Cell Phone as a Personal Protective Device

 

 

A cell phone as a device for personal protection needs to become a standard. How to use it for protection is a simple matter of teaching. Making sure this teaching takes place is not so simple. To reach everyone in this country is a major undertaking, but it needs to happen. Consider the following idea: If the phrase “McGruff takes a bite out of crime” means anything to you, it is because of a nationwide advertising campaign started by the non-profit organization called the National Crime Prevention Council, that approached children in grade school with the idea of a dog/detective character whom they could trust to help them. If parents are worried about their grade-schooler’s safety, the child could use a cell phone device to monitor the child’s movement. The child could also be taught how to use the device proactively to identify anyone or anything the child felt was suspicious. (I won’t go into the teaching at this point) The cell device is a tool. Getting a child to acknowledge the device as a tool would be the job of a national advertising campaign similar to McGruff.

Setting up a non-profit organization is going to be my first priority. If you happen to read this and know a way to fund this idea, please find me with your advice. I wish to finance this idea with money that I do not have at this point.

For more thoughts on how development of an app for ALL cell phones should be a nationwide movement ordered, and monitored, by the government and computer affiliates, look back in this blog to posts from late 2016.

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Fighting Crime with a Cell Phone

Safety by Cell Phone

Safety of children is an altruism that every parent desires. Teaching safety needs to start early, and it needs to be addressed by parents at all ages. Teaching safety continues through adulthood and into retirement. Specific types of safety will always need to be addressed, but this article proposes a tool to help keep children safe from crime by teaching them how to use a cell phone for their personal security. The ultimate goal of this brief article is to develop a nationwide system that will ultimately force cell phone manufacturers to become everyone’s partner in personal security.

Cell phones have programmable capabilities that can be set to assist with finding the location of every phone. Now imagine that you have a school-age child who may need to walk to school or even walk to a nearby bus stop. The worry of every parent is the possibility of something happening to their child while on this journey. If the child has a cell phone and is taught how to use it, the child who senses any impropriety can simply press an app on their phone that would send an instant message or photograph or video to either the parent or the omnipresent “cloud”. While this sounds like a simple solution, it is actually quite complicated and why the system would need to be taught. Young children are often taught not to call the police unless it is an emergency. Identifying a suspicious incident as an emergency might discourage the child from pressing an app that they are cautious about. But what if their taught cautiousness causes a delay in reporting a serious incident? That is why a lot of teaching has to enter into this scenario.

Children, and many adults, believe that photographing anything that is public may be a violation of some sort. Some believe that photographing the police while they are arresting someone in public is against the law. We have to teach everyone their individual rights. If a photo of someone is taken and they are doing nothing wrong, no harm is done unless the photo is publicized as if they did break a law.

Teaching of the rules and individual rights is something that must follow a national curriculum, and that is why this series of articles is going to be written.

Before going on to other concerns, let me restate a public case: In February, 2017, two teen-aged girls were murdered on a trail in an Indiana park. One of the girls may have photographed and recorded the voice of the killer on her cell phone. The suspect in the photo is still at large and unidentified. The girl who took the photo is being called a brave hero and her information will eventually lead to the conviction of her killer.

Make no mistake about the power of the cell phone as a crime fighting weapon. It is the responsibility of everyone to make our country safe. If a small cell phone is going to allow us to do that, then we need to work towards that goal.

Duped Again?

On April 6, 2017, President Trump took charge and ordered a missile strike on Homs airbase to retaliate for an attack against civilians by the Syrian air force that, just two days earlier, had dropped a bomb with deadly nerve gas. On the surface this seems like justified retribution. Intelligence agencies agreed the Syrian strike was issued by the Homs air base. The agencies cannot confirm the bomb or bombs that were dropped actually spread the nerve gas.

While I am personally happy about the demolition of the Syrian air force capabilities, a giant worry looms over the incident. What if the gas explosion was set off by the rebels to draw the US into their fight to eliminate Assad? And what are the Russians going to do?

US intelligence agencies have reported that the Syrian rebels had access to nerve gas weapons. The various rebel groups, and there are many, including the notorious ISIS, use bad propaganda like bombs. Attacking innocent civilians or using them as live shields, is a common tactic. Their goal is to create havoc and try to blame casualties on Assad. Assad is an easy target because he is universally hated, except by his own army.

When the Russians jumped in to support Assad, the US was warned to back off. The US had to continue fighting ISIS, but away from the main populations of Syria. Russia wants Syria. I do not believe that Russia would approve of Assad using gas to kill civilians because of the dangers involved in drawing the US and Russia together in combat situations. Russia knew they stretched their luck with the Crimea annexation and the ongoing Chechnya conflict.

I want this to work out, but I am afraid that the US may have done a reflexive strike at our own peril. For President Trump it is a blessing. He really needed a distraction from his current failings. The fact that he once again broke a promise and launched into attack mode without any real investigation is more cause for concern.

Drugs, Profit, Advertising

Like I mentioned before on my drug stories, the drug names are interesting to me. I try to pronounce them to keep myself entertained. I don’t have cable television so commercials are free. Drug commercials are taking over the airwaves. They must make money for the drug companies, and of course we need to have something to ask our doctors for after using WebMD to identify our diseases.

The fad in the new drug commercials has been the use of a suffix; -umab, added to several prefixes, and claims to cure a mass of stuff. Umab, must mean something special. It does. The U may not need to be there, but the MAB definitely does. Turns out it is not a drug at all, but stands for a way of producing drugs that build antibodies. MAB stands for monoclonal antibodies, manufactured antibodies that mimic the antibodies necessary to strengthen defenses against all sorts of things. The range of diseases that I have noticed runs from plaque psoriasis to cancer and more.

And here I thought some drug company was making a bundle by selling -umab.

Drug companies have been taking a lot of heat by charging too much for drugs in the US. The FDA has taken some flak for being too thorough in extensive testing procedures that drive up costs. Once again I find myself wondering if the costs are being decided by the amount spent on advertising.

We need the drugs, we need the drug companies to make money so they can do the research, but do we need them to spend so doggone much on advertising?

(follow up-I wanna new drug)

 

After writing the story about a new weight-loss drug, Contrave, I did a little research. Yes, I know that research should have been done before writing an ‘expose’ type sarcastic story, but I didn’t. I only wanted to go after the drug maker for ridiculous profits. That part stands.

The idea started because I’m a weird person who tries to read the small print on television ads, even the automotive ads. The drug ads always show the actual drug names, prefixes and suffixes in parentheses, and the names are complicated to pronounce. Because I am sort of strange, I try to figure out the pronunciation which has led to revelations.

In following ads in general, there have been noticeable trends. Car manufacturers and prescription drugs are the only companies making enough money to keep our gigantic non-cable television working. I think the auto industry is only making a profit because of low-interest financing. Margins are not all that high for cars. The big winners then become the drug companies. I wonder if all the other countries that are known for cheaper drugs, subject their populations to massive advertising campaigns. Maybe the US drug advertising costs just add to the prices.

So that’s how I got onto the naloxsone stuff. After research I found that naloxsone was ‘discovered’ back in the late 60’s and is no longer proprietary, which means anyone can use it. It does work on controlling cravings for everything except, possibly, tobacco. And the drug stands approved by the FDA for use in small doses situations. So, the drug can be used in larger doses to prevent death in overdose situations as Narcan. It is effective for controlling craving, small dose use, for: food, alcohol, opioid and heroin type drugs, and it may work on sex cravings and gambling addiction. Tobacco trials are renewing testing. The biggest problems with the drug are the yet unknown side effects which is why the large dose uses, like Narcan for overdose, are still being studied.

In review; the drug may work for obesity, but other side effects may occur; like lower sex drive for which a guy can take Viagra; or like vomiting if you drink alcohol; or like not wanting to buy lotto tickets at the gas station; or not wanting to take Vicodin for your back pain. All in all, it’s not really that bad.

Now comes the latest commercial (March 2017) where this construction worker with a bad back has become constipated by opioid use. (If you regularly use opioids this is reality) Guess what the new drug is? Movantick, which just happens to be naloxsone and some gel. I guess a side effect would be that you would retain your back pain because you would no longer be able to take the opioid that caused the constipation in the first place. This is brilliant.

Next up: A new drug that is being mixed with a bunch of stuff – and why.

The Mausey Memorial and the Treatise on Death

Death was creeping over me like a darkening shadow, and I felt powerless; an unusual state for me to be in. At age 26, I was a tough, beat-walking cop; self sufficient, independent, and did not like asking for help. The night before, I had to take off sick from work leaving my partner by himself. My wife was surprised when I crawled into bed. She knew I had to be really sick before doing something like leaving work early, and asked if she could help. I told her it was going to be fine.

It wasn’t. After a grueling sleep of 10 or 12 hours, I woke and had a weird sensation of electricity traveling slowly down my spine from my head. I called my wife at work and told her to get me to the hospital. The hospital was only a few minutes from home but the ride made my head feel like it was ready to explode. They put me through x-rays while I could stand, and laid me on a gurney to finish the exams. The doctors were not finding anything. One young doctor told my wife that they would do a spinal tap to check for meningitis. She asked what that was and he said, ‘It kills people.’

Probably not the best thing for him to say.

The doctors rolled me on my side and explained that the procedure was probably going to hurt. This is when I knew Death was close by. I really didn’t care what they did. I felt the needle go in and one doctor said, ‘He didn’t even flinch.’ Then he started drawing out spinal fluid and I heard him say, ‘Oh, my God. It’s full of puss.’ As he finished, I heard him talk to my wife outside the screen as he told her that I had Spinal Meningitis, and I heard as she freaked out thinking her husband was about to die.

I remember not feeling any panic or fear. Worst of all, I recall that I had no will to live which I thought was what all people near death developed, making themselves stronger, fighting to hang onto every second. I was so weak, yet completely alert, aware of everything around me, but just a hint of darkness;  probably Death throwing its cloak over me in slow motion and having it settle down to my body at millimeters per minute; still a lot of slightly blurry light.

The nurses and doctors wheeled me to an isolation room to start a penicillin IV. The specialist doctor was on his way, and they were following his instructions. The nurse was trying to start the IV, but was having trouble, noting that my veins were collapsing. My wife was watching her then went to the doctors who were in the hall talking, and I heard her order them into the room because the nurse was having trouble. The IV was started and they were working on a protocol when the specialist came in to check me out. He was talking at me, but I don’t recall if I responded. I think he gave me some drugs because I quickly lost consciousness. I might have been dead. I didn’t know or care. It just was.

Apparently, time had passed, and I didn’t die because I started to become aware of my surroundings. Nurses were coming in to move me around. It was always dark or else my eyes were closed.  One nurse had the wonderful job of shoving suppositories up my ass. I tried to imagine what she looked like when she did that. I thought her name had to be Nurse Grundel. Before long I started noticing light and people. My wife was there with tears in her eyes. The doctor showed up and began talking to me. I was alive, and starting to feel more aware by the hour, but not a lot of emotion as of yet.

Sleeping, versus being knocked out, started to happen; along with dreams. It was in one of these dreams that I saw Mausey. Edward Mausey. He was an old character of a wino. Short, slim like a wino, hunched up, slicked back hair, rubbery-pale skin, and a pugilist disposition; mostly because he used be a boxer. His ears had taken a beating as well as his nose. Tough little guy with fists three times the size of his withered body. My partner and I saw Mausey often on our walking beat. It was a rough area; street drugs and dealers, thugs, porno stores, lots of bars, male and female prostitutes, runaways and street-people, and winos sleeping in doorways and alleys. Night shift around Pike Street in Seattle was a separate culture from the tourists of the daytime. Mausey was part of the scene. He would walk up to us, crouch in a fighter pose and wave his huge fists, and then laugh it off. We were used to him. In my dream, he came up to me and breathed a huff on my badge, and then polished it with the sleeve of his ragged coat. I was thinking it strange that I should have that dream.

My doctor, on the first visit that I could communicate, told me that I had been infected with the type of meningitis that used to go through army barracks and kill a good percentage of men while not harming everyone. It was a highly infectious airborne pathogen. Three strains of meningitis were known. The least deadly infected many babies causing serious discomfort, another affected anyone and not usually deadly but passed by physical contact, and mine. Strains of the deadly type have been found in the indigenous groups of wino communities across the nation where some people recover and some don’t, but the pathogen survives. The doctor knew that I had a good chance of catching my disease from a wino. It was the state of my system at the moment of contact that allowed the disease to take hold of my body. The doctors had managed to stop the bug and I was no longer infective. My wife and partner had been checked and found to be clear as well.

My partner was the first outsider to visit me. We talked for quite a while. He wanted to know why he didn’t catch the disease and I filled him in on what the doctor said. Randy, my longtime friend and partner, got a look on his face that suggested an epiphany. He said, “Holy shit. I just figured it out. Did you know that Mausey just died?”

I hadn’t told him about my dream yet. We talked about it and he remembered how Mausey polished my badge the day before I got sick. “Do we need to contact the Health Department to have them put out a notice about Mausey’s body?” he asked.

When the doctor came to visit that afternoon, the Mausey question was asked. He was going to check, but felt there was probably no need to worry.

The next day he told me that Mausey had died of so many other problems that nothing was checked for meningitis as the cause, and nothing further was needed as he had already been buried as a forgotten veteran.

My hospital stay lasted two weeks, and my home stay was another two. On the drive home from the hospital, I felt like everything was being seen with new eyes. I realized how close death had been, and felt bad that I hadn’t fought bravely like so many other stories I have heard.  Now I wonder if the stories were people on the outside passing on their impression of the valiant efforts to fight away death. I know I didn’t even fight. I don’t even recall feeling a need to tell my wife that I loved her as I was entering the emergency room. I am certainly a romanticizer about life and love, but did I fail or was it because of a lack of a will to live? As my age increases, I think about mortality. I know that I am not afraid to die, and I have some definite thoughts about where my soul will go. I think humans have souls, and afterlife does exist in an alternative universe. (This is a personal belief so take it with a grain of salt.) While we all seem to profess a power in love, I have to believe, because of what happened to me, that love is not stronger than death, and love cannot exist without a body capable of sustaining it. Death is not an emotion.

Fare Is Fair or You Get What You Pay For Tax System

Life in these United States is about to change if our new president, Donald Trump, has his way. His emboldened supporters are stepping up to the podium and demanding that he carry on with his self serving ideas. The supporters liked the ideas when he so plainly laid them out during his campaign, not even caring to think of how their lives would forever be affected.

All countries have to have a means of support, and that ‘means’ is called taxes. Everyone has to pay taxes. For those taxes paid, people want assurances: protection, stability, infrastructure, insurance, laws and rules, and a growing economy. The drawback to everyone paying taxes is that nobody wants to pay taxes; they want the benefits. President Trump knows this and is playing his supporters. He has built his life around figuring out a way to make money and not pay his fare share. He has a lot of wealthy friends who are just like him. They want to control this country, keep it a good place to be rich, and not have to pay a lot of taxes.

This will lead to a system of taxation that will be fair. Everyone will get what they need, not what they want, and it will be appropriate for the taxes paid. The easiest way to start this system is to get rid of welfare which frees up a large bunch of money to invest in the infrastructure of the country, and gives us a huge batch of workers who need jobs to survive. The other bonus is that everyone will now pay taxes.

The tricky part of this plan is apportioning the benefits according to the amount of taxes you pay. The IRS has helped us out with this in the past. Remember the percentage breakdown for taxes: earned income of x = 10% tax, x+10k=11%, etc. and on and on with a top limit of never more than 40% no matter how many billions you make. (We all knew that the really rich people never paid anywhere close to 40%, so that number was not realistic.) We missed out on the masses of people who made less than $25k because they were considered so poor that we gave them credit for earning anything. What a waste! There was an untapped resource that sucked our country dry with welfare when they could have been contributing to our economy. It was like they were reaping the benefits that should have been for taxpayers. The system only needs to be divided into different groups, such as the ‘10% and less’ grouping, and then increasing 5% (suggested to keep the classes ell wseparated) for every class, up to 30% (limit stops here because 40% never did work). My fingers show that we would then have six tax classes in the USA.  Six is a doable number of classes to work with.

Each class would then be separated by invisible boundaries within every economic district. Back in the olden days, we referred to housing lines in the city as red-lining to keep poor people from trying to buy houses in nice areas. (Some people thought it was racially motivated to keep black people in the ghetto, but we all knew it was economically based, and it worked for a long time) It would work again if the lines were based on housing values. Businesses would know where to locate in order to have guaranteed income potential, and the lower echelon taxpayer would be allowed to go into the nearby businesses to shop. Because of their voter identity cards, they would have to pay cash because everyone would know that no banks would be able to operate in a low tax-rate neighborhood. Oh, I almost forgot, tax-rate classes are also color coded with uniforms. It would stand to reason for safety and regulatory purposes that would easily identify people trying to sneak into high rate neighborhoods. For another thing, standard color coding would be easier than having to produce voter registration cards. It’s so much simpler.

Benefits would be greatest in the 30% gated communities. Everybody needs something to strive for. Those communities would have it all: outdoor conditioned air for pollution free zones, zero deductible healthcare, gyms and parks, mass transit to bypass the polluted tax zones, access to private recreation areas inside national park boundaries, private airports, etc. Garages for exclusive vehicles that had rapid access to all freeways and highways (none would go through high tax zones) would ring the high zone like a wall.

This would mean four other tax zones as buffers between high and low with levels of police and fire protection within each tax zone. There would be very few fires in the low tax area, at least nothing would be worth saving if a fire did happen, and response times would be properly monitored in each zone. A police call for help in the high tax zone would be guaranteed at less than three minutes. Police calls into the low tax zone would have no guarantee because it would be based on how much was paid by taxes for protection.

Intrusion into zones and monitored by color is ideal. But, only two zones would be allowable. In order to do business cross zone, you would have to be from an adjacent zone plus 1 max. This would be economically feasible and encourage business development in order to access a 3-zone deal. Take for example someone in the low zone who wished to market something to a high zone. There would have to be a business started in the 3-zone AND the 5-zone to work. What a great deal. The economy would have a double tax advantage.

Fare is fair with this new system. The people who have the least will expect less. If they want to work harder, they can. Eventually they will earn more money and pay more taxes allowing them the upward mobility. The middle zones may fluctuate in size but will always be the largest and contribute the most in taxes. The high tax zone will be such a jump in taxes that it would be nearly impossible to breach by any of the other zones. Everyone will look at them with envy and wish they could earn that life style because of the benefits they receive. They would be the economic stability to strive for, similar to climbing to the top of the mountain. They get the rewards they deserve because they can afford them. And the rest of us thank them by paying our dues, our fair share of the taxes, and someday we may earn a high tax status. Amen!

Killer Captured On Cell?

A horrible crime happened in Indiana a week ago. Two teenage girls were murdered near a wooded hiking trail. Police recovered a cell phone with a photo taken by one of the girls just before the murder. At this time, the person in the photo is a suspect and is still at large. Identifying the man in the photo is a priority, and he may not be the perpetrator. If he committed the crime, the young victim did something heroic by taking his photo.

Armed with only an awareness of the potential for crime prevention, every cell phone is a great crime fighting tool. If the suspect in the park that day knew he had been photographed by the young victim, he might not have committed that horrible crime. Of course, this is pure speculation and a sad thought. But what if?

Parents, schools, and crime prevention groups should be working in every neighborhood telling people to use their phones for protection and not be afraid of possibly taking the photo of an innocent person. If a person feels the least bit suspicious of anyone or anything, their handy cell phone become an instant tool. Press the button and take a picture or a video. If you are in public, everything that you see can be legally filmed or photographed. There is no right to privacy in a public space. This would also apply to any kind of police activity such as officers making an arrest. People have taken these kind of videos and been asked to appear as witnesses for either the police or the arrestee, but noting is illegal. Why then would anyone hesitate to film something suspicious? And if you thought someone was about to attack you, taking their picture would only deter them from getting any closer.

Think about it. Cell phones are tools. If you are reading this, other articles about a nationwide cell phone app for fighting crime is available on previous blogs. Please, spread the word about using your cell phone for protection.

Heavenly Essay

(Note: Open as it reads – no author)

News Flash:

What I am about to tell you is going to be hard to accept. The subject and the substance of the message are not the problem, and in fact will be of utmost importance and interest. Accepting this story will be tough because I am dead. Please continue to listen, forget about the messenger, and focus on the message. I know you have many technical questions that I cannot answer because I don’t have a clue myself. I only know that what I am about to tell you is important.

Let me cut right to the chase: Yes, God is real. As are Heaven, Hell, angels, devils, Cherubim and Seraphim. Before you pull your earbuds out, I am not here to proselytize or preach or even sway your desires towards good, bad, or even religion. I am here, in Heaven, yes, in the sight of God, and telling you that it does indeed exist. You don’t even have to believe me; just listen. I know how hard it is to accept something you cannot touch. The old saying was that you had to have faith to believe in God. Along with that came all of the confusing religious bias according to dogma, prophets, Jesus, Mohammed, etcetera. Then came the scientists who couldn’t prove or disprove the existence of God. It became a choice that depended on faith.

Around 1900 some doctor decided to precisely weigh the human body at the time of death. His theory was that the spirit of life had measurable substance, and he came up with a measurement to prove his questionable thesis. His highest recorded weight was twenty-two grams. (You can Google this like I did.) Okay. Debatably, if there was a measurable, invisible volume, it would have to go somewhere. He claimed his answer was proof of an afterlife such as Heaven. In those days Heaven was up in the sky. (Apparently Hell would have been up, as well, because when the measurable mass left the body it didn’t leave a hole in the floor.)The big disproof of his theory is that the volume of spirits from all around the world that had died up until 1900 would have added up to a really large, quite noticeable, invisible mass. It was never found.

Around a hundred years later, scientists in some big think tanks were trying to find smaller and smaller atoms by designing atomic colliders. One of the noted side effects of their calculating was the discovery of alternative universes; intentional plural. I was alive then and thought about that a lot. After researching what I could understand, which was the theory part only, I discovered the scientists were not even arguing about it. It had been mathematically proven. Amazing. The only qualm they had was that they could not actually access those universes. All you needed was to have faith in math, which kind of sounds familiar.

Now this is funny. Around the same time the alternate universes were being figured out, a TV series called the Ghost Whisperer was popular. Why not? Jennifer Love Hewitt is gorgeous. The gist of her weekly story was to help the ghost find its eternal rest. When she helped, the ghost would see a curtain of light on the horizon and walk into it. Jennifer discovered the secret the scientists couldn’t unravel.

To get into the alternate universes, you have to be dead.

It’s a no brainer. Alternative universes are Heaven and Hell and a few others that I don’t know anything about. And not only that, Jennifer’s ghosts didn’t go up into the sky where everyone thought Heaven was, they walked a few steps towards the horizon. Not up or down.

When I was a kid and went to a few funerals, my relatives would always say that someday when I died (they always added “God forbid”) I would go to Heaven if I was a good boy (which I related to Christmas and Santa)and that I would be able to see my departed loved ones. I wondered about the details. I wondered if their clothes went to heaven with them. And how would I find them? Would they be alphabetized? I had a drunken uncle and I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be with the rest of them. I kind of liked him, but odds were good for him to be in Hell. He was pretty good with stories though, so if Saint Peter was really checking people into Heaven Hotel, my uncle Jack might have made it in. He was really fat and I didn’t want to see him naked.

The thing is, you think that when you get to Heaven it will be the life of Riley with a whole eternity to look around for friends and family, maybe even old pets (Hate to burst your bubble, no pets here. When your cat gets hit by a car, it stays flat). And here’s another biggy: Eternity implies the existence of time. Time, folks, is for life on Earth. Time was invented out of necessity for organization. Time is relative. Eternity in the alternate universes can be the ‘blink of an eye’; relatively. I’m telling you, that’s just how it is. It is so simple. It’s right here, right now.

And now I’m going to tell you what Heaven is like. I can do that because I am here. Forget everything you think you know or what you have been taught. Here’s how it goes down. Your spirit leaves your dead body and it takes a bit to separate, kind of feels like how an egg yolk separates from the white. You still have some senses; like hear, see, and think, but not feel. And it’s all telepathic, definitely spiritual, and not in the least bit sad. It’s like the inevitable destiny has arrived and you just carry on. You pass into another world as if you merely slid from the egg shell into a giant bowl of the first alternate universe. I would liken the bowl to a huge lobby area, with elevator doors opening and closing at certain times. Lots of other spirits are there and you are being jostled about without seeing anything but amorphous spots of dusky air; fluffs. And you can hear them thinking in all sorts of languages and calling to God in Hebrew, Arabic, Russian, Chinese, and even Norwegian. Most don’t have a clue what this is about, but emotions aren’t firing off in anyone. No one is afraid until the bad doors open.

Hell is real. It didn’t happen as often, but when the gates of Hell popped open, the feeling of despair swept into the area sucking up puffballs and snatching them to the depths within the gates, and then the gates slipped away. That feeling of despair was so ominous. The emotion of fear was present and strong when Hell was there. A few other gates would open up and a few puffs would go inside with no sense of anything except question. I have no idea about their destination. Some puffs would leave as if they knew to go there. The main crowd size would fluctuate. I never saw where anyone came from. They, well, the puffballs, just appeared, and we were all jostling about on an invisible plane. I just waited my turn.

The gates to Heaven only took limited loads as well. I don’t know why and can’t even guess. It was just that way. When it was my turn, the door to Heaven was right next to me and right next to anyone else who was going.

When we arrived (it’s the only way I can describe it, and it did seem to be as fast as it took the doors to close) the glory of God was everywhere. The aura was real. At first glance I would have described it as light, but saying it that way does not finish the statement because it was so much more. It was worship. It was beauty. It was intense love. All around the glory of God were angels of all descriptions, cherubs and warriors, singing in, of course, heavenly voices. It was like suddenly being in the middle of a concert with music so powerful that it caused all of your good feelings and emotions to fire off. If I still had a body, I would have fallen to my knees and cried the happiest tears of my life. The attraction to the glory of God was so strong that I never wanted to move from that spot, wherever it was. And there had to be millions and billions of air-fluffs all jammed together in a floating infinite world pressing towards God’s efflorescence. Even with all the fluffs, I still felt like I was right there. I wanted this happiness, this feeling, to go on forever. God, it was beautiful.

There have been other fluffs that have been sent away to communicate back to all the sorry people still on Earth. From my short visit it seems I must have died at least ten years ago. Time flies when you’re having fun. Why I was chosen is a mystery. It really pisses me off to leave God’s glory to do this, but I’m almost finished and then I get to go back. Use this info however you want. My duty was to put it out there for you. If this story seems a little rushed and truncated, I hope you can forgive me. I keep thinking about that western song where the cowboy has to get home because he left the fire going. That’s me right now. It seems like I’ve been gone forever. I gotta get back to Heaven. Gotta go. Hasta la vista, baby.

I Wanna New Drug

 

A new weight loss drug just hit the market and it’s going to be big. This one is from the trusted pharmaceutical giant, Merck. The ad campaign is new (Jan. 2017) and the drug is named Contrave. The drug is a combination of naltrexsone and bupropion, or commonly known as Naloxone and Wellbutrin. This is going to be great. Merck has hit another home run.

How could they go wrong? Naltrexone (Naloxone) is the awesome new drug given to people who have overdosed on heroin and are found unconscious. The drug keeps them from dying. The way it works, basically, is that it reduces the craving of addicts.

The other drug, bupropion (Wellbutrin) is an anti-depressant. It’s a no brainer! You would no longer crave fattening foods, and you wouldn’t be depressed about dieting. It’s a win-win.

Side effects would be negligible…unless you had cravings for other things, like alcohol, drugs, smoking (anything), watching or playing sports, gambling, sleep, rest and relaxation, or sex. Now, most of those are vices that one could do without (especially if you’re Mormon). The sex is tough. Pfizer pharmaceutical makes a blue pill for ED, but we are talking desire or craving, which would be gone. Oh well. At least you would be thin.