Virgin Ninja (17)

   
   "Virgin Ninja (17)"
   
   Joanna Blanc felt the glue of groovy gel with Bobby McQuade; however, she knew the ninja's tactics for entrance, as it has been practiced by Christ; as a result, no intercourse, but a celibate relationship of kissing and heavy petting--no open mouth, for that is entrance as well.
   She informed Bobby of her intentions, and how far she was willing to go and why; next, the couth-filled redneck offered vociferously:  "That's cool."
   Learning is not about false mantras.  We get those from family.  Jealousy of beauty, brains, athleticism, rebellion against the first rebellion--all of it.  False mantras are to make you weak and doubt yourself.  Even your own sister wants you to die--if she has less beauty, even though she may be rich, for what has more worth than a flower ornamented better than King Solomon in all of his splendor?
   Joanna knew though:  Bobby could squeeze his scrotal desires and not quicksand Jesus away the life of a cunning warrior heavenbent on illuminating, secretly, the truth of justice.

His Fingerprints

   
   "His Fingerprints"
   
   When I was unjustly locked up in an insane asylum by my brother, his money doing the talking, but not for my mother save to lock her up and bring thugs into the house; moreover, like my earlier Blogs axiomatically showcase--Mom was given 27 Xanax in a week.  I have OCD and count everything in super-symmetrical fashion.  Next, my brother brought over a bag of his Xanax to give to Mom, and I have the bag, with his fingerprints all over it.  They don't want her to talk, for she is a nuisance, and they attempt to shut her up, so the evidence suggests.  And this from a guy who took my pain pills, an attorney, jacked up on numerous psychiatric medications due to panic, anxiety, depression, etc . ,    
   I've been threatened every day.  Told not to talk to my mother about Jesus.  Told not to bring the Priest over to give her the Eucharist.  Told I'll be thrown out.  Offered a mere $180.00 by my brother to leave and never come back, his wife attempting to put Mom in a cheap facility for years, threatening us both with that, while my brother and his wife are millionaires.
   Bring it on.  The NSA sees everything.  
   And Feds, read my earlier Blogs, as I know you have--remember the Notary Fraud.  Mom infused with numerous anti-psychotics and benzos; next, carried into a Notary on Highway 70, and of unsound mind and body, made to sign her life over.  Why are they doing this?  Because both her and me are burdens.  The unwanted.  Thanks Saint Joseph, and as your Litany goes:  "Solace of the wretched."  Wasn't Christ arrested and given the death penalty for helping people--so the story goes.  

Neglect of the disabled?

Triste

   
   "Triste"
   
   When they're all against you; next, you know you're on the right path--that path less traveled, not gelled into the gregarious toxicity of Internet porn, envy, false testimony, and all the rest.  Verily, sad is a man with no friends; sadder is a man with no enemies.
   For six years nobody has taken my sick mother outside save me.  Just one phony trip to Carolina, a big, fat red herring.  None of her grandchildren visit, nor her son.  The day of her false diagnosis, we didn't see him for four months.  Was in Europe too, neglecting his mother.
   That son takes a plethora of psychiatric medication for panic attacks, anxiety, clinical trepidation--always thinking he's having a heart attack.  Two of his children are jacked up on psychiatric medication as well, one having attempted suicide, and still contemplates it.  But contemplation is different than attempt--this dude actually attempted.  His father loves teen porn and drinks heavily on the grape.  In Vino Veritas.  
   The French film of 2012, Amour, showcases how a paralyzed woman is neglected and abused by her caretaker; next, smothered by her husband.  I've seen this movie in real life baby.  They detest my mother for being alive.  Doctors said she would be dead years ago, as they threw five Haldol a day down her throat; next, five Xanax a day.
   But I have all the footage of me taking care of her, Sheriff.  I brush, bathe, feed, massage, well, basically do everything, while they wait for her to die, hoping.  I have plenty of video.  Too bad your men wouldn't watch, and phony physicians call me bipolar when I've never been down a day in my life--a cabbage is too brilliantly stupid to be depressed.  I have no loss of interest.  I allegorically make wicked love to your wife and all evil women.   I'll post some of the videos, here and there, before I contact the Feds, if I haven't all ready.  
   Her son and daughter-in-law have done some real wicked shit.  I guess that's why their son was swinging from a rope.  And he's a nice kid, if he only had a father that didn't flog the bishop to teenage porn, but who can blame him, for his wife looks like she's been kicked in the face by a donkey.  
   And of course Rh negatives are nothing but mutations.  Even so, that makes us totally Homo Superior.  The rest of you are monkey bloods, swinging from trees.  Feed the monkey Sheriff.  If only your genitalia was as big as a banana.  Your wife will find me, only telepathically.  I'm kidding.  Or maybe not.  I can't do anything with my mind.  I have a 9th grade education.  Didn't ascend the scholastic ladder of academia and have an eight year vacation in high school and some Bush League college, taking vodka shots out of my frat brother's asshole.  And if I struck anybody with a cane--where's the evidence?  Where's the bruises or scars?  It's called false testimony--to get rid of my mother and me, for we are a burden to a man who doesn't want to honor his vows, and a son who despises his aged mother due to an Oedipus Complex.  If he only knew the words of Solomon, the anti-Freudian:  "Hearken unto the father that begat you, and despise not your mother when she grows old."
   

While the disabled are in the dark

Guns N' Roses - You're Crazy (Acoustic)

Empathetic Illness

   
   "Empathetic Illness"
  
   What you kill, if you are of it--you own it.  "Pick up your mat and walk woman."  Christ instructed the disabled lady.  He told her to take the mat, because the mat had owned her, now she owns the nasty mat.  Don't let yourself be labelled.  You are not what they say you are.  False mantras. Heinous hatred.  Envy.  That's why they tell you sex is a sport, and it is not frequency and vibration, but mere corporeal cruel--hogwash.
   I was dead as a baby.  Needles in my head; plus, incubation.  Talk about PTSD after I recovered; next, numerous illnesses and false testimony forged against me--thanks to the two men in suits that assisted in saving my life, as Grandma Bertha, the German, informed me.   
   My biological father let a sea hag sink her teeth into him.  Solomon admits:  "Beware of the harlot with painted eyes--she will kill you."  Indeed, remember the lady of your youth, and her bosom will comfort you forever.
   My bio-dad's fatal attraction said:  "I hope he lives."  But in her mind, she planted seeds of death, wanting him to leave my mother.  She then said she would kill herself if he didn't leave my mother; moreover, her and my brother shredded my inheritance, after my brother, an attorney and officer of the court, said my father would nourish me with an income, due to my sufferings.
   Oedipus Complex.  My brother's first words after my father died were:  "Dad is dead; I'm so relieved."  He was attempting to move to Nashville and be with his son, yet my brother rejected him, hating his father, and wanting his mother to be PROUD of him--pride:  Rebellion against God.
   I wisely surmise my brother's Freudian Bravo Sierra:  "Let the baby die; she'll love the strange baby more than me."  All that negative force, focused upon a premature, cooked to life child, due to envy and the bullshit of competition.  I'm not competitive; I only win.  For two have become one.  Thanks Saint Thomas.
   For 44 years, false mantras, neglect, abuse, envy, all in my direction.  I've been on my deathbed numerous times.  They've locked me up in psychiatric asylums due to false testimony, but as every warrior sadist, I resist not evil, embracing the pain, and allowing iniquity to make me monstrously stronger.  Thank God for G. Gordon Liddy--a coyote Catholic.
   Sir Charles Barkley said it the best:  "You will never have all people with you.  Some will hate you, some will love you, and some won't give a shit either way."  Thank you Sir Charles.  Run for Governor of Alabama.  
   Rh negatives are unexplained.  Science calls it a mutation.  So, nothing supernatural here, we're just mutants according to phony doctors.  And the great thing about one rich man, Trump:  Nobody can own him, for he has his own money.  Nothing owns him.  They can't buy him.  And those bastards just tore down a Saint Joan of Arc statue.  I'd like to screw their wives.  And remember Sheriff, I could screw your wife, anytime, and all night long.  Is it illegal for her to lust after me?