Major Stipsky.  
   

27 Xanax in a week

   
   "27 Xanax in a week"
  
   Let's say the real caretaker is gone; furthermore, he's locked up in an insane asylum unjustly and an elderly woman is fed 27 Xanax in a week--that's malicious.  And they're 1 MG, baby.
   His Doc says, "They give it to her, to shut her up."
   She speaks, smiles, knows her name, her son's name, her dog's name, but jacked up on that many benzos, who the hell would know anything.  They see her as a burden, when she is a blessing.
   Does this imply they want her dead?  Just a question?  Obviously, all people who have sacrificed their lives for others know the answer.  Hence, we understand and comprehend implication.
   Paranoid and delusional.  They are.  For she and him were both supposed to be dead by now, but they liveth.  The more seeds of death they sow--the more they grow inside the planters, and their loved ones.  How will you face death?  With your money?   Or a life dedicated to Christ?  You're a daisy if you don't.  
   

What is the Truth

Kooky Lucy Frost (29)

    
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (29)"
   
   Kooky Lucy Frost and Conor went to the Orthodox Church.  They joked lovingly about the Western Rite versus the Eastern Rite, yet both knew the child must have the TRUTH of Christ.  They decided to allow their child a chance at both ways; nevertheless, they still surmised the internal wisdom that talking to a Priest would be bold and sublime action.
   The Orthodox Priest had a beard and a wife.  He didn't show up in photographs, allegorically.  He wore a collar similar to the Roman Collar, but not quite.  He was a calm, gentle, innocent, and very humble soul.  Lucy and Conor explained their situation, and he offered his two cents, like the impoverished widow who gave the Temple what would equate to a mere penny, and after being mocked by the Disciples, Christ truthfully said:  "Verily, she has given more than any other."
   "You two seem like a nice couple.  And a child raised in Christ is raised in truth.  Does a Cadillac stretch?  No, but a Mercedes bends.  That's why Christ gave everything up, for if you have nothing; next, nobody can take anything from you.  But the rich man has great fear, for he can and will lose everything.  His money is a false god.  He has sown his seed on thorny ground, having no roots with Mother Earth, and all the nature of creation."  

Kooky Lucy Frost (28)

    
    "Kooky Lucy Frost (28)"

   "Russians get no credit," Pap said.  "We're Serbs Lucy, cousins to them.  Know where you came from; plus, we're Americans--puritanical is our history.  The say D-DAY won the Second War, but nope--it was Stalingrad.  Russians lost near 30 million, and they can't change the real axioms of history.  All an adversary does is make you stronger.  Too, we have a joint space program.  And in The Brothers Karamazov the Russian bard informs us that Monks outshine Priests, for Priests put jelly on their bread, and Monks do not.  Too, Pushkin's poem about the Knight getting killed by the Turk and how the Virgin Mary gets him into Heaven--you can't even find it on the Internet."
   "What about the Irish,"  Lucy asked.
   Pap with:  "Drunk on every corner every night, and loving poetry and being the best damn storytellers.  Whereas the English merely document."
   Lucy offered:  "Conor is pure Irish, and I don't know if we should raise the baby Catholic, his way, or Orthodox, our way."
   Pap stated:  "It's basically the same, but the Russians need to sow their seed on fertile ground.  And a woman is fertile, especially a Mother of Life.  They need to return to the Virgin as Rasputin was made invincible by Her.  They poisoned him, shot him in the head, froze him in ice water, but he would not die.  So, raise your child Orthodox, but Pope Francis loves animals; thus, you can take him to Catholic Mass on Saint Francis' Feast Day."
   It's all so confusing," Lucy said.
   Pap retorted:  "Nope.  For as Plotinus told us--the simpler something is, the closer it is to God, and God is not the Author of confusion."  

acdc-tnt lyrics

Kooky Lucy Frost (27)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (27)"
  
   After years of being neglected and abused; specifically, called retarded, stupid, lazy, and all the rest, the intellectually-challenged (so to speak) Lucy Frost had engaged in the playful art of intercourse, for the singular and sublime purpose of crafting life.  Even the rejected deserve to have a sense of security and love, but so many monsters of cruel energy thieve them away into a vacuous and abysmal pit of hopelessness.  One on one are fair odds; on the contrary, a million to one is the sincere gluttony of a ravenous and ruthless pack.
   Conor didn't brag to his buddies, for he had none, only thanked God to feel another incarnate soul after forty-four years of celibacy.  The only flesh he had touched in that suffocating quicksand of protracted seclusion was Christ in the Eucharist.  God tests the just man--it is written.
   Kooky Lucy Frost skipped home, embryo ignited, and she was stardust eternal, a glimmer of God's Good Will--the Almighty adoring ALL of His creations, even the shapeless divine.  Those asymmetrical people, broken and crushed, yet so honest and sincere, only wanting to be loved.  But as the Irish, Catholic Presidency said at one point in history:  "Life is not fair."  Thus, the magnanimous might of moral men must make it so.  For the downtrodden have thirsted for righteousness long enough.
   Pap greeted Lucy at the door, noticing her wondrous radiance, intrinsically knowing she had become a woman, getting her metaphorical wings back, and redeeming her own little, lost angel.
   If you don't remember where you came from; next, you truly have no place to go.  

Big Trouble in Little China Pork chop express

Kooky Lucy Frost (26)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (26)"
   
   Kooky Lucy Frost decided to take the hint.  I'm back.  There would be no discharge on her face, or cruel and unusual engagement of sport-like intercourse; on the contrary, only a missionary love-make of non-lascivious lust, but two becoming one to produce the fruit of her broken womb.
   It was in Conor's room.  His parents were inside the house, yet this brought her comfort.  Not in a sick sense of getting caught to add to an exciting rendezvous of cool coitus, yet a shield of acquiesce, knowing his Irish, Catholic stock supported a new lineage; indeed, this was naked play in order to continue a line of two broken souls, allowing one of God's lit candles to exist, for the cruelty of life is a gift, if you see Christ next to you, suffering--ya gotta hang in there baby.
   The French kisses were not sloppy.  She noticed no boogers in Conor's nasal cavity, and he smelled like mint, and tasted like it too--fresh.  And while she experienced no euphoria, the sense of him there was pure union, and his discharge was as if not, but verily--she knew she was pregnant, and that life began before conception, ordered by something beyond our perception, this illusion of life, most merely using five senses, taking for granted the All-Creating Hand of God.  
   Conor rolled over and smiled sweetly.  She blew her dirty-blonde out of her face, painting him with a gregarious glare from a protracted glimpse by way of her forest-green eyes.  

Tony Curtis--The Manitou

   
   "Tony Curtis--The Manitou"
    
   My big brother, not Christ, but my bio-bro made me watch this movie when I was a little kid; as a result, I learned plenty, for there are no coincidences in life.
   All Tony Curtis ever desired in life, as he admitted on Letterman years back, was to wear tight pants, in order to show his junk.  Damn girl--I'm not being raunchy--this is freaking Tony Curtis, and he played in the true story of a genuine erudite with no education, dubbed:  The Great Impostor.
   The American Indian or Native American friend he had in The Manitou, that medicine and holy man, humbly stated:  "I'm just a simple man with a bag of tricks."
   Men don't carry purses anymore.  You know how much shit my Dad had in his wallet?  We all need a medicine bag.  But nobody believes.  Anti-Psychotics that paralyze, but to hell with the sea salt and lavender.  Crystals as grids.  Crystal radios with copper wire.  Nah, it's all bullshit.  The ancients were stupid.  We have Internet porn--they did not.
   My watch is still quartz powered.  My Pap's.  Animism is true, in a sense.  Not a sparrow falls from the sky that My Father doesn't know about; furthermore, Christ said to look at the flowers, and that in all of King Solomon's glory they are ornamented and clothed better than him.
   If the truth frightens you, keep drinking and escaping into adultery.  A woman's bosom will not console you like courage and admittance of truth.  The Norse people get into Valhalla by being brave, and there was none braver than Christ, hanging on a tree as did the All Father.  But I do not babble like a pagan, for God knows my every thought, and the Our Father is ALL I need.  

cult of personality lyrics

The Delta Force (1986) - Jewish Passengers Scene (2/12) | Movieclips

The Passion of The Christ - Best Scene HD

Out of Control--Christ's Way

   
   "Out of Control--Christ's Way"
   
   The Spirit led Christ up the mountain.  There, he faced the devil.  The devil said He could give Him all the women, riches, and fame of this world.  Christ said He had no use for it.  The devil departed, in a state of stupefaction; next, the angels comforted Christ, and the Disciple asked Him who He was talking to--Christ basically said:  "The prince of this world.  But he has no control over Me.  I'll do my job--I guarantee it."
   Christ healed on the Sabbath, telling them:  "If your son falls into a well on the Sabbath, you must rescue him."  He was out of control, not listening to anyone save His Father.
   Then, to teach Him a lesson, they murdered Him--the death sentence, yet Christ didn't listen.  Not even death could control him.  He rose.  No man or angel should control you and make you a robot, for God has granted you free will.  It is your duty to only fear and obey God.  Caesar has his reward, for now.   

The Passion of the Christ Raising the Cross

Freedom of Speech; plus, Freedom of Religion

    
   "Freedom of Speech; plus, Freedom of Religion"
   
   This is a real bitch for some people.  I know you guys are reading--you can't seem to get enough of crazy.  Especially the ladies in the pseudo-family.  But as Christ said:  "My family are those who do the Will of God."
   Lock Him up; He's delusional.  But they did start counting time after He defied gravity, going skywards, and beyond.
   "I am the vine, and ye are the branches--if you eat of My Body and drink of My Flesh.  Apart from Me--you can do nothing."  Doesn't sound like cotton candy to me.
   What would He always tell them after He healed them:  "Now, sin no more--or worse things will happen."
   But the six pack is cold, vacations, denial of duty, throwing down the cross and running to watch Internet porn.  You finks.  
   But don't worry.  He didn't die for you.  Only for the Chosen.  Stay out of a peasant woman's business.  She is a child of God.  You are not.  If you deny Him; He will deny you.  As it is written.  

Grant, Sherman, Nietzsche, Joyce, and Francis

   
   "Grant, Sherman, Nietzsche, Joyce, and Francis"
   
   Comprehension.  Admit the truth, or the truth will not admit you.  Believe Me, He mentioned--you do not want to meet My Father without Me.
   Sherman said he didn't understand Grant; moreover, he said Grant didn't understand himself completely, and Sherman burned the hell out of it due to the fairness of war.  
   Joyce became a slave to the imagination, rejecting Christ; at the same time, he was the ultimate humble confessor, and Catholicism was on the tip of his ink pen--every word.  
   Nietzsche said Martin Luther was the ruination of the world, and rejected his German heritage due to the heretic.  Too, he always wrote on the topic of God.
   All is not what it seems.  Christ spoke in parables and riddles so that only the Chosen would understand.  He told the Rabbis of His time:  "Your father is the devil--the father of lies and murder; specifically, he was a liar and murderer from the beginning."  Jesus is not cotton candy.  Isaiah spoke of being saved by His stripes.  Were those stripes from the Passion, or when he bull-whipped the rich men out of His Father's Temple?
   As Saint Francis prayed:  "May I not be understood, but may I understand."  

All Night Long, Baby

   
   "All Night Long, Baby"
  
   One Billion Catholics.  They're all delusional and paranoid.  My Priest and the Pope himself talk to the Virgin Mary, invoke angels, and trust in the wickedness of demons; thus, lock them up!!!
   My Priest believes that a little cracker is the Body of God; as a result, lock him up, for he's delusional.  My Priest believes that he can forgive sins.  Lock him up.  They said my colon would be gone twenty years ago--it isn't.  They said my mother would have a feeding tube six years ago--she doesn't.  I was dead at birth, yet here I am.  Lock us up.  Obedient, even unto death.
   The psychiatric nurses asked me:  "Are you suicidal?"  I boldly replied:  "Would you kill an angel-faced man such as myself?  I am radiant and gorgeous; hence, it would be stupid to kill myself, for I house another, even more gorgeous, and the chicks can't get enough.  My step-father's women want to lick my genitalia.  When they're with their husbands, they focus upon my thrusts, but I thrust not; thus, they're delusional."
   If you're not in the top fifty of Universities; next, you have what is called a Bush League education; specifically, a four year vacation of drinking, drugs, Internet porn, and debauchery.  
   I love myself.  And I know:  Domination of women; plus, crush my enemies, allegorically I'm talking baby.  
   I speak not of myself, but when two become one, oh crap, just read the Gospel of Thomas . . .

Their Bravo Sierra

   
   "Their Bravo Sierra"
   
   If they say you're paranoid and delusional, why would they let you take care of the elderly for six years?  They're at fault then.  You do a great A+ job; as a result, their eyes morph envious green, for they have no ability to truly help, and nobody is proud of them anymore.  Pride, LOL.  Rebellion against God.  
   As G. Gordon Liddy told the press upon exiting prison, quoting the sober philosopher:  "What doesn't kill you, makes you stronger."
   An educated man--what a peach.  

Robert Palmer - Addicted to Love (live)

Big Bert and Them Lanterns

   
   "Big Bert and Them Lanterns"
   
   My Bio-Mom finished the story about my Bio-Dad that Grandma (Big Bert) used to tell me, when my Patriarch confessed he was swept into a fatal attraction, her threatening:  "I'm not going to be ignored."
   She said that she was going to kill herself if he didn't leave her; next, Big Bert boldly and bluntly voiced:  "Then, let her kill herself."
   The Bio-Mother then said the Patriarch went into his car and wept.  Pap was there.  Stern and disappointed.  
   Fellas, don't let a woman with penis envy enter you.  Once those meat hooks sink deep down, you become her bitch.  King Solomon warns of the harlot with painted eyes, basically saying she will kill you.  Find the girl you dreamed of in your youth, for her bosom will bring true love--all of your days.
   And as King Solomon further mentions:  "A quarrelsome woman is like rain dripping on the roof all day long; moreover, she is olive oil in thy hands."
   Big Bert loved candles; furthermore, loved God, lighting herself up by teaching me to raise my hands like Moses.  And when your hands become tired, a true big brother like Aaron lifts them up to God for you.  

"The Karate Kid" Mr. Miyagi Confronts Sensei In Dojo

Joseph: The Dreamer (2)

   
   "Joseph:  The Dreamer (2)"
   
   How bizarre; indeed, how bizarre.  @ the loony bin, in the most strict of units, they had a sixty-three year old woman with Lewy Body Disease, not dementia--you can call it either one fake doctors; anyway, her name was Jane, nobody understood her save Joseph.
   Jane believed the head nurse to be her ex-husband, and she clearly and with precise cognizance explained to the Dreamer:  "Michael is not gay.  I thought it at first; next, I realized he was just of that age, and has prostate issues."  Joseph contemplated:  "Saw Palmetto anyone."  Moreover, he knew that contemplation and the act of "attempt" are clearly two different topics under the rules of the Queen's English.  Understand it T.J. Hooker, and clean up the streets in them blues, ya milkweed.
   The head nurse couldn't understand Jane worth a rat's ass, but Joseph explained:  "I speak neurological crazy, for I have hyperactivity of the Basal Ganglia, and go limp on a rocket's launch; also, my Bio-Dad put computers into rockets, but simply fancied himself a jock."
   The nurses would all try and make Jane laugh, but they could not.  Then, Joseph told her, injecting humor:  "My last wife called me a pecker once."
   Jane laughed for 42 minutes and 31 seconds.  Yup "God Heals" being Raphael's meaning, well, that one essence of the Divine Seven has a sense of jocularity.  Laugh, and resist not evil.  

Joseph: The Dreamer (1)

   
   "Joseph:  The Dreamer (1)"
   
   FOREWARD:  I met a prostitute on the way to this keyboard, she told me that she would do anything for fifty bucks; as a result, I told her to paint my house.  Like Alan Alda, better known as Hawkeye Pierce, well, what he mentioned about all the kids in junior high:  "Oh look, I have an audience."  Possibly, we will finish the chronicles of KOOKY LUCY FROST; however, possibly not; nevertheless, the white hat always wins in the culmination of chaos, even if only in the theater of his anti-hero mind.

DRAMATIS PERSONAE:

Joseph:  The dreaming slave.  Iron shackles wrapped around his neck; next, escorted to a psychiatric asylum.  Yet, the rejected stone becomes the cornerstone.  His older brothers were jealous of his coat, given to him by his biological father; thus, they sold him into slavery.  He aligned himself with the Egyptians.  Shaved his head and was mummified.  This Joseph too, would fall in line with the cuckoo's nest.

The Russian:  Big, bad, and mean.

The Trucker:  Jack Burton has nothing on him; at the same time, he drives the Lamb Chop Express.

   Here we go:  It takes three signatures to be locked up in an insane asylum, mostly.  Snack Time is a wondrous thing.  Riddle me this, riddle me that--Joseph likes a crazy man's snack.
   His physicians said he was only a character on Seinfeld.  That he just had neurosis.  Wasn't psychotic, but people like to torture the bizarre, as they are proud in their imaginations.  We all know how the Virgin Mary and King David said those people will fall; next, the poor man with faith will be lifted up.  Fear nothing save God.
   Joseph let the Russian put a plastic spoon to his throat, saying:  "No problem."  Moreover, the trucker covered in tattoos slept three feet away from him and went near three-hundred damn, freaking pounds.  Joseph and him became pals.  Then, the bell rang, and the nurse exclaimed:  "Snack Time."    

My Nordic Patriarch and RH Negative

   
   "My Nordic Patriarch and Rh Negative"
   
   My supposed biological brother, from Esau's people, or as he is now:  Buckwheat; anyway, he said our father had a third testicle.  His last wife let him discharge on her cruel countenance, told him she was gonna "kill herself" if she didn't leave my Bio-Mom.  My German Grandma said:  "Then let her kill herself."  Grandma took no shit, and said:  "Everybody's shit stinks Mark; thus, feel no guilt, you got Jesus."
   So, RH Negatives, according to phony doctors, you are not special--your blood is just a mutation; as a result, you are mutants.  Resist not evil; put on the armor of God.  Let it touch the light--it dies.
   Yup, Dad was Norwegian, Swedish, Irish, English; plus, maybe a hint of the Iroquois Nation--I like the Mohawks.  Nobody gives a damn about the American Indian.  They fought and were BRAVE to the culmination.  They finished the race.  The Irish fought.  We all fought.  But the simians never fought, and 620,000 dead in the non-mythical Civil War.  Can General Grant and Sherman get a Christmas Card, at the least?
   Remember that loosed coyote in NY City a few years back.  A dog.  A white man.  Dogs.  It was spotted @ the Lincoln Center and @ Grant's Tomb.  Curious.  But not.  Trust the Great Spirit.  Break bread with all people.  Become blood brothers with Christ, if you do not have the true and uncanny blood.  Transubstantiation is as real as it gets.  

Star Wars Episode II - Obi-Wan Kenobi meets Jango Fett

Six Demon Bag

Kooky Lucy Frost (25)

   
   "Kooky Lucy Frost (25)"
   
   Kooky Lucy Frost, elated by being a harvester of the crop, no longer tortured by the wicked children of the corn, instructed by the family of the Craftsman, weirdly wended her way over to Conor's place, leaving the Purell behind, but brought Cleveland.  Conor's parents were at the movies, and she wanted to make-out with him, while Cleveland watched, due to canine confirmation.
   Conor invited her in, his buzzcut showing a scalped humility, and his gold/green/blue/brown eyes glistened as the Buffalo Sunshine illuminated his already intrinsic radiant display of brightly-hued obedience; indeed, he too, would even go unto death, knowing:  Death, where is thy sting?
   Lucy and him immediately got on the couch and exchanged spit--she enjoyed it.  Not grossed out, but asked for a piece of garlic and some cinnamon; plus, distilled water--of course, he provided all three things, and she purified her oral cavity--never is wrong to keep your fists up like Moses when fighting an army of Hairy Men, but Conor was of the light.
   He told her of the supposed saliva-duct stone that no physician or dentist would remove for over a decade.  Said it was driving him crazy.  Then, he went to a physician without an appointment, as if commanded to show up, made a nuisance of himself, badgering the nurse, and they removed it before the shadow government could keep it inside.  "Funny.  "He stated.  "Funny that it was partially metallic.  If I knew then what I know now, I would ask to keep it.  A doctor cannot order you.  You're paying them; hence, you give them the orders."
   Lucy smiled.  It was all coming together, and the money of the jigsaw was now being thieved away by Christ and the American Coyote, given to Robin Hood, and shot into the pockets of the poor; indeed, many who are first shall be last, and many who are last shall be first.  

If i die young-The Band Perry (LYRICS)

Behold Your Mother, Saint John

   
   "Behold Your Mother, Saint John"
  
   Short and sweet.  They've told me not to talk to her.  Not to touch her with love or anoint her with lavender.  Not to pray over her.  Not to give her vitamins, spice, and herbs.  She was tossed out of bed, he went back to sleep, not even waking me up.  I found her at approximately 4 AM, laying on the floor, face covered in blood, with a large contusion on her forehead.  She was smiling, saying profoundly:  "Good morning Mark."
   I've asked my physician for chemical castration.  I've attempted asceticism.  Lock me up.  Castrate me.  But if you touch my mother with negativity--I'll fucking tear you to pieces.  

Notary Fraud (Part 2)

    
   "Notary Fraud (Part 2)"
   
   Snake-Face called the other night, saying:  "Lock her up, lock her up."  They all want her totally locked up, like killing a baby calf in a dark, silent room.  For nearly six years the Dishonorable Debutante has been trying to lock her up.  He won't last; moreover, she won't last.  Attorneys and cops involved in Notary Fraud.  You wait outside boy.  Me crying, not knowing, at the time.  She's not of sound mind or body, jacked up on Haldol and Xanax--it's all on film, after being diagnosed with Alzheimer's Stage 4 and medicated to the max--he drug her in there and made her sign their bushel and a peck.
   Motive, intent--gee golly Beaver.  Hope nobody save him knew about this, like attorneys or cops, or maybe the attorneys and cops were the ones with the idea?  He won't last.  He's sick and weak.  She won't last.  They won't last.  Bullying is not asking questions or protecting the sick.  Attempted murder and driving people out for the pay-off, well, that's attempted murder, and they keep attempting and attempting.  Motive.  Intent.  Follow the money.   

My Aunt, why hast thou forsaken me?

   
   "My Aunt, why hast thou forsaken me?"
   
   Kerouac's Aunt provided.  A bum in the alley; still, she believed, hoping against hopelessness, and it worked.  My Grandmother's Words:  "My daughters were ladies, until they married those two, no good Southern men."  My Bio-Dad, a college football player, letting his teammates put their cigarettes out on his back before the big games, to pump him up, like G. Gordon Liddy burning his non-shooting hand to "embrace the pain" or me setting my face on fire due to mortification of the senses, as I drank the Kool-Aid of the Messiah, and I understand the metaphor of PLANET OF THE APES.  Heston and me--SOYLENT GREEN, getting out of the bathroom @ the grocery store, where fickle and pickle are not kosher, but a swine's uncouth--do ya get me?
   My Bio-Dad put my Uncle's head in an embrace of CHOKE, as my Uncle was beating his wife; next, the Uncle got payback, by setting up a submissive lady with a salesman.  Mom said:  "He's a dud.  He sold himself to me, and it never lived up to the deal."  
   Born stillborn.  Incubation for a protracted period.  No speech till four years of age, yet I was lifted upside down, thrown on my head, and knocked down by thrown pillows; plus, my Mom contemplating suicide on the Richmond cliff with her car, all due to true BEAUTY.
   They fed Mom and me mantras since four years of age--too bad my memory is religious.  "You're too close to the boy.  He's not worth it.  He's his own worst enemy.  He's retarded.  He's bad.  You need to untie the apron strings.  Kick him out.  Dismiss him."  
   And after three years of infusion listed under chemotherapy, the Free Mason Debutante flatly said:  "Make him get a job and his own fucking place."  The boy beat his face till purple, possible neurological damage, suicidal tendencies from lack of mercy, third degree burns beneath the eye, and fourteen stitches from a beer bottle.  He's damn crazy, yet Martha Stewart is proven crooked, and still celebrated.  
   Thugs putting on violent and insidious shows in front of Lewy Body.  Talking about Lucifer.  Jesus is black with an afro.  Your son is a drug addict.  I have no teeth and smoke crack, but he's bad.  I go on to my next victim.  I wonder if prostate Kenneth and Alzheimer's Lisa will send her a Christmas Card, for I have her address.  Next, "Motherfucker" played in front of paralysis and hallucinations, making tears flow, and I simply say to the six foot three and nearly 300 pound simian:  "Please turn off that jive-turkey music."  She asked with reptilian thrust:  "What did you say?'  I repeated myself twice, and she was gonna get pissed off, but I resisted not evil, her dropping Mom in the shower, and flipping her over in the chair; plus, leaking illegal narcotics on the floor, and my step-dad accepted it, to kill his burden that he ignored--a six year vacation.  Jesus can kill, not heal.  That's what they totally say.  No miracles, only death.  Not Alzheimer's asshole, but a State of Grace, incapable of sin, and more beautiful than your snake-face that tried to suck me off.  Tell Baby Huey not to do you on the carpet, for you're a squirter.  
   My brother says his cars are worth more than their fundamental Bart Simpson at the nuclear power plant.  RH negatives face many challenges.  3.5 percent AB-; moreover, 5 percent B-; indeed, try getting a blood transfusion, as I did--it will take over 24 hours, for a mere two pints, when I had barely that in my system, knowing death, and Wikipedia says NO, those people have never had a blood transfusion--phony news, people.
   My brother says my Uncle and step-dad have black blood.  But I'm a party type of guy.  Look good in drag.  Back in the day.
   I've confessed about the watermelon.  And the Force is not with their lack of a protracted war, for he does nothing--has had a six year vacation, sipping whiskey and writing Great Tales of Courage that is false testimony.  The lust of his life, and a son that offered venomous erectile offenses.  Oh well, that's why they built hell--for the proud in their own imagination, as the Mother mentioned.  
   It's great to be young and insane.  Just trust the truth.  Lycanthropy isn't was it used to be; thus, we are making progress.