WEEBOLA AFTER-BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT.
“Poka-honches gave you a special chip,” Moon Mother whispered in Weebola’s third ear. “Like the Native Americans, you have the extra sensoring ability to allow your physical self to be “invisible.”
“Even when I have a bad hair day, when I pull out my extensions like last week?” the fledgling Goddess shed a tear, a green turquoise crystal that would become a birthmark. “This is all TMI: Too much information for me to take in.”
“Wee Bola there is no need to understand. It is what it Is,” moon mother picked some stray pearls from her gown. “It’s already in you, simply reach inside your Wee Being when in need of support”
Reach inside? Weebola saw a psychic surgeon from the Philadelphiapinnes, drippy red ungloved hands poked around inside someone’s bloated guts.
“See I told you,” the make-believe miracle surgeon held up a greenish “liver” though WeeB had an inkling it had been planted. She told about her vision to the Goddesses gathered for Wee B’s launch down to Earth.
“You are correct you darling little Goddess,” Tiklalahara glowed green and adjusted Wee Bola’s hair extensions and gave her a pat on the behind. “Like other psychic surgeons this guy is truly a slight of hand magician, That is a cows liver that was stored in a vat of was stored in a vat of Mountain Dew.”
“Yes, she’s passed the test,” Moon Mother beamed the intuitive brain clip to the other members of the DOGIUD#`13.
That’s when the ceremony was scheduled, Weebola’s new becoming chip booted up and, in the blink of a bats eye, Wee Bola found herself in the Divine Goddess Chamber.
Time jumped ahead, as it is known to do when breaking in a new new becoming chip. Wee B was floating, spinning…( or was she simply day tripping?) through the bardos toward her assignment.
Clips from the musical Book of Mormon where the two “outsiders” are sent to Ghana came onto her inner transmission screen. “Africa gives me the chills,” she thought “Wee Bola will start her mission there.’
Wam Bam dissin you missy man, WeeB landed in traditional sacred spirit mode: smack dab in a mud puddle. Being one that is born from the fruitful muddy crappy darkness allowed her to borrow more from the story of the Saintification of our Saint Anne Thrax.
“My Auntie sent me,” Weebola began to talk to the animals who were attracted to her high frequency vibe. The Schuman response, that 78 hz vibration was amplified by WeeBs increased energy signal. So the animals felt more at home, as did the next arrivals: the Medical Redemensions Tuesday team.
“Tuesday team: code for the presidential election campaign for Ronald Reagan agency BBDO, NY 1983. Phil D.’ first helpful hint came through loud and clear without a need for the newly dropped being to do anything. “This was only a test.. this broadcasting station conducts a test upon your arrival. We received confirmation of the appropriate acknowledgment.. New configuration in place.”
Is this malware? Her antivirus/spy/malware/trojen horse / home depot hacker eraser bleeped a signal to her index finger. “Do not click on that button,” the message seemed to say.. Not in words, more in images–a sense or dream that her finger would explode and cause an outbreak of mass destruction.
“Hello, are you there?” the hunky archaeologist/stem cell collector SARS poked at the edge of the mud puddle. “You be?”
“I be Wee B Weebola,”
“Weebola me Wee B say you bee take me to your Ronald Reagan..” The automated mis pronunciation confusion checker added Ronald Reagan to the “not current leader” tag. Thus began how Wee Bola would rule the world.. Or not.
Instead of searching for the solution, you will be using a logic of “not that.” Mercurius came through on her transmission. “Mistakes become one more step toward … well just one more step.”
“So I just say whatever and then my inards run it through the “confusion checker,” and I simply forget about it?”
“Yes… and no.” Mecurius sent some winged footed colt to nudge at WeeBola. “Let it go and simply don’t think about it. Thinking too much makes ones confusion checker short circuit. Like most humans on this planet nicknamed Gaia, you will be thinking too much.’
“Thinking too much…. running the confusion checker… means CRAZY.. Crazy is thinking too much.” intelligent threat blocker and spiritual advancement implant reprogram affirmative.
Saint Anne Thrax felt what Weebola felt and in turn related a “special favor: to her former rehabilitation center roommate. “Bo Billy, I need you to help me with a newly formed well-meaning Tricksteress. Her name is Weebola.. Bo billy, stop snorting the spray paint this is urgent.”
Bo Billy had that Goddy Buzz going on,, so een if this vision proved smoke and mirrors, he rose to his feet and let out a “woo Hoo, it’s my Sainty Anne Thraxy!”
From The Chronicles of Bo Billy Scrap Book:
This is a movie clip from Deliverance
that depicts Bo Billy’s idea of a hip Hillbilly vibe.
This is a work in progress
so excuse anything you need to excuse.
(c) 2014 Saint Anne Thrax and Tomji St, George