3-60’s Beatniks In Granny Boots

Fall: Episode 1: Whoa, What a Rush…

Instantaneously, after riding the time vortex, Sara, Mary and Marsha, were back at their exact positions at Woodstock, not far from the stage where Janis was still in full shriek. As the 3-60’s Beatniks in Granny boots looked at Janis shrieking through their circular rose shaded glasses, and holding on to their respective replicas, they heard a man’s voice. “Hey babes, who are your friends? Why are they naked?” snickered the younger beatnik with a Beatle’s styled hair do and a goatee. “Mind your business dude. These girls had to be rescued from a plasma vortex. It sucked their clothes off man!” said Sara hiding her doll’s genitalia. “Hey man, there are a lot of chicks without clothes here. Is that what happened to them too?” said the male beatnik seriously clued out. Sara just shook her head and looked at Marsha and Mary. “Lets go to our van and we can stash our dolls in there. Come on.” commanded Sara to Mary and Marsha as she led them towards the parking area of that particular portion of the field.

As they walked towards the area of parked vehicles, it was getting twilight out and fireworks and sparklers were starting to fizzle and light up the sky. “Can we go and see where our boyfriends are? I would really like to see what they are up to.” said Marsha as she lugged her doll now getting heavy. “Yeah, I want to see mine too. I want to make sure he is not flirting around with someone else.” said Mary carrying her doll flung over her shoulder. “No way man! we agreed with all our boyfriends that this is a girl’s night out and they are not to come near us if they see us, and we are not suppose to go near them if we see them! And that includes spying on them Mary!” said Sara carrying her doll in a cradling position. “Are you not one bit interested in what your boyfriend is up too Sara? I mean he is always screwing around on you! How can you accept that?” said Marsha now struggling with her doll. “We have a understanding Marsha, he can see who he wants and I can see who I want. Besides, we are really just good friends. That way I don’t have to make excuses to him if I really do not want to see him. Not like you Marsha, always making excuses to your boyfriend why you cannot put out! I mean he must be doing some other chick! Either that or he masturbates  after getting blue balls from you teasing him all the time.” said Sara chuckling and stopping in front of their Volkswagen van, pink in color of course with several peace symbols and assorted flowers painted randomly, covering the van.

Mary opened the rear cargo door and flung her doll inside, then helped Marsha put her doll inside. Sara then flung her doll inside and closed the cargo door. “You can be a bitch sometimes Sara!” said Marsha frowning and fixing her bandana. “There is hope though for you and your boyfriend, Marsha. After you get him all horned up from your teasing, you can get him to do your doll and still remain faithful to you! And you can remain a virgin for the rest of your natural life!” said Sara as looking at Mary as they both started to laugh. “Sara, you are totally wrong! My doll must remain a virgin too!” said Marsha now sounding pretty unintellectual. “Marsha, it is an inanimate object! It cannot be a virgin you twit! Besides, you don’t think Joe and his business partner didn’t have their way with your doll already? How many of your dolls are already being sold and drooled upon by countless men having their way with your replica right now. I mean you and Floozy Ball here signed the waiver! said Sara still laughing. “You are just mad that Joe rejected you. We seen you getting all hot and flustered with him as he just turned away and went to do his rounds, Miss Sunken Buoys in the Abyss!” snickered Mary defending Marsha. “Yeah, Joe, oh Joe! you were ranting as you squirmed on the floor after fainting. Miss Sunken Speedbumps.” said Marsha in full sneer. “Besides, that was the future, Sara! It has not happened yet!” said Mary folding her arms. “Yeah Sara! My dolls are still virgins!” said Marsha now over her head intellectually. “Man, you too really blow my mind to extremes!” said Sara as she knelt down on one knee to tie her loose lace on her left granny boot.

“I was reading the instruction on those pills. It had a folded piece of paper inside. It said, “once these pills are taken to return from a point of destination, there may be a fluctuation of the hemispheric balance, if precautions are not taken” or so it read.” said Sara as she got up and went to the driver’s side door of their VW van, opened and climbed inside. Mary opened the passenger door and both Marsha and Mary climbed into the van and shared the passenger part of the seat. “What precautions?” said Mary looking curious. “Yeah Sara, what were we suppose to do? And when can we go see the guys?”  said Marsha as she checked herself out in the rear-view mirror. “It continued to say, “once destination of original origin is reached, you must remain still for at least 10 minutes silent. If you do not, there is a strong possibility of being sucked back into the time vortex unexpectedly and sent to an undetermined time destination. At that point, you have created a new origin to which you can return from the undetermined time destination, if you have the pills, so we should remain still for awhile.” said Sara looking at Mary and Marsha now worried. “Do we have any pills left, Sara?” asked Marsha now squirming in her seat. “Yes we do now shut up Marsha and stop squirming, be still!” whispered Sara loudly. As Mary looked out the passenger side of the windshield very worried, trying to remain as still as possible, the outside seemed to ripple and vibrate. Then, the van started to spin, slowly at first, then picked up speed and a vortex of darkness and lights from the distant stages started to form, seemingly bending and twisting the van, ascending higher, in mid air, causing the van to spin at light speed whilst the 3-60’s Beatniks in Granny Boots were in full scream as the VW van disappeared like a shot of light into the darkened hemisphere. “Whoa, what a rush!” said the young beatnik with the Beatle’s styled hair do and goatee as he puffed on a large doobie, watching the VW van disappear into the stars.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2016

The Bastille Nix, Gulag, Septentrional Fredonian

We are the Internees, of the World…

A large bulldozer chugs along, in a snow covered, remote community pushing large, heavy crates of materialism, consisting of diesel/gas high watt generators, backhoes, mining and forestry equipment, testing and analyzing equipment, office equipment, toppling over older smashed and broken crates of untouched, unused but weathered equipment of the similar categorisation, only to be covered with more snow and other natural seasonal shedding debris. Rejected tools of conglomeration representing millions to billions of dollars. Why are these items of profit being disposed of unopened and unused? Why would these tools of profit and natural devastation be rejected like the plague? One could say ignorance? One could say laziness? One could say progress avoidance? I say it is most likely the deposal of unwanted government gifts with large, string like chains of bondage attached. I say it is a strong message to the government that the community will not accept these items of slavery as payment for the community’s resources and/or lands. To the layman in corporate fantasy land, it looks like a defiant strike against the government and unpatriotic. But only the truly brainwashed would think on this naïve level, not thinking for themselves. But the main con-stream media will feed you as much bull-dung hokum as you can stuff down your throat, with out choking and spewing all over their corporate Persian rugs and mahogany desks, not that you would be in that area, or floor of the conglomeration anyway.

Hollow Seeds of Prosperity

We need to follow this example in all communities. The only real enemy of the people and their communities is the conglomerate, franchising, incorporating, self-serving, profit reaping, prosperity stealing corporations. When these gifts mysteriously end up awarded to any community, we as the community should do the exact same thing. Leave as undelivered, only moving these gifts of gulag for storage as not to clutter up the community, awaiting the sender to remove as to being unclaimed. Because if the community accepts these gifts of deception, that community will be destroyed, and its populous removed and replaced by the more deserving slaves that the conglomeration wants to place in order to serve the slave masters of the mini-monarch’s corporate annexation of the once independent community. When a community appears to be weak, or not prospering, shrinking in size, makes these communities perfect (ripe) for corporate take over. How is this accomplished? By killing the community trade and prosperity. This in turn pushes the populous of that community to places like Malwort, SuperScore, WafeSave, Gartet, Pimpson Fears, HomeoRepot, Woles, 11 7, Crac’s Cart,  Messo, Spell, Crusty, Retrocan, Dead Owl, Dikea, Done Kin’s Wilnot, Robbings Blowhut, Jim’s Horkings Tollrut, Jest Buy, Crapters, Mork’s Fop Scarehouse, McRubles, just to mention a few. If you are confused what corporations these are, then you must live in Wheaton New Jersey.

Live Now, Go Bankrupt Later

But to dwell on what businesses these are is just promotion for these businesses. They are the culprits and as long as we patronize these money hording conglomerates, it will continue to get worse, a continuing downward spiral to excessive debt and bankruptcy. You may say to yourself, why would they encourage people towards bankruptcy? Would it not be better to keep you paying? Yes, logically, it would. But it is a number’s game. A con game. They know how many people may go bankrupt, which is a percentage, usually low in reality. But it really does not matter to them because, when you claim  bankruptcy, you are pretty much done anyway in a credit productive sense, so they really do not care at that point, because the debt is written off and the remaining tax payers will pay for it anyway. Besides, by that point, you have most likely paid off the materialism purchased by credit threefold, so it is just interest generated money they are writing off, which means, it is money that you really do not owe in the first place, other then generated by interest agreed by that particular purchase agreement. The only downside to that scenario is you lose your shirt and the conglomerate does not. The only thing the conglomerate loses is a potential credit abusing slave, for about 7 to 10 years in reality. This is why prosperity is credit generated. To get the “covet level possessions” one must borrow or save. To save, is a great option, however, in most cases will not keep that new spouse happy for very long living in a seedy apartment or run down house, with a “ready for the junkyard” vehicle, located in a demilitarized zone of the city. Very few couples can tolerate this type of existence before they crack and take a ride on the credit train to oblivion.

Illusionary Dream Home of Allusion

In reality, people that make under $50,000 per year as a household income have to go into major hock in order to get even an old house in a semi-respectable area of the city. Houses can range from the reasonable to the astronomical depending where the house is situated. But unless you luck out and find an estate sale, you can find an acceptable, but not pristine house for approximately $80,000 to $100,000 in a semi-secure neighborhood any where in North America give or take depending on the demographical incomes and populations. This would not really include very large metropolitan areas that have their own sets of income/property/demographic ratios. But as you can quickly figure, for a household that makes under $50,000 a year and has children, this would be a struggle to maintain as a mortgage making it impossible not to use credit on a weekly, or even daily basis to keep food on the table. Will you get a head? You could, if you resist the credit temptations and live within your means which does not generate much excitement. That is where brainwashing from our friendly home entertainment providers get you, with their subliminal suggestive behavioral and monetary messages, basically saying, it is ok, borrow!!! Use your equity!!! Get a second mortgage!!! Say OK to that credit card they keep sending you in the mail or offering on the phone!!! You are worth it!!! Do not let your frugal spouse limit you!!! Use your credit!!! Leave him!!! Sue him for half of everything he owns, or borrowed for!!! He is limiting you and your potential!!! And if you do leave, and you end up not having enough to maintain your own life, then sell yourself!!! You are worth a lot!!! Now I do not want to get to obvious, but yes sexual innuendoes in brainwashing exist. Planting that seed. Females and teenagers are targeted. It is a multi-billion dollar a year trade, and is growing rapidly. So why struggle when all you have to do is sell yourself?!!! Spitting up the family unit creates more need for credit and borrowing. Just ask your friendly neighborhood divorce and family lawyer, for a substantial fee of course.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2016

Mossbacked, Exodus of the Seditious

Stands with Hands in our Pocket

More and more, I see people cling to our so called leaders for proper guidance and leadership. But it is the conformed that seek this guidance. But where is the basis of this trust? The track record these incompetents leave, time after time, should make everyone realize our system of over-commercialize existence is outworn and useless. Besides, they are puppets and are not fit to lead, and are just scripted what to say, commands written by the scribes of the one percent of society. We cannot be governed by these morons no longer. Because they are just in it for their own prosperity and livelihoods, protecting their own spawn of over-wreathed, opulent bloodlines. They continue to steal our property and prosperity, and tally it up in their own over-loaded bank accounts, having more then they could ever use and wanting more. Greed is a disease and the only cure is revolution. Redistribution. It has been done throughout our histories and needs to be done again. But it has to be done right this time. Where do you find people that are not greedy that would redistribute fairly? Cannot be done. We are too grasping by nature to share in a fair manner. One could say to himself, “If I had a million dollars, I would give my own family all equal shares.” But once it happens, it is never done because of coveting. We covet everything around us we do not have. By nature, the beast has taken control of our reason, luring us to be the same, greedy opulent money grubbers as the rich and powerful, if given that chance, which you will never get.  Because you are a financial slave.

Speaks with a Fork Tongue

So why cannot we change? We could. But we do not for one simple factor. Brainwashing. We are brainwashed to think we cannot change the fate that has broken our will to rip the hearts out of the greedy 1 percent of the population. We could do this and more. But because we have so many slave masters and gate keepers that have sold their souls cheaply to these devils, they connive and influence those of us who fear for our security and livelihoods. But all we have to do is bring these dark souls to the light, a place they are very uncomfortable and will burn from its righteousness. But instead we hide and make it easy for them to manipulate us to slave for them. Where does that leave us? In a void of hopeless existence. Stuck in a traffic jam of materialistic bondage. If you loose your job, you will first think of all the negatives that will happen to you. But in many ways, it is the best thing that can happen to you. You may not know it but you are free. We could lick their boots to get another oppressed job or we can live out our true life’s path. But in the end, it is money that is the root of all evil. I am sure most people have heard this tidbit of philosophy.

Dances with Grifters

Have you ever wondered where the money philosophy came from? How it replaced us serving one another, sharing the work load, providing each one of the community with what they need in exchange for what we may need? How did this become some jerk’s desire to control what they never worked for in the first place? How this person ever manipulated the community, that was bound to serving each other, to serve that one greedy individual? And that is how it happened. One individual in that community of 100 people decided they wanted to control it all. It is simple. Not rocket science, not that rocket science is that complicated either. They connived and stole, manipulated, over complicated the process, discouraging the community to think that they needed this plagiarized, phoney, systematic epitome of greed and domination. Plagiarized in the sense that the community already had or has this knowledge and the manipulators (1 percenters)  re-wrote the formula to their own benefit and wealth, conning the community that they somehow know a better way to pasteurize (Louie Pasture) milk or how to make cheese, or butcher a cow, or how to grow a potato. But the community already knew how to do this so why did the community allow this shyster to control the commodities and re-sell it back to the community that produced it in the first place? Sounds pretty silly if you break it down. But we all think that we need their management of opulence and rapaciousness.

Writes With Rubber Neckers

I could write an article about how communities could take back their prosperity and be self sufficient but that would be a waste of scribe. If the idea indeed became popular, it would be plagiarized and re-written by some economics major in order to capitalize and franchise. They could call it “That Old Community Knows How Inc.”  and sell shares to oppress more honest people that will work for minimum wage and/or excessive hours for the new franchise, wear a lame company fop suit displaying the company colors, and it will become another bull dung enterprise designed to get the rich more rich. If you really analyze things, you would come to the conclusion that they have franchised rebellion. Anarchy. Look at how many records and CDs have been sold by our so called rebellious role models that we looked up to during our youth. They still have a host of these rebellious opulent seeking false prophets ( wealthy musicians and entertainers) writing fop orientated mind shrinking intellectual art (over educated formulated uninspired cookie cutter plagiarism). Guaranteed to brainwash you to think they really are rebellious. But the only time these money grubbers get rebellious is when they don’t get their expected due for their so-called work. Are all musicians and entertainers like this? The famous ones are because they do not want to lose their millions or billions. So really, how can you idolize a rich greedy rebel? It just does not work in my mind. I idolize the oppressed, because in most cases, if they tell you something out of experience, you can bet they have lived through it and did not learn it sitting in a sumptuous university classroom or reading it from some cloaca scribed text book.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2016

Yucky Hily and Wacky Donny, The Election?

Episode 3: Homeo and Drooliette

Hily, in her campaign head quarters private office suite, was sitting at the vanity applying makeup, this time more conservatively, but with same amount of face makeup to give the appearance of youthfulness. Carefully she applied her eye makeup in order not to look too slutty. Suddenly she heard a crack, like something hitting the window in her office area of the suite. She shrugged it off and continued with her makeup. Again, she heard the same sharp snap, now evident coming from the office window. She got up and walked towards the window. She carefully peered out the window that was 2 stories up from the rear parking lot of the building. There she saw Donny about to throw another rock. Being in the early evening, it was getting a bit dusk and Hilly opened the slider portion of the window and whispered loudly at Donny before he threw the 3rd rock. Lowering his arm, he saw Hily looking down at him. “What are you doing Donny, why are you here? If they see us together, it will be scandalous!” whispered Hily frantically. “I had too see you baby! I don’t care if they see me, I just have to see my honey! They can’t keep us apart forever! Besides, I brought some good grade stuff babe!” said Donny as he bated Hily waving the baggy of powdered morphine. “Com on up sweetie!” said Hily excitedly. Donny then bent down and grabbed a grappling hook and rope. “Step back baby!” said Donny as he swung the grappling hook back and forth in preparation to throw. Hilly back up out of the way. As soon as she ran out of room backing up, the hook intended for the opened part of the window, crashed through the closed part of the window and hooked firmly to the ledge. Moments later, Donny came up scaling the wall and crawled into the office. “Oh baby, I am so glad you came! Lets do this in the bathroom!” said an exhilarated Hily as she went towards the bathroom. Donny followed her in, pinching her buttocks. Oh baby I missed those!” said Donny with a perverted grin. Both of them readied themselves for the injections. Donny started to liquefy the morphine, filled the syringes and handed one to Hily. In unison, they both hit their respective veins together and enjoyed the rush, both sinking to the floor next to each other. After a while, they were both in the bath tub, soaking in a bubble bath, injecting more hits to their respective veins. Then, suddenly, a loud pounding on the door was evident. “Are you in their Hily, what are you doing, and why is the window smashed! Who is in there with you!” yelled Hily’s Campaign and PR manager. “Man, that bitch is relentless!” said Donny, massaging Hily’s exposed breasts. “Go away, get a life!” yelled back Hily to her campaign and PR manager. After a brief moment of silence, large bangs against the bathroom door echoed in the bathroom as the agents outside were using a battering ram to knock down the door….

The solid oak door tumbled over as the hinge screws popped out of hinge jam. Quickly the agents pulled the door out of the bathroom and leaned it against the office wall. “Ok boys, grab her out of there, and get her sobered up and dressed!” commanded Hily’s campaign and PR manager.  The agents quickly grabbed her out of the tub as she started to kick and scream. They restrained her, threw a blanket around her and dragged her out of the office suite, followed by a couple of female agents with her clothes and makeup.  Hily’s campaign and PR manager looked down at Donny still sitting in the tub. “You can leave the same way you came in! If we see you anywhere in this building, we will have arrested and sent to jail, making sure every news team is outside with cameras to take shots and films for CNN! And don’t forget your smack!” scowled Hily’s campaign and PR manager as she  turned away and walked out of the office suite, slamming the door. Donny laid there a while. Finally he got up, dressed, collected his paraphernalia and morphine, went to the window with the grappling hook still secure and climbed back down to the parking lot. Leaving the grappling hook and rope behind, he went to his car, jumped in and drove away.

Meanwhile, back at Donny’s campaign head quarters, Donny’s campaign and PR manager was pacing back and forth looking at his Rolex. “Where the hell is that guy? He is about to win the election and he is no where to be found.” said Donny’s campaign and PR manager looking at his female assistant. “Don’t worry. We have his double, and if he wins, he can read from the cues. Besides, that idiot never has anything intelligent to say. So if he does not show up and wins, we can make sure he says a flawless, intelligent victory speech! No one would be the wiser!” said Donny’s campaign and PR manager’s female assistant. Driving down the road, not sure where he was going, Donny turned off on the freeway exit into the downtown area. He kept driving until he seen some hookers. Seeing one that he liked, he pulled over and let her in. “The hooker jumped into the car and Donny drove off again. “So what are you looking for sugar?” said the bleach blond hooker dressed in and very short and tight mini skirt, and a blouse leaving nothing to the imagination. “Hey baby, how would like to work for me? I will make sure you make lots of money baby!” said Donny with a dirty grin. “Hey, I work for myself! I don’t need a pimp, if that is what you are?” said the bleach blond hooker looking at Donny sarcastically. “Hey baby, if you work for me, I will make sure you are always well medicated.” said Donny tauntingly waving the bag of morphine in front of bleach blond hooker’s face. “Oh sweetie, you can be my master anytime!” said the bleach blond hooker as she tried to grab the bag of morphine from Donny. “Not so fast baby! First you have to prove your worth to me, then you can have all you want!” said Donny as he pulled into a seedy motor inn. “You got it sweetie! I am your slave!” said the bleach blond hooker as the both climbed out the car to head towards the motor inn office.

In side the motor inn office, as Donny filled out the check-in card and paid the innkeeper, on the flat screen TV, CNN showed the results of the election, declaring Donny as the winner. As the CNN clip zoomed into Donny’s double reading his victory speech, the innkeeper handed Donny the key to his suite. Donny escorted the bleach blond hooker out the door towards the room. “What is your name baby?” asked Donny grabbing the hookers buttocks. “Trixie sweetie!” said the bleach blond hooker as they approached the room. The next day, Hily was in restraints, with her hair all about and mascara smudging and running down her face, in a wheelchair being pushed by her campaign and PR manager. “Where is Donny? Did I win the election? Are we going to my victory party? Where are we driving to?” said Hily confused and medicated with excessive Demerol for sedation purposes. “Don’t worry Hily, everything is going to be alright.” consoled Hily’s campaign and PR manager. “I will take her from here.” said the psych ward nurse as she took control of the wheelchair and wheeled her into a private psych ward room. Hily’s campaign and PR manger look over at the psych ward doctor. “Don’t worry, she will get the best of care. She is in a bit of trauma from the stress due to the election. She is heavily medicated so will not make any sense until she is sober.  They used the Demerol to keep her manageable, because of her violent outbursts at the campaign headquarters. I will keep you posted to her progress after detox.” said the psych ward doctor writing on his clip board. “Thank you doctor.” said Hily’s campaign and PR manager as she turned and walk towards the elevator.

Inside Hily’s psych room, the nurse released Hily’s restraints and Hily stood up and walked towards the large shatter proof window. The room was mostly sterol white and pleasantly, but safely decorated. As Hily looked out the large shatter proof window, through her mascara drenched eyes she started to sing. “Somewhere, over the rainbow.” Hily then looked down frantically in the front of the large ominous psych building in all directions. “Homeo, Homeo! Where art thou Homeo? It is me, your love Drooliette, waiting for you my lost love.” said a distraught Hily as she started to pound on the shatter proof glass, shrieking. “Homeo! Homeo!” As Hily continued to pound, two psych ward attendants in white uniforms restrained Hily’s arms as the psych ward nurse injected a dose of more sedation into her upper arm. Slowly and surely, Hily sank down like a limp rag doll as the attendants dragged her to the bed, strapping her down while the nurse covered her with a quilt. The attendants left the room, followed by the nurse as she switched the lights out and closed the self-locking door.

To be continued? May be…

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

© Copyright: dYnoReX and ADGMusic/Soft/Literature Org All rights reserved 2016

Portrait of a Puppet Master, Greedy Goblin Gobblers

As the Clock Strikes the Ritching Hour

As the clock strikes the ritching hour, all the greedy goblin gobblers count all their acquired ritchs they usurped from the multitudes of brainwashed masses, spending countless hours counting and recounting to make sure it is not a penny short of their expected due for their provided service/product jettisons.  Making sure all their enslaved dealers, franchises, corporate affiliates are not taking any extra hokum from their corporate collection bursa. Money, money, toil and honey, they squeeze out of every collective “mom and pop shop” they conned into carrying their service/product jettisons for a mere percentage with lots of twisted, nightmarish contractual clauses and fine print.  At the same time, their municipal corporate buddies make sure the taxes of these businesses are just high enough to keep the independent business owners enslaved to the corporate provided, advertised service/product jettisons that the enslaved businesses solicit to  receive a nominal percentage, fee or markup. The goal is, of course to not only squeeze out all the honey, but squeeze out the entrepreneurs, mom and pop shops, and independents from the market square’s Temple of Greed. This also pushes the labor force, made up from the masses, to the corporation for job insecurity, although the employee is brainwashed to believe otherwise, to fear the great, mini-monarchs wrath of unemployment, cowering away, giving up their rights, freedoms and labor laws for a few scraps of procured credit fueled prosperities, which will add up to absolute negative tallies. Just make sure you make your minimum payment.

Regurgitated Hokum Coated Apples, Trick or Deceit

As the intellectually sound looks for the positives, the mini-Monarchs, puppet masters and enslaved slave drivers make sure their is always a negative in your pocket. You have $5.00 dollars in your pocket? To vacuum that plus out of your pocket, they will give you a procured $50.00 in financial-ensnaring credit because there is nothing on this planet you can buy with $5.00, except possibly a swill-fully brewed cup of caffeine water and a guaranteed to rot your teeth out jelly glazed, icing sugar covered piece of fried bread. What this means is for every dollar you manage to make from your enslaved, slave driven job, the bank will provide you $10.00 of credit, on average. That way you can go and buy that over-priced house, over-priced vehicle (guaranteed to rust after the payments are done) and that astronomically over priced home entertainment system with hookups to all the brain-washing channels to watch all the stars of The Big Bang Theory grow old and unpleasant. In the mean time, while you choke on your hokum, and wash it down with some brainwashing social lubricant, you are well on your way to be a enslaved, credit drowning alcoholic peasant. “Hey honey, grab a plate of hokum spew! I made special for you! Let’s eat in the living room and watch TV! And bring me some wine!” said Jessica waiting. But no one comes with the wine or hokum spew. Being half in the bag already from over-priced wine, due to her over-stressed, slave driven job, she remembers that she kicked out Joe six months ago because he lost his slave driven job due to curtailment (greed). Joe, who is also an alcoholic, was forced to travel to the northern territories for a job and on a daily basis after work, he sits in the bar in the over-priced smelly hotel getting wasted on over-priced social lubricant, getting solicited by the over-weight, over-used hookers that gain their lively hood from saps like Joe who has lost all confidence and is still heartbroken over Jessica. Sounds like a nightmare? Divide and conquer and keep the family unit’s counterparts divided, hopeless, enslaved, broke, and inebriated. Brainwashed.

Cloak and Beggar

Large World Corporate Financial Groups that control (or procure on behalf of our friendly 1 percentage of the globe) invest in cons, virtual prostitution, scamming social media, sexually induced phishing, bank information pirating, theft, abuse, sexual abuse, humiliation, rape (ritch). If a man and a woman dates and start making out, but the woman or the man decides they do not want to continue the sexual encounter, most reasonable people will stop the interaction with respect. But if you watch a porn film of a young college girl being abused, slapped and choked, enforced to continue the sexual act with verbal abuse even though the woman is crying and resisting for real, that is ok because it makes lots of money. As long as she signed the waiver, which basically waived her rights from being a human being, to be treated like a farm animal, makes it ok. It is acting.  Although she is vomiting, crying and in painful duress, she is acting? If you believe that then I guess you must be a share holder of that particular pornographic producing website corporation. May be they should play that particular clip at the next share holder’s meeting and they can all masturbate while their profits and dividends projections are announced for the next fiscal year. Or that bank information phishing call center in Nigeria, Russia, Virginia, or anywhere thanks to the VPN technology. These information phishers set up phoney profiles on most or all free dating sites, even some of the paid sites, and prey on men and women alike, focusing on the age bracket of 45 to99 years, specifically the 50’s male bracket because most men in that bracket are in their financial peak, more or less. These scammers, through proposed sexual, emotional companionship or interaction allurement, will attempt to get some form of personal or banking information or money. Once that is accomplished, they will continue to scam you until you stop or close down all financial ties.  But by then it is probably too late. It is just too lucrative for world banks and financial groups not to invest in, or capitalize. But if they had any morals other then pecuniary morals, they would not condone these illegal activities.

The Bumpkin Headless Horseman

However, we are developing into a society on non-accountability. No one in power, and certainly not the 1 percenters, want to be accountable for anything that would interfere with the flow of money to their fat pockets. We can be tried and convicted as the masses, because for some reason, we have to be accountable for our actions. But any person on the mini-Monarch level will not be held accountable for anything. Just pin it on the masses, and hope everyone will forget who was really responsible for 911, or the slaughter of women and children in the Gulf wars, not to mention the soldiers that died from commercial-corporate North America. They will take no responsibility for anything. They will have everyone believe they didn’t do anything. Innocent. Meanwhile they were  filling their oil barrels and wallets with stolen prosperity. And they will keep doing it because no one in commercial-corporate North America will question them in fear of losing their careers or livelihood. We are beat if we allow our fears to create a bubble of conformed security ultimately self serving to the 1 percent of the population’s profit margin.

“Tex” oNid ittEnEbEd (sHow nO mErcY)

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