Mental Parasitism - Phoenix

I had escaped, clinging to the helicopter. But could I really leave my own forces -- all newbies -- to the treacherous ladies Auxiliary? The pilot insisted on this, convincing me after four hours of the most intense scolding I've ever received. So back up we went, me once again clinging to the skid, and he dropped me off on top of the building.

(I shall not belabor the heroics, since my desire today is to get to my trip to Phoenix and everything I can fit in about that.)

The forces of my now-defunct new Institute of Mental Parasitism were rallied in the break room, liberating the remaining donuts from the women. I was just about to lay out a plan of action when the door burst open, and there she was -- Mrs. X! -- every bit the villainess I despised. I hated her, knowing it would either be her or me leading this Institute.

Our eyes locked. I knew this would be mental parasitism to the death, or till I left for Phoenix. I gave it my all, bringing her to her knees. But with her husband's power adding to her own, she rallied and brought me to my knees. I thought I was a goner till I rallied, mentally pushing her back on her ass with a thud. I saw desperation in her eyes, quickly replaced by a new determination. She mentally pushed me to my ass, our eyes still locked. I felt myself being completely drained, but fought back, shooting daggers. Her own daggers, however, alas, were sharper and I was propelled back, crashing against the wall.

My brave forces dashed in and dragged me away. And so, all was lost. The pilot cradled me like Michelangelo's Pietà, then we got the hell out of there. Mrs. X shouted, "I'll get you if I have to search a million years!"

Since then I've managed to make it pretty far, hitchhiking to Phoenix. Right away I got a ride with an old farmer who said, "Ahm only goin' up the road a mile, but I can getcha that fur, n'yuk n'yuk." Desperate times and all, I put him in my mental grasp and he ended up driving me the whole way. My grasp was so great he offered not one word of complaint.

Along the way we saw all kinds of cool stuff, motels, people, restaurants, cacti, and even a goat chewing lazily in the ditch. It wasn't tied up or anything. I saw things I haven't seen in years. This one gas station had gas at 27.9 cents a gallon. It was so cheap we filled up twice.

Now, concerning Phoenix, that's a tough word to spell, believing as I do that the "oe" was probably originally a diphthong. I need to Google it. Or find a librarian to put under my mental parasitism spell, so I'd never have to Google anything ever again. Bleh...

Let me be brutally honest, enough pretending. Friends, I'm desperate. I'm so f'in' far from home I may never get back. Mrs. X said she'd hunt me a million years! The old Institute kept the women under their thumb for so long, and even I, the original feminist male, didn't promise or show any intentions of bettering their lot. I admit, I was content to be served, with the fantastic rolls and other goodies they were known to bring in. This one old gal -- probably fishing for a husband -- made those giant cinnamon rolls, enough gooey frosting and pecans to choke on, and all she ever got was an occasional thank you. I remember nodding her direction indifferently. If she gets her sticky hands on me, I'm done!

Gotta keep running... The old Institute has arisen from the ashes, like the Phoenix I'm in. But I'm getting so tired, exhausted, and mentally empty, that even were I to find a likely host in this library, I don't know if I could manage the feeblest eye lock. A mere child might turn it around on me and have me in his grasp! Then I'd be reduced to the babbling of an 8-year-old, goo-goo'ing to the librarian about, "Whe be the Mary Poppin book, eh?" 8-year-old dialect...

On the other hand, what a terrific subterfuge that would be. Find a kid, teach him a few quick pointers on mental parasitism -- Mr. X accomplished it with his shrew -- and have him put me in his mental grasp, then when the Auxiliary catches me, they'll see I've hopelessly devolved and leave me alone.

If I could break free of the kid, then, I could roam these Arizona streets, hoping for the return of my own superior mentality. Then I'd change my name, get all the usual fake ID, and start a new life. Till then, when and if I find him, I'll be living in his closet like ET.

THE END

Mental Parasitism -- Mr. & Mrs. X

Let's bring you up to speed. Yesterday seems forever ago, when I was in the university coffee shop, a mental parasite looking for hosts. After the past few days, I needed a pick-me-up; I was dead tired. Turns out, I didn't know how great I had it. My phone was ringing out of my pocket. Things at the new Institute of Mental Parasitism had gone to hell.

The bad news, barely decipherable from the screams and terrible cries in the background, came down to this: Mrs. X and the ladies' Auxiliary, those loyal to the old Institute, had invaded our headquarters, and were systematically taking control, and subjecting our people to mental parasitism of the worst kind, with a grudge. Their mission was simple, Sap and destroy!

When I arrived, they were lying in wait and subdued me without a struggle. I thought, The new Institute, in power for a single day, has been my life, my baby. I must yield, and if necessary, go down with the ship.

As our forces continued fighting, they dragged me to Mrs. X's office, just yesterday mine. She tested my resolve when she boasted, how Mr. X, evil to the bitter end, taught her enough techniques to subject him to mental parasitism. Mental transference! She'd taken to it like a kid to cake, completing consuming him, drawing into her mind and body his knowledge and potency. And now here she was, a Titan, something from the Furies, an unstoppable masculine Amazon -- yet in a flouncy purple pantaloons ensemble -- having all control. Hell is on the march and has executed a complete purge! The new Institute has fallen, has fallen!

As we sat there, I was resigned, knowing my respite would be brief. Inside, my thoughts were going two directions: 1) Regret: Why couldn't I have left well enough alone? and, 2) Fear: My beautiful mind will soon be sucked dry and find its new home in one of these Auxiliary gals. Up till now they've been conducting bake sales. I feared my genius would be wasted if that's what they wanted ... I'm a terrible cook.

In a moment's reverie, I remembered my life before all this happened -- days ago -- when I was an anonymous mental parasite, practicing the craft in private shadows, far from the glaring searchlight of heartless Auxiliary barbarians, whose symbol is the broom, once pertaining to domesticity, now manifested in their rage as something else, their instinct for cussedness. Pity me! To leave obscurity only to find myself in the eye of the hurricane! Hardly an improvement. I could've taken up knitting, or stamp collecting, any fool pastime...

I don't know if anyone will ever read this. But on the off chance it makes it online, I'll say it anyway. If you are part of an organization, any organization, and you're tempted to establish a parallel Auxiliary group for the ladies, think again! If you've already allowed one, for the sake of your life and sanity, take moves now to disband it, however slowly you must go as to not raise suspicion. Bribe them with kitchen utensils and new gadgets if you must, anything!

At this point, looking up at the purple terror before me, I didn't need mental parasitism. I was simply angry, so in one bold herculean lunge I took Mrs. X into the corner. I didn't want to but I hoisted a planter, three foot in diameter, and heavily weighted with a tall tropical tree -- maybe banana -- and brought it down on her skull. It didn't kill her -- not with Mr. X's power within, and whatever power she had acquired on her own from years of tea and bridge. Then I got the hell out of there.

I turned back and saw a host of women hanging from the windows, demented, but apparently happy in their chthonic miasma; who wouldn't be? A helicopter descended, I made a jump of faith and grabbed the skids, and gave the thumbs up. We dashed into the sky.

You want the truth about women? They were the goddesses of this whole damned planet -- ruling a peaceable matriarchy for over 50,000 years. Read that again, 50,000 years! They dwelt in peace -- this was before Xena -- for the most part keeping the men in subjection. The planet was in harmony. Men sat docilely over washtubs peeling potatoes. Then a few wise inventors brought in metal weapons, the goddesses gave way to heroic warrior gods and things haven't been the same since. It was about this point that "God created the earth." And we've never had it so good. I never want to go back to those days and Grrrl Power. I say all that to say this: Women aren't your friend ... They're out to get you! Disband the Auxiliary immediately!

Mental Parasitism -- Organization Man

The following is a record of my inaugural communique with our membership upon the demise of the old Institute of Mental Parasitism and the immediate arising of the new:

Demonstrating the reach and power of my blog -- the rallying point of our revolution -- the old Institute of Mental Parasitism has been destroyed. The word went forth and mental parasites the world around have responded. You canceled your membership, simultaneously receiving details on membership in the new Institute, under my aegis, and most who are qualified to join us have already done so.

The few stragglers who have not joined, who have not even submitted the first of their paperwork, we can only surmise, are lukewarm, or have waited to see which side would be victorious before committing themselves. Those people make me sick, and if they do not submit at least a note of inquiry, and I mean pronto, they will find themselves completely out, unacceptable to one and all.

The new Institute of Mental Parasitism, a dignified name that replaces what came before -- the old Institute of Mental Parasitism -- I promise will be an organization of complete integrity. It will be an organization of compassion, forever untainted by ambition, corruption, greed, and malevolence. Our goal -- our only goal -- will be to provide everything that you, our honored members, need so you may be all you can be in our common cause.

Once again, after many tiresome years of constant shenanigans by the scurvy monkeys who ran the old Institute, then eventually ran it into the ground, you have an Institute to be proud of. As far as we of the new Institute are concerned, the scoundrels who mismanaged the old Institute will never again be a part of our community. They have already been left behind, left fend for themselves, if they're able, and we can only hope that they shall be consumed in some way, enveloped, engulfed, and destroyed.

Not to belabor to the point of tedium their despicable stewardship of the organization, we can only say their mismanagement and exploitation of us and our resources was completely intentional. I personally tied President X to a chair and mentally consumed him for the space of an hour, nearly wasting his mentality down to its bare nubbins, before taking even one mental breath. And I can report my findings, that Mr. X had -- and for this reason we might perhaps honor his memory in a small way -- some small degree of regret for his perfidy.

In working through the data gleaned, it shakes out like this: The more Mr. X exploited the organization, the more he regretted it. The nature of his regret, however, was not positive. It was a case of seeking to destroy, out of self-loathing, that which he at one time loved. So Mr. X did the sad work of exploitation and regretted it, but then only doubled down on his destructive impulses. Recall, I took in his mentality, and was able to discern this much and more, so of course I'm not feeling 100% at this time.

I have also given an executive order to remove Mrs. X from all Auxiliary work, effective immediately. It is good to note that she has been completely innocent in this whole matter. And yet we suspect were she left to continue, she would foolishly seek to advocate for her husband. And with no one to give credence to anything she says, we fear she might initiate other terrible works of sabotage against us. Therefore Mrs. X has been banned from all Institute facilities and meetings. If at any time you see Mrs. X where she should not be (let the reader understand), please notify security immediately and they will deal with her.

Please let me express my personal regret that any of this has occurred, that it came to this. You didn't ask for this fight nor did I. We were guilty of nothing, unless it be trusting people too much, too readily. Warning signs were there, of course, but most of us were not in a position to recognize them as anything other than static on the wire. The investigation continues, however, to ferret out anyone who did know, or were in a position to know and did nothing.

I cannot comment to any real extent on the investigation, except to say that I hear there are potential suspects who must be dealt with. I have directed our team in the computer side of records to correlate the data in such a way to determine if any of the "lukewarm" ones, noted above, who have not completed their paperwork for admission to the new Institute, may be among them. If so, we will have a better handle on their hesitancy. If found complicit, naturally they will be excluded. It is to be seriously regretted that we shall not have the benefit of their dues, but the cost of integrity at times is high.

Friends, all around me I can see and hear the hustle and bustle of the new Institute's staff, eager beavers each one, and I am pleased. But I now ask your leave to be excused for a time, to rest and recharge. The simple fact of the matter is that I am not by nature an Organization Man. Those of you who have tasted my mentality -- in private session -- will attest to that. Even without mental parasitic activity trained on me, but only from the day to day grind we're dealing with, I feel myself nearly drained. And so I must -- I'll repeat that, I must -- leave our world headquarters for a time. Perhaps to sleep, more likely to sequester myself away in the dark corner of a university town coffee shop, to train my attention, to direct my focus, on the eyes, face, lips, hands, feet -- the entire body -- of vital, vibrant subjects just waiting, desirous and even begging (however unconscious they are of it) for a mental parasite to completely sap them. I shall become stronger as their depletion proceeds.

One day -- I hope soon -- I shall regain my strength, thanks to those unwilling subjects and thousands of others. Then you and I shall together do the day to day work of running this great organization -- the best little Institute of Mental Parasitism in the world, the new one, run by men of integrity (along with some minor help from the ladies Auxiliary), world without end.

I'm Taking It To The Institute of Mental Parasitism

My admission of guilt, my mea culpa, when I was called on the carpet for supposedly disclosing "dangerous secrets" of the craft, was met with a huge thud at the Institute and rejected -- not enough, they said! After I humbled myself in abject servility, putting everything on the line, my pride, my self worth, my dignity, just so I might be in the good graces of the Great Ones, the Lordly Poobahs, (wastrels, no doubt), self-appointed as the high and mighty, acting as gatekeepers, protectors of the sacred flame, as it were, of mental parasitism!

That's the way it usually is -- Am I right? -- with those who cannot be questioned, those who dwell in ivory towers, so far above the rest of us mere mortals. They always want you to jump just a little bit higher, or grovel just a little bit lower. They can't be bothered to specify precisely what they want. Then you try to contact them, and naturally they're out of the office, busy with some other important task, no doubt, perhaps roaming the world hobnobbing with their fellow grandees and looking for others to censure. That very well could be true, because there's hundreds of MP practitioners, and most of them, like me, are independent types.

When I first heard of this matter, I immediately figured they were out to get me, and that their means would in all likelihood be devious. Because I'm a plum, you see. I'm a ripe plum out there for the picking. With a popular blog and influence that stretches around the world. Who would be a juicier plum for them, with all that plus my personal mojo and verve! They're always on the lookout for guys like me, the gifted and skilled. They're insecure! They want the mental parasitism powers I have, to absorb them and pluck me off the vine, thereby keeping themselves stronger. And this goes for others like me. They have us belonging to their rather unholy club -- that's our validation, in a sense, because there's always the enhancement of one's practice through being part of a dedicated group. Why else would we submit to these scurvy monkeys?

So it's times like these, frankly, that I'd like to scream. When the Institute's receptionist says, "Dr. X can't come to the phone right now; he's in conference." I bet he is! Rubbing his grubby hands together in jealousy and lust along with the rest of the criminal element of the Institute, authority run amok. Willing to take our dues -- of course! -- sucking up to us when it's renewal time, then despicably dumping on us (plenty of dissing) the rest of the year!

I ought to--- I really ought to -- Don't get me started, OK? But a guy thinks, "I could do this better with one hand." I could run the organization better. I'd treat the membership with respect. No more censures, no more increased dues when there's the slightest controversy, trying to keep people in your thrall, keep them over a barrel, always demanding they measure up, make them meet your stinking standards. Because mental parasitism isn't a matter of standards, it's a way of life, in my opinion, best determined by the practitioner himself.

I'm this close (inches) from starting my own Institute! I know there's surely hundreds of guys (and gals, in the Auxiliary) disgruntled like me. It's just a matter of making contact with them, getting the word out. Say I went on Twitter, which has its downside because it's so public. Or we could get together on one of those sharing sites for documents. "Here's my idea." "That's a great idea, here's mine." "We've got two pretty good ideas, let's see if someone else wants to join us." Bam, you've got a brand new Institute!

If that's what I'm going to do, I'll probably have to be like the Declaration of Independence guys, and come up with a page of grievances. That we cannot work through this, that, and the other thing, no matter what we do. Then mail letters to some of the other disgruntleds, saying, "Let's get it on!" And have our own Mental Parasitism Institute, where there's absolutely no rules, or fewer rules. Such as the "Do as little harm as you can" rule. If I want to reduce a dozen or even a hundred mentally alert victims to a writhing, unconscious, naked mass, like hideous snakes in a pit, that's my business! No ethics, no nothing. Do it yourself. Come up with it on the fly.

Of course we'll want to stay out of each other's way as much as possible. And hold to a few common sense standards of conducting business. Like watching out for each other's well being. Good stuff. Then, say, someone does go off the beam and threatens the common well-being, I can see how that would be a definite negative. Do we stand together or do we fall? Do we hang together or separately?

In short, we need a few helpful bylaws for our common congregate discipline, so everyone stays on the same page as much as possible, for everyone's mutual good. And I see it, if someone goes way too far, such as literally sharing the deepest secrets over the express objections of the group, he should be called on it, brought to heel. I feel that we will flourish the most when we remain together, sharing the teachings and maintaining a sweet spirit of camaraderie. If only the current Institute felt the same way.

Mental Parasitism: Censure and Mea Culpa

Friends, I am in some trouble. And I have to say something -- as part of my censure from the Institute of Mental Parasitism -- that I am very sorry for my previous posts on this subject. EXHIBIT A and EXHIBIT B.

The Institute, having met in emergency session, specifically demanded that I photograph myself dressed in my Sunday finest and attach a cloth leash to a pair of my blue jeans, then post it on my blog, to illustrate the warning against putting the cart before the horse. And so I have, highlighting it in yellow to call attention to it, another demand. They can be real mean dudes, threatening to strip me of certification in mental parasitism if I don't. Yes, it's a bitter pill to swallow, but with them being the only institute with the ability to certify, what am I to do?

Further, I am to "admit" that any previous teachings that I erroneously gave in public, the two posts referenced above, are in error, are fiction, and are meant "For Entertainment Purposes Only," offering no actual teachings on mental parasitism, being false in every way. So, yes, I "admit" that. If you think you read anything actual as pertaining to true mental parasitism, you are wrong. They are 100% false, nothing to worry about, nothing to be interested in, and definitely -- I repeat, definitely, for God's sakes -- nothing to try on your own.

Believe me, I see the wisdom in this censure. Of course I knew the power of mental parasitism is immense, but I thought with the few pointers I had given that I would only whet the appetite of people to enter the path in the legitimate way, and so they'd grow in maturity and discipline. But just the opposite has occurred, which leaves me in a terrible spot.

I hate to see the consequences of so many of you crossing the boundaries to your detriment. To think I had a role in that is a terrible blow. I don't know if I'll be able to continue in the same spirit which I had. In the more immediate future, having this shame and guilt, I imagine I will be the ultimate wet blanket at Christmas. My family will look over and see me in the large chair, my mind misfiring, my fingers barely able to find the tape on my gifts. But that's still a month away; please pray I recover.

It turns out people are smart, even if they're not wise. They were able to take the few pointers I gave -- who knew? -- and devise for themselves a workable plan of mental parasitism, even if it lacked in some of the specifics both of received tradition and the more potent riffing on the traditions of the masters. The consequences for themselves and others is something I will have to live with, despite my fervent wish that I could somehow turn back the hands of time and find myself simply blogging on the weather, politics, or the new puppy I'm getting.

Seriously, I'm getting a new puppy! How about that! With Underbrush's passing last December I thought, The pain is unbearable, I'll never be able to share my love again with a puppy. But time heals all wounds, apparently, although, naturally, I've literally never tested that theory, having to this point not experienced "all wounds."

Meanwhile, back at Guilt Ranch, my foolish disclosures, going against everything I intended, has left the sidewalks littered with the sucked out carcasses of people, now the unwitting victims of premature (foolish) mental parasitism. I hear there's been quite a few, since the techniques are very powerful, even when misused, and perhaps especially then. At the library, they've found men as big as mountains, McDonald's drinks spilled everywhere, draped over the banisters and even hidden under tables. Also women with tangerine scarves litter the vicinity.

The fever, as it were, has extended beyond my local town as well. With many 140-character briefs on Twitter, which I call "tweets," telling of great vibratory essence depletion from Spain to Timbuktu. The Russians are in turmoil -- that's kind of a positive -- as desperate Ukrainians have turned to mental parasitism, and now are despoiling the invading hosts. And with the reports of massive posters in the public square of a near-nude Vladimir Putin, I can only wish them godspeed.

Similarly, I have a terrible report, kind of a bummer, confirmed by numerous sources, that South America isn't even there anymore! That warrants an exclamation point, right?

So I'm sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry. At this point tripartite sorrow is all I can give. I can only hope now we don't lose any more of our precious brothers and sisters around the world, including, of course, all our remaining continents, populated as they are with thousands of innocents, unknown to me in name, but existing there. I believe they will be OK, just as long as the principles of mental parasitism are strictly held to, in accordance with responsible, guided practice.

Please, friends, get these teachings from the Institute only, and be as responsible as you can.

Mental Parasitism -- Picking a Host

We were speaking yesterday of mental parasitism. Webster describes it like this: "A lesser known type of vampirism, mental parasitism appropriates the vibratory essence of a host for the perceived well-being of the parasite." I like that.

Yesterday, you recall, I carefully hedged my words. I was writing for a general audience, so I didn't feel I had the full dispensation to speak frankly. One hates to say too much. Today's post, however, I'm sending only to those more advanced in these things, engaged in minor borrowing all the way up to outright domination. Today on picking a host.

It should be abundantly clear that all hosts are not created equal. You have your big-boned gals and your delicate flowers. You have men strong as a horse and just as tough, then there's the general run of men, wilting wimps. They're not hard to recognize. As would be expected, delicate flowers and wilting wimps have decent enough vibratory essence, but the quantity isn't there. Gals with big bones and horse men have essence in great quantities, but so often it's tough as nails. The ideal is something in between.

There are, of course, many times when you'll have a "Beggars can't be choosers" choice to make. At those times, with your own essence failing, you can't be picky. As I write this, as luck would have it, a guy walked by, big as a mountain and yet still wimpish. What do you do with that? Being wimpish, the essence would obviously be supple enough, and being a mountain, the quantity would be there. But is he someone you should settle for? Also take into account that he was drinking something from McDonald's. I actually turned away in revulsion, but my personal levels today are all good. I can easily afford to wait.

Part of your consideration has to be, too, your self-respect. A McDonald's drink, please! What else has he had? And when I say big as a mountain, I don't mean in the football sense, but more oafish. Attaching to him, in my opinion, would be like trolling the beach for dead whales, distasteful to anyone but candle-makers in shipping ports. But take that slender gal with the tight blue jeans and neat tangerine scarf passing by; she takes care of herself. Two or three hosts like her would easily equal one mountain man, and be much more pleasing. That I could respect.

A key consideration in selecting a good host is also the setting. These things take time. My mountain McDonald's guy -- already with strikes against him -- was in motion, passing by. How terrible to try to latch on to his essence; there he goes! It couldn't be done to any satisfaction. What kind of lock would you get? You tell me! You wouldn't get any lock! It'd be like charging your phone three seconds at a time. In terms of your own essence, you'd waste as much as you gained, zero sum or worse.

Tangerine scarf was in motion as well, but she was headed for a chair or desk, making her a better possibility. But if you need two or three tangerines to equal one mountain, again, this is something to plan for. Say you've connected, gotten what there is, then spill some in disconnecting, only to end up vainly scouting for a new host, maybe you should've stayed home and chilled. It's important to have the vibratory essence, don't get me wrong, but no one wants to chase rainbows and only come up with rain.

That brings us to another key point, which we could easily move to the top. Goals. There's mixed feelings on this, with so many driven by selfishness or the thrill of the chase. I myself am not a fan of "topping off," which I think is undisciplined. Lack of discipline, nothing positive there! I've known some very undisciplined parasites. Generally young, they always think more is better. They think they can live like the devil and avoid questions forever as to what's going on. No! Loose lips sink ships, as we've all heard. Next thing, we're locked up in the state pen and a few of us with immunity are testifying before Congress.  As an aside, I'd like to drain the essence of a few of those Republican bastards, honestly to the point that they're rolling helplessly on the floor, twitching and babbling. Or just twitching, since they've been babbling all along.

What I want to say on this point, topping off, is to quote a sign at the restaurant: "Take all you can eat, but eat all you take." Get the parallel? Life is a system of give and take, but if you take more than you need, that's despoiling our shared resources. It's irresponsible, whether you're at the KFC buffet, gorging yourself on their halfwit food (physical), or at the Miss America pageant, gorging yourself on the swimsuit competition (vibratory). My advice: Pick the gal from your own state and leave the others. Of if there's more than one parasite from your state present, go halvsies and split a few judges.

Beware of Mental Parasites

Have you heard of ... the danger of mental parasitism? Well, I have. I know so much about it that, probably, the less said the better. I have a full page of notes on the subject, two pages, as I recall. And I'm not referring to it now ... I'm winging it.

The mental parasite is a creature -- a normal human being, depending on how you define normal -- who is generally older, and knows he's on the downhill path to dissolution. The concept reminds me of movies like Dracula or another Bela Lugosi movie where the woman is beautiful as long as she keeps getting shots of young woman essence. No doubt there's many variations to it. Freaky stuff. But in the case of the mental parasite, there's no injections, no surgery, and perhaps not even a perceptible depletion of vitality from the host. I'd call it imperceptible, but I don't entirely know all the instruments that are available.

I'm not going to admit very much here. With no admission there's frankly nothing anyone can hold me on. Any victims (and I'm not saying there are any) have long since passed from my terrifying, essence-zapping stare, and are surely by now fully recovered, being completely unaware that they served as a fantastic mental feast for me, speaking strictly as a matter of "What if?" conjecture.

Why would I want to admit anything? Wouldn't that just scare off all potential hosts, leaving me very much alone in society, to waste away? Perhaps not. Think about it. The mass of people aren't going to stay home simply on the off-chance that a mental parasite -- which isn't even a recognized parasite, scientifically speaking -- might be nearby. They reason, "What's the worse he could do to me, maybe pick up fashion tips and die of envy?" In response, I say, "[Wolf calls and maniacal laughter]," before grabbing a fly from the air and sucking it dry.

Of course people aren't going to believe in mental parasitism, so it doesn't matter how much I say. Just like I don't believe the "crackpot" things I see occasionally on TV. Like ghost shows. I see the most popular ghost show is zeroing in on their 200th episode. That's pretty good, 200 episodes and not one ghost! Proving you can do a show for years, failing at what you purport to be your mission, and no one seems to notice. It's the Fox News of the paranormal! Then I come along with a lowly blog post about mental parasitism, which no one has any reason to believe. Obviously I could shout it from the rooftops and continue to enjoy no lack of hosts. I love it! Honesty's the best policy, but no one realizes you're honest!

Anyway, anyway ... don't take any of this too seriously, OK? My phrasing there was all in fun. If you took it seriously, that would be bad for my image, and, again, potentially for the number of hosts, and my personal freedom. The last thing I want is to be brought before a judge on charges of mental parasitism. Let's say, though, that they've got me sitting there, waiting for the previous case to be finished, and I'm mentally sucking dry the judge, jury, bailiff, sketch artist, and recorder. I've got all that prime essence, they're slouched over the bannisters, and I'm breezing out, till my next arrest, which, being a hungry soul, I hope is very soon! Judges have a lot of great essence, they say.

If I can be serious for a moment, I honestly, actually never do mental parasitism activities. Not that often, barely any, you know, unless I see someone bubbling out the essence. Which happens only occasionally. The mass of men and women, living their lives of quiet desperation, have nothing I really want. It's that occasional person, though, just dripping charisma... You see them with your eyes almost closed, like looking through a feather, and you literally see all kinds of things: colors, excitement, multiple body sheaths, radiance streaming forth from the crown chakra ... Yes, it can be too much. Surely a little taste wouldn't hurt...

What a sad and lonely life it is, though, in the (hypothetical) aftermath, when you're alone with your thoughts. You're in bed, looking up at the ceiling, and you see the dancing of and hear the jibes of taunting spirits: "You swore off! You're weak! You're pathetic! You couldn't leave well enough alone!" Then I have to wonder, Where are you bastards from? It's either my continued, prolonged, satisfied existence, or going down the tubes! I can't help it that this is the way life is! Last time I checked, I wasn't the Creator. Take it up with the Creator if you've got a problem... Otherwise, kiss my ass! But they dare not get too close or I'll suck them in, fly away, and rain psychological terror on a world that would never know what hit it! If any of this were true, that really could happen.