How to Beat this Stupid End

 
I was talking to a guy in Italy yesterday and we were talking about this and that, the death of this Earth and how now it comes walking toward us like some boogie woogie of disaster and we all dance to it, boogie woogie boogie woogie all the way to Boogie Woogie Hell; and how we can small that Hell, how we can smell the brimstone of it; and how we can see this poor Earth in her death shudders, shudders so established that I can bet you all you have that just about next Christmas there is going to be a big bad earthquake somewhere between Iran and Indonesia.
 
But I don't have to bet you; you have bet it all already.  You have bet your money, you have bet your life, you have bet your fine reputation before the world, you have bet that fine soul God gave you, lo, so many millions of years ago; and you are just sitting there hoping you die before this Earth dies under you, hoping you never have to stop drinking gasoline, not minding that George W. Bush is your fascist Judas selling you out, so long as he murders someone else and not you; wishful thinking, wishful thinking, wishful thinking of a nation of fools in a Fool's Paradise.  George W. Bush will murder you all.
 
So this Italian guy said, "How do we beat this stupid end."
 
I tell you, I have been working this puzzle, trying to solve the anti-miracle of the Anti-Christ, which is the human being's future, since I was a Boy of four; like Mozart sitting down the keyboard I sat down to ending war; and in all those 60 years, in all the thousands of people I have talked to, in all the millions of people I have reached since God gave me the gift of being the only audible mental telepath in human history, (think about it, in all of human history, one diamond on the whole pile of coal), in all that time only one person has asked me, "How do we beat this stupid end".
 
I do not know which is more remarkable, being asked that question or never having been asked that question before.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
Albert Gore should have asked it when he ran against Republican American Fascism in 2000; Hairy Kerry, the Democratic candidate who threw the election like a pug the Heavyweight Championship of the World, should have asked it when he ran against Republican American Fascism that last, (and as the Republican American Fascists have it planned), that last and final election.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
And who was that other guy, Billy Bob Clinton, he should have asked it when he was getting blow jobs in the Oval Office.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
And who was that other guy, the first George Bush, the father of Satan's Fool-children, he should have asked it rather than playing king-my-family games in the back rooms of rich men's mansions, rather than joining in on the age-old plot of the rich to murder the poor.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
And who was that other guy, Ron Reagan, had he asked it he would not have been damned to Hell for murdering poor people in Central America.
 
And who was that other guy, Spick and Span Jimmy Carter, he should have asked it as he picked the nose of his Presidency saying Jesus this and Jesus that.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
And who was that other guy, Ford, he should have asked it when he received the Presidency as a gift-tit-in-the-mouth.
 
Before that it was all Nixon-murder-sandwich, a murder sandwich around the Kennedy's, a murder sandwich around me, a murder sandwich around you; and we have to go all the way back to Eisenhower to find a President of the United States of America who was not murdered, or a product of murder, or a plotter of murder.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
And that petticoat carpetbagger New York Senator, Mrs. Clinton, who thinks she can be President by standing in line with two tits and a vagina and name recognition, but with not a bold idea in her pretty little head, she should be asking it loud and clear.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
In your elections you have been having the political constant of choosing between two pre-chosen "leaders" who do not lead, who dance a political dance that is more like professional wrestling than real sport, (this time we win, next time you win), while even a telepathic slave like me, ( the only one of his kind in human history, think about it, one diamond on the whole pile of coal), can see this Earth is just about done for and that the "leaders" are taking no notice; and now, surprise! surprise! you get "The Leader" George W. Bush who tells you murder is leadership.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?  Well, a little less stupidity wouldn't hurt.
 
We have a pack of ratty rat-scat newspeople, who read scripts on TV, and when they write they write what they are told to write by the anti-news people who write their paychecks; and if they don't they are thrown into the fire of unemployment; and what they are forbidden includes writing about America's murderous torture-enslavement of the only audible mental telepath in human history (think about it, only one diamond on the whole pile of coal).
 
We've got scientists all over this globe straining at the bit to bite into the problem of the death of this Earth, but on the most part they are paid to munch on something else; and scientists, Dear Reader, in general scientist have no balls at all; egos, yes, big round proud egos, but scientists have no balls at all.  That means they have to be assured it is safe to save the world, and their paychecks won't stop coming in, and their governments won't stop jacking them off.
 
We've got the only audible mental telepath in the history of the world, (think about it, in all the history of the world, one diamond on the whole pile of coal), and Americans torture me, for the fun of it, and it makes them happy, it makes them proud, it gives them the delusion they are for a few minutes master of a masterful man.  God gave me this telepathy to help save this Earth, not to be the object of the sadism of cowardly, psycho-fascist Americans; so many of them already damned, so many of them on their way to damnation.
 
And we've got God, but God's not as pretty or as prompt as you want God to be, and God doesn't hop through the hoops of your scriptures, and either you figure there is no God or if you figure there is a God God will save you no matter how spineless you are; and you Christians think god will save you no matter how many Muslim babies you murder.
 
A little less stupid, a little less mean, a little less cowardly, a little less allowing of murder in your name, a little less faithlessness, absolutely no Telepath-torturing; that would be a good start to stopping this stupid end.
 
-0-
 
Now here's a little thing you might consider if you are at all interested in stopping this stupid end.
 
Sometimes at the end of one report I tell you the title of the next report.  Well, the next report would be entitled "Here Come the Teeth", and it was scheduled to come out tomorrow, just before God is going to take a big bite out of Republican American Fascist crime.
 
But, and here is that big butt that smells to High Heaven, the American people have driven me out of yet another home, (what fun! what fun!) and some time this afternoon I am going to have to holster this computer and put it into a box and put the box into my poor overloaded little car and once again go in search of someplace where I can live and work in peace and freedom, someplace where Americans will not torture me in their mousy, cowardly little ways.
 
So, unless I find a home before tomorrow, "Here Come the Teeth" will go unwritten. 
 
This, therefore, is something how the Teeth events will go:
 
Picture yourself as having a dream, a dream in which you are happily swimming in warm water and suddenly a gray bullet of a shark swims up and bites you on your back, and you wake up with a start, very thankful when you realize it was just a bad dream.
 
How do we beat this stupid end?
 
Having you ever watched sharks swimming around your fishing boat when all the fishermen had their lines in the water and the fish were frenzy-biting, and the sharks are swimming round and round so fast you could hardly see them gray in the gray water, and you pull in your croaker, bottom half missing, fish bitten in half, in spasm from the shock of the bite, and drowning in the light of day; double-damned, worst end for a fish, sharked and hooked, that's Republican American Fascism about two days from now.
 
How do we space sailors beat this stupid end?  We bite.