26 August 2024
I’ve always been very sensitive to emotional rip-off acts, especially by mean old ladies posing as saccharine-sweet, pathetic dowagers. Credit my alert awareness to a parent who used the untimely death of her ailing spouse to become a Professional Widow for over three decades.
She was a small-time, low-life operator, very much in the vein of Dorothea Puente, the Sacramento boarding-house killer. Dorothea targeted Social Security checks to plunder from living bodies that soon assumed room temperature, and then got buried in the back-yard.
The fact that I’d lived only blocks away from the Victorian Death House Landlady still gives me pause. During the early phase of her murder-spree, I used to walk by her ancient abode on my way to work at the Sacramento District of the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers.
I’m sure it was the architectural design of the Victorian house, along with some subliminal vibes, that attracted my attention! Unfortunately, those historical structural elements were not what drew 9 individuals to their deaths, and, later, to their interments, in the back yard there.
I recall Dorothea, whenever I encounter a crotchety white-haired old lady, living on a fixed income, unable to pay for the vet bills for her cats, so she’s started a Go-Fund-Me site.
Mean old ladies are not what they used to be. Nowadays, they slink around like creaky botoxed versions of Raquel Welch in her hey-day. I’m pretty sure the wig is Raquel Welch.
There’s one penny-pinching demented dinosaur, wrapped in a hot pink spandex-dress-onesie, spouting off, daily, to the faux-news-microphone. This House-shrew is 84, but she lost the gavel, and she just won’t shut that trap of hers. She keeps popping up, especially on those late-night shows that no one watches. Her clap-trap is a trap, but, shhhh! Don’t tell her! She’s on Plan 82 to get the Idiot-Nephew installed in the White House.
It is never easy, or advisable, to tell a shrill battle-ax to shut-up. You’ll get the opposite result. You must leave the histrionic scene and let the rage die on its own. And that’s precisely what I did, attending university and living and working in Washington, D.C., I did, however, badly need the Social Security checks that I received as the child of my deceased father — to use for rent. Evidently, so did that widowed battle-ax in New Jersey!
I was comically naive in those days, and, to some degree, I still am. The fact that I inhabited the Nation’s Capital, the Federal Mecca of Soche — where I could have paid a visit to the Department of Social Security — to officially re-direct those payments to me, the legal recipient: That simple solution to a pesky monthly problem, did not occur to me until seven years later, when I was a fully-grown adult, living just blocks away from the Dorothea Puente Death House in Sacramento, CA.
The naive and trusting among us are always ripe for the picking by the pros at pickpocketing the heart. It's often hard to acknowledge evil in your midst. They wear so many disguises, so many theme-costumes, so many masks.
The existence of villains around you is not a reflection upon you, or your goodness. The person without a conscience counts on your goodness, and your conscience, to provide cover for his, or her, corruption. The vile fraud can thereby engage in the stunningly sordid swindle of trust that lets them bilk money and power and fame — but not your virtue.
Case in point:
When Congress-girl lectured the Nation, via the Moron Media and her narcissistic-digital-FeedBox, on 6 January 2021, that Trauma Compounds.
Yes, it certainly does.
This morning I listened to, and watched, an almost 10-minute video of the bereaved loved ones of the 13 Fallen Service Members who were savagely killed in Kabul during the Fall of Afghanistan.
I wept, though not nearly as much as those bereft victims of evil in America wept as they, finally, told their stories, revealing how they found out their loved ones had been killed in Kabul on 26 August 2021.
Those ignored Americans have been weeping for three years.
Quite a few of those fallen heroes hailed from California. During the horrific days of the most shameful military debacle in the history of the United States, I took note of that geographical fact, and it surprised me. Because since the end of the Cold War, the Golden State, or rather the slimy, unpatriotic politicians of the Golden State, have spat upon the U.S. military.
The hard-working citizens of the working class in this state have been forgotten by that feckless and foul Ruling Class in California and in America. But the brave and patriotic citizens who comprise those Forgotten Americans, they did not forget or forsake their beloved homeland. Nor shall they ever abandon their nation in the glaring and ghoulish ways that the Traitors of D.C. have done.
I watched, in silence, as their grief, unresolved, unexpressed, unacknowledged, and shamelessly forced into silence, finally begin to find a release. That benevolent conduit comes through the magnanimous efforts of a National Patriot and Hero who has been maligned obscenely, un-Constitutionally, and relentlessly, nearly to the point of tragedy.
Grief does not simply go away with the passage of time. The heartless connivers of the human heart engage in the most heinous of acts to take advantage of the near-despair that stalks any person grappling with grief-unutterable. Lacking heart, soul, conscience, any shred of decency, they have to mimic how someone with morality acts.
The mask slipped in 2021.
The mask slipped, even as the government ghouls and their accomplices in the propaganda-media wore those stupid face-diapers — to hide their real selves. And to deny Americans the freedom of speech granted them by their Maker, guaranteed them by our armed forces and, then, and only then, by the First Amendment of the U.S. Constitution.
The vicious attempts by the Creeps-in-Power at grief-shaming came to an end, upon this glorious and inglorious day.
This date, 26 August, shall forever be a haunting reminder of what happens when the U.S. Constitution, the Bill of Rights, free and fair elections, and the democratic rule-of-law, get stomped on by greed-driven fascists out to Save Democracy. The pigs bought-off at the trough enabled that day of infamy, along with hundreds of other days of infamy across the Fruited Plain during the past four years, ten years, twenty years: History, written by the winners, not the losers of this battle to save our nation, shall record the corrected and revised dateline of Official Treachery in this Land of the Free and Home of the Brave.
The Great Awakening within America is the arising of a sleeping giant. The sleazy political class has wanted, enabled, encouraged, and concocted an electorate that’s dozing, narcotically inert, zoned-out, drunk, lethargically cynical and lost in despair. They’ve connived for decades to suppress The Vote, to depress The Voters, to ostracize the Patriots.
You don’t tell those battle-axes to shut up. You wait for their rage to destroy them. This battle is won through patience, the faith of our valiant fathers, and the fortitude of our strong mothers.
Maybe the tears of the bereaved from 26 August 2021 flowed toward the trail of tears from 9/11, from Benghazi, from Mogadishu, from the U.S.S. Cole, from the terror attack at Ft. Hood, from so many acts of violence upon our noble members of the U.S. military, going all the way back to Vietnam. Those crimes were committed against America, and Americans, and then hushed-up by the most vile of Americans, The Government snakes in the Potomac grass.
On this day, I ponder the silenced grief of the families of the fallen heroes of the Korean Conflict, the first of our Forgotten Wars. That armed conflict was never a war declared by Congress, in the same bloodless vein that the Vietnam War wasn’t a real war either, declared by what was, by then, an even more cowardly Congress.
Trauma compounds.
Yes, it most certainly does.
