More Hemorrhoids

   
   "More Hemorrhoids"
   
   Why don't lawyers, not attorneys, get hemorrhoids?  Because they're perfect assholes.  Especially at a Bush League School, taught to lie and trick, when Jesus is truly Big Brother, knowing All, and seeing All--that is why He commanded to pray behind locked doors and closed windows, not being a hypocrite, praising falsely to be seen.
   My pseudo-brother, not a true family member, as he does not pursue the will of God, raising his kids atheistic, believing in the FDA, which almost killed me @ 28, if a physician wouldn't have signed off on an experimental medicine.  
   Anyway, my pseudo-brother, hating Joseph the Dreamer, said I will be kicked out of the house, when I'm disabled, and my step-dad, investigated by the ATF years ago, running guns out of the house, making my Haldol and Xanax-induced mother go to a notary, wobbling her in to sign his fortune--check into it.  
   So, my pseudo-brother takes a snot rag from his pocket, always having a cold, and attempts to wipe my Lewy Body Mom's nose, when pneumonia is their leading cause of death, mostly due to nurse neglect from not brushing, and I tell him to stop; next, he tells me to shut up loudly, and I tell him I'll kick his ass--very loudly, for he has attacked me numerous times, even as a child, though asks for my pain pills, and seduced me into giving up one for his young tail porn elation, and his wife said I looked like the devil with a mustache, so I say she has a cottage cheese ass, and my niece is a snowflake, marching against Trump, drinking the Kool-Aid, and never sees her grandma who took care of her; plus, my youngest nephew, who I personally, along with my mother took care of for years, picking him up everyday from school, but since my Mom and me are disabled--he never visits his grandma, due to his father detesting Christ, saying it's all bullshit, and nobody believes in angels, when there are one billion Catholics; plus, more religious people.  They hunt the negative blood, and I have four nipples; moreover, have laid on my deathbed, and they still continue to attack, but I will rebuke them, feeding, brushing, showering, medicating, talking to, loving, praying for, and sincerely adoring my mother, and they do absolutely nothing.  Good day ladies and germs.  
   They are coming over Friday.  If my Mom gets a cold or pneumonia--it is due to them intentionally smothering her with germs.  

Calamitous Cruel

   
   "Calamitous Cruel"
   
First, I tell my brother that Mom has fallen five years ago,
And he laughs, no surprise, since when my Dad died, he said:  "I'm relieved, for I have ego."
Next, thugs come over, torture Mom's hallucinations from Lewy Body with vile t.v.--
Her sitting and crying, while they read books on Lucifer in front of her and me;
Moreover, the thug attempts to poison my therapy dog with a peach pit,
And almost crushes the hound with a therapy chair, my Mom having a fit.
More stuff too, reserved for the day;
Alas, a new pseudo-caretaker, with a big lazy ass--buttocks decay!
Sleeps half her shift, snoring with sass,
Having no idea about genuine class--
On her cell phone loudly while getting paid by the days, 
And controlling the television's ways.
Yet when I go out of the room she turns down the t.v. rudely
To cruelly talk on her cell phone, more obnoxiously,
Yet I ask her to stop jacking up her cell phone, that rings:  "Motherfucker!"
She bitches me out; then, is consoled by a text from my sister-in-law's undercover,
While Mom and me are fighting for our lives--
And more come over that don't jive.
Just yesterday, I politely asked the new lady to take her private phone calls outside in the sunny day--
While I feed my Mom, and we watch the Dick Van Dyke show and pray.
She jumps in my face, her red dreadlocks like the devil,
Making me want to be a rebel,
For uncouth and thuggish behavior
Is inappropriate, and it doesn't favor
The sick and maligned,
And my step-dad hides away for years, out of design--
Not once feeding my Mom, knocking her out of bed, 
And I find her on the floor with a bump and blood on her head.
Like that one lady who dropped her in the shower,
Being more than a trumpet--blaring on her cell phone louder
While getting paid to hound her,
And nobody takes my mother out save me,
Or visits regularly,
And when they do it's a mix of whiskey and guns,
Armed with loud mouths and obnoxious fun,
Almost driving her to suicide when she was younger,
And torturing my childish mute, rocking me with shaking thunder.
Plus, step-dad drinks all of my medication,
And my brother asks for pills in the past for his buzzed elation.
Telling me they'll throw me out of the house,
And sister-in-law smiling, saying to put Mom away over a year ago, trapping her like a mouse.
Do they just want to shoot her in the head?
Are they mad that she's not dead?
Talk to her, play nice television, and use soothing aromatherapy--
Not dismissing her suffering by imprisoning her unearthly anxiety.
Further having taken her to a notary
On Haldol and Xanax combined,
Years ago, making her sign.
It's all sick, happening under a physician's  murderous prescription,
And a misdiagnosis without the Good Lord's permission.
Then, my brother tries to get her on another anti-psychotic to supposedly ease,
Which further kills people with dementia-related disease;
Moreover, she had breast cancer and it brings that back with a tease.
Nobody has bought her clothes in over two years,
And she sits in rags while they all disappear,
But I've spent over 4,000 dollars on her, making only a few hundred each month,
And big brother gives step-dad 10,000 dollars to further put on the crunch,
But when you have college girl porn in your house,
I guess that's the way of a loving spouse,
And my gut is killing me as is the insomnia and multiple sleep disorders;
Plus, the panic of contamination from crossing into public borders.
They laugh at me for washing off my canned foods, because that's all I can afford,
While buying Mom vitamins and fruit and ice cream, yet in my colon they stick the sword,
Neglecting both her and me,
Oh well, they too will get sick one day; then, we'll see.
They just lick their chops, wanting her further neglected in a nursing home,
When they have millions of their miser-like own.  
But I love you Mom--
You've never been more beautiful as I wake you in the morning Sun,
And do everything for you all day, 
It not bringing me dismay,
For to tuck you in at night, kneeling and saying your prayers for you,
Makes me a stronger man, and never more have I adored you,
Knowing they'll make me put on your little shoes,
Taking you to a neglecting home ,so far away,
Hurting you in an isolating way,
While they crack open the champagne,
Enjoying your and my pain--
It's Occam's Razor--
Points their calamitous behavior.  

Bravo Sierra--dude

   
   "Bravo Sierra--dude"
   
   And they say, nursing homes give bloody enemas, without sublime intention, like a gastroenterologist that is dual-sexual, wanting to punish the anal cavity--am I offering bullshit?
   Cigarettes and crack cocaine kill less people than physician and nurse error in the USA; moreover, the FDA has just brought back Electric Shock Treatment, making it safer, though not knowing where the electricity goes.  WTF?  And that's why they hate vitamins, especially Turmeric, @ $17.00 dollars a bottle, so as not to be healed, and kill the old people--for what are they worth?  Babies and Old People matter, as the Chief does respect age and its sufferings, if smoked with a Lucky, dude.
   Kill the freaks.  I remember, being in the hospital at 28 years of age--117 pounds, with a thick, black mustache, pooping blood divine, and Wikipedia says Ulcerative Colitis never knows a blood transfusion, but I had one, before the afro-american nurse laughed at me, telling me to give up life support, saying:  "I know when it's my time to go--when I lose control of my bowels."  And she will lose control herself,  for those that give--receive, and my step-mother knows this, drinking her wine till bloody stool, because of iniquitous insistence, and it will kill her; plus, my attorney brother, him sitting me down, saying:  "Mark, Dad worked at Lockheed/Martin; thus, you will be able to endure your shitty life of OCD, ulcerative colitis, sleep paralysis/narcolepsy, psoriasis on the genitals and in the anal cavity; plus, social phobia, inability to urinate or poop in public, agitation from the aliens, and a prick as an older brother--because I look like Rick Moranis."  
   Child abuse has no statute of limitations, and my step-brother hung me upside down from my legs as a child, swinging me into terror, while my other step-brother adored and looked after me, but he is the weird one, because he endured more than any other could handle, knowing G. Gordon Liddy's awesome survival tactics, beyond the way of the majestic ninja.  
   They attempt to kill babies in the womb; they kill old people--worthless, yet the old people smile at me every morning and say:  "I love you Mark--top of the morning."
   They deny Christ and blonde angels, making Jesus black and sinister in liberalism, being not merciful, yet their Dad is drunk due to a nasty wife that is a sea hag, but we love sea hags, and Axl Rose almost got a sea hag to play for Guns and Roses, but he chose a dude from the Cult.
   Everything is backwards.  Obama enslaves, yet Trump frees, though his health care was bullcrap; still, he has a heart; plus, an angelic wife, pure female, and she says the Our Father, for God already knows all your thoughts--so why bother?
   It will be okay.  Trust Jesus--get your ass kicked; next, inherit their blonde comeback, and don't deny a fairy tale gone true, because physician and nurse error kills more people than smoking and crack cocaine combined.  Love the reality of beyond, for here is bullcrap, so He said, not of this world . . ..

sarlacc battle original 1983 HD

The Mystical East

   
   "The Mystical East"
   
   The East can mean many things, as a coyote means many things; moreover, in Ezekiel's vision after encountering the spherical craft, the Spirit of God comes from the East, and the Wise Men come to Christ from the East.  Plotinus might have said simplicity is close to God, and like a child believing--it might be.
   We always say:  "Let him without sin throw the first stone."  But the story usually ends there, and we never hear the true quicksand concerning sin.  Christ was drawing on the ground, and the woman accused of adultery, well--her accusers became absent, and Christ was still drawing on the Earth with his finger, and basically didn't just loose her back on the world, yet mentioned:  "Go, and sin No More."  Rebuke a sinner, but forgive them.
   Saint Peter was like:  "Christ, we've given up everything--what's in this for us?"  Christ mentioned times of great persecution to come, and Saint Peter was not thrilled to hear that response, but I can believe Christ to be softly smiling, telling the Rock to relax, and that a great geography will be for the followers and chosen, and that many Mothers and Fathers; plus, many Sisters and Brothers will be inherited, without bickering among each other.
   We can only hope for the wisdom of the East to arrive.  To pray like children, and if a man asks his father for a fish with faith and love; next, the father simply gives him a fish, not a serpent.  Today is Thursday, and the Luminous Mysteries tell us to meditate on the Proclamation of the Kingdom, making ourselves like unto children, trusting Our Father.  

Why doesn't Odie talk?

   
   "Why doesn't Odie talk?"
    
   I always loved Garfield as a kid, though Bill the Cat said:  "Real cats don't eat lasagna."  Plus, in Bloom County they were always hunting liberals.  
   Garfield actually lost a little weight, getting more lean as he evolved, and Odie went through a bit of color-changing evolution as well; moreover, read War and Peace, but he doesn't seem to be vociferous in any manner--oh well, at least he always appears to be smiling, and they say werewolves have telepathy; thus, related to Homo Lupus, I guess he just grabs you're attention with loyal love, for dogs work on the reward system.  You can't tough love a dog, or sensitive people, but with the reward system, all those related to canines are forged friendly and benign, but kick a dog, and he'll take a bite out of your snatch.  

An Angel of the Lord

   
   "An Angel of the Lord"
   
   Do they call you General Sherman, having contempt for scorched burning, when like with Lycanthropy, you are fighting for freedom and truth--or was he?
   Living in a sanitized world, purifying perpetually to maintain innocence and benevolence, and when you deny the shrew--she hates you, never to be tamed save by demons, always offering false testimony, yet Daniel admits the LIGHT.
   They, as accusers, are noise, trumpeting in the Illuminati of lies, in order to disrupt your contemplation of celibacy--not a punishment, yet a divine discipline.  They want you to get involved, mix it up, smear a bedazzled babe, light the wick of passion non-pure, yet you see the illumination of persecution, in order to inherit a mansion, with many fathers and mothers; plus, many brothers and sisters, all in a collective mesh of mystical mutual.  And that's why Timothy and me love cool Grandmas.  But they believe thugs pamper her and speak truly, yet Heston knows as the chimp rides the pony, and Soylent Green is to be avoided in fast-food joints, where iniquity is upon the toilet seat, and a washed hand is not enough, save through the grace of opening the door with a wet, sanitized wipe.  
   They lie about you, hunting your negative blood type, dismissing Joan of Arc's voices, as she was, having burned her to not get the DNA of a Saint's truth, when it has been spoken through Twain, never giving a damn about Tom Sawyer, only her, and they salaciously criticize, as they are of the prince of this world.
   Resist not evil--let it touch you, for if you have that portion of God, the light of the Holy Spirit within--when it touches you--it dies, and you are no longer labelled a liar, when their fibs are paramount, in order to obnoxiously accuse, and they are harlots visiting, yet their husbands sustain weirdly, defiled by a besmirched beauty, her not having beauty, but reptilian lips smelling circumstance.  Only the chosen know, and big mouths on the telephone are monkeys throwing poop at the zoo, so mischievous and malnourished by the labors of pure passion, them confessors giving water to the thirsty, and never mocking God with the false realm of reality, knowing . . .