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.