What Has This World Come To?

Dear readers,
What has this world come to! It’s like this: the Prophet Muhammad sounds sort of like some “cult leader.” I was reading a book about cults, and it sounds like those extremists are winning lots of followers because they sentenced a guy to death for writing something on Facebook that offends the Prophet Muhammad. I have something to counter the extremists in Iran on this:
1. Your Prophet Muhammad advocates child marriage, FGM, and women’s abuse in relationships. The real Prophet Muhammad did all stuff with his wives, and did not touch Aisha, his young virgin wife, until she was old enough and of age. Your visions of the Prophet, you extremist Terrorist peoples, are all wrong. You people aren’t studying the real Islam. IF you say Islam is about peace, then why does your extremist viewpoint advocate death because of someone’s opinion? Your Saudi and Iraqi counterparts seem to think the same way. The Yemenis are the same. I’m sorry, but the Prophet is not the way you think he is.
2. Sentencing someone to death for an opinion is against the spirit of the American dream. I will not be sentenced to death, say, for calling Barack Obama a bonehead, if in fact he is a bonehead. He kind of is when it came to the healthcare law, penalizing people for not having health insurance HIS way. We need to abolish the Medical Device tax because what about the blind diabetics? The companies need to cover blind diabetes care stuff like the Prodigy Voice. My friend Art has one. HE loves it. His fiance, Diana, is also a diabetic and has one. I don’t mean to go off track here, but saying that something is wrong and being killed for it is stupid.
3. IF you’re someone from Isis or presumably thinking about joining, sorry, your ideas are stupid too. Those who hacked the defense websites and put “I love Isis” on there are gonna get punished. You know it. You can’t go against my country nor mess around with websites with classified info on there because you want your silly Islamic extremist viewpoints to be the right ones. You can’t force us all to practice or die. That’s not gonna win followers. Jesus said we should love our neighbors as ourselves, but he also said to pray for our enemies. Well, if we come under attack, the natural thing for us is to defend ourselves. Right? Yes, it sure is.
4. Killing the editor of a French magazine isn’t gonna compel the Muslim population in the Middle East and elsewhere, except for a few people in America I know, to me. IF anyone on the Internet thinks it okay to kill somebody over a funny cartoon, you’re such babies. Babies! You do not go kill somebody over a cartoon. I don’t mind having someone, for instance, the Ramirez chic that targeted me and Blake, cartooned in a social mag. I’d like to put something in the speech thing on top that says, “I’m a naughty puppy.” Then, my pen would draw Mabelin as a dog. Is Mabelin a goddess? Is she a prophetess? No. So either way, even if she was, her rules would state that you’d be killed for writing or drawing any bad things about her. Well, I’m sorry, but people should be allowed freedom of the press, and that is at all costs. The editors of Charley Ebdeau are now heavily guarded because of the Muslim extremists who killed the cartoonists who drew the Prophet. Well, I have a message still for those who worship their convoluted version of the Prophet Muhammad. He’s dead. Muhammad, peace be upon him, is dead stuff, not alive. You worship not the Prophet, but a child molester. You worship not a loving God, but a wrathful and vengeful God who advocates women’s abuse and mistreatment. I’ve got a lot on my plate as it is, and if any extremists think it funny to go out and tell any American, French person, or otherwise, that it’s funny or cute to go haul someone off to be killed or slaughtered just because we’re saying the right stuff, like that the Prophet you worship advocates child molestation, you’re sick in the head. You need help.
The good thing about all this is that the French are saying, “We are Charley.” All the French are amazing. No more jokes about France, they’re all amazingly awesome. They’ve done what was right, and being killed by some Arab extremist is stupid. I would have still advocated for the Prophet’s image in a magazine because it’s free speech. We can draw a political cartoon of Obama and say, “What a bonehead.” Well, Obama didn’t say we had to bow down to him. Oh Lord, this is a fallen world we live in. I don’t understand why this whole world is coming to a dramatic end. I don’t understand why that is. The Prophet Muhammad’s real life was not the life the extremists imagined. And to you Yemeni bloggers who happen to read my stuff, do not marry a 9-year-old girl. It’s a crime, a clear violation of the girl’s right to choose. That will land you in jail, charged with statutory rape. That is, here in the U.S. If Yemen and its government would please hear the cries of girls like Nujood Ali and others who’ve been forced to marry at ten or nine or thirteen, they’ll pass a law banning underage marriage and raising the marriage age to eighteen. I’m not ever gonna let any daughter of mine marry until she’s eighteen, and if she is eighteen, she can well make that choice. That’s a thing. Choice is a beautiful thing isn’t it? Now, quietly leave us alone, extremist freaks who want to target America, so we can go on with our lives. Do not expect any more converts to Islam unless they’ve studied the Real Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him. I’m sorry, that prophet never would have advocated child molestation, forced marriage, and so on. HE cared about his seven wives, mostly, ready for this, war widows. See? That is the point of caring for war widows. The only thing I hated about the Prophet was his thing about having four wives. Even still, he pointed to justice between wives. Even Deq knows something about it.
Well, enough of my rants for today. I’ve ranted enough. I have good news.
Ohio State made Oregon pay back for beating my Seminoles. Yay!
Now, the Broncos just lost their head coach. Poor Peyton. Poor baby. You’re gonna be fine, just rest easy sir. You’ve lost the battle, but you’ll get a super bowl trophy. Do not worry, dear. And lots of girls in your bed. Ha ha. Blake would say that often to me, “I love all the ladies.” He’s just weird, but you know I’m all about crazy people being with me, and Blake makes me laugh and smile in my misery.
Anyway, … phew! Going to bed. My stomach is going to explode!

Four Types of Weirdos, and … My Apologies profusely

Hi, everyone.
There are four types of weirdos, as me and my friend Katherine discussed. There’s two good weirds, two bad weirds. One type can be positive, the other negative. But there are four types of weirdos in the world. Everyone is under those four groups, we’re all weird. You can’t escape it. Mwaaaaaaaa ha ha ha ha! Anyway, here they are:
1. Good weird, someone who’s just plain good, and that’s a positive thing, right? Good weird is when someone is just plain sweet, sometimes jokes are passed about, so on and so forth.
2. Funny weird: Funny weird means you’re just plain funny. A joke pops out at you and you say it out loud, and people laugh all the time in your presence. That’s the funny weird.
3. Bad weird: Someone who can do something really stupid. Like, for instance, Miss Makeup Disaster Queen, no name given here in this particular post, likes to kiss butt and say, “I’m a nice girl.” Really? She has the negative bad weird.
4. Creepy weird: Most of your criminals are this type of weird. Creepy weird is my ex, JDO. You don’t wanna mess around with those guys, they can creep you out. Personally, I’d go with the good weird and funny weird people. An example of someone who is good weird is … yes, my baby Blake. The funny weird sometimes comes out when we talk all the time. Love is in the air most of the time, and it’s grand. But the bad and creepy weird? Look here, psychotherapists, I don’t know if the weird classifications work in your world, but have you ever been around someone who just plain gives you the willies? Like, you’re walking past someone and all you can say or feel is, “Ugh.” You walk by a guy at a 7-eleven gas station, and all you think about is, oh my God. The guy turns to you and asks if you’re ok, but meanwhile your stomach gets the flipsy flopsy feeling something weird is happening. That weird? That’s the creepy feeling you get when someone walks by you and could, if given the chance, steal your purse, your property, your body. Boy, I wish Jaycee Dugard had felt that way about her kidnapper. That guy’s in jail for life because of the creepy weird that the police ladies felt. Phillip Guerrido is an example of creepy weird, extremely creepy weird. There’s also the bad weird, which I should’ve been listening to my guts when JDO walked in, but no, I didn’t. I regret the things I said in my last post, but I was only trying to direct the creepy and bad weird people away from the good weird and funny weird. Weird is important, I don’t like boring individuals. Let’s just say that boring is a classification of people who don’t move anywhere, don’t read, don’t have hobbies, don’t, don’t, don’t. But I do love the good weird and funny weird individuals, and my friend Katherine is positively weird. I love the weirdest of the weird. We have lots of that here in Denver, my ex Deq being one. He gets along with me, but he always drives me nuts when he calls. Oh lord, here we go. The conversation goes something like:
Deq. Hi, hello.
Beth. Hey, Deq, how’s it going?
Deq. I want to … fill in the blank.
Beth. Deq, what are you doing? What the heck are you talking about? I have Blake, not you.
Deq. But you need one. (What? Deq, you really drive me nuts, and on top of which make me laugh.)
Beth. C’mon, Deq, make some sense out of yourself.
Deq. Quendo Hooko. (That’s get away in Swahili.)

That’s just plain weird. Deq could be classified as funny weird and good weird, but others may see it a bit different. Well, my dear friends, I have a really important thing to say:
I do not believe in physical violence. Tae kwon do is not supposed to be that way, and I am sorry if I disgraced myself thinking it was that way. Well, what will I say next after I get to work! Blake and his dear mom have a good reputation of being good people, and I wish to say that I regret saying what I said. The only reason why I wrote that thing … it was wrong on my part, it was to scare some of the beauty queen bees and so on off of Blake’s territory. I am his territory, and some people don’t seem to get why. First, I’m not off the wall. I have had tests done by the MHCD, Mental Health Center of Denver, and have to get off a certain medication due to insurance restrictions. I have to go pick it up at the clinic. Ugh. Hate that. I love the therapist who works with me, and she has offered to test me so that we have a start to going through with the forensic files, the test that says no guardianship or yes, whatever that means. I want someone to think I’m not nuts, and if you don’t know me well enough to say this, don’t say it. I’m only doing what I do for the good of those I love, and I do what I do for the detriment of burglars, weapon carriers, etc. I can’t justify the post itself, but I will say this: do not and please don’t say anything silly, do not make a judgment and say I’m nuts when I’m not. Here’s a hint when dealing with me: look carefully at what the therapist says. I will see my therapist so I can get her to write a letter containing the test results, which say, point blank, no instability. The test can determine a lot, and I’m sorry if my actions come off as that, but I’m not crazy. Please, I beg my readers, do not think I’m nuts. If it pleases anyone, I’m going to have to delete what I wrote before. But face this fact: if anyone tries to go between me and Blake, make choices on his behalf, etc., my life will be done. My quality of life would be overdone, over and done, whatever. I found in Blake a loving friend, someone who could be my other half, and I want to see him again. I do. I will not be denied this because … if you really wanna know, here’s a few anecdotes:
I was told many a time I couldn’t see Jason Yocom, my first real ninth grade crush. September 11 hit, and I was dreaming about nothing more than his red car. Yeah, red cars are pretty, but this one would get him in jail if he didn’t watch out. Jason and I danced twice at homecoming, but my mother did not approve. My mother won’t approve of anyone, seems like. My poor mother. She does not approve of anyone poor, not holding a job, disabled, etc., maybe she won’t. I am trying to like all the people in Blake’s circle of friends, but I find it hard to do sometimes, not the friends part, but some of the family, because of the miscommunication, misunderstanding, and the fact that … well, as a matter of fact, my mother didn’t like Jason, so because she didn’t like Jason, I couldn’t like him. My parents also prevented me from seeing Jason Lawrence, and he turned out to be nothing more than foolish. Foolish was he who said to me, “I don’t like you.” I was a foolish young one, I admit, but I was isolated and thrown out of groups, not allowed almost to articulate my creative side, my band and chorus career could have been destroyed because of him. I sat once in the commons area at school, before my parents knew that their total emotional “abuse” or “control” caused all this damage. Jason Lawrence was the straw that broke my camel’s back. The last straw with Jason was a suicide attempt and I performed a choking hold on my own neck while Jason watched, and I had said, you don’t accept, you lose all, including my life. Jason was probably furious. His friends reported harassment. I was devastated, and I wanted total forgiveness from Jason and I wanted nothing to do with his bullying and misunderstanding friends. The sad thing was I played with Kurtis (one of his friends) and his sister when i was younger. Elena Nelson was a really sweet girl, and she was so cute, I wish I could have borrowed Elena as a sister. I did go with her mom, Kurtis’s mom, to a symphony concert, and Mrs. Nelson could play good violin. I remember that part, and she said my violin’s bridge was damaged.
Why this memory surfaces I do not know, but it is sad to see Kurtis act so weird, I smacked him under timpani covers. Weird, huh?
The last thing that drove me to go check myself into the Wuesthoff Hospital in Rockledge, Florida, was Orien Henry and his total rejection, even on the part of his family. Family and friends, take note. Orien’s mother rejected me fully on no good reasons, for no fault of my own. My parents unfortunately agreed. Those are the facts, here’s where the facts and opinions end.
Mrs. Henry, nice though she seemed, said no good things about me, did not think me an appropriate mate for her son, Orien, and I’m sorry to say this, but his rejection of me in those sad days left me feeling literally ill. I had a seizure and a bladder infection soon after I got back from a hospital I was discharged from in May 2006. When it was time for me to graduate the college which is known now as Eastern Florida State College, I was throwing a party. Well, doctor says I had a bladder infection sometime before, and I wondered why. When you’re stressed out, your immune system does weird stuff. It weakens and you get sick, period. Well, I got a urinary tract infection, ewwww. What happened after will make you cringe: I was taking a med, and yes, I shouldn’t have drank any wine. I did drink wine, but I did because I wanted to celebrate my graduation. Janet, my old VI teacher, was sitting on my right, and Theresa, my good old big sis and cane teacher, on my left, plus others. We all went to Uno’s Pizzeria, had fun, the whole nine yards. Well, the whole thing ended with me going home, normal sleep pattern, etc. The morning I had a seizure, I went for a manicure and pedicure with a lady called … Beth. I had my nails and feet painted red and gold, I was determined to go to FSU, and I did, but those red and gold nails remind me of who I am. Anyway, I got home, was about to get the chips and dip out, sat down at the piano when, … bells, bells, bells, and more bells went off in my head. Two seconds later, an ambulance was underneath me, the great vehicle had transported me to a hospital. I had no clue what was up. My friend Josh says I turned blue, ugh. The seizure was the only seizure I ever had, and that one is the only one I hope to have. Hearing Blake tell me stuff about what it’s like to have one makes me say to myself, Beth, you do not need to have any more. They’re scary business. But anyway, that seizure and the tests that followed reminded me, I needed to get out. I had to get out.
So my next step was taken in 2008, and that whole thing was great. I went to FSU, only to drop out due to failure in class, failure of the music department to get the special accommodations I needed, and I had to get a new computer. Windows Vista sucked with my music programs, and someone had to read all my theory homework, Oh God. I dropped out of music, tried social work, didn’t work out. Well, I said enough was enough. I went to the college of social work, dropped out in 2010, and moved to Denver because of a few factors: I still faced rejection from C.W., a man from Australia who under no fault of his own did not like me. He’s blocking me on Twitter, and I thought we could be. But C. was not nice to me, so we had to part ways, even when I moved, he still accuses me of harassment and so on. I’m sick of this, I just want people to think about me as someone good. Well, I met Blake in Denver, so I also met Deq. We went on the bike path, the rest of this story is history.
Recently, I discovered that C. was blocking me on my Twitter page, and now Miss Makeup is blocking and reporting me on social media sites, trying to make bad things happen to me. This girl is not smart, not funny, not not not. She needs to be told when to do stuff, directed away from people she can’t be around, etc. She repeated tne ninth grade a few times, ugh!
Anyway, my apologies, any questions about the stuff, you can call me any time.
With love,