G. Gordon Liddy, Robert Conrad, & My Dad

   
   "G. Gordon Liddy, Robert Conrad, & My Dad"
    
   G. Gordon Liddy's tough guy autobiography, WILL, was morphed into a 1982 television movie staring the barrel-chested Robert Conrad. most famous for BAA BAA BLACKSHEEP, a fighter pilot story during the Second World War on a Pacific Island.  Plus, both guys were bad asses.  Just wanted to mention my hard-hitting father, a college football player, him having once threatened to punch me out when I was in my early 30's due to an insult aimed at the Pittsburgh Steelers.
   Anyhow, this is not a piece of pulsating prose or in any way poetic.  "Just the facts ma'am" as wends the words from DRAGNET.
   But Robert Conrad was on the LATE LATE SHOW in the early 90's hosted by comb-over cool guy Tom Snyder, when you could let the colors of ancient television fly into your home, offering simplistic entertainment before Internet Porn became all the rage with local politicians and troublesome teenagers.
   Robert, or Bob as Mr. Tom Snyder called him, fiercely boasted that when he came to New York, he liked to walk Central Park at night in hopes of getting mugged, all to see if his skills in the Martial Arts were still uncanny, making him the ultimate human fighting machine.  Tom Snyder was laughing his ass off, as was the whole behind-the-scenes crew.
   Next, Snyder asked Bob:  "What's it like to punch out a guy?"
   Bob replied roughly:  "It's like knocking one out of the park."
   The Show erupted in wild giggling.   

Existence Womb (60)

   
   "Existence Womb (60)"
    
   Buck and Dr. Luke noticed Miriam sitting in the hungry Boss 302, it rumbling at a standstill, her smoking a dancing cherry and engaged in prayer, possibly mystical communication too, which transcends prayer, in a sense.  As they looked out the shanty window, their hearts were made Christian Gold, having great empathy for the sufferings of the young girl.
   
LUKE
I think she has been through plenty; nevertheless, she is brave, holding up like a divinely defensive stronghold.

BUCK
I've seen plenty of shit in life Doc.  Remember being a Yankee Soldier during the Vicksburg Campaign, during Grant's Yazoo Pass Expedition, which ultimately put William Tecumseh Sherman on an ironclad, passing through the cut of Moon Lake--highly classified.  I don't have to read modern metaphysical books to know that Sherman with his "Scorched Earth" policies was something Otherworldly, possibly a werewolf.  But like what Bush said about Putin when he had him at the ranch, and they shot guns and drank Bud Heavy, offering:  "And I looked into his eyes, and knew he was a religious man." 
  
LUKE
But surely Sherman was a garden-variety werewolf, not having the sublimity of the Holy Spirit.

BUCK
Never can tell, as Jack Burton always wisely blurted.  Yup--never can tell.    

Existence Womb (59)

   
   "Existence Womb (59)"
   
    Snow was crisply falling in unique-styled flakes.  Miriam was weeping.  The Boss 302 rumbling at an angry idle.  Who was she kidding?  The Virgin Mary?  Miriam knew that she, herself, was no Saint, especially not the Queen of Angels.   
   Regardless, in physics, "Superpositioning" is being in many places at once.  Christ was potent and powerful, yet is He truly ubiquitous?  Could He be in all places at once?  Hear every prayer?
   Thus, if He could not, which is theoretically possible in theology; next, maybe the myriad of Angels and Saints could listen--give that holy ear and offer a vociferous request to the Christ, His Father, and the Highly Mysterious Holy Spirit--so not worshiped and neglected, but full of LOVE and constant gifts of spiritual benevolence.
   Miriam remembered Buck calling It Spiritus Sancti--the Good/Holy Ghost.  As a result of this sublime reverie, Miriam lit a hypertoxic cigarette in the warm muscle car, glared at the shanty and her bizarre life; then, prayed to the Holy Spirit.  Asking the Good Ghost to make her life more full of magnanimous engagement--helping and assisting other freaks like herself.  All in the holy style of mercy.   

Existence Womb (58)

   
   "Existence Womb (58)"
   
    Miriam was in a cerebral fog as she nervously piloted the powerful Boss 302 through the fluff of snow, exiting Calgary, on the glacial prairie path towards the fancy shanty she shared with her brave father and Buck, the Templar werewolf, animated to change by way of the sublimity of the Holy Spirit--hey, fangs can be a benevolent thing, at certain times of violent contagion.
   Anyway, she was freaked by her conversation with Brother Puck, and how he appeared out of nowhere.  For nobody was supposed to know of their habitat location, way up here, Northwards; moreover, the death of Christ was freaking her too.  Are Christians painted with a bloody target on their backs by the negativity of the fallen angel, now the adder?  And she thought of the Virgin Mary's suffering, watching Her Son tortured till a painful culmination of His corporeal self--for the possible phase of the time being.  
   Does anybody use the ANGELUS, that Catholic devotion celebrating the miraculous and unearthly Incarnation?  And how Saint Mary was visited by a linguistically cool Arch-Angel named Gabriel, and maybe more supernatural beings from the Celestial Hierarchy if we look into the non-canonized Gospels, such as the Protoevangelium--it also called the Gospel of James, or the Gospel of Mary, these texts leaving hints at Her potent power during early adolescence.  
   Regardless, Miriam must steel herself Maryways, getting her pestering hormones away from Buck's lean body mass, and becoming more like a peasant girl with uncanny greatness, Her bravely enduring the death of Her Savior Child.  

Existence Womb (57)

   
   "Existence Womb (57)"   
    
   Miriam, the very cold, Calgary bag boy nicely packing her Boss 302 and politely exiting, ignited a cherry of a coffin nail, inhaling the sacred toxicity; next, noticed a haunting specter of the past, Brother Puck, a big load of tobacco behind his puffy lip.   
   
MIRIAM
WTF?
   
BROTHER PUCK
You know how John Barleycorn died?  A glorious yeast infection!  Bacchus was not the true god of wine; Christ is the GOD of new wine.  Old wine skins cannot hold His New Wine.  And He says:  "I am thirsty."  Yes, upon His immortal death.  Once, in America, a woman called 9/11 to report her irritating and manic yeast infection.  Too, I've had a saliva duct stone, epididymitis, and mushrooms growing out of my crapper.  They were not magic mushrooms; I didn't attempt to imbibe them.  Yes, I don't have Sleep Paralysis like you, my mystical Miriam.  But I've endured harshly.  Done it smoothly and bravely.  Remember the Christ's vocal landmark of a vociferous, Universal Church reporting:  "He was obedient, even unto death."
  
MIRIAM
   Squinted hesitation futureways.      

Existence Womb (56)

   
   "Existence Womb (56)"
    
   A frozen prairie.  A cosmopolitan city.  Calgary, housing a bit over a million cold folks, drinking beer, imbibing a legal remedy, and polite as ice cold shit--a paradox, but greatness.
   Miriam battled the snowy roads with the Boss 302, using the low-end torque to rotate and manipulate her way into a grocery store parking lot.  She fell on her butt, once, for a sec, upon the icy parking lot; next, she giggled, kept her Templar/Bowie knife concealed in case spooks would offer an assault, and marched gallantly, once cautiously picking herself up off of the glacial conditions.
   She was soon to fall in love with hockey.  Remembering Putin play on television, somewhere over near Russia, and him never getting roughed up a bit; plus, with the CFL, sports Northwards were the crazy rage, all gladiatorial in a hard-hitting nature, to architect a solid man, a Nordic Warrior braving the beasts of the field, perishing without pity, yet accepting the hands of blonde, glimmering angels.
   Miriam kept her raven-haired head under a colorful toboggan that boasted of the CFL's Calgary Stampeders; indeed, she was gelling with smooth mercury.    

Existence Womb (55)

   
   "Existence Womb (55)"
   
   Miriam eyed the glacial city of Calgary from approach through the windshield of the Boss 302, it fishtailing through the slow Canadian traffic.  She was alone.  Buck and Luke giving her a chance at independent girl liberty.
   They also gave her a Jim Bowie type of knife with a red Templar Cross stamped on it.  She'd prefer a shotgun, being like Ali McGraw with Steve McQueen, pumping explosive ammo at the bad guys, whatever.  Buck only needed fangs, fur, and fright; moreover, the Templar Knights (Order of Solomon's Temple) knew how to engage in combative anthropology, even with primitive weaponry.  
   Those wise-fighting Templar Knights, disbanded by Pope Clement during 1312, the Year of Our Lord--they still existed, getting up everyday in fantasy land, living more in the clouds than on Earth, always looking for the allegory of the factual Holy Grail.  
   Anyway, Miriam was going to buy some groceries and cigarettes.  Heard the coffin nails were more expensive, up here, in the Great White North.  At least the prisons and health care were superior.