Schrodinger’s Healthcare Plan Motto: “Leave that shit alone …”
WOMEN in CAGES
There’s something lurid about this story … greasy. It appeals to the ID and the UNCONSCIOUS and to that mixture of Eros and Thanatos that MODERN PEOPLE find so enjoyable.
Throughout history, people in power have used doppelgangers or lookalikes to provide a public “presence”, while avoiding the dangers of being stabbed …
It’s said FDR employed this, as did Hitler and Stalin …
What if there is no BILL GATES, at least not any longer?
What if Elon Musk and George Soros and Biden, and many others, are really just body doubles?
Could there be “real” versions of them? – maybe …
Could it be that those who exist among the elite decide that the best course of action is NOT to go out in public, especially now?
How sure are you that any of these are real people OR, as interesting, that they might be their body doubles at this point …
Want the trip to Antarctica, you can:
fake your death
or … hire a body double ….
(that’s it)
Thanksgiving …
MON – 11/21/22 – SLC to Seattle
I got to SCRUMBO’S GROCERY where I picked up the Utah Shuttle to SLC. The driver asked us to verify our identities by pulling out our butt pipes and taking a smoke … I got to SLC Airport, and immediately I could see the demon folk were taking over … I decided to start smoking again, tired of putting off my goals and WAITING for SOME SIGN. A Jingo-Freak by the name of “Theresa” was muttering about covid shots and grandmas and how they say there will be honey-cox for EVERYONE this year.
I know the grombolite folk are watching me. I sit here, at the airport bar, waiting for some kind of next level super understanding, but the blood leaking into my underwear says otherwise. Scrimbo queens? – they seek my gumbah flesh, and old Irish maidens prepare their boovula, ungoogliating before the demon throng.
Sure … I’m at Roosters … drinking some kind of IPA and dreaming of SHRUMPKIN QUEENS off of Aurora AVE. I can’t wait to drink the nectar of sadness, as the 65 hookers hold vigil over my melting corpse. And if I could determine which hooker gave me crabs? – I’d hire a lawyer, that specializes in crabs. Seattle is a freak zone.
TUE – 11/22/22 – Groblon Lords Rule Sector 4
I heard the SCHLEBUS-HOR talking to Baal. Her voice spoke of yoobrian whore grease, and she couldn’t stop saying nice things about Warren Buffet. “He says nugget oil is the key, you must turn off your ability to hear pain.”
SHURGON would rule this realm if it wasn’t a swamp casket and filled with the impurities of vroom-juice and the commie cougar oils they use to make it work out.
I heard the scream of an ORCA whale covered in tumors …
I heard her scream out for fresh salmon, and life, and a future for her children …
The Seattle funken-folk were too busy at the new GREEN-GREEN noogan-shit bar. The chief scumptous whore was like “did you hear what Bill Gates said?”. And then the 3 sects declare that festule closed.
WED – 11/23/22 – LOST
When I travel, rarely, these days … I tend to need a background white-noise soundtrack to drown out the wailing and the pain and the madness of most places, most cities, Seattle as it happens. “Lost” was this show, 15 years ago, where a bunch of frunctic horders find themselves “lost” on a Mysterious Island, an island that seems a lot like that game Myst from the 1990’s. Confused, grief stricken, but seemingly well fed – the “lost ones” struggle with their memories and their confusion and the infinity of their “bad takes”.
Yesterday one of the yoogan-tribesman was working on the ceremonial pit, where I’m staying, off of Zulu AVE in Seattle. He spent time talking to his girlfriend about suicides, and white people, and how “it’s okay” if we want to die, because of what the white people have done. I sit here in the darkness, and I ponder the existentially meek figure, being pulled by his nose, by his woman, and treated as if he were nothing … I wanted to say: “I’ve been there bro, I’ve been ‘LOST’ … you know … married.”
Waking up, I decided to get supplies …
SCRUGG, at the 7/11, looked at me … “Our systems … they don’t … work”, he angrily took my money and I got my hoodle-soda and my cigarettes. They sold old style bog-sausage and hooker-coffee. As I walked out the door, OLD SCRUGG looked at me and said “you’re gonna die Charlie …”
When I got back to the groove-cave, the xortan-bricklayer was using his high speed drill to remove the sins and other gromulan from the liver-side delay tube, next to the toilet …
At night, late night, I can find calm …
I can stand outside, in that place, not far from SEATAC – I can hear the planes coming in for a landing. It’s about 2:30 AM, PST, and every once in a while I think “maybe that one … it’s not some 737 filled with fat/drunk travelers … maybe it’s a Chinese or Russian strategic bomber, coming in, to drop its load.
I sense the screaming of souls, as if it’s an orchestra, and I’m the conductor, but I know that no such conductor is needed. This river of pain, called Seattle, is only pending demise, destruction. And the errant screwballs might want to pretend that some amount of bitcoin or internet services or NEXT LEVEL WEB 3 bullshit will have any impact or provide any relief. But the scum herders of REDMOND know the deal, and their mouths stink of halitosis and artisanal fried arugula …
KLIG-KLOG freaks live here … they eat muskrat soup and roodle-pie. They care not for the travelers stuck at Cloud City, drinking over priced coffee and listening to under-IQ discourse from the commie slave mooks, stuck in the old world quorg-feast and shoving potatoes up their butts to make a point. It just takes time to charge up their electric clown cars, and to put on their clown makeup.
Slag people are the night whisperers …
Slag people chant and grope for their METRO token and their American made mage-oils. Their eyes are green and jaundiced, they have the spice of turbulent failure. The slags do their work, get back home and night and head to Pike Place. They buy their tumor clams and their diesel crabs, they purchase some CHINESE ancient cures to stop the anal bleeding and to find meaning again.
These lost ones … they are stumbling from one herpes infection to another crabs outbreak. Their bodies are filled with blymph, and their minds are hot wired for brain jacking.
“How many shitty holidays have I had with family? – an easier question would be: how many good holidays with family? Small number, easier to remember.” – Dr. Freckles
… and for all hobo shaman who seek to know that place called “home”, remember this:
“Never let your curiosity exceed your pocketbook.” – Dr. Freckles
One last thing …
If you are a listener and provided funds for me to make it back home? – it was a piss poor investment, and I’m sorry.
“Thanksgiving is for THANKING THE LORD when it’s over.” – Dr. Freckles
My Last Will and Testament …
Nobody lives forever, did no one tell you this when you were 12? – sure, as a Christian, your spirit lives on … but the stuff of this Earth turns to dust and shit.
Do I know I’m dying soon? – no …
Is this a cry for help? – no …
I am simply taking care of business …
THE ARMY will burn my body for free … they’ve burned me before
Build a trebuchet, load my body onto it …
Launch my ashes into a pit west of VERNAL
Shoot a freeze ray at the pit, seal it up for good – let the skin walkers melt it with the fiery red eyes
I give the EASTERN ZONE to my friend in Florida …
I give the WESTERN ZONE to my friend in Seattle …
I give the CENTRAL ZONE to my friend in Utah …
Seattle Mike can tell you who these three men are, cuz he’s one of them.
You must rule these zones with a fist of glowing titanium, you must wear a codpiece made of lead to protect your junk …
All of my online properties, websites, podcasts, are for these THREE MEN (described above) to use – they know who they are, and none of this matters … but I love you.
Tell all the scrumbo freaks in SEATTLE and elsewhere, YOU ARE FORGIVEN … but that helps me, not you …
Tell the people of that SUPER CITY SEATTLE, that they should ask: “how many times has Rome been destroyed, do you know?” (are you fucking stupid)
Tell Boomer I hope there’s Heaven for dogs, that I make it there, but who knows …
Tell the roaming sasquatch that the TIME IS NOW … strike while the iron is HOT …
Tell the Troblin-Hordes who worship real estate jesus, that if the “kingdom came” in your head, did have an O-FACE?
Tell the BANKERS to count their pennies … as the tumors eat their flesh, and the families starve and turn mad with rage …
Tell the GROMBO SECT leaders that the age of RESUPPLICANCE is HERE, and ghetto-lords will rise up …
Tell the politicians that their time is over and beware the coming throng …
Tell the pope that the ROMAN APOSTATE CHURCH is simply a zombie, that rose up, when the western empire fell …
Tell the grifter freaks who have plagued me since 2016 – your time is coming …
Tell the crypto scams and the FED plants and the crombo-nerds spying on their neighbors – your time is coming, it won’t be nice …
TELL the NASA freaks it’s weird, you know, that humans last left low Earth orbit in 1972 …
TELL SCROMBO HERDS, living off protein combos, that “going back to the Moon” in 2024 is a marker … a delineation … an OMEN of rapid change …
TELL ALL GLIMPTICK FOLK of SEATTLE: you are living in fullness of bread, soon it will lose its flavor …
Ensure that all care is taken to distribute my belongings to those that I love – and the RULER of the CENTRAL ZONE knows what this means …
Let the OLD TIME’Y hobos know, I’m getting my due …
Let the hookers of Scompton know, I was your jingus-lover …
Let the credit card companies know – you will get nothing.
Let the student loan company know – the university told lies, and the value of that is ZERO … actually … less than zero … someone owes me money.
Cities …
“Cities have ALWAYS been FEMA camps.” – Dr. Freckles
Until rates get above 15%? — we are still just chasing inflation.
If they pivot now? – inflation goes sideways, and a whole bunch of folks dump treasuries and other dollar denominated assets.
If you think the “pivot” would be good for crypto? – yes and no. Short term lemmings will chase yield, long term lemmings will realize they can’t afford to keep the nonsense going … not with blackouts, shortages, etc.
I don’t have a phone, for a few months … this doesn’t apply to all of you, but I have been in communication with some of you, by phone, for podcasts. I will get a new phone, I think, before GRINKEN TIME ends and FINAL BOBLIMPTOCK begins … I dunno. What happened to my phone? – could have been wookies, could have been TSA, could have been DAN with a POCKET KNIFE in the basement: CLUE …
Snowbird Man: looked irradiated, saw my t-shirt, kept wanting to talk about Artemis
Forgiveness – what it is, what it is NOT.
Prophecy – how much of the bible, and what happens when you spiritualize it away …
Beans is still alive …
Parents … kids … wearing coffee filters
The poor guy and the air conditioner … (and leaving out the silent part)
Sodom and Seattle: it’s gotten a LOT worse, since I left 1.5 years ago. Giant dark pit of shit hole.
What I do: I won’t talk about your bullshit after today, I simply won’t talk to or about you, ever again. Fun fact: I said bad things, and many more good … I wonder if the good was heard.
They are going to be putting homeless people on McNeil Island soon … right in the dead sea.
We’re not there yet … but the wookie people have been seen by the dogs, in the hills, by their camp fires, sharpening sticks, that’s why Boomer is so crazy … that’s why Kia is growling … the orca look differently at the kayak dude … be careful. We’re not there … yet … but we’re getting there … BOBLIMPTOCK … but the orcas will go insane, with hunger and rage, overriding their empathy chip, looking for man flesh to eat …
BTW: if you haven’t read “Too Much Magic” by James Howard Kunstler, I highly recommend it … seems like Seattle is on the OTHER SIDE of OZ now …
The pay is less …
“Sometimes you need a job that pays less, but provides more.” – Dr. Freckles
Consider minimalism …
Consider the value of your time, healthy more youthful time, VERSUS the big payoff when you’re 72 …
Below is a short book I wrote, in 2015, related to this topic of “time” vs “money”.
