does size matter?

I recently found out about this parasite that infects amber snails that turns it into a zombie snail by attacking it's central nervous system. This parasite directs the snail to head toward the sunlight and pokes itself through the snails eyestalks, waving like a tasty maggot, so birds can attack and eat it. It lays eggs in the birds digestive tract which are then shit out so snails can eat the droppings and repeat the cycle. It's interesting to note the bird isn't attacking the snail but the maggot look alike parasite inside the eyestalk.

This got me to thinking... Are my own parasites somehow directing my movements like the zombie snail? Is the snail moving into the sunlight to be eaten because it's a zombie taking orders or to commit suicide? If a non-biped, non-humanoid space alien were to make contact would it try to communicate with me or the car I was driving? If the same alien were to make contact would it try to communicate with a hotel or the people inside? Doesn't it make sense that if a real, honest to god, different as all hell, space alien were to pay a visit, wouldn't it try to communicate with my parasites, viruses, bacteria, and other life forms rather than their abode?

From one office building to another, don't you feel just a little insignificant?

weeding the garden

If you have anything to do with gardening, you can relate to the never ending weeding that it requires. Given the chance, weeds will over populate the garden and subdue anything you really want to grow. Left unchecked, this crabgrass, myrtle, and lambs quarters will entrench themselves into every corner of the garden until all that's left is noxious weeds that even the bugs won't eat. Say bye bye to your tomatoes and rhubarb and hello to poison ivy.

Your life is just like a garden. Given the space, you can grow and flourish and produce enough to feed a small army. As your arms reach to the cosmos in a balanced symphony of photosynthesis and Earth nutrients, you can't help but evolve to a state of total spiritual perfection.

And then the weeds set in...

By weeds, I mean the parasitic detritus in your life. Those useless eaters who feed off your soul like fleas feed on a dog. You can pull them out but leave their head under your skin and they come back with a vengeance. It's like an old, psychotic girl friend who "accidentally" leaves her hairbrush or ear rings as a reason to come back because she just hasn't sucked enough of your life force and, just like Dracula's daughter, she needs to feed from time to time. You might think an old girl friend won't be that bad but think again... She's not an EX- girl friend for nothing. There was a major reason why you got rid of her in the past, and just like a weed, the genetic structure doesn't change. It doesn't matter how much time passes... a toxic plant like poison ivy will never become a blueberry bush. If she was psychotic then, and you know she wasn't undergoing therapy, the chances are really good she's psychotic now and she's hungrier than ever.

One look in my garden and I immediately saw the connection between dead-weight people and weeds. They both suck you dry. They both use vital nutrients needed for your survival. They both over-stay their welcome. They both increase entropy. Look at what happens to your pepper plants if left untended. First the weeds creep in, followed closely by insect life and vermin, feeding off all the hard work you put into maintaining this little plot of land. The weeds could represent the unemployed drifters you allowed into your space. The next time they come around they bring some insects, i.e., felons, low-life's, reprobates, and degenerates, who feed off the contents of your refrigerator, pantry, and liquor supply like potato bugs on an eggplant. If left untended, the vermin show up with a squad car because one of the insects rolled over on you to keep from going to the bug house. And the financial loss is nothing compared to the spiritual stifling.

The first thing to do to prevent this infestation is to identify the weeds from the productive plants. It's pretty easy to spot, sometimes. The productive plants produce SOMETHING. The weeds just multiply and get in the way and wait for the bugs and vermin.

The second thing to do is get rid of them! Go through your life, as you would through a garden, and yank these parasites up by the roots and discard them to the compost heap.

Make a list of rules.
1. No sleepovers unless the host taps you on the shoulder.
2. Bring something besides yourselves.
3. Bring your own tobacco. There's a store 2 miles down the road. Walk if you have to.
4. Bring a vehicle to take you home.
5. If the booze runs out it's your fault. Get some more or do without.

These rules can be added to when situations present themselves but think twice about deleting any.


Just because you like honey is no reason to stick your head in the bees nest.

Henry Potter... haiku

Bend over I'll drive

You're worth more dead than alive

By winter you'll go




Lehman Brothers, Merrill Lynch, WaMu, AIG, Bear Stearns... And this is just the tip of the iceberg of things yet to come. What amazes me is we saw this exact scenario many times in the 20th century... A sudden collapse of sound financial institutions followed by a bailout, robbing the dwindling coffers of the U.S. Treasury so the Federal Reserve can print up even more money, reducing the value of American currency even more. Only this time, it's pretty serious for Wall Street, and everyone who relies on investments as an income.

If current rates continue, we can look forward to the total collapse of the monetary system as we know it, and we can blame the Federal Reserve, which isn't part of the federal government, but a private bank owned by international bankers, and our dumb-ass Congress for allowing such a scenario to get a foothold in the first place.

Yeah, these Wall Street guys, these Masters of the Universe, have been riding the gravy train for so long they thought it would last forever. What they didn't see was another Master of the Universe was in town, and he had his sights set on them.

So the big boys want to make some fast cash, and end up losing the business, with Uncle Sam to bail them out. No big deal. The head honchos each walk away with retirement packages equal to a small country's gross national product, while the taxpayer slaves get to pay for it all to the tune of well over a trillion dollars. (That's a 1 with twelve zeros after it.)

Of course, the U.S. government can't possibly pay for it, so they get the Federal Reserve, a private bank, to print up a trillion dollars so we can owe the Fed a trillion PLUS interest, that any right-thinking person realizes is impossible to pay back, because the only money in circulation is Federal Reserve notes, not including the interest, which Uncle Sam has to borrow from the Fed to pay the Fed back, allowing them to print more, until the end of time, and the Federal Reserve gets to keep the hard assets when they can't pay. What a power play! This is like "It's a Wonderful Life" on steroids, with Ben Bernanke playing Henry Potter.

What about all those honest, tax-paying people that lost their homes because these bastards screwed them with impossible-to-pay-back interest rates? Shouldn't the government help these people, rather than the greedy rat bastards that started this whole thing in the first place?

HELL, NO!!!

Let Lunch Box Charlie and Joe Sixpack live in their cars, 'cause we need to keep Wall Street going to stave off economic collapse for a few more months.

I say let the Fed have all the money. Who cares? I mean, if they had all this soon-to-be worthless cash, it'll be just as worthless to them.

But on the other hand...

Why don't we all get together with our pitchforks and torches and visit the nearest Federal Reserve and storm the fuckin' place?! We grab everybody in a suit, drag them into the street, and trample them like the grapes of wrath. Kill 'em all. I MEAN KILL. THEM. ALL. (Their tinpot god can sort 'em out.)

I'm not advocating violence. I'm advocating surgery ... Like cutting out a hemorrhoid that's been festering in your ass for a hundred years. These parasites have been sucking life dry for so long, it's become normal to give a third of your hard-earned blood so they can grow like a cancer in the heart of humanity. They take everything and give nothing back. A dog is man's best friend, but if a dog got rabies, you'd shoot it on sight. Why would you treat these greedy bastards any better? They're not human. They're not your friends.

Come to think of it, I AM advocating violence. Grab your pitchforks. I'll be the one in the cowboy hat.