Rh Negatives and Psychiatric Asylums

   
   "Rh Negatives and Psychiatric Asylums"
   
   It was hilarious when they forged false testimony and delinquent documents to lock me up--the best part, so many damn pussy cops came here, like what--I'm an army of one?  And you man in the shirt with the collar and glasses, I know your name; thus, I have power over you--never use your true name, or change the one you have, for if people know your true name; next, they have power over you.  At least some of us natural born freaks do.
   One cop, the nice one with the mustache, the only one whose dreams I'm not in, he was terrified to touch me.  Wise man.  He knew they were framing me, wanting my mother dead the moment he saw me.  Some cops are nice, like you young deputy with the red hair, driving me gently to the asylum, telling me all about your family--I like you, but your partner, well, I'm in his nightmares too. 
   Took three of them to even budge my lifeless body off the ground, an old grounding spell with a special stone in my pocket.  I told the one pig:  "Hey, you with the muscles, I'm not resisting, just gonna lay here, I'm only 120 pounds, and if I can carry my mother around, and easily, all day, your big muscles can move me."  But he couldn't budge me.  I was laughing inside.  It took another huge pig to even get me moving; next, another for my anchor.  Yup, right in front of the Virgin Mary's image and my own Rh negative mother, they carried, struggling, me out in front of an entire neighborhood observing in awe, and I was chanting the Hail Mary, in French no less, and praising Her--also in French.  Oh, my Mother knows you better than you know yourselves, for She is Queen of Heaven, Virgin most powerful, as white as snow, with ice-water in Her veins.  Wouldn't you be pissed if you watched as they murdered your son, right in front of you, having knocked His teeth out, lashed Him, mocked Him with a crown of thorns, put nails, larger than the ones at Home Depot through His four limbs; next, pierced Him with a lance, gambling for His garments, as King David did give prophesy concerning his metaphorical Son over 1,000 years before.  It's always metaphor--right?
   I'm tired now.  Just woke from a dream, and I was Popeye the Sailor Man, hanging out with the mystical Jeep.  Too, Colin Caperpickle was wiping his fecal matter off on the American Flag.  I try to protect my mother from murder, and that bastard walks free, for defiling what men died under?  You dumb pigs.  Arrest the right people, or tell your local politicians you're not enforcing unjust laws anymore, only the right ones--you filthy schmucks!  Why work for the man, when you can be the man.  The man is a dildo anyway, and his wife loves her dildo more than her husband.  What--he's the goddamn Pope?  I don't think so.  Pope Francis doesn't flash a badge to get cheap troll pussy, like you Barney Fifes that can't get it up without a gun.  I've proved my potency; moreover, my son has got some big balls.  You know why men give their wives daughters?  I do, so look into it, you low sperm count finks that can't make her squirt.  
  Anyway, I'm relaxed now.  Colin Caperpickle doesn't need to be in my dreams, you filthy media clowns.  Get his sorry afro ass off the television, or us, the people, stop watching it, and let their celebrity die.  Radio is better anyway.
  Oh well, I forgot to mention my friends in the psychiatric asylum.  They were nice people.  Even the Nordic who threatened to slit my throat.  But we became friends, after I told him thanks for being an enlisted Marine before they threw him out for being too brutal.  I told him:  "There's always redemption, brother."  Anyway, they all had hazel or blue eyes.  Freaks, mutants, circus people--my people.  I was a celebrity there.  After two days of being out, I started packing.  My step-father, the Bill Cosby of the family, putting pills in the pudding, asked me where I was going.  I said:  "To see my friends again."  They're a hell of a lot more nice in there, than you snakes running around on the streets.  Jason from Friday the 13th is a nice guy.  He just won't die.  You know why?  He was an innocent child, and people tortured him.  Tortured him because he was a sweet boy.  Loved God, his country, his mother.  And the bullies saw his innocence and hated him immediately, tearing him to pieces.  But the jokes on them.  I like Friday the 13th movies.  I always pull for Jason.  He wears the white hat, but most people can't see it.  I was born on the 13th.  The Virgin Mary's number.  Go figure.  Nah, don't worry.  It's all fake.  That's what school tells you.  But why then do I have no monkey protein, nor my mother, in our blood?  A doctor said it was a mutation.  I asked him if I was a mutant.  He said:  "No, no, that's not it."  I told him he was a shyster, saying it was it, at least scientifically, for why else would the dumb shit say I have mutations flowing through my veins like ichor--you schmuck.  God Bless America, Israel, and for all you Democrats, yeah, I like Mother Russia too.  Hell, I'm a quarter Serb, and we're cousins to the Russians.  Oh well, I guess I'll go turn on the news and watch America's new folk hero Colin Caperpickle become a national icon, while I struggle to save a dollar, and drink cheap beer, while he has millions, screws gorgeous women, drives a fancy car, and all I do is work, not seeing a dime for it.  That's my country.  And I still put my hand over my heart for the National Anthem.  Because my mother raised a pretty decent kid.  Pretty decent.  And for all you brothers who think you have it bad.  I've been thrown in jail in 3 different states.  Get over it.  Some cops are pigs, and some cops are doves.  Like everyone else on this goddamn prison planet.