The "clinical psychologist" in question, if he is one, would be subject to disciplinary action by the American Academy of Clinical Psychology.

I would report the little shit.

Thera are rules against diagnosing unknown individuals without so much as an interview.

A delusional al quack.

"They looked, but there was none to save; even unto the Lord, but he answered them not.

"Then did I beat them as small as the dust of the earth, I did stamp them as the mire of the street, and did spread them abroad."

--II Samuel 22: 38-43



"I have pursued mine enemies, and destroyed them; and turned not again until I had consumed them.

"And I have consumed them, and wounded them, that they could not arise: yea, they are fallen under my feet.

"For thou hast girded me with strength to battle: them that rose up against me hast thou subdued under me.

"Thou hast also given me the necks of mine enemies, that I might destroy them that hate me."

A leftist clinical psychologist wrote an article about me when I began debunking Palestinian propaganda.

There's was nothing I could do, even though he flat-out lied and said I'm delusional.

Oscar Wilde was led into a trap by a man who wanted more than anything to destroy him.

Trump is leading the Democrats into a trap.

If the Democrats insist on going forward, Trump will destroy their party.

They have nothing on him, but he has everything on them.

People have asked, "What happens after Trump?"

Well, Trump is making it so that there won't be a viable Democratic party for the foreseeable future.

One of the issues that plague me my entire life was people stealing my writing.

It's still happening.

The reason I never fought it is that I remember what happened to Oscar Wilde.

I'm a nobody. The people who steal from me have the ability to destroy me. I don't hav the money to fight them, and they would of course bring up my mental illness.

That's what happened in 2014.

Quiz: In your opinion, who does the following sentence best describe?

"Chain smokes, graduated from Vassar, and has seldom if ever been wrong about anything."

(Clue: my mother is not in the running!).

Imagine for an instant that Twitter has a Coroner's Department.

And it issues, under penalty of perjury, tweeter Death Certificates.

My next door neighbor, an affluent (effluent?) ambulance chaser says he could make a small fortune pursuing civil, criminal, ethical, constitutional legal, and moral cases against the Coroner's Office.

He drives an AMG 2017 Porsche 911 Carrera GTS. Never lost yet to an ambulance.

New to the community, just wanted to be able to share thoughts and ideas with like minded individuals.

In addition to my Twitter salad days Mt. Olympus follows @ThomasWic @REX @Debradelai, I also followed this deep South gal "Honey Badger" @nickie_greer who is a maven counter-puncher, especially with Brian Stelter, branded by her as "Tater".

Today her account says, "Tweets aren't loading right now" (for 24-hours).

She has fallen prey to Twitter's Einsatzgruppen.

My wife is sending me on a shopping mission to our local Walmart where there is a permanently installed Police Department camera surveillance kiosk.

A still shot from the parking lot camera indicates that here at Fort Salt Flats we are still recovering from eight years of Barack Hussein Obama "You didn't build that" economic policies.

Be right back.

My unabridged thesaurus now substitutes "Fascisti" for "Bastrich".

Don't you just hate auto-correct?

Twitter: "A political philosophy, movement, or regime (such as that of the Fascisti) that exalts nation and often race above the individual and that stands for a centralized autocratic government headed by a dictatorial leader, severe economic and social regimentation, and forcible suppression of opposition."

"FASCISTI" (above) defined: 25-year-old Social Justice Warrior MBA's at Twitter enamored of their cultural icons pictured below.


It's back to shut-eye now.

(I don't want to miss Maria Bartiromo!).

Roland True, 19, our neighbor, was a Bluto built punk with genetic arm guns. One day (1964) he says to my Dad, "Hey Mac. Bet I can kick your ass now!" Some commotion. Suddenly Roland was face down on the ground, his legs scissored behind his back, eating sandy loam. My father, with his alligator jaws grip, was intermittently hyper-extending Roland's big toe. "Gonna kick my ass, are ya?" More hyper-extension. Wailing! Screaming! "Roland, you can start kicking my ass any time now!" So it went.

What in heaven's name am I doing playing like a mischievous child on QuodVerum at 0300 on a Sunday morning? My wife just made us each a double mug of Lipton black tea with milk and sugar. Yummy! It's hitting the spot in my tummy. She offered to make my favorite peanut butter & jelly toast but my steel will declined until breakfast at 0700. Just in time to catch Maria Bartiromo. My wife knows about my juvenile crush on her. ("Was this the face that launched a thousand ships?"). Tea is good!

The dream went like this. I'm looking out the sliding door watching my wife trim roses. Suddenly it is dark out. A large black silhouette stands at the door, and then my brother is sitting on the sofa. He looked glowing and somehow purified. I said to him, "Gee bro I thought you were dead." My brother replied, "Mom said there is a sign." I gently rested my left temple on my brother's left knee. And then he disappeared. I felt energized and nearly euphoric. Spiritual or Psychological?

Psychological versus Spiritual dreams: Weeks ago I had a wonderful emotional experience. I dreamed about my dead brother. Lonnie was 14-yrs older than me (b.1941) and died April Fools' Day 2015, ten months after our Mother's death. We were estranged for 20+ yrs. My brother was a massive drinker, and cigarette smoker. He was a Viet Nam era USAF veteran treated at VA for major depression, and suffered severe personality disorder. Lonnie had moved to Mineral Wells, TX, 15-yrs prior to his death.

In summer of 1962, I met my soon to be best friend on a street corner in our ramshackle ghetto neighborhood. We were both 7-yrs-old and initially eyed each other with suspicion due to our markedly different complexions. "Constante" was his Christian name but everyone called him "Joonie". He was a Puerto Rican (not Hispanic, per @Debradelai) with markedly African features. I was a pink & white Okie. We soon overcame this artificial barrier through our common interest in 20" Schwinn bicycles.

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Those who label words as violence do so with the sole purpose of justifying violence against words.