A husband and wife go on a day trip early one morning, leaving the dog at home alone.
When they return, they find their dog dead on the floor, lying in a large pool of urine, beneath a hole in the roof and ceiling above the dog.
The couple call police and report "a very strange break-in." They tell police, "It is as though a burglar took an axe, cut his way into the house through the roof, climbed into the house, killed the dog, peed on the dog, and then left through the hole in the roof without taking anything! It is so wierd!"
When the police do a DNA check on the urine, they call the couple and say, "Listen, we have some interesting news about your burglary. Apparently, an analysis of the urine on your floor indicates that about 200 people contributed to the puddle. So, apparently 200 people climbed through that hole in your roof and peed on the dead dog!"
"What??????????!!!!!!!!!!" the husband and wife respond, "That's crazy!!!!!!!!!!"
Then, someone figured it out.
Apparently, one of the passenger jets landing at the nearby airport emptied its toilet to the ground just before landing. Because the jet had been flying so high, at 33,000 feet, the air around the plane had been extremely cold, freezing the urine solid, so that a large chunk of ice made of frozen pee had fallen out of the plane, crash through the roof, struck and killed the dog and then melted.
Saturday, November 18, 2017
Thursday, November 16, 2017
YOU'RE THE JUDGE: HOW WOULD YOU HANDLE THE BOOB CASES?:
[WARNING: SEXUAL CONTENT]
This is a reprint of a non-fictional piece I published 7 years ago. In light of the extent to which political correctness has changed our cultural perceptions, it seems important to republish the piece.
I persisted, "No, no, what I mean is, What happened so that you felt entitled to reach into the window and grab this girl on the breasts?"
Suddenly the translator, who was a Punjabi emigrant who came to America with her parents as a child, said, "Oh! I think I understand! Let me speak to him in our language!"
They went back and forth for a few minutes in the Punjabi dialect. Occasionally the translator inserted American colloquialisms like, "You idiot!" which he understood, and he looked very sheepish in response as she continued with a scold in Punjabi.
The translator then explained, "I only know of this. I never experienced it, because I grew up here in America. Do Punjabi girls stare at you, when you see them in stores?"
I said, "Yes. It looks like they are flirting with me."
The translator explained, "What is happening is that where he comes from, the girls must always look down when speaking to a man, because looking him the eyes is a signal which says, 'I am interested in you, sexually.' The Punjabi girls stare like that at you, because for them being able to stare at the men without inviting sex is a novel thing. American girls look at men when they talk to them, because here just looking at a man in the eyes does not mean, 'I want to have sex with you.' These lonely young men from northwest India forget where they are. When a girl drives in and looks him in the eye and asks for gas, he thinks, "Va-va-voom! She's looking at me! She is interested in sex!"
I burst out laughing. When the matter came to court, I asked the judge for an opportunity to conference the matter in the judge's chambers with the prosecutor, the victim and her family, the translator, my client and myself, and the judge present.
My client, the young man, looked terrified, and his hands shook very badly during the conference. This reaction only reinforced the impression that he lacked criminal intent.
When I gently explained what had happened on the night in question, and the translator very eloquently substantiated my explanation, the judge and the prosecutor were swayed, and discussed the matter with the family outside our presence.
The family consented to a "Dismissal Without Prejudice." What that means is that the case remained open, and that charges from this case would be added to charges from any new case if he got in trouble again, and he would be prosecuted in both cases -- a reasonable response to the circumstances.
To drive the point home, the judge screamed at him -- and I mean screamed -- in open court in a crowded courtroom, while the Defendant, shaking, cried.
But, he survived.
The next case occurred in a town only a short distance "up the Pike." Similar circumstances. Gas jockey, pretty girl, midnight shift. But this guy held out for weeks before he concluded, "She is looking at me! She loves me!" and then "turned amorous." One night the girl, very pretty but mechanically adept, opened the hood of her car and bent over and used a heavy pair of channel locks to remove a part from her engine to show him how the engine worked better without it. He walked up behind her and leaned his front against her behind, and reached around and grabbed her chest. She freaked out and pushed him away and slammed him in the face with the steel channel locks, and a policeman who had seen him lean against her that way and her reaction arrested the injured young man for sexual assault.
When the same Punjabi translator came up from Washington, D.C. for the case, she was puzzled at a second case so very much like the first. Because the girl had left the young man with a deep permanent scar from his forehead across his eye to his cheek, when we explained that the girl had been accidentally giving him Punjabi "go signs" for weeks she forgave him and asked that the charges be dismissed.
The third case was the worst. The girl was very pretty, very personable, and -- thank God -- very understanding. But she was married to a policeman! And, she was eight months pregnant at the time of the incident!
The girl and her police officer husband lived next to the gas station. She regularly went into the gas station mini-mart, and purchased household needs -- bread and milk and such -- and engaged the young man, whose wife was still back in the Punjab, in pleasant conversation. She said, "I was much taken with that guy's innocence! He seemed like such a good man!" She was well-endowed and otherwise very beautiful before becoming pregnant. After she became pregnant, she was even more "well-endowed."
She flew home to her mother's house in the Midwest for her baby shower. On her return, her husband picked her up at the airport after he finished working the second shift in his town as a patrolman. When they arrived back at the house next to the gas station and mini-mart, the eight-months-pregnant wife walked over to the mini-mart for some OJ. As she smiled pleasantly at her Punjabi gas jockey friend behind the cash register, he was feeling particularly lonely that night. His libido finally gave way. He thought, "SHE LOOKS AT ME SO MUCH! SHE MUST LOVE ME!" As she turned to go home, he reached over the counter, grabbed her boobs from behind, pulled the shocked girl over the counter and began kissing her madly on the lips as she flailed wildly.
From the driveway her husband saw his pregnant wife's flailing legs, thought, "Wha-a-a-at!" and ran over to the store with his gun drawn. He exploded through the door, screaming, "YOU BASTARD! GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!"
He pulled his wife away from the shocked Punjabi, punched him very hard in the face, threw him to the floor, sat on him, and shoved the barrel of his his .45 into his mouth while he called on his cell phone for back-up.
I invited the wife and her police officer husband to the arraignment hearing -- the hearing where the indictment is read to the accused. When the translator came up from the embassy in Washington, and she realized that it was another "boob case," despite the seriousness of the charge she burst out laughing. She said, "We are going to have to do something about this, Mr. Dawson!"
The prosecutor knew me well, understood why I invited the victim and her husband to the arraignment, and agreed to let me and the translator speak to them alone in an empty courtroom. When I went over the facts with the translator, she said, "You are right. This is another one of those cases." The husband "wanted blood," but he listened carefully, with his wife, as the translator explained to the wife how cultural differences led to the man being enticed by the woman. "When they come over here to this county," she said, "They work 16 hours a day and send money back home to their families. That's it. That's all there is to their lives. They have no time to learn about this country and its culture and the language. They stay 100% Punjabi. When you were kind enough to talk to him, you innocently looked him in the eyes as you talked to him, the way we all do in America, and by that means you accidentally behaved in a way that in his part of India means, 'I may be pregnant, but I may be interested in having sex with you!'" I added, "Listen, it really was just circumstances, and your husband's response, based on what he saw, was 100% appropriate! But it was all really just a cultural misunderstanding. It really was. When cultures mix, it's 'oil and water.' The mix doesn't work out, and generates bizarre results."
The wife, to her credit, understood and relented. Over her husband's objections, she agreed to a plea to a greatly reduced charge, 5 years probation, and a $5,000 fine.
After that, the embassy caused the Indian government to require émigrés from the suspect sections of India to sit through lectures on American culture and American sexuality, to control the problem -- in effect, "IF AMERICAN GIRLS LOOK AT YOU AND SMILE, IT DOESN'T MEAN, 'I WANT SEX.'"
I haven't heard of any more cases of this sort in our area.
This is a reprint of a non-fictional piece I published 7 years ago. In light of the extent to which political correctness has changed our cultural perceptions, it seems important to republish the piece.
Years ago, before "sexual predator" became Political Correctness Bad Guy Number One, I bumped into a series of cases connected with young men emigrating to America from the Punjab region northwest of Delhi, India.
In the first case, an unmarried young man who had recently emigrated from the Punjab to southern New Jersey was pumping gas on the midnight shift when a very pretty 18 year old girl in a snug-fitting tube top drove into the station around 2:00 a.m. for a tank of gas.
The young man was very lonely, and much impressed with her comely appearance.
The girl thought to herself, "What a pleasant guy!" and looked at him and smiled at him in an ordinary American way as she told him that she wanted "regular."
Instead, she got something a little more "high octane" -- the young man reached into her car window and began fondling her breasts through her tube top!
The girl freaked-out, screamed, and drove with wheels screeching out of the gas station, to the local police station, and filed charges for sexual assault.
Bail was set at $5,000. The gas station owner was a cousin, and so he posted bail. I was retained as the young man's attorney. When I sat down with him with my translator, a woman from the Indian embassy in Washington, I asked him, "What happened? Why did you do it?" He answered, "She looked at me."
I asked, "Okay, then what happened?"
He responded, "She looked at me," with a tone suggesting, "What's the matter. Don't you get it?"
In the first case, an unmarried young man who had recently emigrated from the Punjab to southern New Jersey was pumping gas on the midnight shift when a very pretty 18 year old girl in a snug-fitting tube top drove into the station around 2:00 a.m. for a tank of gas.
The young man was very lonely, and much impressed with her comely appearance.
The girl thought to herself, "What a pleasant guy!" and looked at him and smiled at him in an ordinary American way as she told him that she wanted "regular."
Instead, she got something a little more "high octane" -- the young man reached into her car window and began fondling her breasts through her tube top!
The girl freaked-out, screamed, and drove with wheels screeching out of the gas station, to the local police station, and filed charges for sexual assault.
Bail was set at $5,000. The gas station owner was a cousin, and so he posted bail. I was retained as the young man's attorney. When I sat down with him with my translator, a woman from the Indian embassy in Washington, I asked him, "What happened? Why did you do it?" He answered, "She looked at me."
I asked, "Okay, then what happened?"
He responded, "She looked at me," with a tone suggesting, "What's the matter. Don't you get it?"
I persisted, "No, no, what I mean is, What happened so that you felt entitled to reach into the window and grab this girl on the breasts?"
Suddenly the translator, who was a Punjabi emigrant who came to America with her parents as a child, said, "Oh! I think I understand! Let me speak to him in our language!"
They went back and forth for a few minutes in the Punjabi dialect. Occasionally the translator inserted American colloquialisms like, "You idiot!" which he understood, and he looked very sheepish in response as she continued with a scold in Punjabi.
The translator then explained, "I only know of this. I never experienced it, because I grew up here in America. Do Punjabi girls stare at you, when you see them in stores?"
I said, "Yes. It looks like they are flirting with me."
The translator explained, "What is happening is that where he comes from, the girls must always look down when speaking to a man, because looking him the eyes is a signal which says, 'I am interested in you, sexually.' The Punjabi girls stare like that at you, because for them being able to stare at the men without inviting sex is a novel thing. American girls look at men when they talk to them, because here just looking at a man in the eyes does not mean, 'I want to have sex with you.' These lonely young men from northwest India forget where they are. When a girl drives in and looks him in the eye and asks for gas, he thinks, "Va-va-voom! She's looking at me! She is interested in sex!"
I burst out laughing. When the matter came to court, I asked the judge for an opportunity to conference the matter in the judge's chambers with the prosecutor, the victim and her family, the translator, my client and myself, and the judge present.
My client, the young man, looked terrified, and his hands shook very badly during the conference. This reaction only reinforced the impression that he lacked criminal intent.
When I gently explained what had happened on the night in question, and the translator very eloquently substantiated my explanation, the judge and the prosecutor were swayed, and discussed the matter with the family outside our presence.
The family consented to a "Dismissal Without Prejudice." What that means is that the case remained open, and that charges from this case would be added to charges from any new case if he got in trouble again, and he would be prosecuted in both cases -- a reasonable response to the circumstances.
To drive the point home, the judge screamed at him -- and I mean screamed -- in open court in a crowded courtroom, while the Defendant, shaking, cried.
But, he survived.
The next case occurred in a town only a short distance "up the Pike." Similar circumstances. Gas jockey, pretty girl, midnight shift. But this guy held out for weeks before he concluded, "She is looking at me! She loves me!" and then "turned amorous." One night the girl, very pretty but mechanically adept, opened the hood of her car and bent over and used a heavy pair of channel locks to remove a part from her engine to show him how the engine worked better without it. He walked up behind her and leaned his front against her behind, and reached around and grabbed her chest. She freaked out and pushed him away and slammed him in the face with the steel channel locks, and a policeman who had seen him lean against her that way and her reaction arrested the injured young man for sexual assault.
When the same Punjabi translator came up from Washington, D.C. for the case, she was puzzled at a second case so very much like the first. Because the girl had left the young man with a deep permanent scar from his forehead across his eye to his cheek, when we explained that the girl had been accidentally giving him Punjabi "go signs" for weeks she forgave him and asked that the charges be dismissed.
The third case was the worst. The girl was very pretty, very personable, and -- thank God -- very understanding. But she was married to a policeman! And, she was eight months pregnant at the time of the incident!
The girl and her police officer husband lived next to the gas station. She regularly went into the gas station mini-mart, and purchased household needs -- bread and milk and such -- and engaged the young man, whose wife was still back in the Punjab, in pleasant conversation. She said, "I was much taken with that guy's innocence! He seemed like such a good man!" She was well-endowed and otherwise very beautiful before becoming pregnant. After she became pregnant, she was even more "well-endowed."
She flew home to her mother's house in the Midwest for her baby shower. On her return, her husband picked her up at the airport after he finished working the second shift in his town as a patrolman. When they arrived back at the house next to the gas station and mini-mart, the eight-months-pregnant wife walked over to the mini-mart for some OJ. As she smiled pleasantly at her Punjabi gas jockey friend behind the cash register, he was feeling particularly lonely that night. His libido finally gave way. He thought, "SHE LOOKS AT ME SO MUCH! SHE MUST LOVE ME!" As she turned to go home, he reached over the counter, grabbed her boobs from behind, pulled the shocked girl over the counter and began kissing her madly on the lips as she flailed wildly.
From the driveway her husband saw his pregnant wife's flailing legs, thought, "Wha-a-a-at!" and ran over to the store with his gun drawn. He exploded through the door, screaming, "YOU BASTARD! GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!"
He pulled his wife away from the shocked Punjabi, punched him very hard in the face, threw him to the floor, sat on him, and shoved the barrel of his his .45 into his mouth while he called on his cell phone for back-up.
I invited the wife and her police officer husband to the arraignment hearing -- the hearing where the indictment is read to the accused. When the translator came up from the embassy in Washington, and she realized that it was another "boob case," despite the seriousness of the charge she burst out laughing. She said, "We are going to have to do something about this, Mr. Dawson!"
The prosecutor knew me well, understood why I invited the victim and her husband to the arraignment, and agreed to let me and the translator speak to them alone in an empty courtroom. When I went over the facts with the translator, she said, "You are right. This is another one of those cases." The husband "wanted blood," but he listened carefully, with his wife, as the translator explained to the wife how cultural differences led to the man being enticed by the woman. "When they come over here to this county," she said, "They work 16 hours a day and send money back home to their families. That's it. That's all there is to their lives. They have no time to learn about this country and its culture and the language. They stay 100% Punjabi. When you were kind enough to talk to him, you innocently looked him in the eyes as you talked to him, the way we all do in America, and by that means you accidentally behaved in a way that in his part of India means, 'I may be pregnant, but I may be interested in having sex with you!'" I added, "Listen, it really was just circumstances, and your husband's response, based on what he saw, was 100% appropriate! But it was all really just a cultural misunderstanding. It really was. When cultures mix, it's 'oil and water.' The mix doesn't work out, and generates bizarre results."
The wife, to her credit, understood and relented. Over her husband's objections, she agreed to a plea to a greatly reduced charge, 5 years probation, and a $5,000 fine.
After that, the embassy caused the Indian government to require émigrés from the suspect sections of India to sit through lectures on American culture and American sexuality, to control the problem -- in effect, "IF AMERICAN GIRLS LOOK AT YOU AND SMILE, IT DOESN'T MEAN, 'I WANT SEX.'"
I haven't heard of any more cases of this sort in our area.
Saturday, November 11, 2017
CELLULITIS / MRSA
Because it continues to spread among people we know, here, again, are my recommendations for coping with MRSA.
MRSA is one of the boil-causing staph bacteria turned into a highly-contagious, extremely-drug-resistant super bug capable of turning into a subcutaneous ("beneath-the-skin") infection in which it dissolves the flesh. The variety I had -- called the "Camden County Jail strain" by one epidemiologist -- has a 16% death rate.
Health care professionals and writers are fond of repeating the tired old shibboleth, "Everybody carries MRSA somewhere on their body." But who cares!!! I wish they would stop saying that!!!
The question is, Do you have an infectious and communicable MRSA / cellulitis presence anywhere on your body?
You should assume that you have an infectious and communicable presence of MRSA on your body if you or a member of the family living with you have boils, if you or a member of the family living with you have cellulitis, if you or a member of the family living with you have been diagnosed with MRSA, or if you or a member of the family living with you have to engage in special measures to keep from reinfecting yourself with MRSA and to keep from spreading it to others.
If you are a MRSA carrier -- meaning you carry an infectious and communicable presence on your body -- you are carrying it in one or all of the following ways.
Assume all.
(1) In your boil or boils.
(2) In your subcutaneously-infected flesh.
(3) In a colonized area inside your body.
(4) As an invisible sheath on your skin.
(5) In your anus and in your defecation (your poop).
(6) In your nostrils.
Everybody in our society wants to pop pills to solve their problems. "Doctor, give me some pills to make my MRSA go away." But MRSA is different. Even if you stop the current infection, there is a good chance that you will carry it for years, and that you will repeatedly reinfect yourself and others, unless you do something about your infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
MRSA is so hard to beat, and it is so communicable, that I believe that ultimately every human being will get it. It is really depressing, and it is very, very, very dangerous.
So, learn about it.
How did I get MRSA? My wife brought it home. Someone carrying it in his bowels went to the bathroom where she worked, did not wash his hands thoroughly enough afterwards, shook my wife's hand, and she scratched an itch, injecting herself.
When she developed boils, we did not know that this meant that she was carrying a wildly communicable presence on her skin. Every time she sat on the toilet seat at home, she left an invisible sheath of MRSA bacteria behind on the toilet seat. Our sons, sitting on the toilet seat after her, all got it.
For some reason -- probably because of natural resistance -- I got it last of all.
It began as a giant boil "orbited" by a set of smaller "mini-boils" on the right cheek of my butt. They were extremely painful until they popped. When they popped they were extremely bloody -- MRSA is a "flesh-dissolving" bacterium. Antibiotics did not work well.
Later, in subsequent reinfections, I got the disease on my fingers, twice on my scrotum, once in one of my testicles, on my arms, thighs, knees, neck and scalp.
In one of my scrotum infections, it "turned cellulitic," and began to infect my entrails, and probably came within a day-or-so of killing me, except that the variety I carried was subject to the antibiotic Vancomycin. Not all are.
The following are the measures we developed for dealing with MRSA in our house. They work. Learn them, and use them.
(1) GETTING RID OF THE INFECTIOUS AND COMMUNICABLE PRESENCE ON YOUR SKIN AND IN YOUR NOSTRILS. In effect, we are talking about a numbers game, here. If you have an infectious and communicable MRSA presence on your skin, then showering once a day is not enough.
Showering twice a day may not be enough.
To get rid of MRSA, take a soapy shower three times a day -- early in the morning, in the evening after work, and at night just before bed.
The logic is this. When you shower, the shower washes off about 90% of the bacteria on your body. NOT "all" of the bacteria "from 90% of your body," but rather "90% of the bacteria from all parts of your body." In other words, all parts of your body still have 10% of the infectious and communicable MRSA presence. In one day -- maybe even in less than one day -- the MRSA can fully repopulate your skin with an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
As you increase the number of showers per day, you decrease the post-shower percentage to such a low point that it takes longer than one day to regenerate an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
The effect of that is that every time you take one of your multiple daily showers, the infectious and communicable MRSA presence becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes.
You don't need some kind of "magical soap" to shower with. Some think that pHisohex prescribed by a doctor is necessary. It's not. Anti-bacterial soap isn't necessary. But, soap is. Ordinary, cheap Ivory Soap is fine.
When you shower, use one of those shower heads on a hose, so that you can very thoroughly clean out "the dark places" -- you anal and crotch areas.
Also, use the power setting on the shower head to fire lukewarm water up your nostrils. Do this with every shower. It will hurt, but you will get used to it. It will help to wipe-out the MRSA presence in your nose.
(2) GETTING RID OF THE MRSA BACTERIA IN YOUR FLESH -- INFECTIONS AND COLONIES. One of the infectious disease specialists we consulted explained that MRSA has one great goal -- it wants to eat the iron in your hemoglobin in your blood.
So, it occurred to me that I might be able to upset the MRSA's eating habits by oxygenating my blood.
So, I began to walk one hour every morning and one hour every night, day-in and day-out, day after day.
I walked at a forced-march rate -- 4 mph -- so that I was breathing heavily and so really oxygenating my blood.
It worked!
Within 24 hours, my giant MRSA boil began to vanish.
Within I week, they were gone completely.
Doing this every day for a year seemed to finally kill the colony in my testicular region. I could finally have unprotected sex with my wife without reinfecting her.
Suppose the infected person is a baby, or disabled. How can they walk at 4 mph twice a day? They can't. So, I suggested hyperbaric (high pressure) oxygen to one doctor for his infant patient.
THE MRSA PRESENCE IN MY BOWELS. The infectious and communicable MRSA presence in my bowels was the biggest problem. Proving that it was still there is easy. If I skipped taking showers on a weekend, pretty soon I started getting this very sweet-smelling scent inside my underpants -- the MRSA odor. Clearly, MRSA from my anal aperture were repopulating the skin oil and sweat in my personal region.
But then I remembered something I had heard in the hospital -- MRSA and other bacteria don't like a high (alkaline) pH. They want a low (acetic) pH environment.
So, on a particular Friday, I got up at 6:00 a.m., and once every half-hour, on the half hour, I took one Tum, and washed it down with Metamucil in water (to keep things loose -- just Tums might have turned my bowels into hopelessly constipating "concrete.") By midnight, I had taken 37 Tums in one day!
I got very, very, very sick. I was in agonizing pain all night.
But, I believe that poisoning myself in this way eliminated the MRSA bacteria in my bowels -- I'm not getting the sweet smell in my undies anymore.
OTHER MEASURES: THE TOILET. If you have that infectious and communicable MRSA presence, you are dangerous to your family. You could literally kill them. This is not an insignificant thing.
And MRSA is most easily communicated via the toilet seat. The infectious and communicable MRSA presence on your skin, and breaking wind into the toilet, leave a terrible infectious and communicable MRSA presence behind of the toilet seat. If someone else sits on it after the infected person's use, they are going to get MRSA, guaranteed.
So, adopt a rule in the house that if even one person has the infectious and communicable MRSA presence, EVERYBODY in the house has to clean the TOP AND BOTTOM of the toilet seat with any NON-AMMONIA cleaner BEFORE AND AFTER each toilet use.
By such a rule, everybody is protected by two toilet cleanings between each use, and the potty seat stops becoming MRSA infection generator #1.
OTHER MEASURES: THE WASH. The infected person should be given the job of washing and drying all of his own clothes and sheets and blankets in the washer and dryer. This is because his clothing becomes heavily infested with MRSA bacteria and bacterial spores. Just lifting them up and putting them down fills the ambient air with clouds of MRSA bacteria and spores. Let him or her breathe his or her own bacteria and spores. If anyone has at least some immunity, it will be that person, so he or she is the best candidate for doing the wash.
OTHER MEASURES: SEX. In effect, MRSA is a venereal disease. Sex will communicate an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
Condoms won't help. The main problem is the MRSA on the skin and in the sexual sweat AROUND the penis and vagina, and condoms don't address that.
If you don't want to give someone else MRSA via sex, get rid of the infectious and communicable MRSA presence, or don't have sex. Simple. You're stuck.
MRSA is one of the boil-causing staph bacteria turned into a highly-contagious, extremely-drug-resistant super bug capable of turning into a subcutaneous ("beneath-the-skin") infection in which it dissolves the flesh. The variety I had -- called the "Camden County Jail strain" by one epidemiologist -- has a 16% death rate.
Health care professionals and writers are fond of repeating the tired old shibboleth, "Everybody carries MRSA somewhere on their body." But who cares!!! I wish they would stop saying that!!!
The question is, Do you have an infectious and communicable MRSA / cellulitis presence anywhere on your body?
You should assume that you have an infectious and communicable presence of MRSA on your body if you or a member of the family living with you have boils, if you or a member of the family living with you have cellulitis, if you or a member of the family living with you have been diagnosed with MRSA, or if you or a member of the family living with you have to engage in special measures to keep from reinfecting yourself with MRSA and to keep from spreading it to others.
If you are a MRSA carrier -- meaning you carry an infectious and communicable presence on your body -- you are carrying it in one or all of the following ways.
Assume all.
(1) In your boil or boils.
(2) In your subcutaneously-infected flesh.
(3) In a colonized area inside your body.
(4) As an invisible sheath on your skin.
(5) In your anus and in your defecation (your poop).
(6) In your nostrils.
Everybody in our society wants to pop pills to solve their problems. "Doctor, give me some pills to make my MRSA go away." But MRSA is different. Even if you stop the current infection, there is a good chance that you will carry it for years, and that you will repeatedly reinfect yourself and others, unless you do something about your infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
MRSA is so hard to beat, and it is so communicable, that I believe that ultimately every human being will get it. It is really depressing, and it is very, very, very dangerous.
So, learn about it.
How did I get MRSA? My wife brought it home. Someone carrying it in his bowels went to the bathroom where she worked, did not wash his hands thoroughly enough afterwards, shook my wife's hand, and she scratched an itch, injecting herself.
When she developed boils, we did not know that this meant that she was carrying a wildly communicable presence on her skin. Every time she sat on the toilet seat at home, she left an invisible sheath of MRSA bacteria behind on the toilet seat. Our sons, sitting on the toilet seat after her, all got it.
For some reason -- probably because of natural resistance -- I got it last of all.
It began as a giant boil "orbited" by a set of smaller "mini-boils" on the right cheek of my butt. They were extremely painful until they popped. When they popped they were extremely bloody -- MRSA is a "flesh-dissolving" bacterium. Antibiotics did not work well.
Later, in subsequent reinfections, I got the disease on my fingers, twice on my scrotum, once in one of my testicles, on my arms, thighs, knees, neck and scalp.
In one of my scrotum infections, it "turned cellulitic," and began to infect my entrails, and probably came within a day-or-so of killing me, except that the variety I carried was subject to the antibiotic Vancomycin. Not all are.
The following are the measures we developed for dealing with MRSA in our house. They work. Learn them, and use them.
(1) GETTING RID OF THE INFECTIOUS AND COMMUNICABLE PRESENCE ON YOUR SKIN AND IN YOUR NOSTRILS. In effect, we are talking about a numbers game, here. If you have an infectious and communicable MRSA presence on your skin, then showering once a day is not enough.
Showering twice a day may not be enough.
To get rid of MRSA, take a soapy shower three times a day -- early in the morning, in the evening after work, and at night just before bed.
The logic is this. When you shower, the shower washes off about 90% of the bacteria on your body. NOT "all" of the bacteria "from 90% of your body," but rather "90% of the bacteria from all parts of your body." In other words, all parts of your body still have 10% of the infectious and communicable MRSA presence. In one day -- maybe even in less than one day -- the MRSA can fully repopulate your skin with an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
As you increase the number of showers per day, you decrease the post-shower percentage to such a low point that it takes longer than one day to regenerate an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
The effect of that is that every time you take one of your multiple daily showers, the infectious and communicable MRSA presence becomes smaller and smaller until it vanishes.
You don't need some kind of "magical soap" to shower with. Some think that pHisohex prescribed by a doctor is necessary. It's not. Anti-bacterial soap isn't necessary. But, soap is. Ordinary, cheap Ivory Soap is fine.
When you shower, use one of those shower heads on a hose, so that you can very thoroughly clean out "the dark places" -- you anal and crotch areas.
Also, use the power setting on the shower head to fire lukewarm water up your nostrils. Do this with every shower. It will hurt, but you will get used to it. It will help to wipe-out the MRSA presence in your nose.
(2) GETTING RID OF THE MRSA BACTERIA IN YOUR FLESH -- INFECTIONS AND COLONIES. One of the infectious disease specialists we consulted explained that MRSA has one great goal -- it wants to eat the iron in your hemoglobin in your blood.
So, it occurred to me that I might be able to upset the MRSA's eating habits by oxygenating my blood.
So, I began to walk one hour every morning and one hour every night, day-in and day-out, day after day.
I walked at a forced-march rate -- 4 mph -- so that I was breathing heavily and so really oxygenating my blood.
It worked!
Within 24 hours, my giant MRSA boil began to vanish.
Within I week, they were gone completely.
Doing this every day for a year seemed to finally kill the colony in my testicular region. I could finally have unprotected sex with my wife without reinfecting her.
Suppose the infected person is a baby, or disabled. How can they walk at 4 mph twice a day? They can't. So, I suggested hyperbaric (high pressure) oxygen to one doctor for his infant patient.
THE MRSA PRESENCE IN MY BOWELS. The infectious and communicable MRSA presence in my bowels was the biggest problem. Proving that it was still there is easy. If I skipped taking showers on a weekend, pretty soon I started getting this very sweet-smelling scent inside my underpants -- the MRSA odor. Clearly, MRSA from my anal aperture were repopulating the skin oil and sweat in my personal region.
But then I remembered something I had heard in the hospital -- MRSA and other bacteria don't like a high (alkaline) pH. They want a low (acetic) pH environment.
So, on a particular Friday, I got up at 6:00 a.m., and once every half-hour, on the half hour, I took one Tum, and washed it down with Metamucil in water (to keep things loose -- just Tums might have turned my bowels into hopelessly constipating "concrete.") By midnight, I had taken 37 Tums in one day!
I got very, very, very sick. I was in agonizing pain all night.
But, I believe that poisoning myself in this way eliminated the MRSA bacteria in my bowels -- I'm not getting the sweet smell in my undies anymore.
OTHER MEASURES: THE TOILET. If you have that infectious and communicable MRSA presence, you are dangerous to your family. You could literally kill them. This is not an insignificant thing.
And MRSA is most easily communicated via the toilet seat. The infectious and communicable MRSA presence on your skin, and breaking wind into the toilet, leave a terrible infectious and communicable MRSA presence behind of the toilet seat. If someone else sits on it after the infected person's use, they are going to get MRSA, guaranteed.
So, adopt a rule in the house that if even one person has the infectious and communicable MRSA presence, EVERYBODY in the house has to clean the TOP AND BOTTOM of the toilet seat with any NON-AMMONIA cleaner BEFORE AND AFTER each toilet use.
By such a rule, everybody is protected by two toilet cleanings between each use, and the potty seat stops becoming MRSA infection generator #1.
OTHER MEASURES: THE WASH. The infected person should be given the job of washing and drying all of his own clothes and sheets and blankets in the washer and dryer. This is because his clothing becomes heavily infested with MRSA bacteria and bacterial spores. Just lifting them up and putting them down fills the ambient air with clouds of MRSA bacteria and spores. Let him or her breathe his or her own bacteria and spores. If anyone has at least some immunity, it will be that person, so he or she is the best candidate for doing the wash.
OTHER MEASURES: SEX. In effect, MRSA is a venereal disease. Sex will communicate an infectious and communicable MRSA presence.
Condoms won't help. The main problem is the MRSA on the skin and in the sexual sweat AROUND the penis and vagina, and condoms don't address that.
If you don't want to give someone else MRSA via sex, get rid of the infectious and communicable MRSA presence, or don't have sex. Simple. You're stuck.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
It It Possible That THE TITANNIC NEVER SANK?
One of the submersibles visiting the Titannic in its watery grave off Newfoundland was directed to the bow to photograph the monster ship's famous name. The operators of the submersible were greatly confused when, instead of the word "TITANNIC" welded into the steel, they saw "MP" ...
... the fourth and fifth letters of "O L Y M P I C," the name of the Titannic's sister ship, where letters of the word "Titannic" had corroded and fallen off.
So, what was this all about?
The truth appears to be that the Titannic never sank because the owners of the Titannic substituted-in the Olympic, for the following reasons.
Turn-of-the-century "jillionaire" J.P. Morgan and a few other investors decided to contract for the construction of three (3) nearly identical steamships, the Olympic, the Titannic and the Britannic, to enlarge their fortunes in the trans-Atlantic steamship business. The Olympic was completed first. However, the Olympic suffered an accidental collision with a British Navy cruiser, the HMS Hawke, which had a bow carefully designed to penetrate and sink the hulls of enemy ships. The Hawke cut-through the Olympic's hull at two places, but the steamship managed to avoid sinking and to limp back to port for repairs.
British Naval authorities whitewashed the Navy's role in the mishap, declaring the disaster to be 100% the fault of the owners of the Olympic. The Olympic's insurance carrier seized on the finding as grounds for denying any insurance payout. Suddenly the steamship company's owners were faced with bankruptcy, insofar as repairs necessary to render the Olympic seaworthy for more than a voyage or two were not possible without paying for a total rebuild of the ship.
Except ...
Except they had an idea. The Titannic was nearing completion and launch from the dock where it was moored in Belfast. The owners moored Olympic next to her, and switched the names on the bows -- and all of the other indications of a scam. There were minor differences between the ships which they could not change -- some port holes and windows were different. But construction crews in the know were sworn to secrecy on pain of incarceration. And all other indications that the ship called "Titannic" was really the Olympic were changed out.
And then, on the day of her maiden voyage, over 2,000 people boarded the Olympic, thinking that it was Titannic.
And the ship was later rammed into an iceberg, so that over 1,500 drowned.
The owners collected on the insurance on the Titannic, and stayed rich.. And the Titannic sailed the seven seas for the next two decades.
... the fourth and fifth letters of "O L Y M P I C," the name of the Titannic's sister ship, where letters of the word "Titannic" had corroded and fallen off.
So, what was this all about?
The truth appears to be that the Titannic never sank because the owners of the Titannic substituted-in the Olympic, for the following reasons.
Turn-of-the-century "jillionaire" J.P. Morgan and a few other investors decided to contract for the construction of three (3) nearly identical steamships, the Olympic, the Titannic and the Britannic, to enlarge their fortunes in the trans-Atlantic steamship business. The Olympic was completed first. However, the Olympic suffered an accidental collision with a British Navy cruiser, the HMS Hawke, which had a bow carefully designed to penetrate and sink the hulls of enemy ships. The Hawke cut-through the Olympic's hull at two places, but the steamship managed to avoid sinking and to limp back to port for repairs.
British Naval authorities whitewashed the Navy's role in the mishap, declaring the disaster to be 100% the fault of the owners of the Olympic. The Olympic's insurance carrier seized on the finding as grounds for denying any insurance payout. Suddenly the steamship company's owners were faced with bankruptcy, insofar as repairs necessary to render the Olympic seaworthy for more than a voyage or two were not possible without paying for a total rebuild of the ship.
Except ...
Except they had an idea. The Titannic was nearing completion and launch from the dock where it was moored in Belfast. The owners moored Olympic next to her, and switched the names on the bows -- and all of the other indications of a scam. There were minor differences between the ships which they could not change -- some port holes and windows were different. But construction crews in the know were sworn to secrecy on pain of incarceration. And all other indications that the ship called "Titannic" was really the Olympic were changed out.
And then, on the day of her maiden voyage, over 2,000 people boarded the Olympic, thinking that it was Titannic.
And the ship was later rammed into an iceberg, so that over 1,500 drowned.
The owners collected on the insurance on the Titannic, and stayed rich.. And the Titannic sailed the seven seas for the next two decades.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
HILLARY LOOKING FOR EVIDENCE FOR HER SECRET DOSSIER?
The other night, I heard on conservative talk radio how researchers had happened on evidence that former first lady Hillary Rodham Clinton and the DNC had paid researchers millions of dollars to dig up dirt on President Trump.
Because I like to tease Rise` on such things, I went to her and said, "Ah-HAH! They caught Hillary paying to develop testimony in a secret dossier on Trump!"
"Oh, yeah?" she answered. "What makes it 'secret'?"
"Well," I responded, "the Inquirer called it a 'dossier,' and dossiers aren't 'dossiers' unless they are secret, or, well, files aren't 'dossiers' unless they are secret, or, well, secrets aren't 'dossiers' unless they are files, or something like that.
"In any event, I tried to read the Inquirer article of the subject, and it's impenetrable. It's completely Byzantine. Even the participants won't understand what they did wrong. My guess is that someone BAD did something BAD so that the article accuses them of doing BAD things, something like that.
"Secret dossiers have to be read and worked on in dark basements by the light of dirty lanterns, otherwise they stop being secret dossiers. That's the rule. So, I imagine that that is what Hillary Rodham Clinton and the DNC were caught doing. DISGRACEFUL! And, in any event, I found this recording of what appears to be Hillary Rodham Clinton lurking in the dark, doing research on her secret dossier on President Trump ..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ViOmvnY2JTU
At a couple of points the "narrator" sounds like he is yelling, "HILLARY! I LOVE YOU!" Listen carefully.
Because I like to tease Rise` on such things, I went to her and said, "Ah-HAH! They caught Hillary paying to develop testimony in a secret dossier on Trump!"
"Oh, yeah?" she answered. "What makes it 'secret'?"
"Well," I responded, "the Inquirer called it a 'dossier,' and dossiers aren't 'dossiers' unless they are secret, or, well, files aren't 'dossiers' unless they are secret, or, well, secrets aren't 'dossiers' unless they are files, or something like that.
"In any event, I tried to read the Inquirer article of the subject, and it's impenetrable. It's completely Byzantine. Even the participants won't understand what they did wrong. My guess is that someone BAD did something BAD so that the article accuses them of doing BAD things, something like that.
"Secret dossiers have to be read and worked on in dark basements by the light of dirty lanterns, otherwise they stop being secret dossiers. That's the rule. So, I imagine that that is what Hillary Rodham Clinton and the DNC were caught doing. DISGRACEFUL! And, in any event, I found this recording of what appears to be Hillary Rodham Clinton lurking in the dark, doing research on her secret dossier on President Trump ..."
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ViOmvnY2JTU
At a couple of points the "narrator" sounds like he is yelling, "HILLARY! I LOVE YOU!" Listen carefully.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
"ALIEN"-HAUNTED CANDIDATE FOR CONGRESS
As many readers of this blog know, though I believe in UFOs, I don't regard them as alien in origin -- there are no aliens -- but rather as demonic in origin, or as experimental flying by operatives of a super-secret American or international "black helicopter" UFO program developing a fleet of time-and-space traveling arks designed to enable a privileged few to escape earth and search for better quarters for our species before society collapses into total environmental chaos.
Recently, a national blog, The Tribune, aired a report that Florida Congressional candidate Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera is standing by claims that she was abducted by "aliens" a few times as a child, where the "aliens" resembled the Rio de Janiero Christ the Redeemer statute with blonde hair.
http://www.tribtown.com/2017/10/16/us-florida-candidate-ufos/
Should we all laugh and dismiss her claims as the rants of a kook?
Don't.
Probably, "something happened." The religious content of her experiences suggests that she had some kind of deceptive demonic UFO experience -- something called a "familiarization" experience, geared to sucking-in the support of a gullible Catholic kid. The people of the black helicopter program would never try garbage like a Jesus imitation or be capable of inducing such visions (although I imagine they don't regret such reports -- they make all UFO experiencers look completely goofy, including those who have actually witnessed black helicopter program demonstrations with program time-and-space machines).
The fact that Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera hangs in there with her seemingly crazy story convinces me that she is a simple, good woman with no guile who can be trusted to care for her constituents as any other good person. An experiencer who hides his or her story and lets his or her truth-telling opponent "suffer martyrdom" in the media is a coward and a thief, not to be trusted.
Probably, Ms. Aguilera was targeted by demonic forces as a child for bizarre contact, to acclimate her to demonic contact for the sake of future contact by them. I experienced something similar, but much more brutal, when I was young. And I know that I'm not crazy.
Recently, a national blog, The Tribune, aired a report that Florida Congressional candidate Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera is standing by claims that she was abducted by "aliens" a few times as a child, where the "aliens" resembled the Rio de Janiero Christ the Redeemer statute with blonde hair.
http://www.tribtown.com/2017/10/16/us-florida-candidate-ufos/
Should we all laugh and dismiss her claims as the rants of a kook?
Don't.
Probably, "something happened." The religious content of her experiences suggests that she had some kind of deceptive demonic UFO experience -- something called a "familiarization" experience, geared to sucking-in the support of a gullible Catholic kid. The people of the black helicopter program would never try garbage like a Jesus imitation or be capable of inducing such visions (although I imagine they don't regret such reports -- they make all UFO experiencers look completely goofy, including those who have actually witnessed black helicopter program demonstrations with program time-and-space machines).
The fact that Bettina Rodriguez Aguilera hangs in there with her seemingly crazy story convinces me that she is a simple, good woman with no guile who can be trusted to care for her constituents as any other good person. An experiencer who hides his or her story and lets his or her truth-telling opponent "suffer martyrdom" in the media is a coward and a thief, not to be trusted.
Probably, Ms. Aguilera was targeted by demonic forces as a child for bizarre contact, to acclimate her to demonic contact for the sake of future contact by them. I experienced something similar, but much more brutal, when I was young. And I know that I'm not crazy.
Saturday, October 7, 2017
UFOs AND THE PEOPLE OF THE BLACK HELICOPTERS
Early in this blog, I discuss the 1985 Magnolia, New Jersey UFO, which wasn't some ambiguous light in the sky, but a huge egg-shaped object hovering in front of dozens of witnesses for a good half-hour over the public school in Magnolia only a few hundred feet up.
When the UFOs are like that, they are, in my opinion, demonic tulpas engaging in antics to attract our attention so that we FOCUS on them, where human focus is the thing which keeps them "alive."
Something happened in UFO-related phenomenon in the 1930s and 1940s that added a new ingredient to the stew.
Supposedly, the Nazis constructed an amazing time-and-space travel machine called DIE GLOCKE, where "glocke" translates "bell," because the amazing vehicle was bell-shaped.
The vehicle was ju-u-u-u-ust about perfected when the Nazis surrendered. Supposedly, the Nazis spirited the thing away on a huge submarine to South America, where they put it into storage as a bargaining chip.
They ultimately brokered an "Operation Paperclip" type of deal with the Americans, sharing the technology with the Americans in return for their freedom. The Americans were so delighted at their good luck that they simply incorporated the Nazis into the OSS and, when the OSS became the CIA, into that agency.
Because almost all CIA efforts were directed against the communist bloc, in effect the Nazis in the CIA ended up being key personnel in the CIA's most important programs.
In any event, the story continues that sometime in the late 1940s, after the CIA had reverse-engineered the Nazi technology, they induced a CIA volunteer to take a trip in Die Glocke. The volunteer flew the device out of the 1940s and crash-landed in Kecksberg, Pennsylvania in 1965, traveling 15 years and a thousand-or-so miles in the twinkling of an eye, in the process.
Hundreds of Kecksberg residents closed-in on the crash site and saw the bell-shaped device, before the military, which had been waiting for one-and-a-half decades for proof that the device worked, swooped-in, stole-away with the vehicle and pilot, and denied that anything had crash-landed. Kecksberg residents, enraged at military denials of everything, constructed a scale model and put it on prominent display in Kecksberg.
A reporter on the story of Die Glocke was supposedly murdered a few years later before he could broadcast his account.
The bottom line logic, at this point, is that once the military and government intelligence proved to itself that the technology worked, at enormous expense they are constructing a fleet of UFOs as a kind of a group of arks to escape Earth and its rotting environment, so that a chosen few can escape to other worlds before global warming flooding causes mass social chaos on the planet.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lne552eg2k8
The operators of the UFO ark program are the ones I refer to as the "black helicopter people," because they are frequently seen to transport program operators from point A to point B in unmarked helicopters, mostly out West. The UFOs seen in their vicinity are generally triangular in shape, which would imply that that was how Die Glocke was morphed to serve present-day needs.
When the UFOs are like that, they are, in my opinion, demonic tulpas engaging in antics to attract our attention so that we FOCUS on them, where human focus is the thing which keeps them "alive."
Something happened in UFO-related phenomenon in the 1930s and 1940s that added a new ingredient to the stew.
Supposedly, the Nazis constructed an amazing time-and-space travel machine called DIE GLOCKE, where "glocke" translates "bell," because the amazing vehicle was bell-shaped.
The vehicle was ju-u-u-u-ust about perfected when the Nazis surrendered. Supposedly, the Nazis spirited the thing away on a huge submarine to South America, where they put it into storage as a bargaining chip.
They ultimately brokered an "Operation Paperclip" type of deal with the Americans, sharing the technology with the Americans in return for their freedom. The Americans were so delighted at their good luck that they simply incorporated the Nazis into the OSS and, when the OSS became the CIA, into that agency.
Because almost all CIA efforts were directed against the communist bloc, in effect the Nazis in the CIA ended up being key personnel in the CIA's most important programs.
In any event, the story continues that sometime in the late 1940s, after the CIA had reverse-engineered the Nazi technology, they induced a CIA volunteer to take a trip in Die Glocke. The volunteer flew the device out of the 1940s and crash-landed in Kecksberg, Pennsylvania in 1965, traveling 15 years and a thousand-or-so miles in the twinkling of an eye, in the process.
Hundreds of Kecksberg residents closed-in on the crash site and saw the bell-shaped device, before the military, which had been waiting for one-and-a-half decades for proof that the device worked, swooped-in, stole-away with the vehicle and pilot, and denied that anything had crash-landed. Kecksberg residents, enraged at military denials of everything, constructed a scale model and put it on prominent display in Kecksberg.
The scale model of Die Glocke in Kecksberg, Pennsylvania.
The script on the sides would be mystical script
inscribed by the Nazi SS on the original, reproduced as accurately as the witnesses to the crash could manage.
A reporter on the story of Die Glocke was supposedly murdered a few years later before he could broadcast his account.
The bottom line logic, at this point, is that once the military and government intelligence proved to itself that the technology worked, at enormous expense they are constructing a fleet of UFOs as a kind of a group of arks to escape Earth and its rotting environment, so that a chosen few can escape to other worlds before global warming flooding causes mass social chaos on the planet.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lne552eg2k8
The operators of the UFO ark program are the ones I refer to as the "black helicopter people," because they are frequently seen to transport program operators from point A to point B in unmarked helicopters, mostly out West. The UFOs seen in their vicinity are generally triangular in shape, which would imply that that was how Die Glocke was morphed to serve present-day needs.
Saturday, September 30, 2017
PAYING CHILD SUPPORT
JUDGE, AFTER A LONG CHILD SUPPORT HEARING: After careful consideration on the evidence in this case, I'm paying $800 per months toward the support of the child in this case.
THE DEFENDANT FATHER: Judge, that sounds fair to me. I'll toss in a few dollars myself every couple of months, too.
THE DEFENDANT FATHER: Judge, that sounds fair to me. I'll toss in a few dollars myself every couple of months, too.
Sunday, September 17, 2017
ASKING PEOPLE TO TURN THE OTHER CHEEK
Most of the participants here are still alive, so all names have been changed, to "protect the guilty."
Councilman Rob Smith had a schizophrenic wife. She was on medication, which helped 90%. The unmedicated 10% was the problem. It emerged as bad judgment and extreme temper and demands.
One day Mrs. Smith saw Maria, her next door neighbor, carefully trimming the hedge between their back yards, and she flew into a rage and complained to her husband, the Councilman. Her husband the Councilman worked for a local pest controller firm. When his wife demanded that he put a stop to the outrage next door, he lost touch with good judgement, picked up on her extreme rage, ran out to his truck, grabbed a tank of pesticide, ran through the house, crept into the back yard while Maria went inside for a break, and hid behind the hedge. When Maria came out and resumed cutting, he jumped up and said, "GOTCHA!" and sprayed pesticide in her face.
Maria fell to the ground, sick and coughing. Her husband Michael came out, deduced all that had occurred, and called an ambulance.
Michael also called me, the family attorney. When Rob saw me come into Michael and Maria's backyard, he bragged about how he had sprayed Maria in the face with poison for the outrageous act of cutting a border hedge!
I said, "Rob, you don't understand. If Maria is still in the hospital tomorrow without a clean bill of health, police are coming to your house tomorrow to cuff you, take you in, charge you and set bail. You responded to perceived aggression against hedges with a hedge trimmer by attempted POISONING. That's crazy, and it will certainly earn you time in prison.
"If, on the other hand, Maria is fine tomorrow, they've agreed, in that case, since you are neighbors, to let the matter drop."
Maria did return home the next day with a clean bill of health. As far as Maria and Michael were concerned, the matter was over.
But Councilman Rob and his wife remained angry instead of counting their blessings!
One day, Michael was coming home from work as a contractor. The driver side rear view mirror of his truck happened to be at exactly the same height above the ground as Councilman Rob's van's mirror. So, as Michael drove his truck home, Councilman Rob's wife pulled away from her house in the van, and her van's mirror kissed Michael's truck's mirror, with injury to neither vehicle.
For Councilman Rob's wife, the touching of mirrors was, as far as she was concerned, an extremely offensive intentional act. Councilman Rob, intent on justifying his wife's extreme anger, secretly went to another neighbor, Rick, and asked him to punch Michael in the morning before he left for work.
While the neighbor Rick hid behind some bushes at about 5:00 a.m. the following morning, Michael came out with his usual styro cup of piping hot coffee and walked toward his truck.
The neighbor sprang up from behind the bushes, ran over to Michael, and punched him hard in the belly through the coffee cup. The hot coffee shot up and squirted Michael in the face before he fell to the street.
Michael's wife Maria had been watching through the front storm door and seen everything. She and Michael called me at 6:00 a.m., and I told them to call police and file an assault charge against the neighbor who punched Michael. Only later did the neighbor, Rick, confess that Councilman Rob put him up to it, for allowing car mirrors to touch.
Michael and Maria had had it up to their eyeballs with Councilman Rob and his wife. They had me add a conspiracy charge against Councilman Rob.
The case was switched to a neighboring town because of the charge against a local councilman. It was night court. I warned Michael and Maria that trials are scheduled last in night court, and that our case would be one of the last cases heard, due to its spectacular nature. The presence of the media in the courtroom made this even more certain.
By 2:00 a.m., our case still had not been heard. I made a suggestion to Michael and Maria: Turn the other cheek, by announcing in open court that they were going to buy $200 worth of groceries for Councilman Rob and his wife, as a sign of forgiveness, and dropping all charges "without prejudice," meaning future charges against them would permit a reopening of the case.
Michael and Maria looked at me with astonishment and offense, asked me if I "was kidding," and dug in their heels.
By 3:00 a.m., the case had still not been heard. The prosecutor suggested a dismissal without prejudice. I suspected that the delay was "political" -- the case was intentionally held in abeyance to grind Michael and Maria down, to get them to agree to the dismissal without prejudice rather than go to trial. Michael and Maria were so disgusted at 3:00 a.m. that they consented and went home.
The hatred boiled in their neighborhood for years.
Until about 10 years later, when something very surprising occurred.
Michael caught cancer, and he decided to die at home. As he lay in his deathbed, he asked for Councilman Rob and Rick. Councilman Rob and his wife had moved away years before, and were nowhere to be found. Rick came. Michael said, "Tell Pete he was right. I should have forgiven you years ago. I forgive you now. I hope that you forgive me."
And he died shortly thereafter.
Councilman Rob Smith had a schizophrenic wife. She was on medication, which helped 90%. The unmedicated 10% was the problem. It emerged as bad judgment and extreme temper and demands.
One day Mrs. Smith saw Maria, her next door neighbor, carefully trimming the hedge between their back yards, and she flew into a rage and complained to her husband, the Councilman. Her husband the Councilman worked for a local pest controller firm. When his wife demanded that he put a stop to the outrage next door, he lost touch with good judgement, picked up on her extreme rage, ran out to his truck, grabbed a tank of pesticide, ran through the house, crept into the back yard while Maria went inside for a break, and hid behind the hedge. When Maria came out and resumed cutting, he jumped up and said, "GOTCHA!" and sprayed pesticide in her face.
Maria fell to the ground, sick and coughing. Her husband Michael came out, deduced all that had occurred, and called an ambulance.
Michael also called me, the family attorney. When Rob saw me come into Michael and Maria's backyard, he bragged about how he had sprayed Maria in the face with poison for the outrageous act of cutting a border hedge!
I said, "Rob, you don't understand. If Maria is still in the hospital tomorrow without a clean bill of health, police are coming to your house tomorrow to cuff you, take you in, charge you and set bail. You responded to perceived aggression against hedges with a hedge trimmer by attempted POISONING. That's crazy, and it will certainly earn you time in prison.
"If, on the other hand, Maria is fine tomorrow, they've agreed, in that case, since you are neighbors, to let the matter drop."
Maria did return home the next day with a clean bill of health. As far as Maria and Michael were concerned, the matter was over.
But Councilman Rob and his wife remained angry instead of counting their blessings!
One day, Michael was coming home from work as a contractor. The driver side rear view mirror of his truck happened to be at exactly the same height above the ground as Councilman Rob's van's mirror. So, as Michael drove his truck home, Councilman Rob's wife pulled away from her house in the van, and her van's mirror kissed Michael's truck's mirror, with injury to neither vehicle.
For Councilman Rob's wife, the touching of mirrors was, as far as she was concerned, an extremely offensive intentional act. Councilman Rob, intent on justifying his wife's extreme anger, secretly went to another neighbor, Rick, and asked him to punch Michael in the morning before he left for work.
While the neighbor Rick hid behind some bushes at about 5:00 a.m. the following morning, Michael came out with his usual styro cup of piping hot coffee and walked toward his truck.
The neighbor sprang up from behind the bushes, ran over to Michael, and punched him hard in the belly through the coffee cup. The hot coffee shot up and squirted Michael in the face before he fell to the street.
Michael's wife Maria had been watching through the front storm door and seen everything. She and Michael called me at 6:00 a.m., and I told them to call police and file an assault charge against the neighbor who punched Michael. Only later did the neighbor, Rick, confess that Councilman Rob put him up to it, for allowing car mirrors to touch.
Michael and Maria had had it up to their eyeballs with Councilman Rob and his wife. They had me add a conspiracy charge against Councilman Rob.
The case was switched to a neighboring town because of the charge against a local councilman. It was night court. I warned Michael and Maria that trials are scheduled last in night court, and that our case would be one of the last cases heard, due to its spectacular nature. The presence of the media in the courtroom made this even more certain.
By 2:00 a.m., our case still had not been heard. I made a suggestion to Michael and Maria: Turn the other cheek, by announcing in open court that they were going to buy $200 worth of groceries for Councilman Rob and his wife, as a sign of forgiveness, and dropping all charges "without prejudice," meaning future charges against them would permit a reopening of the case.
Michael and Maria looked at me with astonishment and offense, asked me if I "was kidding," and dug in their heels.
By 3:00 a.m., the case had still not been heard. The prosecutor suggested a dismissal without prejudice. I suspected that the delay was "political" -- the case was intentionally held in abeyance to grind Michael and Maria down, to get them to agree to the dismissal without prejudice rather than go to trial. Michael and Maria were so disgusted at 3:00 a.m. that they consented and went home.
The hatred boiled in their neighborhood for years.
Until about 10 years later, when something very surprising occurred.
Michael caught cancer, and he decided to die at home. As he lay in his deathbed, he asked for Councilman Rob and Rick. Councilman Rob and his wife had moved away years before, and were nowhere to be found. Rick came. Michael said, "Tell Pete he was right. I should have forgiven you years ago. I forgive you now. I hope that you forgive me."
And he died shortly thereafter.
Friday, September 15, 2017
MAGNOLIA SOLAR FURNACE EXPERIMENT
Many years ago, my wife and I regularly babysat little Lesle Nhu Kieu, the daughter of our Vietnamese neighbors, on Saturdays, when both of her parents were working. I was the main caretaker, and, man, I loved that little punk. And like me she was a "lefty" -- the most left "lefty" I have ever seen -- and I think because I was a "lefty" also not only was she a "tomboy" who loved spending time with me, but she could almost read my mind.
If I wasn't helping little Lesle with her homework, she would always ask to go on some "adventure" or other. We did many really cool things -- we toured the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, the University of Pennsylvania Archaeology Museum, the Academy of Natural Sciences Museum; we would go on photography walks, taking pictures of interesting things along the route; I took her flying, once; we would also do back yard experiments, which she loved more than anything else.
One of our backyard experiments was the construction of a solar furnace.
I had told her the story of Archimedes and the Roman ships attacking his City of Syracuse, Sicily. He had the city of Syracuse prepare about 6,000 highly-polished copper shields, with a man assigned to each shield, and stationed them around the harbor of Syracuse. When the invading Romans sailed their barges full of troops into Syracuse harbor, all 6,000 shield bearers carefully reflected the sunlight to the same spot on each barge, multiplying the reflected sunlight by 6,000, sending a blinding reflection of sunlight, as hot as lava from a volcano, onto each barge, cooking the troops, and setting the barge afire.
When I told little Lesle that we could imitate what Archimedes did in an experiment, she looked forward to it with enormous enthusiasm. I began buying $1 mirrors from our local dollar store ...
... until I had accumulated 60 of them, and then, one cloudless Fall Saturday, Lesle and I, and a neighbor kid named Andrew who had a kind of crush on Lesle, went down to the local ballfield for the experiment with our mirrors.
We set up an overturned trash can on the south side of some bleachers, and placed a black plastic flowerpot on the trash can, and I said, "This is a wooden barge of the Romans sailing into Syracuse harbor"; and the 3 of us, Lesle, Andrew and myself, then carefully set up in an array all 60 mirrors on the bleachers, so that the sunlight reflecting off each mirror landed on the same spot on the black flower pot.
As the concentrated sunlight on the flower pot from the addition of the reflection of each succeeding mirror grew brighter and brighter, it became so brilliant in its intensity, even on black plastic, that it became hard to look at. The side of the plastic flower pot began to smoke and melt, and finally it caught fire.
Voila: With a few dollars of junk mirrors, little Lesle and Andrew had helped me prove that Archimedes could, indeed, have saved his beloved City of Syracuse against invading Romans with a kind of "ray gun" powered by sunlight!
If I wasn't helping little Lesle with her homework, she would always ask to go on some "adventure" or other. We did many really cool things -- we toured the Franklin Institute in Philadelphia, the University of Pennsylvania Archaeology Museum, the Academy of Natural Sciences Museum; we would go on photography walks, taking pictures of interesting things along the route; I took her flying, once; we would also do back yard experiments, which she loved more than anything else.
One of our backyard experiments was the construction of a solar furnace.
I had told her the story of Archimedes and the Roman ships attacking his City of Syracuse, Sicily. He had the city of Syracuse prepare about 6,000 highly-polished copper shields, with a man assigned to each shield, and stationed them around the harbor of Syracuse. When the invading Romans sailed their barges full of troops into Syracuse harbor, all 6,000 shield bearers carefully reflected the sunlight to the same spot on each barge, multiplying the reflected sunlight by 6,000, sending a blinding reflection of sunlight, as hot as lava from a volcano, onto each barge, cooking the troops, and setting the barge afire.
When I told little Lesle that we could imitate what Archimedes did in an experiment, she looked forward to it with enormous enthusiasm. I began buying $1 mirrors from our local dollar store ...
... until I had accumulated 60 of them, and then, one cloudless Fall Saturday, Lesle and I, and a neighbor kid named Andrew who had a kind of crush on Lesle, went down to the local ballfield for the experiment with our mirrors.
We set up an overturned trash can on the south side of some bleachers, and placed a black plastic flowerpot on the trash can, and I said, "This is a wooden barge of the Romans sailing into Syracuse harbor"; and the 3 of us, Lesle, Andrew and myself, then carefully set up in an array all 60 mirrors on the bleachers, so that the sunlight reflecting off each mirror landed on the same spot on the black flower pot.
As the concentrated sunlight on the flower pot from the addition of the reflection of each succeeding mirror grew brighter and brighter, it became so brilliant in its intensity, even on black plastic, that it became hard to look at. The side of the plastic flower pot began to smoke and melt, and finally it caught fire.
Voila: With a few dollars of junk mirrors, little Lesle and Andrew had helped me prove that Archimedes could, indeed, have saved his beloved City of Syracuse against invading Romans with a kind of "ray gun" powered by sunlight!
Wednesday, September 13, 2017
"JESUS IS BORN !" SO WHAT ?
Millions of Christians get all excited every year when they celebrate the birth of Christ, but do they really know why? Why is it important that Christ came to humanity, lived here, and was arrested, tortured and crucified? So what? Spartacus was arrested and crucified by the Romans? Why shouldn't I regard that as Spartacus having been crucified for me and my salvation? Why was what happened to Christ significant?
Though millions of Christians, Catholic and non-Catholic, proclaim that "Christ died for our sins," their brains stop there. And because their brains don't get past that point, they really don't understand their Faith -- at all, not one jot; not one tittle. And because they can't do so, I believe that very, very few Christians today would suffer or die for their faith, and in fact will abandon the Faith for more convenient exercises in The Great Falling Away, which I believe in happening as I type this.
So, what do we mean when we say that "Christ died for our sins?"
This ...
God is "extremely" everything that He is. Among other things, He has an extreme sense of justice. So, when the Old Testament portrays Him as a nasty God of Vengeance, it is accurately portraying God. When God sees us down here paying hypocritical lip service to his law, He becomes filled with blood-curdling -- blood-curdling -- rage. Bible students are astonished at some of the Scriptural portrayals of God's rage. E.g., "I, in my turn, will laugh at your doom. I will mock when terror overtakes you ..." Proverbs 1:26.
But, God is also extremely a God of Extreme Love. And the God of Extreme Love, even while He is mindful of His blood-curdling rage at us for our sin-proneness and sins, simple loves the holy heck out of each of us -- He loves us like crazy! And so He did something startling ...
The perfect God of Justice and Love, Whom we can neither prove nor disprove because of His ineffability, asked for a divine volunteer to pay the extraordinary price exacted by God's Own extreme Perfect Justice for our sins -- the suffering and death of the Lawmaker, God.
The beloved God the Son, filled with love, immediately threw up his hand and said, "I WILL! I'LL PAY THE PRICE!" or words to that effect.
And God the Father answered with something like, "MY BELOVED SON, I HEREBY ACCEPT YOUR LOVING OFFER, AND SO I DOOM YOU TO ENDURE HORRIBLE TORTURE AND DEATH FOR THE SINS OF ALL WHO ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE BY THEIR FAITH."
And so now, we have the grace conveying the benefit of Christ's sacrifice -- spiritual power and salvation -- if you accept it, in the current time of love, access to which will continue until what the Bible calls "The Day" -- the last day, which I believe is closing in on us with great rapidity.
Once The Day comes, however, things will change in a snap. Suddenly, as God closes down The World, those still living in a damned state will feel extremely hopeless and lost in their damned state -- perhaps well portrayed in the Sistine Channel painting of a damned soul being pulled down to Hell ...
The saved will nonetheless remain engraced, married as it were to the loving sacrifice of God the Son -- thus the importance of faith.
Because Spartacus and and other mere humans who were sacrificed were "creatures of Original Sin," their sacrifice was unimpressive to God as far as the salvation of Man is concerned.
Because Jesus is God Himself, and because His innocence, like everything else about God, is extreme and rooted in God's perfection, when Jesus offers to suffer and die as a sacrifice substituted in by God as the penalty for our sins, it is effective in persuading God to save us.
If ...
...if we "sign the check"; if we simply say, by our faith in the truth of God's promise, "Yes. I accept," to the offer of salvation by the merit of Christ's sacrifice.
Now, our sinful state is complete. Without grace, we can't even see the offer of salvation through Christ. The grace of the cross solves the problem, by raising each of us up to a level of equanimity, so that we can choose, "Yes!" in response to God's offer.
Though millions of Christians, Catholic and non-Catholic, proclaim that "Christ died for our sins," their brains stop there. And because their brains don't get past that point, they really don't understand their Faith -- at all, not one jot; not one tittle. And because they can't do so, I believe that very, very few Christians today would suffer or die for their faith, and in fact will abandon the Faith for more convenient exercises in The Great Falling Away, which I believe in happening as I type this.
So, what do we mean when we say that "Christ died for our sins?"
This ...
God is "extremely" everything that He is. Among other things, He has an extreme sense of justice. So, when the Old Testament portrays Him as a nasty God of Vengeance, it is accurately portraying God. When God sees us down here paying hypocritical lip service to his law, He becomes filled with blood-curdling -- blood-curdling -- rage. Bible students are astonished at some of the Scriptural portrayals of God's rage. E.g., "I, in my turn, will laugh at your doom. I will mock when terror overtakes you ..." Proverbs 1:26.
But, God is also extremely a God of Extreme Love. And the God of Extreme Love, even while He is mindful of His blood-curdling rage at us for our sin-proneness and sins, simple loves the holy heck out of each of us -- He loves us like crazy! And so He did something startling ...
The perfect God of Justice and Love, Whom we can neither prove nor disprove because of His ineffability, asked for a divine volunteer to pay the extraordinary price exacted by God's Own extreme Perfect Justice for our sins -- the suffering and death of the Lawmaker, God.
The beloved God the Son, filled with love, immediately threw up his hand and said, "I WILL! I'LL PAY THE PRICE!" or words to that effect.
And God the Father answered with something like, "MY BELOVED SON, I HEREBY ACCEPT YOUR LOVING OFFER, AND SO I DOOM YOU TO ENDURE HORRIBLE TORTURE AND DEATH FOR THE SINS OF ALL WHO ACCEPT YOUR SACRIFICE BY THEIR FAITH."
And so now, we have the grace conveying the benefit of Christ's sacrifice -- spiritual power and salvation -- if you accept it, in the current time of love, access to which will continue until what the Bible calls "The Day" -- the last day, which I believe is closing in on us with great rapidity.
Once The Day comes, however, things will change in a snap. Suddenly, as God closes down The World, those still living in a damned state will feel extremely hopeless and lost in their damned state -- perhaps well portrayed in the Sistine Channel painting of a damned soul being pulled down to Hell ...
The saved will nonetheless remain engraced, married as it were to the loving sacrifice of God the Son -- thus the importance of faith.
Because Spartacus and and other mere humans who were sacrificed were "creatures of Original Sin," their sacrifice was unimpressive to God as far as the salvation of Man is concerned.
Because Jesus is God Himself, and because His innocence, like everything else about God, is extreme and rooted in God's perfection, when Jesus offers to suffer and die as a sacrifice substituted in by God as the penalty for our sins, it is effective in persuading God to save us.
If ...
...if we "sign the check"; if we simply say, by our faith in the truth of God's promise, "Yes. I accept," to the offer of salvation by the merit of Christ's sacrifice.
Now, our sinful state is complete. Without grace, we can't even see the offer of salvation through Christ. The grace of the cross solves the problem, by raising each of us up to a level of equanimity, so that we can choose, "Yes!" in response to God's offer.
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