I have been pretty worried about being eaten by a snake since, while I was staying in a motel room, I caught part of a television show about a guy in a foreign country who had been  crushed and swallowed by a snake while walking in the forest.  The guy was walking, not the snake.  Then I saw a picture of that huge snake that exploded in the everglades after eating an alligator and I spent the winter in Florida, so that made it even worse.  Every night I surrounded myself with universal white light protection so the damned snakes and aliens wouldn’t get me.  I wonder if an alien was ever eaten by a snake?  My grandfather ate rattlesnakes when he was a cowboy in Montana.  See how my mind just wheels along from thing to thing?  The thing is that it really feels like I’m thinking about the same thing even though, technically speaking, I’m not.

So I told my friend, Debi, that I was afraid of being eaten alive while sleeping in the trailer but felt safe while living in Maine because there are no dangerous snakes in Maine.  Then there were two stories in Maine about reticulated pythons suddenly appearing out of nowhere.  One was in a lady’s washing machine and another was under the hood of a guy’s truck.  So that really shook me up and now I don’t feel safe in Maine.  On top of that I don’t know what reticulated means and keep forgetting to look it up.  I know articulated means jointed like the articulated lorries in England, but reticulated sounds like something to do with the eyes.  Maybe there is something called a reticula in the eye?  I don’t know.

Well, anyway, Debi said if I kept thinking about snakes I would draw them to me.  I replied that I thought about winning the lottery and having sex a lot and didn’t seem to be doing a very good job of drawing them to me so why the hell would it work with snakes?  A few days after that I found a damned green snake hiding in the moulding around my door!  It was kind of sticking out a little and when I touched it the damned thing stuck its head out and stuck its tongue out at me.  Debi said, see!

Then yesterday I opened the door and there was a striped garter snake on the flagstone outside the door.  Now this is getting rediculous.  If I can draw snakes to me why can’t I draw the damned powerball number?  All this is going through my head while I am meditating as well as the nothingness of putting my thoughts and awareness in the four parallel dimensions of reciprocal space where my own higher self exists as a principle and creates this four dimensional world.

Which brings us to the idea that we do not create our world from this domain of four dimensions we call reality or the conscious world.  It happens in the reciprocal domain so we are just going along following the motions of the urges our higher self subtley puts into our subconscious minds.  Therefore, like smoking, its not my fault.

I went into the tobacco shop yesterday to buy some of my favorite Nicaraguan hand rolled doobies and there were candy cigarettes on the counter.  I haven’t seen candy cigarettes since I was a kid and smoking was in vogue and especially embraced by my own parents, two of the vogue-iest people you’d ever want to meet, but you can’t because they are both dead, but before you say aha! Let me inform you that only one died from the effects of smoking and not necessarily directly. Still with me? Good.

I asked the clerk what they had candy cigarettes for since kids couldn’t come into the store.  He said that adults buy them to help them quit smoking and that sometimes they buy them for their kids.  Now that is interesting. My parents bought them for me, but not to help me quit smoking, even though I started when I was six and there were actually days in my life when I used both the candy and real kind of cigarettes. Therefore, in a way, candy cigarettes helped me to become a smoker and could, I said could, possibly help me to quit the cigar habit providing I wanted to, which I don’t at the moment, though I do when I walk up the steep hills of Dixmont, which I have been doing a lot lately.

So apparently, if you’re trying to quit smoking, sucking on a candy cigarette that you take from a pack that is much like the real thing, will help you to quit.  This intrigues me since I used to be a clinical hypnotherapist and helped a lot of people quit smoking, though I myself went back to smoking cigars because I really do enjoy it.  Candy cigarettes naturally led me to thinking about sex,  like most things do.

I worked with a few sex addicts when I was a therapist, though it wasn’t my specialty and I usually refered them to someone else.  I also worked with a few of the women who worked in the “massage parlor” that also was in the building where my office was when I was a hypnotherapist.  Some of them had issues about some of the things they were expected to do as part of their job, but once again you’re getting off the subject.

I thought to myself, if candy cigarettes can help you to quit smoking, would candy condoms help a sex addict?  I mean they already have edible panties, why not edible condoms, in fact, for all I know, they already do.  Let’s say a sex addict got the urge to have sex at an inappropriate time or place, but instead of acting on that impulse just reached into his or her pocket and pulled out a little condom package and opened it and popped a spearmint flavored or cherry flavored condom into his or her mouth, and started to chew.  Would that help? Huh?  I mean for a person like you?

It is hard to say, since I’m not a sex addict, but it seems it would help.  You just never know though, because we are all individuals, which of course, segues nicely into my thoughts on Michele Obama.  Apparently she gave a speech last night and assured everyone she was just plain folks, that’s nice, but she isn’t.  Why the hell do politicians and their wives seem to think they have to be like us?  I wouldn’t want me running the country, would you?  Yes, biologically she is like us and yes, she is a mother and wife and daughter, etc.  But her life is a million light years removed from the average American’s daily life.

Furthermore, we don’t want our leaders to be like us, we want them to be leaders, and to be great and do great things and to know more than the average schmuck.  Don’t try to be us, be you.  No wonder the State of the Onion stinks.  Next thing we know we’ll have Obama telling us he was born in a log cabin and McCain will tell us that though his daddy or granddaddy was an admiral, he started out as a mere cabin boy on Old Ironsides. Stop it!  Quit trying to bullshit us, quit trying to spin everything from adopting kids to dodging bullets, etc and tell us what your damned plan is, if you have one.

I don’t really know who the hell M. Obama is but I sure as hell know she isn’t just some average Jane Doe who happens to be married to someone who has led an unordinary life and is now prancing around on the World Stage a few hanging chads away from the White House. So cut the crap, all of you.  If you really want to impress me, do something about the reticulated python problem in America and invent an affordable edible condom.

I promise I will now go back to writing about horse racing, horseracing.

Thanks for your support.