More harvesters of eyes; the worst

My ISP server is currently undergoing massive failure. This comes on the heels of the revelation that I am unable to post any sort of picture at UPI. I am supposed to use the Picasa™ web site; nothing from my PC will be accepted. Photo browsing ends in termination of the worst sort. Picasa ™ is worthless.

In a futile effort at compliance, I made the mistake of signing onto Picasa™. I was immediately raided with a virus that destroyed 24 graphics files without a trace, and other files were cherry-picked for content. Google™ owns the internet, including Blogger™, and does whatever they please. I cannot contact a live person to unify my blog account. I cannot log onto my old blog without going through hell on earth with 147 log-ins. I cannot post a photo under any circumstances.

I recently posted a diatribe about harvesters of eyes: people who make false promises, otherwise lie, and eyeball you as you descend into Hell.

I retract what I said about the AARP and NutraSystem™ being the greatest harvesters of eyes. That distinction belongs to Google™. They have taken over the internet, and like Democrats, they have nothing to offer to replace what they have destroyed. There is no customer service, their help link is worthless, and like the troops in Iraq, I am left twisting in the wind, at the whim of sociopaths who could care less.

If I ever gave into my urges to give up on the internet, Google™ would rank far ahead of personal despair. I can fight my own pain and dissolution, but I can’t combat a huge, unseen internet coalition that defeats me at every turn. They have me, and this blog, about whipped. Count the days.

Harvesters of eyes

A troll on another website once suggested that I’d be less boring if I elucidated on "harvesters of eyes", and less upon the social opprobrium of cigarette smoking.

Okay. It’s taken a while to pull that one together, but here ya go:

Someone once confessed confusion as to what a “harvester of eyes” might be. Since I am going totally over the edge into rock & roll mythology, a harvester of eyes is the devil himself. Satan incarnate, returned to earth to gather those windows upon the soul, the eyes. In Hell, those eyes will glare back with accusatory hatred as we descend into the depths. Every betrayal, every lie, every sin, will reflect in those eyes. The individual who collects those eyes and distributes them for maximum effect is the Devil, Satan his own self, a.k.a. The Enemy. If I want to be secular about this piece of whimsy, I’d call it pure-D evil, which certainly exists in our post-modern world.

If anyone can deny that evil exists, please feel free to contradict me and take up the opposing viewpoint. I am representing a mythological viewpoint here, after all.

I see harvesters of eyes every day on my TV satellite. They are most obviously represented by the AARP; the American Association of Retired People is one of the biggest scams to come down the pike. Every time their aggressive ads come on the TV, I sigh and look away. Will you truly sell your soul for lower motel rates?

Other harvesters of eyes include the Nutra-system™ bunch. Go ahead, sue me for telling the truth.

There are three genetic body types: You are an endomorph (skinny), ectomorph, (midweight), or a mesomorph (fatty). Sorry, but your genes dictate that body type. There isn’t a damn thing you can do about it. Have another slice of pizza and read on.

The “Glycemic Advantage” is not a science. It is a pseudo-science invented by people who want to sell something; in this case, weight loss that will not last. This makes them harvesters of eyes.

People who sell false promises are harvesters of eyes. Those eyes stare at you as you descend into Ghenna, i.e, Hell.

This is all rock & roll mythology based upon an obscure group known as Blue Oyster Cult. No one should take it seriously. I am the only person who thinks harvesters of eyes exist. The rest of you vote for Democrats.

The price of being right

I’ve been trying to keep up with the skullduggery in Congress. Instead, the media is consumed with Anna Nicole Smith.

I’m sorry for the poor woman. Her life is a cautionary tale for my daughters. She surrounded herself with enablers, and paid the ultimate price. I have a lady friend who received a large divorce settlement and did the same: she surrounded herself with hangers-on, and ended up working at Taco Bell to keep the tax wolf from the door. Another friend, a former cop, said she was lucky she didn’t end up in an unmarked grave. When we next talk on the phone, I will direct said lady friend to the example of Anna NS.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, “highly decorated veteran” John Murtha is trying his best to leave our troops twisting in the wind in pursuit of his political agenda. The more I hear “We support the troops” from the Democritter Left, the less I believe it. It has been my contention all along that the only way the troops matter to Democrats is in terms of body count; dead soldiers equal political mileage against the hated George Bush. One of the definitions of a sociopath is that other humans are only “things” to be used for pleasure; this defines the leftist regard for those soldiers who have taken the field in the war against terrorism.

Murtha is aided and abetted by Madame Pelosi/Defarge, who sits and knits as the guillotine falls. Her agenda is far more sinister, and temporal. She expects to retain power after the next election, when She-devil Clinton and Barack Osamalama sweep into the White House. America will fall to ruin, nukes will detonate in Israel, and we’ll be discussing “diplomatic sanctions”.

“Please don’t do that again, or we’ll be forced to cut off the Kool-Aid supplies!”

And then some intrepid Al Qaeda types will lug an ADM [backpack nuke] across the Mexican border, and Hurricane Katrina will look like a cool summer’s breeze.

I find the occasional small pleasure in having my predictions come true. This applies to benign political and social shifts. What is happening now in the history of America is not benign. This country has been hoodwinked and overcome by a dangerous socialist cartel that lacks the determination to fight for the people they allegedly represent. As my grandma used to say, they’ll be the death of us all.

Perhaps, as someone suggested, I’m just a fool screaming into the wind.

What if I’m right?

Astro-nuts?

I once drove 900 miles on a love triangle. I went to Washington, De Cesspool, and took a hard left for the West Coast. After hours of driving, I unfolded a map of Kansas, and it was blank.

I don’t do that any more. I once chased a woman I loved over 2500 miles. She wasn’t all that glad to see me.

What’s with the astro-nuts? I left the crazed woman alone as she was crazy from the get-go. I once had such a powerful love in my life. Sane women are too powerful. I don’t try to do second guesses.

I’ve never been into space, never hope to portray an astronaut on TV. Are we too far out there in space?

Great guns! Anna Nicole Smith just died! I am devastated! Not one of my favorite celebrities, I always found that Texas homegirl appealing.

There may be some reflections on mortality coming down the pike. Between the misadventures of astro-nuts and the sudden demise of Anna, this is a too-full day.

The psychology of of Illness, Part II

Some of my Constant Readers may have guessed that I am afflicted by a chronic disease. Too many cigarettes, too much bourbon. There is a price to be paid. All that marijuana and LSD may have figured into the equation, too. There is little I didn't do in search of "enlightenment".

I don't do that any longer. I don't know a dependable pot dealer who isn't a "criminal'; I don't want to to hang out with crooked-types, i. e. better people than Snoop Dog. I go without, and depend upon a prescription for Marinol™. I'd rather have a pot purveyor. Constant readers who have cancer have some idea of the conflict that ensues. I can't--and won't obtain illegal drugs. I do not think that marijuana should not be an illegal drug. Society gangs up against me. Abusers of the medical marijuana system ruin it for us who need it.

lllegal or not, pot has a valid application as an anti-nauseant and appetite stimulant. Others think that getting "high" is a worse form of behavior than being sick to death with some form of cancerous affliction.

Facing various forms of surgery, I will never be offered the marijuana alternative. Instead, they will first try Demerol, which is a hallucenogenic death sentence to my allergic self. Then, they will dose me with morphine. (That stuff is cool, never had withdrawal symptoms, and it beats hell out of an aspirin.) I have the major and minor forms of cutting coming up; but I'll be fine if they don't croak me outright.

I will not go quietly. Never wanted to, never will. Surgeons wield knives, I perk up and listen.

I have two daughters who have never seen the knife. I get it twice within a week.

I will be back, with more personal political commentary. Blogs are personal commentaries on their best days; my frequency of publication is now dictated by my health. To paraphrase Rock Hudson: "If I'd known I would have lived this long, I would have taken better care of myself."