VoyForums
[ Show ]
Support VoyForums
[ Shrink ]
VoyForums Announcement: Programming and providing support for this service has been a labor of love since 1997. We are one of the few services online who values our users' privacy, and have never sold your information. We have even fought hard to defend your privacy in legal cases; however, we've done it with almost no financial support -- paying out of pocket to continue providing the service. Due to the issues imposed on us by advertisers, we also stopped hosting most ads on the forums many years ago. We hope you appreciate our efforts.

Show your support by donating any amount. (Note: We are still technically a for-profit company, so your contribution is not tax-deductible.) PayPal Acct: Feedback:

Donate to VoyForums (PayPal):

[ Login ] [ Contact Forum Admin ] [ Main index ] [ Post a new message ] [ Search | Check update time | Archives: 1, 2, [3], 4 ]

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]

Date Posted: 23:58:12 07/13/02 Sat
Author: Rita
Subject: Chapter 31


The Walk Over Page 1 of 2

Chapter 31 Words: 410

Hiring A Hit Man





In my dream log dated December 4, 2001, I had woke remembering that I had again had met with a trio-of-liars. Past experience had shown that Michigan was filled with them and the only way a liar could be proved would be to confront the lie.

I had a red Jamaican Voodoo doll hanging above my computer to protect it from all viruses. I decided to place the doll in my left pocket, after which I drove to Livonia to visit Dad.

When I arrived, Dad was awake. He was trying to use the bar overhead to move his position. It was painful for him to slightly move. Then Dad said that he had to poop. I walked to the nurse's station to say that dad had to poop (bedpans used to be used). The lady told me that dad had pants on, so he could poop in his pants. I reminded me of the reverse of when you prayed to all the gods that your child would leave diapers to use the toilet. I returned to Dad to tell him that he could poop in his pants.

Dad scowled, so I sang the Poop Song, "I've got-t-a poop. You've got-t-a poop. We've all got-t-a poop. So poop, poop, poop, and you'll feel better."

A half-hour prior to Dad's death, the subject about his butt sores surfaced.

Hiring A Hit Man Page 2



Was the diaper better than the bedpan?
By December 12, 2001, it took two people to move 80-pound Dad to a screaming, "God damn what are you doing to me now" sitting position.



The two people who moved Dad looked at me and explained that his butt sores were what
was giving him pain. Dad's last meal was three small spoons of vanilla ice cream. He was in so much pain that he couldn't eat the ice cream. It actually had to run down his throat...so I quit feeding him. Dad died a half-hour after he was moved to that sitting position.

The Voodoo God said that a doctor should know that two surgeries on an 80-year-old man who never had a surgery in his life would kill him, which reminded me of my prayer: “may the murdered and the murderer remain together through all of eternity.”



At the same moment, a few of the other Voodoo Gods were asking, "Was money involved?" Surgically removing bacterial infections was a bigger moneymaker than giving antibiotics when they were first needed.

All of a sudden God's vehicle appeared. I thought I heard God say: "The
next lie I hear you all say…you all will be minced meat pie!"

[ Next Thread | Previous Thread | Next Message | Previous Message ]
[ Contact Forum Admin ]

Forum timezone: GMT-8
VF Version: 3.00b, ConfDB:
Before posting please read our privacy policy.
VoyForums(tm) is a Free Service from Voyager Info-Systems.
Copyright © 1998-2019 Voyager Info-Systems. All Rights Reserved.