The Operation was a Success!

Unfortunately the patient Died Suddenly

I gotta believe in God. I’ve survived too many brushes with the Reaper to not know somebody’s looking out for me. Some of these brushes were a matter of split seconds or mere millimeters. Hence the name of my upcoming memoir, “Close Calls and Body Parts.” Gonna be a real page-turner if I live long enough to finish it.

God has been there for me from the very beginning. As fate would have it, I was conceived right about the time my mother was pinned under the steering wheel of a Cadillac convertible on Halloween, which was also her 17th birthday.

Happy Birthday Mom!

The circumstances surrounding my conception were a matter of considerable controversy in the fall of 1952, way out there in the dusty armpit of Kermit, Texas. The blessed event underwent great scrutiny regarding the question of the consensual nature of it all, not to mention my mother’s lack of legal adultness.

The grand jury gave Lover Boy a “no-bill” for lack of evidence, but ordered him to skedaddle out of town anyways. Nitty gritties of the whole sordid affair are in the book. Spoiler alert: I never met Laverne (his actual name), but did eventually match his DNA with mine six decades later, not long after he croaked from a deadly affliction known as idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn’t it?

Embarrassed and thoroughly disgusted by the whole thing, Mom’s parents sold the Jal-Hi Cafe and spirited us all off to El Paso where they figured they could deal with this mess with anonymity. Knowing them as I do, I would bet bottom dollar that they fantasized on the drive over about how little Johnny might somehow just go away and not become their latest burden.

Shortly thereafter, my guardian angel appeared, well disguised as a grifting con-man named Carl. Drifting near the border for some reason, my future “father” Carl bumped into my future grandmother Welcome … in a neighborhood bar of course.

Welcome (she was the last of 13 children) should have been named Helen. Helen Wheels that is. She was a rowdy alcoholic who could drink enough to float a battleship and then sink it again with her frightening drunken rage. Husband Ed was a mean-ass German who beat his teenage son with a razor strap. Quite the pair of role models they were.

So Carl, also an alcoholic, stepped up the plate and married Mom while I was still in utero. The good news is that I was not born bastardly and instead had a legit proper name. The bad news is that the name was Bowen, which in a vernacular somewhere means serpent in the grass.

Anyways, you can see how I might view my sketchy start as some sort of divine intervention. For me to survive that puddling trail of tears was, if not divine, clearly a miracle. It could so easily have gone otherwise, sideways even. It was definitely my first Close Call.

So, yes I do believe in God. It’s the dang preachers and churches I don’t much believe in, especially considering their baffling underperformance during The Scam. Any respect I had was shot to hell by their breathtaking lack of courage and pathetic non-resistance to obvious tyranny. But while their spinelessness was quite a thing to behold, they were not the worst dog in the junkyard by any means.

That dubious distinction goes to the hospitals, followed closely by the dirty rats who call themselves doctor, especially King Rodent Fauci. Funny thing … you don’t even have to say his name anymore for people to know who you’re talking about. Hey, try this … completely out of the blue in public … just shout out the phrase, “Hang the rat bastard!” and watch perfect strangers nod in agreement. It’s a beautiful thing.

Very sad for my profession that so many doctors and hospitals were hip to the holocaust early on and did nothing to stop it. Even the nurses knew … they even had a nickname for Fauci’s final poison, Remdesivir. They called it “Run, death is near.”

Amazing that caregivers could say that out loud … and not stop bolt upright, drop their stethoscopes in disgust and run for the nearest exit. Did none of them ever suspect they were actors in a sick simulacrum of The Truman Snuff Show?

So while the churches racked up quite the fail, at least they weren’t playing god, like the hospitals were. Ok, Karen, if the hospitals were not playing god with their killer protocols, perhaps they were playing someone else … maybe someone Enid Strict would screetch as … Saaaaaatan?!? Rock on, Church Lady.

With that said, I propose we give preachers a second chance. After all, they are de facto influencers who can make a big difference in our freedom fight … if they get it right.

How about this … if any of them do try to close the church doors for the next fakedemic, We the Free open those doors right back up and invite said pastor to head home, stay home, lock down, and cuddle up with some Wokeflix and a box of face diapers. And don’t call us.

The hospitals on the other hand need a good old fashioned hanging. Their lethal avarice should not be forgiven by anyone, not even Jesus, sorry. Ditto for most of the doctors.

Unlike slimy hospital administrators with no med-cred whatsoever, doctors had plenty enough training to know better. For those despicable docs I once considered friends, I have two words, “You’re fired!”

What the hell Willis. We doctors had to swear an oath which reads in part … “above all, do no harm” … to even be permitted to practice medicine! The head of Hippocrates would surely explode if could see the incredible harm and sorrow these “providers” have inflicted on a world of patients, families and friends. Sorry Hipp, at least you tried.

The nurses should also be called up on the carpet. Most will say they were just following orders, just as the hospitals will claim they were just following government orders.

This is the classic Nuremburg defense, which led to some classic hanging in 1946.

Many say they just had to, to keep their job, you know. If history has taught us anything, it’s that just “doing your job to keep your job” may be the last thing you should do, especially when crimes against humanity are in the air.

But, to those rare doctors and nurses who stood up against a tsunami of evil, this essay is dedicated to you. By opposing the Pandemic of Lies and Fear, you did us all a wonderful service by shining the bright light of truth on a biblical scale genocide.

We are forever in your debt. Thank you.

Let’s find these heroes and give ‘em a hug. And for anyone in need of medical care right now, these are the folks you want taking care of you. There’s a good chance they might be your guardian angel.

~~ j ~~

“The dead cannot cry out for justice. It is a duty of the living to do so for them.”

~~ Lois McMaster Bujold

#BanTheJab

#BurnTheMask