Making It About Them

I have been thinking about this subject for awhile.

I was going to try to write something for the last couple of days,

but the idea perplexed me so much,

that I never wrote a word.

So today,

I thought,

I will just start writing on my observation

and hopefully,

it will make sense in the end.

It's about people who make everything about themselves.

I'll give you a couple of examples to help you understand what I am talking about.

"I was talking to this lady the other day and she told me that her boyfriend always turns everything around, and makes it about him. She told me, that on Sunday, that she had injured her wrist. She wouldn't tell me how, but I suspect the worst. She then said that her boyfriend kept whining about how her injury was a heavy burden on him and how he was now having a bad day because of it."

This,

next example,

always upset me.

"A few years back, I was at a funeral, where the older sister of the person who died got up during the, "The Friends & Family Reflection Time" of the service, and started talking about how this hurt her! How the death of a family member was such a strain on her and how it was such a burden that she might never get over it."

The portion of the funeral,

when people are asked to speak about their relationship to the decease,

is supposed to be about,

Saying Your Condolences To The Immediate Family,

and

The Wonderful Moments You Shared With That Person.

Not how this hurts you,

the living.

We are all grieving in our own way.

I know,

a

Sister

is the immediate family.

What I am referring to is the

Husband

and the

Children.

Condoling them!

Trying to show them how their

Wife

and

Mother

will always be remembered for the wonderful person she was.

Not listen to someone complain on how this death was a selfish act,

and how it was going to put a burden on her life!

Why am I talking about this?

It is easy.

I,

myself,

try not to associate with these kinds of people.

No matter what they tell you,

they are always unhappy.

They are always miserable complainers,

who want to bring you down to their sorrowful existence.

It upset me,

when it was obvious,

that the woman I gave a ride to on

Sunday Morning

was hurting.

She said she didn't need my help,

so I gave her a little piece of advice.

"Maybe it's time you become a little selfish yourself, and think about what makes you happy."

She thanked me

and said she would think about it.

I hope she does.

And I hope you don't mind that I had to get this off my chest.

This is,

Giving Fatherly Advice To Anyone Who Will Listen,

And Anyone I Can Help,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Manifest plainness, Embrace simplicity, Reduce selfishness, Have few desires.”
- Lao Tzu -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Sunday's Comments

After a string of

Comments

from

International Readers,

coming at the end of last year

and into the month of

January

of this year,

the

Praises

and the

Criticisms

of my

Posts

have almost come to a complete halt.

I guess,

even though some of the

International Commenting

was pretty favorably,

most of the time these

Readers

were loading up the back end of their

Comments

with

Advertisements.

The

Ones

who gave no regard for my

Posts,

who obviously never read one word of anything I wrote,

their

Comments

were quickly deleted.

The

Ones

who at least pretended to read my material,

I left their

Comments

up.

But since the middle of

January,

no one left a

Comment

until now.

Not until one of my favorite

Agitators,

I mean

Annotators,

wrote on my

Post

What Is So Funny About Driving For Lyft?

She does

Agitate

me though.

Because I look at her,

as being one of my

Sisters.

Someone who I took in when

She

was down

and out.

Who I helped,

get back on her feet,

but since,

has gone the way of the

Devil's Plan.

And yes,

I am trying to sound like a

Bible Belter.

 

And yes,

I made up that word

Belter

too!

To show you why,

you will have to read what

She

wrote.

Jasmine Alsalem February 23, 2018 at 5:14 AM

Keep those experiences coming I love reading about your adventures into the unknown ... like your literally an instrument letting the Devine put forth thru you!! And Lyft of course ...

If

Jasmine

can make up the spelling of the word

"Devine,"

I can make up words to express how I feel about her

Comments.

This is,

Keep Those Comments Coming Jasmine,

I Still Love You,

Even Though You Are Doing The

Devil's Work!

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Anyone who thinks sitting in church can make you a Christian must also think that sitting in a garage can make you a car.”
- Garrison Keillor -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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The Man From Mars - Episode Thirty Nine

   I finally had enough sense, or should I say enough embarrassment, to grab a blanket off the bed and wrapped it around my naked body.
   You sit in front of a man and a woman who look like Adonis and Aphrodite. See if you don't get a little embarrassed with the flabby parts of your body!
   By this time, my nose had stopped bleeding, and with drips of dried caked blood on my lap and chest, I felt it was as good a time as ever to get in the shower.
   I stood up, with the blanket still wrapped around me, when I realized I still didn't know where the amulet was.
   "Tiny!" I exclaimed. "I don't know where the amulet is!"
   He looked at me with that disgusted look, only he can give, and said, "I put it in one of your shoes. Take your clothes with you. I assume you are going to take a shower finally?"
   "He does smell pretty bed." The woman had to say loud enough for me to hear.
   "Are you sure he is the right man for the job? To wield the amulet?" She added, looking at Tiny.
   "Akela," said a frustrated sounding Tiny. It was the first time I heard her name. "If Ponleak says this is the human who should own the amulet, who are we to judge?"
   "But Ponleak has been our leader for over four-hundred-thousand Earth years. Where has he gotten us?" Akela asked Tiny. "We hide our true identity on this world. We cannot show these humans that we are superior to them in every way. With Bopha as our leader, we could mold this planet, these people, into a world where we, the Atlanteans, could ascend into the Galaxy and take our rightful place as its rulers."
   "As we ruled Atlantis?" An angry Tiny asked Akela.
   "Those leaders, on Atlantis, were fools. Who only wanted to protect their power over others." Akela tried explaining. "They didn't care about venturing out into outer-space. To colonizes other Worlds. To expand the Empire. They were old buffoons who couldn't even see there own dying civilization falling apart."
   "And you're telling me it will be different this time?" Asks Tiny.
   "We will rule these people with an iron fist and make a great Empire among the stars."
   This whole time I was watching this scene unfold before me, I was frozen in place. Listening intently. 
   Tiny squints his eyes and curls his eyebrows, looking piercingly into Akela and says, "How is that any different from the way our former leaders treated us and our own people?"
   "Don't be a fool Phuc." Akela sneers. "These are not people. They are baboons. Monkeys that we have guided and enlighten to be our slaves. To work for us. Not as Ponleak would have it."
   Akela looks my way and acts as if she is about to be sick.
   "Look at this pathetic creature. His kind wasn't even the strongest primate on this planet when we arrived."
   Her disdain for me was quite evident to me by now.
   "Ponleak and his grand scheme of things. Of developing a race of beings worthy of the amulet. This ape doesn't even know what kind, and how much power the amulet possesses." Akela pauses for a moment to show her hatred for me, then says, "He is a fool. And you are a fool to follow him."
   At that very moment, with all the hatred one can have for the human race, Akela points the pistol at Tiny.
   As an Investigative Reporter, over the years, you come across stories which seem hard to believe, or impossible to believe, but are true.
   The whole time the conversation between Akela and Tiny was going on, I kept staring at the gun in her hand, as she held it to her side. I kept my eyes on that gun.
   For some odd reason though, when Akela started talking about Ponleak, I started thinking about a piece I wrote a long time ago. It was about a Buddhist Monk who claimed he could dodge a bullet at a length of one-hundred yards or more between himself and an assailant. He said he has done the feat on more than one occasion.

 

   I was offered a bunch of money by one of the tabloids you see at the local supermarket if I could get an interview with this Monk and get photos of him in action.
   In the early days of my career, a bunch of money is a very enticing carrot to go get a story, no matter who is paying. So I got out my passport, got a visa to travel to China, and found this Monk living modestly in a small village.
   When I met him, I couldn't see off hand anything special about the man. But I still asked him, if there was anyway of him demonstrating the act of dodging a bullet for me.
   He said, since the word got out, about him escaping death from the hands of a gun toting assailant, his life has become a circus. Where total strangers will ask if they can take potshots at him.
   I swore that it would only happen on his terms and only if he agreed to do it in front of my camera.
   So, after a lot negotiation, the day came for the demonstration.
   He not only escaped from harm from one bullet, but he did it three times that day. And I got all the photos anyone could ever hope for.
   After it was over, I asked the Monk his secret and he told me, "When the assailant is holding a gun in his right hand, when he pulls the trigger, the action of his hand will slightly move the gun to his left. If he is not an expert marksman and does not compensate, at one-hundred yards, his shot could be off a few or more inches. Maybe even a foot. That is why I jump to my left. If he holds the gun in his left hand, I jump to my right."
   After that, I thought about it and I figured he was a pretty smart to figure that out. But then he added, "You never watch the gun. That is the worst thing you can do. When you see the gun go off, it is already too late. You have to look at the gunman's face and eyes. The expression on his face will begin to change slightly and his eyes will tell you when he is about to fire the gun. That is when you jump. Not when the gun is fired."
   So, when Akela pointed the pistol at Tiny, I knew to stare at her face. At her eyes. Not the gun.
   When I saw the slightest flinch in her eyes, I yelled, "Tiny!" Jumping at her from about ten feet away.
   I didn't even get close enough to stop her. Because I was tripping over myself, because I had one foot on the edge of the blanket that I used to cover myself and fell flat on my face. Once again bloodying my nose.
   On my way down, looking at the floor coming at my face, I heard one gunshot, then the cracking of some bones. I thought Akela had shot Tiny in the chest and I heard his bones break from the bullet.
   Not daring to move, spitting blood into a larger and larger pool around my face, I waited for the inevitable bullet to the back of my head.
   After a body dropped to the floor, I heard Tiny say, "You can say hi for me to Bopha after I send him to Naraka too!"
   Still looking into my own pool of blood, I use my peripheral vision to see Akela lying next to me with a broken neck.
   I turn over relieved, reaching for the helping hand that Tiny is offering.
   I grab hold, and as I am being lifted up, I say, "So, your name is Phuc, huh?"
   He immediately lets go, dropping me back onto the floor. Onto my own pool of blood.

To Be Continued.....

Next Week.

This is, 

Naraka Is The Sanskrit Word For The Underworld,

A Place Of Torment,

Hell.

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“True change is within; leave the outside as it is.”
- Dalai Lama XIV, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

Like what you reading?

Sign up as a Follower,

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We Will Overcome Ignorance And Prejudice

I have four
Muslim,
or
Islamic,
or
Arabic Friends
in this
World.
Yes,

I am really naive on the proper etiquette,
of what I should call my friends,
as far as their ethnic background is concerned.

If I see one of them,
I don't go,
"Hey Kuwaiti!"

Or,
"Hi Iranian!"

Or even,
"Hello Afghanistanians!"

Excuse that last one.

I believe I made up that word,
Afghanistanians.

When I see them I say,
"Hello,
or
"Hi."

I am sure they don't look at me
and say,
"There Is My Infidel American Friend."

In all walks of life,
Rich Or Poor,
Educated Or Uneducated,
A Person Of Color......

Wait,
come to think of it,
we are all people of color.

Be it
Chartreuse,
Indigo,
Violet,
Olive,
Umber,
or any
Crayola Color.

We are all just people.
But,

in all walks of life
and in every ethnic background,
there are loonies who will hate the normality of everyday life.
Because they believe they are better then other people because of a skin color.
How stupid is that!

They will perform ghastly acts of violence against another human being just to get their 15 minutes of fame in life.

Terrorists come from all walks of life too.

From all
Economic,
and
Social Classes.

 Remember

Timothy McVeigh
and the
Oklahoma City Bombing? 

Remember
Osama Bin Laden?

He was born
Osama bin Mohammed bin Awad bin Laden
on
March 10, 1957,
in
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia,
to construction billionaire
Mohammed Awad bin Laden
and
Mohammed's 10th Wife,
Syrian-born
Alia Ghanem.

Terrorist operate in every country of the
World.
Yes,
even in the
Soviet Union
and
China.

So next time you look at someone
and you feel the urge to have one of those prejudiced moments,
relax.

Stop hating.

When the
Germans
came into this country,
they were persecuted for being infidels.

The
Jews,
the
Irish,
and the
Italians
were treated the same way when they got here.

All
Asian
groups were treated the same way on the
West Coast.

The
Spanish,
the
French,
the
English,
and even the
Danish
had their moments of persecution.

They were all hated,
eventually,
by the true first
Americans
when they got here.
Because they claimed the
Land,
Water,
and
Food
as their own.

Not like the
Native American Indians,
who knew that
Mother Nature
is the rightful owner of everything on this
Earth!
 
This is,
 Believing We Will Overcome Ignorance
And Prejudice Someday Soon, 
Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“Prejudices, it is well known, are most difficult to eradicate from the heart whose soil has never been loosened or fertilized by education: they grow there, firm as weeds among stones.”
- Charlotte Brontë, -

“I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.”
- Martin Luther King Jr. -

“There is nothing more frightful than ignorance in action.”
- Johann Wolfgang Von Goethe, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Sign up as a Follower,

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as your Homepage

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or a Suggestion,

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I am not a Pusillanimous!

   If you have kept up with my long narratives about my life on this Blog, you would know that I grew up in Wisconsin. Like all of the States in the United States of today, the Wisconsin I grew up in, is not the same Wisconsin of Two-Thousand-Eighteen.
   Everywhere and everyday, more and more people are encroaching on the wilderness and land once owned by farmers. Thank God for the City, County, State, and Federal Parks, where some animal species have adapted and are surviving.
   In Wisconsin for instance, there are no longer Pheasants roaming around the fields, where a young boy or girl could use a bow and arrow to hunt them down. Today, they have Pheasant Farms. Where you pay to go pheasant hunting on a Farmer's land, after he releases a few birds he has been breeding.
   Right or wrong, left or right, up or down. It is what it is.
   I was about twenty years old, working at a place called "Crane Manufacturing." Which is no longer in business. And a bunch of my co-workers asked if I wanted to go deer hunting with them during the Thanksgiving break.
   It is such a tradition in Wisconsin, to go deer hunting, that the company would ask you if you wanted time off, with no pay, to go hunting and their would be no repercussions.
   And at that time, my philosophy on life was due to a bumper sticker.

"A Bad Day Of Fishing, Is Still Better Then A Good Day At Work!"

   I'll take any day off of work, anytime.

Well, we went "up north" as they say, to northern Wisconsin, were one of these fellows had some land. We got up really early the first day and set up a plan to spread out in a line formation, moving forward into the woods.

   The rule was, you can only shoot in "front of you." If you see a deer jump up, on either side of you, and you take a shot, the other guys have the right to take your weapon away.

   Logical enough.

   It was a long day, where I didn't sight one deer. We gathered together and were walking back to the cabin, when one of the guys spotted a doe eating grass in an opened area, next to a pond.

   The guys all knew I was the rookie of the bunch, so they all said, "Go ahead Jim. Take the shot."

   I couldn't. I aimed the riffle, but I couldn't take the shot and kill that deer.

   After the doe ran off, we all went to the cabin and started drinking beer.
   That is when one of them said, "Jim. You are a real pusillanimous."
   They all started laughing at me. I thought he was using some kind of vulgarity to describe me!
   I didn't find out until after the hunting trip was over, when I got back home, what "Pusillanimous" meant.
   And they were calling me that word for a week straight!
   I am not a Pusillanimous!
   I am brave, bold, and courageous. 
   If you don't take me hunting.

This is,

Remember,

Shooting The First One Is The Hardest,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“The fascination of shooting as a sport depends almost wholly on whether you are at the right or wrong end of the gun.”
- P.G. Wodehouse, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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Agnes Magnúsdóttir

   For centuries, a cluster of small farms near the water on Iceland's Vatnsnes peninsula have eked out an existence among the grassy fields and rocky hills, more or less content to be surviving at the edge of the world. The peninsula is known for a black basalt rock formation that's said to be a petrified troll, and for the colonies of seals that come to sun themselves on the beach.
   It's still almost as peaceful—and lonely—as it was the night in March 1828 when Agnes Magnúsdóttir ran from Illugastaðir, the farm where she worked, to the house at Stapakot farm to report a fire. The situation, she said, was dire: Two people were trapped inside the rapidly burning building.
   When the rescuers arrived and extinguished the blaze, the scene was even worse than they expected. Inside, they discovered the bodies of Natan Ketilsson, the farm’s owner, and his guest, Pétur Jónsson. Though the two were badly burned, the rescuers could see it wasn't the fire that had caused their deaths: They'd been murdered. The men had been stabbed 12 times and bludgeoned with a hammer before the fire had been set with shark oil.
   The authorities quickly arrested both Agnes and Illugastaðir’s other maid, Sigríður Guðmundsdóttir, as well as a young man named Friðrik Sigurdsson. Although the trio's motives were murky, local gossips suspected the crime had something to do with their romantic entanglements.
   Agnes was born in northern Iceland on October 27, 1795. Her parents, Ingveldur Rafnsdóttir and Magnús Magnússon, were unmarried farmers; her father quickly left the picture, and at age 6 Agnes was fostered out to a pair of tenant farmers elsewhere in northern Iceland. Little about her early life is known, save that it was steeped in toil and poverty. But everything changed when she met Natan Ketilsson.
   Agnes fell head over heels for Natan, a self-taught doctor and herbalist. Though she was his maid, he encouraged her intellect and gave her a glimpse of life beyond poverty and drudgery. The two seem to have had a brief affair, but Natan was in love with Skáld-Rósa, a well-known local poet. Though Rósa was married, her long-standing relationship with Natan was known in the area; the two even had children together. To make matters more complicated, Natan had also recently been intimate with 16-year-old Sigríður.
   No one has ever been able to figure out how, exactly, these intertwined passions may have led to murder. Had Agnes grown jealous of Natan's recent attentions to Sigríður? Or had Friðrik? The trial documents focused more on the idea that the group was conspiring to steal from a wealthy landowner, saying that Friðrik "came to commit this evil through hatred of Natan, and a desire to steal." The women named Friðrik as the mastermind of the crime, although they were short on details about why he was to blame.
   The few available facts, together with a fear of rebellious servants, encouraged the idea of Agnes as a sort of villainess, and it was enough to condemn her. While translating local documents, the “words such as 'devil,' 'witch' and 'spider' were frequently used to describe Agnes. Where I looked to find something of her life story, or acknowledgement of social or cultural factors that may have contributed to her crime, I found only the belief that she was unequivocally evil—a monster.”
   After a long trial that went all the way to the Supreme Court in Copenhagen—Iceland was then still under Danish rule—Agnes, 33, and Friðrik, 19, were sentenced to be executed. Sigríður was also sentenced to death, but her punishment was eventually commuted to life in prison, which she would serve in Denmark. The reasons for the commutation aren’t entirely clear, except that by then the public had seized on Agnes as the real evil-doer. Since jail space wasn’t available in rural Iceland, the convicted were sent to local farms to await their fate; Agnes was held at Kornsá, the very same farm where she had lived with a foster family, although by then the house had different inhabitants.
   Execution day arrived on January 12, 1830. The beheading was a spectacle: 150 male representatives from all of the district's farms attended, and a special ax was imported from Denmark. Guðmundur Ketilsson, Natan’s brother, carried out the deed in the middle of three hillocks in Húnavatnssýsla; Friðrik went first, then Agnes. It was the last time anyone was executed in Iceland. (You can still see the ax head, and chopping block, at Iceland's National Museum.)
   They were forbidden Christian burial rites, and their heads were impaled onto sticks and displayed publicly, facing the road. But the heads wouldn't be there for long: They were stolen within 24 hours of going on display—and would stay missing for close to 100 years.
   Sometime around 1930, a local woman who claimed to have been visited by Agnes’s spirit came forward with their location. The identity of the thieves remains a mystery, although legend has it that a kind-hearted housewife felt moved to bury them herself.     
   Bizarrely, the heads were found just where the informant said they would be, “‘in the direction of the setting sun at high summer’ and not far from the execution mound,” according to crime writer Quentin Bates.
   The bodies of Agnes and Friðrik, which had been buried near the site of their execution, were reburied with their heads in a churchyard in Tjörn, not far from where Illugastaðir farm once stood.
   On September 9, 2017, Agnes got a second day in court. A mock trial arranged by the Icelandic Legal Society retried the case under modern rules, with the result that Agnes was sentenced to 14 years in prison instead of death.
   According to David Þór, one of the mock court’s three judges and a real former judge at the European Court of Human Rights, the original trial didn’t attempt to answer why the murders occurred. "No one cared about the motivation behind the murders—that wouldn't happen in a modern court," he said. "Today we would try to understand the motivation behind the murders and particularly how the two women, who had no other place to live, were treated by their master."
   Agnes’s story has captivated Iceland for the last 200 years. Was she a woman whose hard-won happiness was being threatened, and she was out for revenge? Or was there something even darker at work? Though the 1828 trial records are preserved in Iceland’s National Library, little evidence remains of Agnes’s life.
   “There isn’t a lot to go on. But it can be imagined how the relationships between these people had developed and the pressure increased over the course of the dark winter in a farmhouse the size of a small apartment today, and with a healthy walk to reach the nearest neighbors. It’s the stuff of a psychological thriller.”
   And indeed, nine books have been written on the subject in Iceland, with a 10th on the way; the murderess is even the subject of an Icelandic pop song. With the renewed interest, the events at Illugastaðir will likely captivate us for years to come—even if we may never know exactly what happened that March evening.

This is,

Gosh,

I Wish That I Came Up With This Story,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“There's no one on the island telling them they're not good enough, so they just go ahead and sing and paint and write.”
- Eric Weiner, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

Like what you reading?

Sign up as a Follower,

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as your Homepage

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or a Suggestion,

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Blog,

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Thanks again.

Extrasensory Perception

   I first noticed the potential when I was still in high school. I am pretty sure it was during my freshman year when it happened.
   First, a little background might help you to understand why I do it and how I developed my powers.
   The group of friends I was associated with were called Eggheads. The precursor before Nerds came along, which led to future brainiacs being called Geeks, and finally what most people call Techies today.
   One of our friends was actually called Egghead because of all the knowledge he had stored up from reading so much.
   Well, we all read a lot, but if you wanted to know something, something really off the wall, you asked Paul. Mister Egghead.
   You have to remember. This was a time before computers and well before cell phones came out.
   There were no search engines you could go to for instant information on any subject. If you wanted to know something you had to look it up. In a book. Usually at a library.
   It was quite arbitrary if the book you were reading was up to date and had the latest breakthroughs or updates on the subject of interest.
   It is like Wiki-Knowledge today. Where a person writes a paper on a subject and publishes it without anybody collaborating on his work or proving the accuracy of his findings.
   And in a book, it would take years before someone could substantiate and corroborate the author's original findings. Or, invalidate them.
   So our group, the Eggheads, did our own research on almost every subject of interest to us.
   This is where Zen comes in.
   We were all trying to find ourselves. Using our minds to better ourselves and find peace within.
   It was the beginning of the 1970's. The age of the Hippies was starting to fade away, and the era of Yuppies was just beginning.
   The days of tripping to "Expand your Mind" was coming to an end. Thank God.
   But, what if you could use your mind for more? Expanding its horizons naturally.
   The U.S. Military did try to experiment with people, during the 1960s, whom they thought had Extrasensory Perception. Or ESP.
   That was back, even before our time. The Eggheads time.
   The Military even experimented with those mind altering drugs to enhance their subject's ESP. First, with the knowledge of the recipients already in the program, then with human guinea pigs, without them knowing they were being used.
   Either way, they destroyed a lot of people's minds and their lives.
   The people they first used in their program were the usual charlatans. The normal Tarot Card, Crystal Ball, Ouija Board Mumbo Jumboists who you could see in any New Orleans parlor or traveling circus.
   Sure, these people were very convincing. They had years to hone their craft before the U.S. Military came a calling. These fortune tellers figured out what the government wanted to hear and gave it to them on a silver platter.
   It was easy. "The Russians are aiming their nuclear weapons at Washington D.C." Or, "East Germany is using spies in Europe to gather intelligence on our capabilities."
   Crap like that.
   After years of secretly wasting taxpayer's money, the Military finally scrapped the program, calling it a complete failure.
   Maybe they had it all wrong? Maybe they were trying to control the wrong animals from afar? Using these, so called ESP people, to see what our enemies were doing and what they were planning from afar.
   Even if these people did have ESP, to reach out and grab a hold of a person's mind to find out military secrets was ludicrous.
   Our Military didn't practice on normal, ordinary individuals. They went after top Soviet scientists and leaders like the Kremlin's top generals. They started at the very top echelon of Soviet government officials.
   Of course the program failed. They didn't let their ESP experts have the time to grow and develop their mind's capabilities.
   The first time I knew I had the ability is when a group of us were listening to music at Rick's parents house.
   Rick was a true Egghead, he later became a successful businessman.
   But at this time though, we were all pretty young and the world was one big adventure for us to grab a hold of.
   So, I did a little experiment on my own.
   I was already reading a lot of material on transcendental meditation, how to interpret my dreams, and flying through some pretty exciting astral projections.
   I felt my mind was strong enough to give it a go and it was time to try something new.
   That is when I started playing a game of chess with Micheal.
   Micheal wasn't a true Egghead. He wasn't really one of us. But we were a friendly group and we let him hang about.
   If I am not mistaken, today, he has one of those lesser menial jobs going by the wayside due to the new robotic age.
   But I digress.
   Well, I already knew that Micheal's thought process was nowhere near my own, so I knew he was the perfect test subject.
   During our game, at a point where the outcome was still undecided, maybe nine or ten moves in, I concentrated as hard as I could on convincing him to move his Rook, on his Queen's side of the board, up two squares behind his Pawn, which he had moved earlier up two squares. This left it wide open for my Bishop to angle down and take his Castle, when it was my turn.
   He had already moved the adjoining pawn in front of the Queen's side Knight, up one square. That same Knight, up two spaces and one space over to the left. With his Bishop, also on the Queen's side, angled up two squares, one over from his Knight. The Queen's Pawn was moved up two squares earlier, which was his first move of the game.
   I had no fear of losing my Bishop.
   I took his Rook and quickly finished him off after that. Controlling his every move.
   That is when it came to me. When trying to control a mind, you don't try controlling someone who could be your equal in intelligence. He can naturally fight off invading thoughts. You control a lesser mind.
   That's is where animals come into play.
   You want someone taken out of the picture? A rival businessman, a more talented athlete, or just someone you just can't stand?
   I'm your man. For a hefty fee that is.
   The person you want eliminated lives near the Florida Everglades or a Louisiana swamp? I'll have an alligator romp right up his yard and have him rip his leg off.
   They live next to the Appalachian Mountains or the Rocky Mountains. A bobcat or mountain lion will do the trick.   
    My favorite is when the victims have their own doberman pinscher, pit bull, or rottweiler. Where authorities don't even look past the canine for the cause of death.

   So, who, when, and where? Where they live, being the most important information I need so I can plan out which type of animal I will use to eliminate your adversary.
   Well, what do you say? You ready to pay?

This is,

Telling You That Part Of This Story Is True,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“I believe that humans are on an evolutionary path where brain usage will escalate beyond the current 10% standard, and as we evolve, so will our “ESP” abilities. Today, more and more children are born already possessing these abilities, and it’s appropriate we adjust to the new world reality already happening.”
- Tessie Jayme, -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

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It Is All Relatives

I am always trying to be funny when I can.
And my
Post
from
March 4th, 2016
called
Albert Einstein's Special Relatives and General Relatives Theories
 is a good example of that.
As I try a
Play On Words
to be
Funny.

 *****
I know we all have theories on our
Relatives. 

Or simply put,

our
Relativity's Physiques

and
Mental Capabilities.

This usually encompasses two theories by

Albert Einstein.

Special Relatives

and

General Relatives.

Concepts introduced by him in the

Theories of Relatives.

This includes the concept of

Spacetime,

as a unified entity of the

space

between their ears

and the

time

it takes for them to figure out one of your jokes.

Like the one you told about your

Relative with the simple-anxiety,

or

Kin-ematic,

or

Grampa's invitational time dilation,

and his

Lengthy nose hair contractions.

Now,

"A team of UK-based scientists from the University of Cambridge and Queen Mary University of London have successfully simulated a five-dimensional black hole with the help of supercomputers, reported the Huffington Post. If real, the simulated black hole would be so powerful it could break down the rules that govern the theory of our General Relatives!" By Kirsten Silven for the INQUISITR and borrowed off of the Huffington Post website. "How a five- dimensional #BlackHole could ‘break’ #GeneralRelativity: https://t.co/LXiIdTve0L pic.twitter.com/RPAxEvir3Y— Cambridge University (@Cambridge_Uni) February 19, 2016"

This is,

Me,
Trying To Be Funny,
It is Friday,
Do You Think I Missed The Boat?
It Was Either This,
Or Making Fun Of The Cop Who Found OJ Simpson's Bloodied Murder Knife And Kept It As A Souvenir! 
Back In 1998,

Jim Hauenstein,

And,

“If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.
” 
- Dark Jar Tin Zoo -

That is my story and I am sticking to it!

Like what you reading?

Sign up as a Follower,

or Set up my Blog

as your Homepage

on your Web-browser,

or Leave a Comment,

or a Suggestion,

and I will answer you in a Post.

Thanks for reading.