The Doctors is a tv show, which is supposedly geared toward educating people in the area of personal health. It seems to be more like domestic terrorism aimed at the weak-minded, keeping them in line by scaring them with medical nightmares. Keep the people placated with junk science and medicated with junk treatments. There's no money in cures, and no market if everyone thinks they're healthy. This show spreads the idea that no one is healthy, and everyone could use a little bit of medicine of one kind or another. Disgusting.

Bring Me the Head of Kermit the Frog

Last night I dreamed that muppets were hunted to near-extinction for their fur. Frogs, pigs, bears, dogs, chickens, and whatevers were chased down in fields and shot. Their human operators lost their arms as well. It was revealed that Jim Henson and Frank Oz were actually puppets themselves, or more accurately, Humuppets, which are biological puppets operated by muppets. So, while we all thought Henson was making Kermit talk, wanting to believe that the frog was real, it turns out that Kermit was real, and was, in fact, controlling Henson. It also came to light that Kermit was not the amiable amphibian he made himself out to be. On the contrary, he was proved to be quite the tyrannical toad, ruling the other muppets with an iron webbed foot. With Piggy as his diabolical porcine concubine, this fascist frog was able to take over the minds of generations of children. And now, with this knowledge released to the world, I fear my life is in danger. The muppets that were hunted in my dream will come for me, empty me of my insides, and make me sing songs about the letter E.

Past the Pangs of Poison

Food poisoning is less dramatic when it occurs naturally, accidentally. I'd like to think that someone tried to poison me instead, and that now, I must be careful with my food. I must prepare my own. No fast food. No restaurants of any kind. But then, even what I buy in the market might have been tampered with. Grow my own food, yes. Raise chickens. A goat. Subsistence. It's all about survival.

Then again, I did lose five pounds on the poison diet.

The Hole I Dug

There’s a little grave inside of me.

Who’s buried there, no one can see.

The etching on the stone,

is worn to the bone.

There is no name or epitaph.

No date of birth or death.

It is an empty slate,

marking the life

of one who came and left.

But who? No one knows,

except a single rose,

laid upon the dirt.

It remembers the one

who once was loved,

and can no longer hurt.