While rabid little lambs claim to understand, they are better used for slaughter, or sacrifice to a greater understanding that escapes humanity. This is mostly because the underlying lattice of geometric time/space/reality of our perceived universe is rather complex, it is like trying to teach a dog algebra. But I will attempt to cut the thoughts of the lamb in equal parts, and walk between them to touch the very mask of the eternal mystery.

First things, first. Imagine a mobius strip.

This will do pig, this will do:

This is not the universe, we are just a spec on it:

Now here comes the first tricky part, a basic system design. Our universe is nothing but a subatomic action to a system above us. While our own subatomic actions are entire universes from Big Bang to Ultimate Implosion. Our own universe is destined to collapse upon itself one day, but we will not around to see it, though we have always been around to see it. How is that possible you say?

Here is a basic snip of the system design:

This was an elaborate trojan dolphin to make a statement on a well-known blog that supports Chevron. Snuck one past the goalie for Burma.

One of the greatest tricks mankind has every played on himself is convincing himself that he is not animal. Of course, he had to create God, and/or Gods, to pull this feat off, but for some reason he thinks he is not only at the top of the creature pyramid, but he built it himself. Of course, from his perception, it all seems to be true.

But these cleverest of monkeys, who call themselves humans, because knife-wielding homicidal earth-wrecking primates didn’t sound so nice, have only a limited skill set when it comes to truly seeing the world around them. In their quest to fill so superior to all other creatures on the planet, their hubris blinds them from the other way animals see, talk and live.

Samson was going all out, catching a stride that almost felt like floating. Though he was more known for his cutting skills, and bravery among bulls, he was showing me in a pinch he could also be a race horse. But even with his gallant effort, he was still a good five lengths back from the steed carrying my rose.

Down we galloped into valley, playing lover’s games as rode down tree-lined country lanes. She would look back, her long black hair flowing like pozos lit by an angel’s halo from the large Mexican harvest moon. We raced towards the music that was waffing over the next ridge.

Samson did his best to catch her filly, since he felt the same about that horse as I did it’s rider, but it was all for not. You can never truly ever catch a rancher’s daughter from the El Bajio. 

Okay, show of hands, who remembers 1953? Don’t be shy, I know there are few here who fondly remember that year. It was just yesterday to some, all those years ago. America was in its post-war prime.

Ah yes, 1953. Quite a year! The movie Peter Pan premiered at the Roxy Theatre, New York City. The first transsexual Christine Jorgenson returns to New York after successful sexual reassignment surgery in Denmark. The first 3D film, Bwana Devil opens, sparking the 3D glasses craze. James D. Watson and Francis Crick announce that they have discovered the structure of the DNA molecule.

Sir Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay perform the first successful ascent to the summit of Mount Everest. The first Chevrolet Corvette is built at Flint, Michigan. The Korea War ends. And of course, the first color television sets go on sale for about $1,175.

In the theaters, Here to Eternity is a big smash, as is the western Shane. And who can forget War of the Worlds, or the Wild One.

After a few calls into NASA, I finally broke down and went there. See, we jokingly call NASA the family business because we built the rockets and even the shuttles for America, but mostly for ourselves. We always thought we would have the first India Tea Company trading charter with aliens, making us richer than our wildest dreams and returning our once grand coat of arms to international importance. We also built them because we knew things we were never allowed to mention. This ends today.

After a meeting in a smoke-filled back room, I was told where the tapes were and I could see them in exchange for my advance lifter technology. Since NASA had already patented that against my consent, I decided there was no harm done in supplying the fractal sequences that drove the lifters. I even went the extra mile and showed them why certain fractals worked more efficiently within the gravitational-harmonics field, mostly out of fear someone might get hurt.

As their R&D team giddily ran off with my forbidden tech, a silver-templed member of the crew led me to back a room. Not only did they have the missing 698 tapes, they had them on HD. The only rule was I could never remove the missing movies from this underground bunker. After ordering an absurd amount of popcorn and Dr. Pepper, the old man sealed me in the undisclosed location and I settled in for about 200 hours of never before seen film.

Music to Read By:
Dear Deadly by Creeper Lagoon

Written on a mountain top in Mexico:

Okay, Jesse Ventura was just on TV, Donny Deutsch. MSNBC is our only American station  here on the mountain in Mexico. And there was Jesse, looking like Ming the Merciless on steroids.

He took Donny on a wild ride that sounded very legitimate until his remarks concerning him and some his Navy seals buddies going crazy in the USA. But his parting shot, spoken throw a goatee that ended in two two-foot long braids, was good though.

There comes a time when you finally got to put on the other shoe and give it a whirl for a mile or two. Abstract reasoning, the crux of international diplomacy, has left the Bush Administration as quickly as a preacher caught in the whorehouse. Some question if it was ever there, with choices like Bolton for the UN or Baker actually defending Saudi Arabia against survivors of 9-11. But as we enter the era of regional power nuclear proliferation, we must stop for a second and be rational for moment. I come here to praise Iran, not to bury them.

As you know, I don’t like John Edwards. See, I have a bless/curse of a photographic memory. I remember John Edwards, from when he entered the national stage taking the deposition in the Lewinsky fiasco during the Clinton Administration, to his cheerleading for the war in 2002. I also remember his platforms from 2004, which is why I am shocked he has reinvented himself once again.

But when he decided he wanted to be a populist this election cycle, I took that shit personally. The Farmer’s Alliance started in Lampasas, Texas in 1876, which later evolved in the Populist Party. So yeah, you could say I have little emotional attachment to the name. That is why I refuse to allow this pretender advance towards the throne.

Nothing sums up better some of the issues I have with John Edwards, than this interview on Meet the Press. When called to the mat for his constant reinventions as a candidate, he stands by his record, even though that does not reflect his rhetoric today. I have no idea why anyone would believe a word he says after this: