Reincarnation: I Wanted To Come Back As A King, But. . .


Reincarnation as a weed?

If you are really going to get stuck in an endless round of successive incarnations as man or woman, some kind of beast, or a weed, you might as well come back as a nice Sativa-Indica hybrid, right?

The idea of reincarnation originated in the observation of hereditary and trait resemblance of offspring to ancestors.

The old custom of naming children after grandparents and other ancestors was due to the belief in reincarnation. Some races originally believed that a person died anywhere from three to seven times.

This belief was is some measure a residual distortion of the teachings of Adam about the seven mansion worlds, the worlds that immediately follow this life, and that we as individuals move from one world to the next by having our forms— our bodies— progressively modified to reflect our spiritual progress.

Even in the times of Christ, there was a lingering belief in reincarnation; Jesus found it difficult to convince mortal men to believe that their souls did not have a previous existence. The older Jewish teachers, including Plato, Philo, and some of the Essenes, also tolerated the theory that humans could reap in one incarnation what they have sown in a previous existence; so in one life they were believed to be atoning for the sins committed in their preceding lives.

But it was the Brahman priesthood in India, who have maintained their religious hegemony even to the present time, that are largely responsible for the perpetuation of this devitalizing notion.

It isn’t new or novel for religious priesthoods to exalt themselves over the very teachings they extol. And the early Brahman caste sought to exalt themselves above all else. They taught that the sacrifice to deity in itself was all-efficacious and all-compelling in its potency.

They went so far as to proclaimed that, of the two essential divine principles of the universe, one was Brahman the deity, and the other was themselves— the Brahman priesthood. The priests presumed to exalt themselves above even their gods.

But they went so absurdly far with these presumptuous claims that the whole precarious system collapsed before the debasing cults which poured in from the surrounding, less advanced civilizations.

“The vast Vedic priesthood itself floundered and sank beneath the black flood of inertia and pessimism which their own selfish and unwise presumption had brought upon all India.” —The Urantia Book

This abusive indulgence by the priests led to a fear of the non-evolutionary perpetuation of self, in an endless round of successive incarnations as man, perhaps some kind of beast; even as a weed.

But none of these beliefs was so stultifying as the belief in the doctrine of the reincarnation of souls. This belief in an apparently endless, monotonous round of repeated transmigrations robbed many people of their hope of finding not only deliverance in death, but spiritual advancement to something higher and progressively more profound— in eternity.

In their efforts to save themselves, the Brahmans had not only rejected the one true God, but now they found themselves with a “hypothesis of an indefinite and illusive philosophic self, an impersonal and impotent it— which left the spiritual life of India helpless and prostrate”— from that unfortunate time, to the present day twenty-first century.

This has resulted in the relative destruction of mortal desire and human ambition. For more than two thousand years, many of the better minds of India have sought to escape from all desire, and this has virtually shackled their souls in the chains of spiritual hopelessness.

The modern day fascination with reincarnation is destined to be no less spiritually debilitating.…





The Trumpian ship of state is operating in pretty chaotic waters these days, so things in the Washington D.C. “swamp” are reaching a very swampy, agitated pitch. Trump is completely around the bend, and most of his miscreants are right on his bone-spury heels. See below for the full exposition of this deplorable tableau. (Apologies to Emanuel Leutze)

WASHINGTON D.C. —  Like many things emanating out of Washington, the notion that the town was originally “built on a swamp” isn’t based on fact, or truth.  That does not prevent the rapacious liars now infesting it from eschewing all fact and truth from their daily defamations.

And of course, the most rapacious of these liars has, in today’s parlance, “weaponized” the old swamp slur to include the entire lot of D.C. liars themselves, while employing the sort of histrionics usually reserved for carnival barkers, Bible tent preachers, and madmen;  what started out as poor geography has become the destroyer of worlds.

It’s not a surprise that Donald Trump— the most avaricious of liars— would seize upon an existing falsehood like the phony swamp story, and make it hysterically worse.  “Drain The Swamp!” “Drain The Swamp!” was his tiresome refrain early on, which the poorly educated, all aglow in the thrall of rote group repetition, would chant right back at him, usually followed with “Lock Her Up!” “Lock Her Up!”  It was also no surprise that someone would eventually find it in their fervent imagination to compare Trump to one of our greatest presidents— George Washington— and blissfully stuff our nation’s worst nightmare of a president into one of George’s most heroic, memorable tableaus¹:  crossing the freezing Delaware with his army on Christmas night, to surprise the shit out of the Hessian mercenaries and win a decisive battle.

That “someone” turned out to be political cartoonist America’s greatest artist Jon McNaughton, who’s not shy about putting his political opinions where his anus is.  You can damn near smell the swampiness of his piece called, “Crossing The Swamp,” just below my piece, “THE SWAMP THING”. . .


The Swamp Thing

“I want to be on that boat, crossing the swamp,” declares the creator of the stunningly prosaic cartoon (below) that prompted this disturbing image. That’s him, the guy above in the MAGA hat.  So let’s take a closer look.  Paul Ryan, up to his nipples in swampy filth, is not waving hello— it’s goodbye— with blood on his hands;  Michael Cohen contemplates his fate under the prow, as a courageous Jared Kushner rams his day-glo rubbers into the teeth of a vicious loan examiner lobbyist;  General Mattis is clearly pissed at all the McDonald’s baggage, as Ben Carson wonders how it was he got chained to this boat.  And tRump— OMFG— forgets to keep chewing his Big Mac as he watches a rerun Hannity screed;  Lil’ Jeffy Beauregard has a dead flashlight trained on thief Wilburrr Ross, as Rude Rudy wades ever deeper into darkness;  Fredo and Eric are clearly way out of their comfort zones, and Psycho-killer Miller is itching to unleash the dogs of war on… anyone not native-born, conservative, and white.  Meanwhile, America’s greatest artist, Jon McNaughton, sits and observes, but has apparently lost his moral compass, even as it dawns on Steve Bannon there’s no more scotch on board;  Huckabbeast hasn’t moved an inch in days, and holy shit, Pence is sure it’s God’s will that someone wants to pull his bloody finger;  Ivanka literally has on her white White House face, as Mitch the Bitch feels more and more like soon-to-be-dead chum;  Living mustache John Bolton, senses the enemy is near,  but where?  Swamp snake Kellyammer Conway relaxes while digesting a dozen or so of Trump’s latest lies, while the mysterious boatman, я не шпионка, (Notaspy) ignores the whimpering pleas from a desperate and slowly sinking Sean Hannity…   (If you want to smell it good, click it.)

McNaughton refers to himself as a “Trump observer,”
rather than a “Trump supporter.”
Don’t bullshit us, bro.


Crossing The Swamp

Wait What?  “Crossing The Swamp”?  Isn’t the source of the “swampiness”  right back back there?!?  Wouldn’t a sentient leader be ordering “Hard a starboard”!?    Instead, taunting the evil lobbyist gators up front is Nikki Haley; but is that her left leg, or her right?  James Mattis and Ben Carson don’t know how to use boat oars, and Trump— OMFG.  No, Sessions’ flashlight isn’t working, and neither is he;  Pence has one eff’n job, fly the damn flag— can’t do it.  And what the hell is Pompeo looking for, and why is his finger on the trigger?  Malaria looks like she’s lifting the Dotard’s wallet… Huckabee-Sanders stink-eyes a gator, Ivanka has a headache, and Bolton wants to kill somebody;  Conway finally gets her hands on something long and hard, and John Kelly is on report for pretending he has the rudder.  Just…  WOW.

If— after looking at these two cartoons, you dare to say McNaughton and I see things differently, you will be slapped hard across the face with a boat oar for stating the obvious.  So let me hep you.  One is a piece of childish absurdist metaphor masquerading as half-baked alternative-fact patriotism;  the other is a truly nightmarish, criminal carnival of incompetence, floundering in a political river of shit that flows downstream from a bought-and-paid-for Republican controlled Congress.

But McNaughton refers to himself as a “Trump observer,” rather than a “Trump supporter.”  Yeah?  Don’t bullshit us, bro.

What kind of remotely honest “observer of Trump” whacks fifty pounds of pure fat-ass off of Trump’s behind, and another seventy-five off his goddamn gut?  Trump’s waist hasn’t been that small since he was playing soldier at a Ra-Ra Military academy.  But don’t take my word for it;  Wonkette does a surgical evisceration of “Crossing the Swamp,” here.

"Expose the Truth"?

In this whimsical bit of true-believer fuckery by cartoonist McNaughton, a fat-assed bully with some “bone spur” deferments— who also happens to be the nation’s chief “law enforcement officer”— is depicted courageously grabbing a decorated combat Marine by the tie to… um… do what exactly? — Examine his nose hair?   Search for a Big Mac? Something even nuttier?  In the background Rod Rosenstein, James Comey, and Jefferson Beauregard look on;  no one questions the magnified crazy or the grotesqueness of the president’s behavior. Wonkette’s Doktor Zoom sez: “See? He’s holding Trump up and hoping the best for him, but with tough love, the way this new painting doesn’t represent a bully trying to threaten an investigator, but rather a stern but loving President For Life demanding nothing but the highest possible standards from Mr. Mueller.”

Under this piece at McNaughton’s website, entitled “Expose The Truth,” is this really prescient and audacious “Product Description”:
There has been a crusade in this country led by a group that wishes to overturn the election and impeach President Trump. Robert Mueller leads a special council [sic] of at least 17 partisan Democrat attorneys who have yet to find a single piece of evidence against the President, yet they ignore the mounting verifiable evidence against Russian collusion with the DNC and the Clinton Foundation. The political bias and negligence of those who have lead [sic] the Department of Justice and the FBI is forthcoming. There comes a time when you have to take a stand to Expose the Truth!

Even if taking that “stand,” with all it’s provable falsehoods hanging out, makes you sound like a dunce for all posterity, while simultaneously proving “you cain’t feex stoopid,” you blithely take that stand anyway, because, well, people keep buying your shit cartoons.

McNaughton referred to himself as a “Trump observer,” rather than a “Trump supporter.”  But even if he’s not a rabid Trump supporter, he’s still a piss-pot-poor observer.  Remember when Trump had his physical with “Ritalin Ronny” Jackson?  And he said Trump was like one notch short of being Hercules, and also one iddy-biddy pound short of being officially obese?  How biased do you have to be as an “observer” to miss seeing his hhhuge frickin’ ass?  To a Trump supporter’s eye, Trump’s suit coat profile looks down-right athletic;  so check out the real girth of Trump’s flabby buttocks down below.   Also in “Expose the Truth,” Trump towers (heh) over Robert Mueller, when in fact even Trump’s selfinflated height is still only a scant three inches taller than Mueller.  If Mueller is 5′ 11,” then McNaughton’s Trump is easily pushing 6′ 7″— should he ever stand up straight.

But the ugliest part of McNaughton’s must-tell-it-like-it-is cartoon is the temerity of his imaginary Trump assaulting the Special Counsel on the floor of the people’s House.  Carefully digest McNaughton’s brainwashed thesis, if you can:
In McNaugton’s alternative-fact universe— Trump, a four deferment,* draft-dodging rich-bitch— supposedly strolls up and grabs the necktie of ex-Marine Robert Mueller, now the Department of Justice Special Counsel charged with determining, on behalf of all Americans— whether president Trump is guilty of crimes against the United States— and Trump, presumably— examines him— with a child’s magnifying glass.

Robert Mueller was not drafted into military service, he volunteered, after a close friend was killed in Vietnam.  During his service in and during the Vietnam War, Robert Mueller’s military decorations and awards include:  the Bronze Star Medal with Combat “V”;  a Purple Heart Medal;  two Navy and Marine Corps Commendation Medals with Combat “V”;  a Combat Action Ribbon;  the National Defense Service Medal;  the Vietnam Service Medal with three service stars;  the Republic of Vietnam Gallantry Cross;  the Republic of Vietnam Campaign Medal;  and the Parachutist Badge.


"Unhand Me Fat Ass, Or I'll Snap Your Neck."

Donald Trump has never served in America’s military in any capacity.  It is unclear what decorations he may have been awarded at the New York Military Academy, as he has refused to let his transcripts be reviewed by news organizations.

Those timid souls who can only keep up the struggle of life by the aid of
continuous false illusions of success are doomed to suffer failure and experience defeat
as they ultimately awaken from the dream world of their own imaginations.
The Urantia Book

∞  ∞  ∞


Übergang Washingtons über den Delaware

A black and white photo is all that remained of Washington and his troops crossing the Delaware, the original painting by Emanuel Leutze having been destroyed by allied bombs in WWII.  Leutze’s iconic painting, although a terrifically idealized and historically inaccurate portrayal of the crossing, it was faithfully recreated to continue stirring the patriotic pots of many Americans, and be misappropriated by self-proclaimed patriots for their purposes.

Washington Crossing The Delaware

Actually Leutze painted two more versions after the original was destroyed; notice the much improved ice and gripping of the oars…


* Donald Trump’s Draft Deferments

An overview of Donald Trump’s Selective Service records from 1964 through 1972, when he was classified 4-F (not qualified for military service).

The matter of Donald Trump’s military service (or lack thereof) surfaced first in July of 2015, when Trump maligned Sen. John McCain, a POW during the Vietnam War, for being captured, and a second time in July 2016 when he openly feuded with the family of slain U.S. soldier Humayun Khan after Khan’s father, Khizr, criticized Trump during an appearance at the Democratic National Convention.

Trump has never served in the military. Selective Service records obtained from the National Archives by The Smoking Gun in 2011 reveal the following history of his draft eligibility:

Donald Trump became eligible for the draft on his 18th birthday (14 June 1964) and registered with the Selective Service System 10 days later. He received the first of four 2-S (college) deferments on 28 July 1964.
Trump received his second college deferment on 14 December 1965.
Trump’s previous deferment expired and he was reclassified 1-A (available for military service) on 22 November 1966. His 2-S deferment was renewed on 13 December.
1967:  No record.
1968: Trump received his fourth and final college deferment on 16 January 1968. After graduating from Wharton, he was reclassified 1-A on 9 July 1968. Trump underwent an Armed Forces physical examination (with a result listed only as “DISQ”) on 19 September 1968 and was reclassified 1-Y (qualified for service only in time of war or national emergency) on 15 October 1968.
According to a statement from the Trump campaign, the 1-Y classification stemmed from Trump’s having bone spurs in both heels:  “While attending the University of Pennsylvania’s prestigious Wharton School of Finance, Mr. Trump received a minor medical deferment for bone spurs on both heels of his feet. The medical deferment was expected to be short-term and he was therefore entered in the military draft lottery, where he received an extremely high number, 356 out of 365.”


Despite the supposedly “short-term” nature of Trump’s disqualifying physical condition, on 17 February 1972 he was reclassified 4-F (not qualified for military service), presumably due to the abolishment of the 1-Y classification the previous year.





The idiot bastard son:


The idiot bastard son:


• • •


Kenny will feed him & Ronnie will watch
And enter the world
Of liars & cheaters & people like you
Who smile & think you know
What this is about


—Frank Zappa

FSociety: The Feral Dog Sweats




Faithless readers of this blog will not recognize yet another unheard of magazine atop a post, the reviewing of which is one of our favorite distractions as we hunker down for the inevitable unraveling of TRUMP’merica©.
MAGOT” MAGAzine— an acronym for “Make America Get Over Trump”—  (good luck with that, fellow optimists), is our latest, and tiny hands down, most traumatic find to date.  See other Mags here, herehere, here, here, and WhyTFN, a TeeVee mag here.


Normally we like to regale our occasional readers with the quaint back story of how we come across these often bizarre publications, but honestly, this POS* was found at the local Department of Motor Vehicles, and there’s simply nothing more to be said about that lost-time experience that would do anything but pull the scab off a perennial psychic wound.


Oh yeah.  Some of our fellow Americans don’t watch television, but enough of us do that, chances are, you’ve seen the term “FSociety” in relation to the series, MR. ROBOT.  Their usage of the term is in conjunction with the traditional “F” word.  But in TRUMP’merica©, we’re redefining the “F” word to mean FAKE;  not fuck.  As in “FAKE” Society.  But it’s not the usage of the word “fake” that the feral dog inhabiting the White House has been abusing for the past year.  It’s reality itself.  But Trump only applies the term to any media outlet with the temerity to report the news about him with respect to facts in evidence, facts in reality.

So here we are. In FSociety, the president is addicted to Twitter.  It’s become a daily raging barometer of his griplessness.  In FSociety, the president is a self-admitted justice-obstructing, pussy-grabbing sexual predator, accused by, at last count, sixteen women.  In FSociety, the president has blathered out over 1600 verifiable lies— just since taking office.

In FSociety, the president’s National Security Advisor has pled guilty to lying to the FBI, and before too much longer will very likely give up all the lying, money-laundering, justice-obstructing, treasonous country-fucking turds who he colluded with last year.


Go ahead.  Take a deep, life-giving breath if you can.  And realize this:
If indeed our gut-shot democracy has a breath of life left in it, it’s currently being used to keep Robert Mueller alive.


*Piece Of Satire


A Friday Message From Your Emperor


The Emperor's New Duds

President Trump lands in Abu Dhabi, compulsively showing off his tiniest digits again and again as an aid shields her eyes from the sight of his . . .  character.



A Message From Your Emperor:

Hello American people, as I begin my very important first trip to another great hemisphere, I want to tell you that I will be thinking and working for you while I’m busy doing other things, believe me.  You know how much I loved my previous life, you know I had so many things going.  I was building the world’s greatest buildings, all over the world.  But not in Russia.  Zero in Russher [sic]. This is more work than in my previous life, that I can tell you.  I thought it would be easier, I thought, you know, I can shoot somebody now and nobody will care, right?

And I absolutely CAN fire anyone I want to, and I thought after the huge numbers, the record setting crowds at my inauguration, there were so many people there, that. . . [aside to camera man]:  Here, you can take that, that’s the final map of the numbers.  It’s pretty good, right?  The red is obviously us.  Amazing right?

So as I was saying, Director Comey, who I just fired, was very unpopular, you know, with almost everyone, and another problem, one, he was just too tall, taller than the president, and two, that’s not a good thing, believe me;  I was thinking I was going to fire him for that horrible Wednesday thing he did, but really he was just really too tall for the job, so there was no choice.

And I gave my ADDress to the cadets the other day, who were very glad to see me, they know how big our victory was, despite the electoral college being stacked against us.  I mean, you’re really into your own little cocoon here, I’m under very great pressure here, because you have such massive protection that you really can’t go anywhere.

I mean, I always like to drive.  I like to drive;  but I can’t drive any more.  I can’t drive any more.  Even though I’m a very fantastic driver, I’ve probably driven better than anyone, as good as you know, any non-professional, really.  And maybe many professionals;  I mean who knows, right?  But I have, I had the gloves, very nice leather, all very fine leather, with the little holes for breathing, I was very very good. Such a good driver.  Now I can’t drive, I’m too popular, and a few bad people make it impossible for me to drive down the street.  Very sad.

Frankly, I’m working so hard this 100 days, we’re doing incredible things, just incredible things here, and at the Southern White House, where I get a lot, an enormous amount of work done for our great American people;  some of the people, not all of them, but most of them.  But things are not always fair;  not fair;  look at the way I’ve been treated lately;  especially by the horrible media. Horrible people.
No politician in history has been treated worse, or more unfairly.  But nothing worth doing ever, ever, ever came easy to me, yet you look at my numbers—  no not my tax numbers, nobody wants to see those anyway, right—  I’ve accomplished a tremendous amount in a very short time ;  very short time as president.  Jobs are pouring back in, back in to our country, a BRAND NEW supreme court justice is going to be fantastic for forty-five years;  border crossings are down 70% in just a very short period of time;  a total record, by the way, by… a LOT;  we’ve SAVED the second amendment, and we’re going to take care of our veterans, like they’ve never been taken care of before;  that I can tell you.  Thank you very much.  Thank you.  [Thumbs up]