Rambling like specific humor

If you want to beat a cold, if you want drive off the offending virus before it sets in, you need look no further than garlic. Yes, real garlic, but powed, powed, powdered. I am a doctor. I recommend all of my patients eat garlic. I recommend it because I am certified. Garlic pills, high in Allicin, will make your ass stink and your gums swell and spray blood on your teeth when flossing. Being certified, I am allowed to recommend all kinds of things, and people will trust me. Trustworthiness isn't really an erratic factor, reliant upon individual personality or character, rather, it belongs to the proud certificate and diploma holders-- for, the more you know, the more likely you'll learn to sink by all you've learnt.

The more you tell lies in the mirror, the more likely you are to trace and cheat--- unacceptable.

The less Christmas joy in your life should be consciously off-set by the amount of hopefulness and cheer you put forth into all of you pre-Christmas endeavours--Jesus shouldn't suffer, acuz of you!.

You should talk with people that want you. few people. like you, barely there.

The less sincere your sister is the more blunt you should be. The ruder you become the less likeable you seem, the more you "seem", the more you "are",-- outside of yourself, from alternate perspectives, and then you respond to those perspectives directed at what you seem and slowly what you seem to be you align with.

Everyone seems confused, no, no, not me. I'm certified.

Confusion is a state that necessarily relies on employable knowledge.

I don't know anything. I know words are better than people. I know letters (ideas, symbols) live longer than people.

But then you meet someone better than anything and they disappear after a few moments. I look at startling beauty several times a day and then with a simple misdirection of thought, hideousness slides to the surface.

I've felt my face melt, my mind tingle and my aimless virtuosity roar-- my affinity for summoning forth equality; the equal worthlessness in everything 'cept happiness and dogs.

These things happened to me. These things happened to me; these hot-cold events, these potentials, these rubber bands.

The magic proof is the encapsulation of event to chemical: memory, thought, force, God--- shouldn't we be awfully amazed?

Everyone's getting older and more alone, becoming more alone means becoming more of what you must inevitably become, the acquisition of individuality, dead-set personality, distinguishing character. Not all of it is bad, just inevitable, and we happen to usually think of inevitabilities as frightful, if not outright insulting.

We're powerful, we interact, non? No, we correspond. But sometimes, for the luckier percentage of humanity, our correspondence is just sweet enough.