Virgin Mary--the superlative Queen of Angels

   Even Jesus Himself would bluntly offer:  "You can say bad stuff about Me, but don't you dare talk bad about My Mother."  Regardless, Protestantism lasciviously lacks the sublimity of classic couth in knowing the Virgin Mary's inviolate awesomeness.
   Verily, Jesus was a demi-god; specifically, He was half God--thus, we call Him God; next, He was half human, or his Mother.  Jesus, as Occam's Razor does boldly suggest, has 50% of the exact same genetic material as His immaculate Mother.  As a result--that was Her gore and sanguine circumstance marching to Calvary and made defunct on the Cross.  And what is worse?  To die with magnanimous humility on the Cross yourself, or watch your only Son lose His precious lifebreath, succumbing to a state of physical entropy--for the moment at least?
   And all His Disciples abandoned Him that fateful day save the one He loved--John.  Yet the Virgin Queen remained intact and involved in Her Son's bizarre yet sacred life.  She was the original ascetic for Christ, alive in Him, just as He was biologically alive in Her--it was a symbiotic relationship--a soul sacredly forged for sublime purpose of redemption.  Jesus would not exist if not for the Virgin Mother.  She spawned Him into existence by way of virginal ovaries touched tenderly at the age of 14 by the Abrahamic God.  And once this proud God did so, adoring and loving the Queen of Angels, why would He allow that inviolate womb to experience the decay of Joseph's seed?  Alas, He did not, for Mary was His.  She is the symbol in the Torah stepping on the demonic head of the adversarial adder.  She is the Virgin mentioned by the Old Testament prophets, them knowing:  "And He shall have no foul in His mouth."  For it is all innate here.  The Genetic factor of Christ being a 50% duplicate of His adoring Mother.  They are the same as you are your mother and father.
   Nonetheless, only the Catholics and Orthodox respect and admire the perpetual cool of Mary.  Hell, even certain sects of Muslims praise Her more than Protestants, which goes to show you how uncool the Reformation really was, thieving away the virginal gleam of Mary, slapping Her Son, your Lord and Savior in  His beloved countenance that was the shimmering gleam of His Mother's mien; indeed, Jesus would absolutely proclaim, boldaciously so brethren:  "You can say bad stuff about me, but don't you dare talk trash about my mother."
   Most of the books I write have mystical communication with the Blessed Queen of Angels.  She is a character in Sean Hannity's Theocracy; Plus, The Virgin Mary LIVES! / My Mom Is A Cougar--NASTY! / I'm Gay, And I Hate Myself:  American Loser / Transcending Twilight:  Angels Eclipse Vampires.  Verily, she is a staple of my poetry and prose--you can check out these books here on my Amazon.Com author's page or buy some of them on Apple iTunes:  Mark David King's Books!!!
   Thus, check me out.  And in time of sorrow, attempt invoking the miraculous might of the Queen of Angels--it's the apex of mystic mojo, poetic and divine, having a mother's love, eternal . . .
   Sincerely, Mark David King

"About Britney Spears And Male Genitalia--An Anthropological Treatise" on Apple iTunes

   About Britney Spears And Male Genitalia--An Anthropological Treatise is now available on Apple iTunes, or can be ordered at Barnes and Noble.Com or Amazon.Com--here's a link:  Mark David King's Books
   This brief tale of teenage torture follows the lascivious likes of Merlin Asterchat and his younger brother simply dubbed Jelly Roll.  Merlin has just been sexually denounced by a high school tart turned insidious by way of his pathetic size underneath timid trousers; specifically, she laughed at his small, curved manpiece, blurting out descriptive details to her and Merlin's entire high school class.  Moreover, sexual news in high school travels with more mercury than even Einstein might have theorized; hence, Merlin becomes a laughing stock and scholastic exile, avoiding with due conscience the likes of anybody who might know him.
   On the flip side, Merlin's younger, pre-pubescent brother offers optimism, all in hopes of recharging his older brother's sexual batteries.  "Be who you are!  Don't be ashamed!"  Wends the advice of wise young Jelly Roll Asterchat; nonetheless, Merlin crumbles, unable to humble himself to the fact that he has a small penis.  Thus, he explodes into an adolescent runaway, unable to shake his compulsive visions of large johnsons pleasing teenage tail--something he will never be able to do.
   All in all--this is not a scandalous poetic novella, but a piece of science; alas, it is even contained within the libraries of a few schools and has been studied by a number of nutty urologists.  Jelly Roll becomes the author, penning precise pros and cons about penis size, ranking them from 3 to 9 inches, knowing anything below or above that proves to be sexual hysteria.  He uses fast cars and super hero metaphors to forge linguistic axioms about the truth of the penis--what the certain sizes can do to a woman's vagina, whether stretch a clitoris fantastic, or imp on in, culminating with the humility of premature discharge, offering the dame distress and self hate, her crying on the toilet for hours that her boyfriend is not hung like her sister's.
   Young girls who suffer from morbid obesity get all the attention--no longer!!!  Now, guys with small or curved penis' too can complain and vex about their suffering, and how they are maligned and mistreated by all the pretty girls, knowing pretty girls only pick the big johnsons.  Oh it's true, it's true; alas, Jelly Roll usurps all the madness, trumping truth with trial and error, concluding that all men, regardless of length and girth, have a chance to enslave a saucy babe with bedroom eyes.  Love always gives us a chance.  Love can complete any woman, proving the best orgasm happens in the heart--or so does young Jelly hope.
   Sincerely, Mark David King

Ulcerative Colitis: Bleeding From The Inside

   This may be in the category of too much information; nonetheless, I will tell.
   Summer has arrived; moreover, I am thunderously outta remission, suffering the sanguine circumstances of Inflammatory Bowel Disease (Ulcerative Colitis).  Futurity offers me the possibility of having my complete large intestine removed, relying on the singular function of a stretched out small intestine crafted vertical and glued to a reconstructed anus--fun.
   However, due to mental illness, social phobia merged with psychotic disorder--the fun is short lived yet still sought after.  Rolling naked on the floor, putting newspaper beneath me, attempting to have normal bowel movements as the toilet frightens me with linoleum floor possibly hexed by a passing pubic hair.
   Specifically, I can't pass stool.  Urgency, pushing; next, the gore of toilet war--blood smeared fecal matter, bursting forth with the muster of a myriad of Sherman Tanks pounding my large intestine gone bad.  Even Jesus could pass stool.  Everybody on the highways, encopassing my suburban stronghold--freaking EVERYBODY can pass stool but me.  Still, facial or genital mutilation usurps my suffering.  Verily, a large intestine that doesn't function is only trumped by a severed penis or shotgun blast to the face.  How to live when you can't shit?  Relying on the stool softening of laxatives in industrial containers prescribed by magnanimous psychiatrists because your G.I. Physican won't offer you the merciful gift of sublimity--it's all here baby.
   At least the steroids make me feel good.  An injection of rolling thunder and elatation for a number of hours before crashing, gulping down some anti-psychotics and wishing medical marijuana was legal, yet Conservatives wanting you sodomized and incarcerated if caught with marijuana in the Dirty South--these bucolic states rarely as progressive as the West--Jim Morrison giving ode:  "The West is the Best!"
   Regardless, everybody suffers, and till the Genetic Revolution when humanity will grasp godship, well until then, we are all a bunch of sons of bitches, bleeding, fucking, dieing,  I'll be naked on the garage floor, newspaper underneath my rectum, pushing, hoping more than blood leaps outta my bowels.  I love you all--and prayers galore to the worst of you.
   Oh yeah, new book:  ATOMIC GOD.  My books, like Pynchon stripped of cerebral capactiy, still, forging words outta COMPULSION, HOPING TO MERIT HEAVENWARDS.
   Buy Mark David King's Books!!!
  POST SCRIPT:  When you get a blood transfusion, feeling the B Negative souls and consciousness of spirits entering you--it's a pretty cool thing.  God Bless those who suffer from Inflammatory Bowel Disease.  And does anybody know how long you can live without a large intestine, relying completely on the small intestine crafted downwards?  And Ulcerative Colitis and Crohns are sister diseases; thus, what if my 4 colonoscopies are wrong?  How long would a small intestine last me?  2 to 4 years at best, before becoming inflamed and ulcerated.  
   But whatta 'bout you Mac?  It'll be okay.  Say your best Act of Contrition, Read The Brothers Karamazov and blast off to the Abrahamic God--YUP . . .
   Sincerely, Mark David King  Too, read Gillian Flynn's Sharp Objects

Death from Ulcerative Colitis

   I'm really concerned about my Ulcerative Colitis; specifically,  if they have to remove my complete, large intestine--that means I'll have to live the rest of my life with a rolled down small intestine, and if that goes haywire, I'm surely dead. 
   If thinking about that is not dandy; next, my Doctor wouldn't infuse me with Remicade I.V. just yet.  He put me on a super steroid, but I still can't go to the bathroom, suffering from sincere constipation for weeks--nothing evacuates my bowels but fluidic poop and bright, red blood.  I'm shrinking too.  My average weight of 170 down to 130.  I'm really scared this is it for me.  I'm mortified that I might die.

   Is there any hope for people with Ulcerative Colitis if it doesn't go into remission, ever?  I just pray to God that things work out for me and all of you who also suffer. 
    --  Mark David King  --

Baby Food For Ulcerative Colitis

   The worst thing about Ulcerative Colitis is not being able to poop--getting locked up in the bowels.  And then when you do poop--it's nothing but bright red blood.  Sanguine circumstances are common when you suffer from Ulcerative Colitis.  Went to see G.I. Doctor today.  Thought he was going to give me Remicade I.V., but he put me on a potent steroid for daily use, and only the gastrointestinal tract feels the speed-like effects of the drug; specifically, it doesn't make the brain loopy like might Prednisone.
   Ate some baby food.  Little weenies or chicken sticks that basically dissolve in your mouth; still, the nutrition label bragged of high protein.  Trying to be gentle and bland to my stomach.  
   I think about those 3 missing girls that were discovered.  It can always be worse unless you have facial distortion from an accident or insidious event.
   So, that's me today.
   - Mark -

Living with Ulcerative Colitis

   Imagine having 10 to 20 bloody bowel movements a day; moreover, imagine bleeding out of your ass so much that you've needed 2 blood transfusions in your barely 40 years--that's what I deal with every day.
   For the past 4 years I've been in moderate remission, only needing steroids twice; plus, regularly taking Asacol 850mg HD 3 times daily.  However, for the past 3 weeks I've been out of remission with much muster; specifically, I haven't had a normal bowel movement in 3 weeks!  Doctor's have me on pain medication, steroids, and Anucort HC rectal supp. . . Still, I can't stop running to the bathroom, though nothing comes out but bright red blood.  Most likely, I'll be infused with Remicade I.V. next week, something I was on for 2 years in the past, which put me into total remission.
   At my worst, I was down to 114 pounds, standing 5'9" and looking like an emaciated skeleton.  Was hospitalized for a week, having lost over half the blood in my body, needing my 1st blood transfusion--that was approximately 8 years ago, now I'm back with the same shit.  Doctors have already told me that my complete large intestine will have to be removed sometime during my life; then, they'll roll down my small intestine and connect it to my anus.  I almost had that surgery 8 years ago; fortunately, the Remicade I.V. put me into remission.  I was a fool to stop getting infused every 8 weeks, but the cost and the side effects of getting colds and lung infections all the time were too much to deal with.  I just hope I won't need another colonoscopy to scope my large intestine since I had one 4 months ago--my 4th in 40 years.
   With inflammatory bowel disease anything goes.  And you go or don't go.  Wear adult diapers for leakage, and your best pick-up line to chicks is:  "Hey babe, you like a guy who shits in his pants?"
   If that wasn't enough, I've also been diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder with Tics or the mere imagery of psychotic features.  I swallow numerous anti-psychotics daily; plus, take SSRI's.  All in all--I take around 10 pills daily; plus, the  needed I.V. treatments and rectal supp . . .  Having a psychotic episode is like being on LSD--everything is supermundane.  Hallucinations of angels, prayers to die, tunnel vision, severe agitation, and violent outbursts where I injure myself.  So what though--I guess.  We all wend through the wicked mire of illness and are haunted by specters of different kinds--the key is to stay positive through it all.  What the hell else can we do!?!  For we all are sons of bitches in some manner.
   Anyway, reading the Amanda Knox Memoir to keep my mind off of being sick, and when you get infused with Remicade I.V it takes nearly 4 hours--so it'll give me time to get to know Foxy Knoxy better.  Ya, if you think your life sux, just read what Miss Knox went through.
   That being said, make sure to read my books, at least one for crazy kicks at least.  Too, they're being made available on Apple iTunes such as WEREWOLF SLUT and TRANSCENDING TWILIGHT: ANGELS ECLIPSE VAMPIRES.  Mark David King's Books
   So, that's about it for today.  Hope everybody is well.
   Sincerely, Mark David King

Britney Spears/penis size--on Apple iTunes

"ABOUT BRITNEY SPEARS AND MALE GENITALIA--AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL TREATISE" is now available on Apple iTunes; plus, on the Nook, and in paper form on Amazon.Com, Barnes and Noble.Com; also, all Internet bookstores.  Here's a link:  BuyABOUT BRITNEY SPEARS AND MALE GENITALIA--AN ANTHROPOLOGICAL TREATISE

This near 40 page piece of sublime prose is the most scientific paper ever written on manhood size--so my non-linear psychology believes.  This is for all the pondering fellas with mind-crushing questions concerning girth or length; moreover, it discusses female, sexual sensation.  The reason I'm displaying the pic of my 16th year--this is when genitalia size first entered my deranged, yet somewhat keen mind; moreover, this is approximately when my girlfriend began cheating on me with my best friend, bragging of his lengthy shaft and its unearthly powers, which of course destroyed my confidence to ever be with another girl.  I'm 40 now; nevertheless, I've never been able to be with another girl due to my average size.

This is a true treatise in the sense that it offers all the positives and negatives about manhood size, speaking to lengths of 3 to 9 inches and how they may or may not psychologically affect the man armed with that shaft, or the woman he copulates with.  It follows two brothers, Merlin and Jelly Roll Asterchat and how they come to scientific grips about their taunted size.  Merlin actually goes mad due to girls laughing at him after an encounter with a well-stretched, buxom lass that giggled when he showed her his petite manhood.  Too, this talks about the monster packages, linguistically displaying something for everybody.

If you ever had questions about your inherited skin flute--this is the superlative text on the subject, and I've read an uncanny amount on the topic.  Too, Britney Spears is given poetic ode in the text, just for fun.  Whether you are a guy with a big, medium, or small package of pulsation--this is the ultimate guide to penis size, offering linguistic axioms using sports cars and super heroes--check it out.

Sincerely, Mark David King