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.  

Voltaic Junkyard--Aquila, the Eagle Constellation

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--Aquila, the Eagle Constellation"
   
   Adam and Roger at the Waffle House, wisely not ordering scrambled eggs, for anybody can drop them on the floor; next, pick them up, put them on your plate, and you'll never know.  Too, when you drink coffee out, always drink over the handle, for less people have put their mouths there.  Anyway, the twosome were cautiously drinking their java, discussing, more or less, nothing anybody would give a rat's ass about, mostly.  

ADAM
Put a gun in a young man's hand and he feels like a super-human.  When will these people realize it's not the case?  Live by the sword, die by the sword--Jesus put that one out there.

ROGER
It's more satisfying to put a blade into a man anyway.  I mean, I wouldn't know, just heard it from a gang member when I was up in Buffalo years ago.

ADAM
Trying to save up money to get a good telescope.  Been thinking about American Freedom--the Eagle and all; thus, was pondering the Aquila Constellation.  Altair is its brightest star, and the Constellation has a myriad of deep space sky objects; plus, the Glowing Eye Nebula.

ROGER
Do you think we need girlfriends?  Look at us--we're losers.

ADAM
At least we're not crooks.  Look at Congress, or every attorney in the land--it's like 90% thievery.  

ROGER
Yeah, they don't want no near death experience.  Or maybe they'll just come back as a dung beetle and eat shit for the rest of their lives.

ADAM
Isn't that what the phonies are doing already?  Damn, I wish Han Solo and Chewbacca were here.

ROGER
Yeah, we need girlfriends.  Sad part is--we'll get dumped sooner or later.  Oh well, that's why there's beer.  

Kenobi Meets Jango [1080p]

an arctic wolf is acting friendly in canada

Voltaic Junkyard--animal fat

   
   "Voltaic Junkyard--animal fat"
   
   Sheila was in a moody mode of relax, which was quite difficult for her, the young lady liking to be heavy on the gas minus the beans; regardless, listening to her Ham Radio, and broadcasting her own vociferous music sometimes, and without a license--but what the hell was anybody gonna do?
  Weird noise by way of antiquated radio waves in the night, like:  Eat animal fat if you have neurological problems, and put plenty of spice on it; plus, read DUNE, and prayer is meditation, just a jumble on the mix and merge of doing something beneficial for yourself or others.
   Sheila could also channel--anybody, and at any time.  She felt guilt here and there, but dark forces always attempt to infuse guilt because they're covering their own stinky shit.
   She was talking to Saint Mary Magdalene, her having similar blood, and a sisterhood of celibacy was inspired, knowing true love is in giving the rainbow kiss to the luminously illuminated, and not in incestuous manner, but as a child, spending and sending everything holy, which sizzles away the bad cell growth, being yourself, and knowing that you too can tune into things, even wolves, like did James Taylor, getting them reintroduced after much mutiny and murder, when they have always been friends of good men and women.
   One time, a coyote was caught in a wolf trap.  For three weeks it survived, the other coyotes bringing it food and sustenance, like a true, loving family might; indeed, New York City maybe should live side-by-side with these survivalists, for the true vermin would be gulped and gobbled, and nothing can kill a coyote save a horny toad, so some say.  And nothing ever dies unless deemed by God, for energy generates matter, always and forever.