Sublime Tribes

 
   "Sublime Tribes"
   
   Not my place, nor yours Sucker, yet to have adoration for people--if somebody wants to hang out with a Mutt Irish girl, many modest Saints (metaphor) are available to sing you the sublimity of Shamrock sound--you know, like the CRANBERRIES.
   I support no one, in comics and film, save the PEANUTS Gang, and even then I ponder; still, it's in you too.  The history of the world.  Make your innards be filled with magnanimous mystery, haunting characters crafted for smooth and cool.
   Not all were eating hearts.  Some.  Yet many differed, from the West of Apache, the Northwest of Crow, the Northeast Iroquois Nation and such--I think I'm getting this right, fundamentally.
   Pilgrims were divided, in a sense, too.  Some didn't always wash their hands after naughty things.
   And yes, I like the Levites.
   But Jesus Christ never really had to wash His hands.  They were always clean.  He just did it to tranquilize our anxiety with Spirit smile, for beauty can kill or heal, and best--if it has a sense of humor.  Movies from the 1980's come to mind.  When Reagan was strongly, Commander in Chief.
   I suck with the art of business, yet the "just say no" of Nancy, and the peace through strength, and the lack of commentary about the division of people, because it hadn't been invented at that time, for that time.  I guess he was a movie star is all, and I liked to watch the man on television as a little kid.  

Big Trouble in Little China Pork chop express

Fruitcakes and Wheaten Terriers

 
   "Fruitcakes and Wheaten Terriers"
   
   Holy Fire!  I'm invoking Tone Loc.  He was in a Western.  Played a cowboy.  That's pretty cool.
   When God was passing out brains, Johnny Carson got a nice one, and I got a fruitcake.  Johnny Carson never liked fruitcakes.  The cake, I mean.  
   Again, the Northern Europeans and the trickster god, the supreme ruler of the gods, not the other one.  The old man on the battlefield.  I guess, kinda, if the One, True God didn't like me, he wouldn't play pranks on me all the time.  It's only to chisel me further, I surmise.
   And my Wheaten shifts, anchors herself on the Earth; next, takes a big, raunchy poop when I see a pretty girl at the park--all the damn time.  She loves to humiliate me.  Good for her.  

Miami Vice Theme HD

Funky Cold Medina - Tone-Loc (w/ Lyrics)

Honey Badger Liveth

 
   "Honey Badger Liveth"
   
   Don't know the details.  Don't need to.  Bullshit resides there.
   Anyway, the mother of a honey badger shoves the baby in front of a scorpion and allows her child a few stings.  Introduces him to more venomous creatures along the way; next, he's an adult, can fight a cobra, get bit, die, two hours later--he's freaking resurrected.  No horseshit Wang.  No horseshit Jack.
   Is now the time to again mention that I love the American truck driver?  Guess not.  Yup, and the American badger and coyote hunt together.  A predator''s synergy.  How weird is that?  Or is it?  Come on, now.  Second unto the Great Spirit, like an old man trickster, alongside a ferocious fighter, like unto the mighty wolverine.
   Nature is talking.  Listen.  
   But what do I know?  I still remember the 1970's and a peanut farmer's dream.  But old Jimmy is still kicking it.  Good for him.  

Doctors--drug-dealing scum?

 
   "Doctors--drug-dealing scum?"
   
   If a certain herb was legal; next, the pharmacies would go out of business.  King David:  "Wine to make man's heart happy, and herb for the service of man."
   Plenty of people use herb-derived medicine; moreover, never get addicted.  Some herbs can't kill; however, the shit modern physicians push can kill--it's wicked.  How do they know my serotonin needs fluxing?  Where's the evidence?  How do they know it is truly psychosis?  They don't!!!
   They are in their world; thus, be in yours.  You alone own your own temple--not them.  If you need it; next, take it; otherwise, don't let your doctor play drug dealer to you.  Know all about your medicines.  In one day, an American physician can prescribe more poison than a kid on the street does in a year.  But he's a doctor--he's educated, and a noble man.  Is he?  Nope.  Some might be; however, most are not.  Got that piece of paper that says they're smart; then, they start ripping the souls out of good people.  It's a sinister system.
   What's a marijuana cigarette gonna hurt you, if you don't act a fool and watch porn or waste the gift on playing video games and being a nobody?  What's a beer gonna kill you?  But their prescriptions will--yes, they will, and they do, every damn day.
   Some are sublime.  Some actually heal.  Others keep you hooked, or the doctors and their continual chant keeps you hooked.  The naughty nurses questioning you, putting doubt into your sub-conscious, over and over again, until you are a slave to them.
   Fight.  Spit your tobacco on the ground, and fight.  We all got it coming, don't let the bullshitters take you out.