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."  

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