Voltaic Junkyard--slovenly simians

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--slovenly simians"
   
   Adam was restless, worrying how he would afford his next Bic Mac.  Mr. Ronald McDonald, not particularly a salacious clown; however, he had raised the price of America's favorite synergy--cow merged with funky though fabulous filler, for there isn't enough cattle in the world to account for the infinite numbers of hamburgers produced.  So, you can always go salmon farming, or duplicate food, not like the American Indian having a pure hunt; specifically, a clean America, no lung cancer on the record, a life of pure water, herbs, spices, non-antibiotic fed mammals and fowl; indeed, Mexico isn't the only country that is infamous for its crusty crab water, just go to Michigan, or mostly any place in America, where antibiotics and high levels of fluoride and such really do a number on the pseudo-free folk, especially those allergic to fluoride, and many are.  Whatever happened to the silver bullet of colloidal silver?  I guess the modern world prefers the heavy metal of aluminum, liking us to get as much of that shit in us as possible, and preachers still blame rock and roll.  Oh well, the United Nations admits wanting population control.  So, in his sleep, Adam could see his flickering candle spark, and a long-haired angel of strength emerged, glowing electric--he introduced himself as an aspect of the Nazarene, Samson.  

ADAM
Holy crap!  Am I dreaming Mr. Samson?

SAMSON
A lucid dream.  Now listen son--don't be such a wussy like all the American attorneys.  G. Gordon Liddy was the only ass-kicking officer of crooked courts.  And I was a true Judge, not these black-robed pricks today driven by politics, paid off, getting wet panties or pup-tents in their shorts after they sentence a man, and in a supposedly Free Country, where you can't even speak anymore, and touching somebody with a finger is assault--just look at the fragile fruitcakes who forged those unlawful laws.  Back in the 1950's, all cool guys had a heavy right hand.  Sinatra, Dean Martin--they'd just level a dude for speaking mean to a good dame; however, most American women today are trolls and tramps, but that's not my point son.  There will always be chimps.  And remember, of all the mammals on this planet, nothing masturbates with more ferocity than a chimp.  They smile those big monkey teeth and yank with monstrous zeal to further damn themselves.  Boy, was Darwin ever a dumbshit, for the mighty Samson didn't come from those things.  I hate bananas too.

ADAM
What does all this mean?

SAMSON
Go punch out a guy; next, kiss a delicious dame; moreover, always talk to God, take your vitamins, and if you're going to stuff yourself with Big Macs, make sure to put turmeric root on it, and drink plenty of distilled water infused with minerals.  The Body is a Temple--let nothing bad inside, neither the mind nor corporeal aspects.  Get me?  But a hot piece of apple pie is okay every now and then.  

ADAM
Yes sir.

SAMSON
Cool.  And don't conform.  Be your own singular soul, connected only to the Good Ghost of God Almighty.  God Bless you son.  And I'll see you on the flip side.  

R2D2's Message To Obi Wan and Luke

Voltaic Junkyard--federal informant

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--federal informant"
   
   Roger was not actually Adam's friend.  He was a federal informant, allowed to break American Law in order to get to Sheila.  Unfortunately for the rat, before Sheila's father was transfigured by many an essence in the sky, he told her, having a mental breakdown:  "They're going to kill my children."
   So, Roger played the loser, attracting Adam; as a result, he had vampiric entrance into the junkyard; however, little did he know--there's always a bigger fish, and they may not be totally human; indeed, Sheila had friends that were watching him, and if they hurt her; next, it would be devastating to the sinister snitch.

* * * * * * * * *

   Sheila knew something was off.  Adam had never had a friend a single day in his life.  The poor kid had lost both parents and was replacing hubcaps for beer and Big Mac money.  Yet Sheila didn't wanna go all mighty She-Hulk on Roger just yet, for he was working for people as well.
   Sheila hoped for days of old--though they were corrupt as well.  Still, the metaphor of Abe Lincoln Vampire Slayer seemed sublime to her.  But Abe was tall, had a good reach, and only engineer-styled dwarves carried battle-axes.  Nothing makes complete sense; however, as King Solomon mentioned:  "It is God's glory to conceal things, and the glory of Kings to unearth them."  More or less.  

Escape from New York - Duke dies

Voltaic Junkyard--roadkill hypocrite

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--roadkill hypocrite"
   
   Sheila was kinda pissed that some charlatan wearing the white collar was actually married to a twelve year old boy in the Caribbean, not having the prestigious privilege to have the words Jesus Christ or Virgin Mary in his adder's mouth; thus, she ventured beyond the border of the beautiful junkyard, found the rancorous rat; next, punched him in the Pineal portion and stepped on his body like Our Lady of Victory always does to the pugnacious pretenders.  Some Churches get economic kickbacks if they import asymmetrical slime.  On the flip side, there is always a Warrior Pope, Heaven-Sent on cleaning holy house; plus, doesn't mind a lady in a short dress, for there is nothing wrong with the appreciation of beauty, unless you're a sleaze and want to try and wreck it.
   Sheila was vindicated by the use of her furious fists, as every lady has the right to punch a bully in their face; moreover, even a little boy, stalked, has the right to punch a predator in the face, or get his Jewish mother to do it, and SHE already has.
   Sheila loved America, the freedom of fisticuffs, better than the men who use guns cause they got no spirit; however, we all need warriors, and every man has a right to carry a piece of steel.  You never know when the One, True God will call you to kick some phony's wicked ass.  

Doctors prescribed me poison yesterday

   
   "Doctors prescribed me poison yesterday"
   
   While most physicians aren't honest--some are fair.  Got a prescription yesterday that would've basically tortured me.  What, are these guys Bush League or phonies?  People--always read everything about the medications you are taking--never take blindly; moreover, food is medicine.
   Another shooting, very ambiguous--was it staged, in an allegorical sense?  Now, loser shrinks that drive many children to suicide by prescribing SSRIs get to evaluate people; next, put them in institutions where more poison is prescribed because nobody wants a Free Country, but a police state run by Barney Fife and phony lawyers that aren't or never will be Ivy League material. 
   Remember when a man carried his own steel?  And if he was sick; then, he got honest help--it never being corrupted, remember?  Nope.
  Remember eggs were bad in the 1980's?  So was coffee.  Now they're good.  WTF?
       

Voltaic Junkyard--Wang and Egg

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--Wang and Egg"
   
   Sheila was out walking Wagon-Tail (more or less) through the metallic junkyard; plus, other pieces of scrap like rubber and rough dirt haunted the facility, for there was not really grass within--only outside of the fencing, on the protected perimeter.
   She was caught in a lucid state of reflection, remembering:
   Uncle Jack in his torrid teens, 13 years of age, the 1980's, having a 50-Special with dual-exhaust and high RPM levels--sucker could hit 53 MPH with sparks flying out of the exhaust; moreover, Jack took that motorcycle out of the suburbs and into the city on multiple adventures, viewing BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA damn near 14 times, eating cheese dip, quietly, among the entertained audience.  He always wanted to be a truck driver, liking the characters of Wang and Egg, especially since they had a sacred mission to go on with Old Jack Burton.
   Sheila snapped back with a cool sizzle into the mystery of March approaching, the return of feathery birds in brilliant hues, and the wildlife as if resurrected, people and animals living in a gregarious gel of goodness, and the junkyard even got raccoons.