Since May 21, 1999
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SPIRITUAL LESSONS FROM A DYING CAT
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THE RAGE MONKEY PING LIST: Rage at the monkey to be added or deleted!
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Stock up on long term storable food. Water filteration is a must. Have electronics that can operate via handcrank or solar panel. Have at least one firearm, pistols are more important in day-to-day self protection than rifles. It's about to get awfully Argentina in America.
What am I thankful for? I'm thankful this is the first year I didn't have to hide the bodies. I'm thankful for the constant company of the radioactive robot zombies that follow me everywhere. I'm thankful I finally quit huffing glue. I'm thankful no one saw that incident in the Yankees dugout, and I deny everything. I'm thankful every woman who sees me runs away, screaming. I'm thankful most of the restraining orders are lifted.
Mean, nasty temper. Angry. Vengeful. Takes offense easily. Threatens, bullies, intimidates, attacks. Demands strict allege - but to himself. Hated by all in Senate who have tried to work with, and by all in Senate who have tried to oppose him. Egotistical - and vain. Preens for the camera - will do anything, say anything, support anything to get in front of "loyal" MSM cameras.
DEMANDED that campaign finance reform be passed after he was implicated with 6 democrats in Keating S&L bribes: Against the 1st amendment. Opposes 2nd amendment in full form. Supports democrat agenda, and democrat goals. Opposes conservative (truthful) values. Strongly supports EVERY expansion of government power and taxes.
"Loose cannon" - with a short fuse and a hot temper? And you want HIM running foreign policy?
-- posted on 10/27/2005 7:07:03 PM EDT by Robert A. Cook, PE
It was dark. Things moved fast. I could never say for sure who was ultimately responsible, but I always suspected the dwarf. There was something about his sinister grin that unnerved me.
I saw a shape move through the fog. Moving stealthily, I unholstered my shoulder-weapon. In the distance, a dog barked.
I came upon the corpse unexpectedly. The corpse exuded the irresistible aroma of a piquant, ancho chili glaze enticingly enhanced with a hint of fresh cilantro and a light hint of dillweed as it lay before me, coyly garnished by a garland of variegated radicchio and caramelized onions, and impishly drizzled with glistening rivulets of vintage balsamic vinegar and roasted garlic oil, accompanied by a melange of seasonal mushrooms which were sauteed with garlic, shallots and thyme and fiddlehead ferns, which were sauteed with a subtle lemongrass vinaigrette. A faint odor of roasted swiss cheese and -- impetuously added -- a dash of white wine worchestershire sauce accompanied the tumeric smell of salmon and diced green peppers. I was aware that in all likelihood the salmon had been baked, and this concerned me.
I became very afraid.
I remembered back to the last time I smelled baked salmon: I was holding a baked salmon in one hand and a long squeegee in the other, running for my very life down the streets of Rome, as over a thousand chihuahuas and pomeranians nipped at my heels and caused my sneakers to become filled with blood. As the blood loss began making me faint, I sat down wearily on a park bench, began swatting the dogs away with the salmon, and started to think back to the other time when I was nearly killed......
It was clear the plane would no longer fly, as covered as it was with bird droppings. "Dingiddy Gadsorooni Fnark Fnark Fnark Zuppity Poppo," I exclaimed, "How did we EVER end up cruising right through the Atlanta Aviary!" As the plane hurtled towards the imposing rounded dome of Stone Mountain, I began buckling into my parachute, and started to think back to the other time when I was nearly killed......
Ten thousand screaming Zulus stormed towards me, their feet making a thunderous roar as they lept over small creeks and bushes, advancing on our position. My British squad had only a few rusty Lee-Enfield rifles, and we quickly exhausted all our ammunition, to no avail. The Zulu's swarmed towards us like a murderous living thing. I turned to Nigel-Nigel Tuft-Underwood-Dillywanker, (Lt. - Retired) and told him, "Well, old chap. I believe this is it." Nigel-Nigel looked at me, confused, and asked "What who is how where?" I realized that my friend's brain had fallen out again. Picking it up off the ground, and dusting it off, I replaced it in his skull. Comprehension lit up his face. As we stared at death, together, I started to think back to the other time when I was nearly killed......
It was quite clear that the krill were likely to fog up my faceplate and interfere with my regulator. "Blast these krill," I shouted, taking in a mouthful of sea water for having forgotten not to shout underwater. Just then, a large Blue whale, scooping up the krill in it's ravenous mouth, appeared before me in startling technicolor with Panavision and technical color shifts involving a substitution of Munsel Color-Order 97, with a Value of 5 and Strong Chroma, to Munsel Color Order 96, Value 4 and Strong Chroma, such highlight changes courtesy of Eastman Kodak Company. I began to think back to the other time when I was nearly killed......
The radiation-enhanced Ultimate Computer sat impassively in front of me. "DATA INDICATES AND LOGIC DEMANDS THAT YOU MUST BE TERMINATED," it intoned. Adjusting my solar-protection shield on the space-helmet I was wearing, I turned to look at the Bathy Blueness of the Still Earthy Quietness of Natural Beautiness that was the Subtle Coolness of the Churning Coldness of the Implacable Movements of the Oceans of Earth, over the horizen of the dusky, dusty, chokey, chutney Moon. I would miss Earth, I thought, and a tear escaped the corner of my eye. The tear fell into something electronic, and I could hear crackling and zapping and smelled ozone as something important was destroyed. Suddenly I saw a pole lying in the moon dust. I turned, and tossed the bird at the computer. In the low gravity, it took a few seconds for the bird to actually make it to the computer, and the bird bounced harmlessly off, chipping it's beak. Without warning, I pole-vaulted out of the computers reach....
.... which, as the Whale was approaching, reminded me to whip out the pole I had stashed in my gear, and pole-vaulted over the whales back....
.... which made me realize how I could use one of the Zulu's errant spears to escape, and pole-vaulted clear over the entire tribe, and landed on my feet in Madagascar....
....which made me think of how I could use one of the wing struts in the airplane as a pole, and simply pole-vaulted over the rounded treacherous dome of Stone Mountain....
Which made me think of using the streetsweepers long broomstick as a pole, to pole-vault over the thousands of yapping dogs nasty little teeth-laden mouths. Landing in a flower-pot on the second floor of the Roman apartment, I saw a lovely, barely-dressed woman shimmey towards me. "Dingiddy Gadsorooni Fnark Fnark Fnark Zuppity Poppo," I softly murmured in appreciation as she shimmied towards me, every body part in motion, her red ruby crimson vibrant glossy red ruby lips pouty and full in anticipation of me kissing her red ruby scintillating sexy pouty full red ruby lips.
She stopped a little ways before me, and she/it unzipped her human suit. A grotesque bug-like alien stepped out of the human-like skin that fell to the floor, red ruby pouty full lips still visible. The antennae quivered and it's mandibals clacked menacingly. I whipped out my ProtoBlaster LaserPhaser Neutron Ray Gun, jumped to my feet, did a Captain Kirk shoulder roll for effect, and, positioning myself behind the desk, screamed "I knew it was you all along, Zelorian menace!"
This particular Zelorian looked to be about of the Forshund sex, and about 12 cycles old. On their planet, procreation is only possible if 4 seperate sexes co-operate. Needless to say, their race is dying out.
I had done my homework on this dangerous alien race. It appears that in order for the Forshund to procreate, they needed need the Trok, which serves as a place to plant the Motroy. The Trok genetalia consists of something vaguely resembling a catchers mitt. The Ponufti must take his/her lopki, which looks like two spheres suspended on a y-fork stick, and twirl them around the the Yepmens morglot, which looks like a spiral pig tail. These actions cause the spontaneous emission of Frogni Vapors, in which is the building blocks of the Motroy. That is where this Forshund came in.
Of course, the role of the Forshund Zelorian is amazingly involved and utterly disgusting that even Michael Jackson recoiled in horror when I told him. There is a 12-volume manual on even the basic sexual act of Trunorianing .... much less, the Mott!
I was shocked out of my thoughts by the sound of the Zelorian, as he/she/it used its three blowholes to harmonize and produce something akin to human speech: "No, Earthling," it trilled, "I am not here to squeeze the life out of your puny frame. I am here to seek your assistance."
"Ah," I said, astutely.
The Zelorian went on: "My race is dying out. We need help. We need your assistance in this matter. I promise you that you will be richly rewarded."
"Okay," I said, adopting a very Gap-like pose, with one hand poised on an outthrust hip, legs slightly apart, with my left foot on blue, my right foot on red, and my left hand on green, causing someone in the distance to yell "TWISTER!". "So what is it that you want?"
The Forshund Zelorian paused for a brief half-hour, smearing itself with a curious ketchup-peanut butter mix, as Zelorians are prone to do, and finally spoke up. "You have imbedded in your genetic structure the one genetic code that will make our reproduction somewhat less complicated," it quavered.
I paused, horrorstruck and staring.
It looked back at me.
I looked at it, squinting.
It coyly cast a glance at a mirror that was facing me.
I cleverly observed it's profile in a reflection on the glass window.
It hypnotically gazed at my shadow.
Finally, it spoke up. "That's right, Human. We need your demon seed." [to be continued]
On the other hand, here are some lovely thoughts from my friends at a group call Narcotics Anonymous.
Who, What, How, and Why
What is the Narcotics Anonymous program?
There are no strings attached to NA. We are not affiliated with any other organizations, we have no initiation fees or dues, no pledges to sign, no promises to make to anyone. We are not connected with any political, religious, or law enforcement groups, and are under no surveillance at any time. Anyone may join us, regardless of age, race, sexual identity, creed, religion, or lack of religion.
We are not interested in what or how much you used or who your connections were, what you have done in the past, how much or how little you have, but only in what you want to do about your problem and how we can help. The newcomer is the most important person at any meeting, because we can only keep what we have by giving it away. We have learned from our group experience that those who keep coming to our meetings regularly stay clean.
Why are we here?
Most of us realized that in our addiction we were slowly committing suicide, but addiction is such a cunning enemy of life that we had lost the power to do anything about it. Many of us ended up in jail, or sought help through medicine, religion, and psychiatry. None of these methods was sufficient for us. Our disease always resurfaced or continued to progress until, in desperation, we sought help from each other in Narcotics Anonymous.
After coming to NA we realized we were sick people. We suffered from a disease from which there is no known cure. It can, however, be arrested at some point, and recovery is then possible.
How it works
This sounds like a big order, and we can't do it all at once. We didn't become addicted in one day, so remember easy does it.
There is one thing more than anything else that will defeat us in our recovery; this is an attitude of indifference or intolerance toward spiritual principles. Three of these that are indispensable are honesty, open-mindedness, and willingness. With these we are well on our way.
We feel that our approach to the disease of addiction is completely realistic, for the therapeutic value of one addict helping another is without parallel. We feel that our way is practical, for one addict can best understand and help another addict. We believe that the sooner we face our problems within our society, in everyday living, just that much faster do we become acceptable, responsible, and productive members of that society.
The only way to keep from returning to active addiction is not to take that first drug. If you are like us you know that one is too many and a thousand never enough. We put great emphasis on this, for we know that when we use drugs in any form, or substitute one for another, we release our addiction all over again.
Thinking of alcohol as different from other drugs has caused a great many addicts to relapse. Before we came to NA, many of us viewed alcohol separately, but we cannot afford to be confused about this. Alcohol is a drug. We are people with the disease of addiction who must abstain from all drugs in order to recover.
The Twelve Traditions of NA
As long as the ties that bind us together are stronger than those that would tear us apart, all will be well.
Twelve Steps and Twelve Traditions
|Who, What, How, and Why
Reprinted from the White Booklet, Narcotics Anonymous
This is NA Fellowship-approved literature.
Copyright © 1976, 1986 by
Narcotics Anonymous World Services, Inc.
All rights reserved