Gallimaufry Politics

   
   "Gallimaufry Politics"
   
   Badly pieced or gelled together, much like the Clinton marriage, but who am I to judge; regardless, owned by the pharmaceutical companies seems to be Mrs. Clinton; thus, no legal cannabis, which could be taxed, and overwhelmingly pay for a real health care plan for Americans.
   "The West is the best--get out here, and we'll do the rest."  A quote from Mr. Morrison, the crooner, and possibly a sufferer of urethra cancer due to numerous penile infections from nasty women hellbent on engaging him in intercourse, due to his finely chiseled corporeal features.
   And the American West is ALWAYS 1st in sublimity and knowledge.  Ya, ya, the Ivy League and all, but the North catches up afterwards; next, the American South is always last, ultimately offering a stubborn acquiesce.  
   Lynyrd Skynyrd, named after their gym teacher, obviously takes King David's advice and imbibes the herb for the service of man, as quoted in the King James Bible.  His son, Solomon, further saying in a kinda sorta way:  "Give them wine to uplift their spirits.  The downtrodden, not the healthy, need wine."  
   But who cares.  Owned by the makers of Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors, like Prozac and Paxil, Hillary Clinton will never legalize!!!  She is bought, sold, and paid for.  Bernie isn't; on the contrary, neither is Trump--they own themselves.
   Israel has like twenty strains of cannabis for the solace of those suffering, and the American West is catching up.  What does it take?  Tax Terra's green, and stop sodomizing people in the South for attemtping to get by.  Yes, people will abuse.  Screw them.  Others will use as directed, obedient unto the will of Liberty.  And don't get me started on General George and the first American flag, forged from the grass of Native Americans.  It's Biblical; it's American, and nobody gives a freaking or cautious shit.  Lock them up, probation, depression, more Prozac and Paxil, and less freedom.
   We are to be dull in this country.  Undergraduate education is a joke, especially from Bush League students.  But the system is:  get in, pay your dues, look good on paper, and that's it.  Autodidacts like Benji Franklin don't matter, yet his health advice transcends the Harvard knowledge of Dr. Oz, him being from the Land of Oz; nevertheless, there is wisdom there.  It is everywhere.  Some people need Paxil, while others don't.  It's all relative.  Just give us liberty, not bullshit.  Tax the shit, and there will be no ultra-induced psychosis, but a glee born from the Earth's sublime surface.  

Liberty's Sparkle (37)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (37)"
   
At home, in their house on wheels,
Liberty and Tom's loving synergy did like beauty feels;
Specifically, tears and trust in each other,
Both without the love of a living mother;
Still, Tom did have the Virgin Mary to invoke,
And the pure peace it brought him was no mythical joke,
Yet an azure glow of mystical sweet--
Her praying for his soul to never meet
An unkind blast into the otherworld,
But an amazing mysticism that did with vibrance swirl
Him away into the Trinity's love,
Where peace was found by the winged, white dove;
Moreover, Liberty did attend Mass with Tom,
Holding his hand in the packed pews, making him more strong,
And both becoming part of the Universal Church,
That at times was by demons besmirched,
Yet not only did a few of the hierarchy's cruelty force Galileo to feel pain,
But also Joan of Arc, Saint John of the Cross, and many other souls were stained;
However, by the stripes mentioned in Isaiah's Book--
A virgin's son would save from the arrogance of Captain Hook,
And like Peter Pan, a child does see,
Only then entering the Kingdom that is always to be;
Thus, Liberty and Tom's life did wend on
While Wanda was still wicked with a miser's con,
Yet Faye supported their wedding vows,
Something sacred, which always allows
Union forever if the fire burns true,
Like the singular eye in me and you.  

Donald Trump's hair; plus, Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton

   
   "Donald Trump's hair; plus, Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton"

   Donald Trump's hair has been searched on Google by millions, for we are obsessed with stupidity in this country.  Who cares?  The Republican Debates were held by supposedly intellectual moderators, more like tattle-tail children, asking questions concerning shoot-from-the-hip quotes, not the issues.  Thank God Bernie remained smooth and cool, Christ having said:  "Salvation comes from the Jews."
   INSIDE EDITION, a tabloid show, reported that Trump's hair is real, though some argued against this--who cares I say.  He's a handsome dude, says what he means, has an uncanny wit, and if you dig deep enough--the man has a heart.
   Hillary Dennis Rodman Clinton says cannabis as medicine only has anecdotal evidence.  What the hell is better than that?  Physician and nurse error is the 3rd leading cause of death in the States--what the hell do they know?  The axiom is:  If it makes you feel better; next, it freaking makes you feel better.  And Western schools like Berkeley will argue against heartless Hillary, a do-nothing Democrat, not giving the people what they want, like the handsome Prime Minister of Canada, Justin Trudeau is moving towards doing.  
   Oh well, kick ass Bernie.  Make a HUGE difference! 
   POST SCRIPT:  Oh yeah--Kill Whitey!  I guess this country has forgotten the two big wars that were really fought for our actual freedom, and fought mainly by white guys; moreover, all the European ancestry that originally forged this nation.  But people hate the white man.  Women want to have a scrotum, and what happened to freedom--I ask? 
   The late, great Prince probed:  "Am I black or white; am I gay or straight?"  I feel it too.  We just gotta have love and mercy, not writing people off cause we're trolls.  Unless of course you wanna be a troll--I guess that's okay too.  
   Of course I make no proper sense--just part of my bizarre charm.  

Liberty's Sparkle (36)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (36)"
   
   Faye swept Tom inside the hospital, demanding to find a Catholic priest for him--he freaking needed it, or so she felt her instincts say.  After some heavy debating with a nurse, explaining that he had just lost a child, Tom was escorted to a little chapel inside the hospital, and the priest, a wiry, little man with Larry King glasses sat down across from him near a little altar; next, the twosome engaged in conversation.

PRIEST
I'm sorry for your loss my son.

TOM
I'm not Catholic sir, not really.  I read Mark Twain's Joan of Arc before I dropped out of high school though, and it really affected me.  I learned the Hail Mary in French, and say it as often as possible.

PRIEST
Do you want to be a Catholic?

TOM
Of course.  But I get the shakes around people, especially if there are plenty of them, and going to Mass seems almost impossible.  I have a mental disorder, but my family just thinks I'm a limp and lazy dog.

PRIEST
Are you seeing a physician?

TOM
Yes sir.

PRIEST
Has it helped?

TOM
The medication makes me real sleepy, and sleep terrifies me.  I try not to do it.  Can you help me?  I think I'm evil or there is evil upon me.

PRIEST
Yes, you must become a Catholic.  And this young lady you got pregnant--are you a player, uh, I mean are you into the ladies?

TOM
No sir.  Liberty, my girlfriend--she's the only person I've had intercourse with.  I'm freaked by body fluids, but she made it real simple.  Is super nice and all.  A real charmer, in an altruistic sense.  Do you think I need an exorcism?

PRIEST
Come to my Church, Our Lady of Good Counsel; next, talk to the Monsignor there, he is a fine and compassionate man; moreover, if you attend regularly, an exorcism can be requested by the hierarchy within.

TOM
So, I am possessed?  Tom's face turning green.

PRIEST
No son--I didn't mean that.  Just get all your ducks in a row, okay.  And again, I'm sorry for your loss.

Liberty's Sparkle (35)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (35)"
   
   Liberty lost the baby--it was a bloody mess; furthermore, rushed to the emergency room, Tom having used her phone to swiftly dial 911; moreover, after she was further examined, hours upon hours, the physician told her she would no longer be able to have a child.  Liberty wept.
   Tom and Faye were chain-smoking organic tobacco products outside of the hospital, having heard all the melancholy news.  Tom saying:  "It's all my fault.  They're after me; specifically, don't wanna give me a chance."
   Faye was like:  "Hold on dude.  This could just be a test.  Chance.  Fate.  Whatever.  Don't assume."
   Tom replied sadly:  "But I see them at night.  They pin me down--they're in my mind.  I'm rotten to the core."
   Faye hugged him with pure love, consoling him with her newly found female empathy.  She burst into tears, having heard Liberty's stories about Tom's condition, and whether this was otherworldly or just a roll of the dice--it didn't matter--it sucked eggs, and they stunk.  
   Faye asked through sobs:  "What are you going to do now?"
   Tom with:  "Maybe I should leave.  Let Liberty have the trailer and just waste myself."
   Faye pushed him out of her embrace:  "That freaking girl, my best friend--she adores you sweet Tom.  Don't you dare walk away."
   Tom was like:  "But I'm pure poison.  The contagion is all around me."
   Faye screamed:  "Fight it damn't!"
   Tom lowered his head; next, he wept also.   

Liberty's Sparkle (34)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (34)"
   
   Wanda was sitting upon an opulent couch afforded by the wicked normality of her brain, sipping fancy wine, almost chewing the elegant, Italian grape, tasting the flavors of American success, knowing she was fit to survive.
   Her accountant husband next to her, a sublime nerd, fashioned after the best of men, for he had a heart of  gold, having a bit of cautious contempt for the arrogance that always fell out of his wife's bravado-breathing mouth, and he hated kissing it, always wishing her human fabric was crafted by things divine, yet she had hooked him with the bait of wanting, wanting a suburban stronghold and the ostentatious gifts of capitalism that those with weary souls could never possess, at least not in this world.
   She had been fuming over her little brother's weakness and lack of confidence, as she saw it, not knowing the mysteries of God, and that he had battled a myriad of demons since birth, being braver than the rest.  And her husband named Jacob knew the truth of Tom, of his quirky suffering--a toxicity that was sucking him into states bizarre.
   And as Wanda continued to complain about his infantile behavior, Jacob became fueled by a spirit that was holy, desiring out of sublimity, a way to help Tom.  To allow him a bit of happiness, which in this country means wealth.  So, instead of that raunchy mink coat she desired for the winter ahead, Jacob would afford Tom a gift.  A chance at survival, and a means to raise his child, knowing the young man deserved, at least, respect and honor for having been so tortured and tormented in life.
   And intoxicated to the point of stupidity, Wanda's offensive mouth offered to the Ears of God:  "I just wish that little prick would die."
   Jacob poured his ruthless wife more wine, saying:  "Yeah, all gimps deserve death."
   Wanda, so drunk off her ass, not seeing the irony, stated:  "Maybe he'll get cancer and learn a lesson or something."  

Liberty's Sparkle (33)

   
   "Liberty's Sparkle (33)"
   
   Liberty waited as Tom showered, scrubbing with green soap, washing himself by way of his own interpretation of numerology--these compulsions comforting him.
   And of course, the night terrors.  She had viewed his corporeal essence shaking randomly during sleep, as if things were pulling on him; plus, the Sleep Paralysis, where would he lay awake, yet pinned down, only able to move his eyeballs, for up to twenty minutes she witnessed this; next, Tom would gain control of his body, and with the fear of hellish heat upon him, he would ask her:  "Did you see them?  They were holding me down."
   Liberty always replied:  "It's okay Tom."  But she hadn't seen any creatures; however, she knew that all things were possible; also, that there was an infinite number of happenings in the Multiverse.
   Tom exited the shower, dressing himself in a Yoda t-shirt and pajama pants, saying he needed to take his medication and rest, asking her to call work and explain that he was a little under the weather.
   His boss at the pizza shop told her Tom was a good delivery dude, but he couldn't keep missing work.  Liberty didn't want to explain what Tom was going through, for nobody would believe it anyway, chalking it up to being lazy.
  Next, Liberty and Tom sat on the futon, Spanky there too, wagging his tail and licking Tom's unearthly anxiety and anguish away, Tom saying:  "I love you Spanky."
   "What about me?"  Liberty asked, smiling.
   Tom smiled back, replying:  "You're my greatest love save God."
   Liberty didn't feel insulted, for there was no way she could compete with the Divine Maker; thus, she put her head on Tom's shoulder, and they cranked on their antiquated black and white television set with rabbit ears, watching the local news, and all the crap that was happening in this tainted world.