My Very Eager Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas

The guy in this picture is really short. Does that mean he’s not really a person?  Does size matter?

Speaking of short people, this is CD Holder

(That is actually his real name.  I’ve heard that it stands for constant dick, but I think that’s just a rumor.  It suits him though.)

CD Holder was the shortest guy in my high school. He was a couple inches shorter than me.  He wasn’t short enough to be a midget, but not quite tall enough to play basketball or reach the glasses out of the cabinet without getting a chair or climbing up onto the counter.

This is Melissa

She was a wee little lass.  I would say that she was short enough to be a munchkin in “The Wizard of OZ”.  She wasn’t a dwarf or a midget or anything, just extremely short.

There is a habit among most people, to just say every thought that pops into their head. It is for this reason, that so many people are great at mind reading.

If you want to do well in social situations, and get along marvelously with your peers, the thing to do is keep your mouth shut and plaster on the poker face.  Stating the obvious is considered rude and downright annoying in our society.

When I was in high school, I did not know this.

One cold and rainy autumn morning, I was prancing down the hallway  in a cheery delightful mood and I saw something that I had never seen before in my life.  I was so excited with this thrilling experience, that I stated my observation loud and clear so everyone around could see what an amazing brilliant observer I was.

I saw CD Holder and Melissa Heeler walking side by side, hand in hand in the hallway.  So I said “Oh my goodness gracious, isn’t that so adorable.”

They both looked up at me and shot me the evil eye.

Now that I think of it, this incident might have been the reason why CD Holder went a little crazy shaving my head at summer camp, and it might have been why he was so eager to throw a phone at me in the Lollapallooza incident.

I really don’t understand why it’s so bad and insulting to be short.  Being short might be wonderful.  You don’t have to eat as much food and can save loads of money.  You can buy clothes in the children’s section.  They get all the good clothes.  So what’s the big deal.

But alas, I guess they hate it because they are not considered real people by the rest of the world.

Modern Day Scientists have recently redefined the qualifications for being a real person.

1. You have to be tall enough to reach the gas pedal in a car.

2. You have to be tall enough to look the teller at the bank in the eye when making a deposit.

3.  You have to be tall enough to dress in the adult section at Macys.

If you do not meet all three of these requirements, you are not a real person.

Oh, I suppose that sounds pretty nasty, don’t you?  Well it is.  I made all this up.

Do you know why?

Because a bunch of geeky scientists who have nothing better to do with their time, all got together and decided that Pluto is not really a planet because it doesn’t have enough gravity to keep all the asteroids away from it.  Pluto is not orbitationally dominant, so it no longer qualifies as a real planet.

So my very eager mother just served us nine….

The mnemonic rhyme no longer works anymore thanks to the big headed know it all scientists who think they’re better than everyone else.  That is sooo not cool. I’m a tad bit offended that Pluto isn’t considered real anymore.  It orbits the sun.  It’s round and has a moon!

But no, it’s just not good enough to qualify as part of our solar system.  It’s not perfect and so we cast it aside like a leper at a debutant ball.

Everybody has to do with what the scientists say, because they talk in mathematical equations that are so complicated that everyone thinks they are the smartest people in the world.  But guess what!  They’re all a bunch of idiots who wear stupid looking clothes.

So I have decided to make up my own rules.

Rules to be a real person

1.  You have to admit that Pluto is a real planet

Midnight in the garden of Slugs and Locusts

You can learn a lot from a garden.  Gardening is a metaphor for real life.  If you work hard, you will be fruitful.  “By their fruits, ye shall know them,” so it goes. 

To produce the best tasty fruit, you have keep the soil right, and constantly pull away all the weeds.  The same goes for life.  You have to constantly weed out things you don’t like like in life, like bills, and annoying people.  Get rid of things that sap away your energy, time and money, and you will be prosperous.

In life, there are many obstacles to overcome, the same goes with gardening.

In life, there are sleazeball people that we refer to as “slugs.” 

In gardening, I’ve heard, you have to get rid of slugs, or they will devour your garden.  I’ve heard this, but due to an unfortunate accident that occurred over a decade ago, I now let the slugs roam free. 

Slugs may not look like sentient beings, but they have a strong essence in the universe.  Beware dangers that can befall you, should you harm the clan of the slug.

Many years ago, on a night just like this one, I saw thousands of slugs slithering through my beautiful garden, oozing their toxic slime all over my garden knomes and prize winning begonias.  I knew very well that these were tiny evil invaders that must be destroyed. I declared war on those futile beasts. I armed myself with a jar of pickling salt and marched off to battle.

When most people kill their garden pests, they go to the garden section of their local store, and purchase bait stations.  They place them in strategic locations, and unfortunate creatures die of their own stupidity. 

Most people are completely sane and have never suffered at the will of a psychotic torturer.

I felt the need that evening, to take out all my anger and frustration on those slugs.  And so years of being beat down, tortured and degraded arose in me, and I took it out on those creatures.

I had a feeling deep down inside that what I was doing was both wrong and demented.  I knew this, but I thought my feelings were only part of a psychosis that I was suffering from me.  I thought these feelings should be suppressed.

So for the next hour I set out with a flashlight hunting slugs.  Whenever I saw one, I sprinkled it’s plump slimy body with salt.  As I tortured my creatures I cackled “die, die, die,  heh, heh, heh, that’s what you get!” And I watched the little thing shrivel away into nothingness as I laughed maniacally. 

I would like to tell you that this is where the story ends.  It would be for normal people.  But since I am not a normal person, normal things don’t happen to me. 

It turns out that slugs have spirits.  These spirits left the bodies of the slugs and set forth on a quest to get vengeance upon their killer. Truly death was in the air that night and it traveled into my house and caused the most tragic death that I have ever seen in all my days of living. 

Warning:  The following story is disturbing, and may cause trauma and nightmares, so please stop reading if you are weak kneed and faint of heart. 

The next morning I woke up and turned on the light to my aquarium of brightly colored ciclids.  But something was not right.   The water was white and milky.  All of my beatiful fish were swollen and floating belly up around all the rocks and plants.  The heater had broken during the night and boiled my fish in the night. 

It was the most horrible thing that I had ever seen.  I shrieked and wailed.  I tore my garments and pulled out my hair.  I trembled and wept bitterly at the sight. 

The souls of the slugs had murdered my fish in the night.  I may have won the battle, but they won the war.  I swore after this night, that I would never kill again.

But as the years passed, I realized that perhaps this was just a coincidence, even though, I still, to this day, cannot harm a slug.  There are thousands in my garden, and they don’t seem to be hurting it.

There are, however, thousands of these evil looking grasshoppers.  Throughout the history of time, these vile beasts of destruction have devoured entire crops and caused many innocent people to suffer from starvation and even die. 

It was just fine when they were just hanging out in my garden munching the sunflowers.  But just look what they did to my apple tree!

Oh, and not only did they eat ever single leaf on the tree, but now they are using it as a love pad.  These two love birds had the unmitigated audacity to just sit there and get it on right in front of me on the very tree that they tore to shreds. 

A few days ago, I decided to declare war on these horrid beasts.  They are no longer welcome in my garden.  So I started smashing them.  And just to make my message clear to these unholy creatures.  , I decapitated a few of them and stuck them on the ends of the branches of the apple tree for all the other grasshoppers to see and understand that I mean business. 

After I did this, I started to get the feeling that maybe the grasshoppers might be a bit angry and want to attack me for murdering their friends.  Images of being attacked by swarms of grasshoppers popped into my head.  Every time I went outside after the murder, grasshoppers flew into me as if trying to attack.  But this is just a coincidence.  Maybe they would have done this anyway.

But I think the souls of those dead grasshoppers decided to send me a warning to leave the clan of the grasshopper alone.

Yesterday morning, the oldest twin, Nick Kick, went out into the backyard to bury his teddy bear.  He was pretending it was dead.  He plowed the little shovel into the ground and instead of hitting the ground, he smacked the tip into his foot and gouged a big hole deep into his skin. 

So.  I guess I should leave those grasshoppers alone.  

Here’s the freaky part:

The day before Nick Kick’s terrible accident, his identical twin brother, Porkchop Flannigan woke up with an excruciating pain in his foot.  The kid limped around all day long, and his sister even made a wheel chair to push him around in so he wouldn’t have to walk.  The next day, he woke up, and his foot was fine.  A couple hours later, Nick Kick, slashed the same foot. 

In fact, every time one of them gets a cut, the other gets an identical cut within hours.  Coincidence?   I think not.

There is an energy field out there that we cannot see with the naked eye.  It is the uncreated light.  It is the spirit that I like to call Ethriel.

Oh, and by the way.  The events in this blog, really happened.  Nothing is made up.  Truth, is indeed, stranger than fiction. 

Philosophy of Madness

Eternal life is far too complicated for the human mind to comprehend.  There are far too many angles  and chapters.  You can only get a snapshot of what forever is like

“Whiz bang!”  That’s the sound you hear when the atmospheric pressure is just right.

When you are a psychic, you become aware at midlife that everyone knows the future, but nobody cares.  So what that I drowned tight up underwater.  Some things are just worth it.  Their names go down in the Tetragrammaton to be called upon in the time of need.  A part of them is imprinted in the time space continuum.

There is no time.  We are floating in a bubble to and fro throughout the universe.