My name is Munnie Melkovich. And this is my ding-dong, corn-dog, Judge Wapner, Judge Wapner, Judge-wapnered life.
The lack of emotions in previous sentence?- Atypical Asperger. Right? I dunno. Who made the definition? Are they God? ARE they SANTA? No.
I already have a blood disease. Hi. I’m 40 and Andy is my name. Yeah. So my dad was an analytical scientist doctor Asperger golf-hating MD who injected a little morphine because he also had an abdominal car crash disease called HAE. This is brilliance. I feel it. My heart beats double the BOOMBAH of a Viking slave ship pace. I am guessing. I’m empathetic, too. So empathetic that it’s pathetic. I feel for what dead slaves may have felt. Then I go “X” plus number of “dead” to make the empathy of the past a net.
Do you ever think of the poor guy (x500,000,000?) and poor girl who chug a lug drowned after Noah built a giant floatations device? I get the pragmatism of going on with better people and the same gorgeous animals. I once heard it said, “I will call them my loved one who was not my loved one.” That’s in the bible. I read it before.
Okay- Pharoah was bad to Israel. He died drowning. He was NOT God’s loved one. Millinea go by, Egyptians crafted a world of architecture, dead-people preservation, cat fancy, artistic awash, NOT over-eaters apparently. There were “redeeming” qualities. People love Egyptians in the ancient world as hard workers.
- Yeah, so Pharoah was killed in the sea if you believe the Torah’s words on ancient Egypt. Not many stories on Ancient Egypt. Not many. No. Huh. But, PHAROAHS are loved as modern children go, “Yeah, cool dog-head Anubis” not a thought to call it pagan pagentry. A tear must form in the eye of Pharoah salt-water sivved bones, skull, eye, oh I dunno, but with the Kingdom of God within, a child of God loves an old enemy of the people of Yahweh, one who is probably greasier than Hitler but dry as Putin and it may just be a sign to look for the resurrection of Unknown Pharoah number 22 in a far off time from now and more real than Star Wars.
Star Wars is make up. ALL of it. Where is the real dream world beyond writing? I don’t want to play and be insane in this world. Where is real identity forever? That’s not to try to obtain an answer now, that is to point. And by pointing I say: