Your Crazy Aunt Lola

Call me your crazy Aunt Lola. Ok, I take that one with a Gin and Tonic. Or, two.

You want a peaceful time, when no one disagrees, a time when everyone is loving and helpful. You run away from loud men, women, and children because they upset you, their words HURT you.

You argue, complain, and resort to low words of description at the masses of the earth and how wrong they are, compared to you, the intellectually superior.

Still, you want your SUV, your September plane ride to Mexico, your cool air during August, your ice in your drinks, to buy a meal instead of killing and skinning your dinner, to think your children will all get to maturity, instead of dying 7 of 10 prior to puberty, you expect that your home will not be invaded by horrible creatures from the west to burn, to decimate, to destroy.

You live in the most peaceful of times, the most intelligent of times, the most fulfilling of times, of mankind.

But, still, you are not satisfied.

Chew this, Donnie boy.

Several countrie have weapons presently in stock to send a simple missile into orbit, armed with Electro-Magnetic Pulse technology. All of the cells satellites are in orbit 3, the GPS sats in orbit 2.

Fancy words?

All you need to know is an EMP, in the right place at the right time, none of us have cellphones that work in the U.S.!

No Cellphones.


Did Lola hit low?
Did Lola make you wonder?
Did Lola make the hair on your arms stand up?

You raised your children to be the weakest mankind has ever produced, ones not capable of feeding themselves, protecting others, or respecting their elders, or thinking for themselves.

They have had false propaganda fed to them for 30 years, a diet filled with hate and fear.

Every 7 or 8 years, the world will end in 10 or xyxy.

Now, can you wonder why?

I hear hope for the future.

You hear misery.

Perhaps, you should change your channel and listen to the past of struggle and growth, instead of listening to the “future” cries of the idiots that just want power, and want it without struggle, for free.

You listen to the Can’ts.
I prefer the Cans.

Perhaps, in the end, you can think for yourself, fend for yourself, reject those “voices of hate” since your cellphones will not work.

I know, kill Lola for the message.
That will fix all.