Some, poison the disabled

   
   "Some, poison the disabled"
  
   It can be as simple as leaving a snot rag full of the flu virus on a cancer patient's hospital bed.  Or a peach pit thrown in the direction of a happy dog.  You're damned if you do.
   Glue in green tea.  Doubtful words over and over, as the naughty nurse sings a soul to death; next, gives false testimony, saying it was the old man's time to go, and that it was totally a love song--more like a horrendous hate song.
   People stomp on pretty flowers.  Others, tear down what they perceive to be ugly statues.  Some say the Virgin Mary was a woman with sin.  Others, make you look at imagery until you submit to their toxicity.  Physicians and their insidious assistants at the mental institutions give you amphetamines mixed with anti-psychotics; then, they tell you all the drugs are in the same class as you experience the rocky ride of monstrous mountains.
   They get to certain people, because all people aren't people, allegorically.  It's all metaphor as Joseph Campbell says, or allegory in the archaic words of Spinoza.  A saliva-duct stone, does it drop like the sound of metal?
   So many theories.  The fundamentals:  It has been written.  Is a brainwashed soul from some chanting and Bush League unlawful school worth more than a trash man who actually gives a damn about his grandma?
   And to think, we always take our eyes off Christ, because the world has so much crummy to give.

Mutation: American Thanksgiving

   
   "Mutation:  American Thanksgiving"
   
   Got back from the grocery store.  The three minutes and fifty-seven seconds I could muster inside before bolting.  Talked to the Gentiles.  They're everywhere--just metaphors okay.  Here's a list of who is coming for Thanksgiving @ a table with your brother-in-law's arousal underneath--I'm not sorry, for it's true--here is a list of some of the folk attending:
   Al Frankenstein, Bill Cosby, blonde witches, duplicates (either clones or androids), rappers, Kermit the Frog, coyotes, trolls (plenty of trolls), naughty nurses, arch-angels, blacksmiths, vivid imagery, and of course--jive turkeys.  
   Nobody will be watching football though.  It will be terrible.  And if you do watch the NFL (not for long league), remind me to:  Call You A Damn Traitor!!!  Nah, I'm mellow without the mushrooms.
   Anyway, life seems a circus, and the bearded lady has a crush on your sprouting son--get him the hell out of there!  Go to the market, work, school, park, Mass and then get home and deadbolt the door.  
   I think nice people work @ the pet stores.  I'm just say'n . . .
   Moreover, it always brings me comfort to know at the end of the day--Jesus is still the Boss.  

Some copper conducts fear of bulldogs

   
   "Some copper conducts fear of bulldogs"
  
   Not all perfect angels.  Manipulated, exploited, twisting with sale's pitches their innate glamour, as they are being controlled.  Allegory.  Just get a cheeseburger and fries, don't worry about it.  The look on the receptionist's face when they pull up medical records--that says it all.  You're jumping to conclusions; on the contrary, there are no coincidences in life.  She slays with beauty, though absent of morality in her own head, morphing myriads of men into goblins, metaphorically.  He gives everything away to be even more mortal and vulnerable. 
   They sense what you sense, for they have an empty hand; nevertheless, as they feed off of your electricity, it gives them potency to birth your disaster, which is what they want, for some.
   Just say:  "It's all apple pie and okay.  There is no Christ; that is absurd.  I'm not wacko; I know Christ is myth.  It's a continual flux of atoms, a spark of chance, and we're just photons floating through vacuous space at the end."
   She wasn't a nice child.  The man was burdened.  Yet, did the man not burden the girl?  Did he not whisper charms into her ears.  We're family.  Christ states:  "Those that do God's WILL are My family." 
   Darwin's cruel.  They purchase it, and send their children off to eat of that fruit, in institutions.  Of course God tests the just man.  Labor is more than 9 to 5.  Sometimes, staying alive is all you need to do in life.  To align yourselves with not a conscience even, as a programmed sub-conscious can lead you to doubt even that; thus, heart.  Run.  Get out.  You'll never make it.  She's seen things.  Was the Virgin not even a bit phobic after Gabriel's introduction of praise?  
   If everything is as it is; next, why is there even a spark of corruption?  
   Oh well, just symbolic.  I don't even eat Halloween candy.  All people are nice.  Everyone has my best interest in mind--they really care about me.  Nobody keeps tabs on my computer trail, nor contacts family, physicians, priests, all in order to have further control--that is just crazy.  There is no such thing as a bad immigrant.  It's all cotton candy.  
   BONANZA was a great show.  Michael Landon was and is one of the cool ones--just my opinion; however, nowadays--it has all gone zombie in cinema.  Whatever happened to cowboys?  Kids today think of the cowboy as a mythical figure.  No kidding.  

The heartwarming moment Kekoa the giant timber wolf plays with a wildlif...

Nittany Lions

   
   "Nittany Lions"
   
   First of all, may the Holy Standard-Bearer Saint Michael deliver us from the lion's mouth, that we may inherit the Holy Light promised to Abraham and his seed.  
   My mother always wanted to go to Penn State (a real school); however, her father wouldn't allow it, knowing she was a bit boy crazy.  He was a Serb, and his best pal was Italian; thus, knowing--he told her strictly:  "You're not allowed to date Italians or Serbs."  She would say:  "But Daddy--he's so good-looking."  And my Pap would say:  "He looks like a monkey."  And once, threw a kid off the front porch.  Good for him.  That's what fathers do.  
   There have been two men I've known that I never gave any crap.  Pap was one of them, for he could crush me like a beer can.  Dude was solid--still is, I'm sure.  
   So, his daughter had to go on some damn idealistic crusade out to the City of Angels, leaving Pittsburgh behind.  What an adventure.  And a damn football-playing Irishman went with her.  They say he was my father.  One tough son of a bitch.  He was golden--still is.  

War & Amour

   
   "War & Amour"
   
   The pic below--having to do with a sci-fi thang, not southern fried ya'll, knowing that history repeats, and new Saints fashioned in the old will be reborn, as their candle has already been lit--kinda/sorta.  Yet not anchored down by a false grid of negativity (it can't be done) and many other Lilliputian lies, lathered in lascivious lust-ways--no wonder Christ was a bit hostile, for we have forgotten the words of the Psalmist:  "Ye are gods."  Want to play it safe; next, be a rock star.  What, I thought rock and roll was dead, you damn Yankee.  
   Slice their creeping elongation like a scrumptious piece of Brie de Meaux, yummying it up like my ex-mother-in-law, though with her:  le coup de foudre.
   Still, no TACO BELL, and never will run to that border--I hear the water has more crusty contagion in it than ours, while the government guys drink distilled liquids.  Must be nice.  They sit in a bubbling hot tub, a fat cigar in their oral cavity, singing:  "Ho, Ho, Ho--I wonder how all the poor people are doing, hee-hee . . ."  
   And granny gifts them moonshine and red hair skunk to take back to sonny boy--the spoiled fink; however, some say a portion of those poor peasants are part of the 1-4-4.  Never can tell, Wang.  And Wang is a pleasant man.   
  

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