Books for Everyone!

1 August 2021

Pure Scrubs

Last spring, April of 2020, I vowed to help as many small businesses as I could to survive the COVID Plot to take many things away from Americans, including small businesses. One of those entrepreneurial enterprises is called pureSCRUBS.

Janna in Texas devised her own body scrub after a hellacious experience with a corporate brand. And her product started to really take off — until the gods of greed intervened last spring. I ordered about ten of her Pure Scrubs, cause my skin, among other things, was starting to feel very be-fouled by the corruption in this country.

If only washing away the fossilized filth of the parasites upon the Body Politic were as easy as scrubbing off your dead skin cells!

Perhaps I am under-estimating the ease with which the Non-essential Personnel in this country can be sent packing; and the Essential Persons can rise to the occasion of patriotic valor.

I recall myself being deemed Essential Personnel during one federal government shut-down, in 1982, while my Supervisor was classified as Non-Essential — something that really helped that boss-employee relationship! She was sent home; I, alone, womanned the Word Processing Center.

I did not realize my own worth, my own value, my own heroic woman-hours until those hours as a lowly clerk-typist for Uncle Sam were clocked.

The time is long overdue for cleaning the clocks of those miserable hypocrites, the government minions mouthing precious platitudes they so obscenely loathe. Let them loathe on their own, without the luxuries the American taxpayers have been duped to provide for them year after year after decade after decade.

The political and bureaucratic barnacles clinging to that vast Infrastructure of Government, for the sole purpose of feeding off of our freedoms, through cronyism, degeneracy, repugnant regulation, and the cult of death: those bloodsuckers must be power-hosed off their pontificating perches.

Only then can the “common” American be free to rise to his true height of being an American, of being alive. The common man, the common woman, and the common child — they are not at all common. They are uniquely uncommon, distinctive, and rare, each in his and her own glorious, God-gifted way.

The code for success is not written in computerese, but in the stars. Look up to them, and receive your well-earned rewards for holding this country together amidst decades of camouflaged campaigns, carried out by the Career Politicians to sell out this great nation to China, to the highest bidder-globalist, to any and all enemies of America — even as those putrid hustlers caterwauled through their lying lizard-lips:

The Working American is the cherished backbone of Our Nation!!

It’s all been rather Petain-like, the Laborer in this Land of Opportunity, being held up as the Sacred Cow by the greedy globalist grandstanders, even as the mere act of eating beef got carbon-credit axed as evil by the human-hating, power-loving environmentalists.

How much steer manure can one nation handle before the flatulence gets used by those idiot environmentalists to con-collect even more coin-crapola for Congress?

For decades, all of those diametrically opposed scams had never collided because of the huge swath of citizens who stood in the way of the head-ons. There were the one-issue voters; the class-warfare voters whose jobs got outsourced and Chi-Commied; the perennial cynics who got jerked around by the political jerks; the Americans who disenfranchised themselves for countless reasons, putting their own selfish interests ahead of their country being the major and most damaging one.

Many of those citizens have now courageously stepped aside from the path of the demented gibberish. And those streams of dribbling gibberish are all the deranged ghouls have left to cover their sorry sick hides.

The crash-course in non-civility is currently underway. Cannibalism-politics is not a sight for the squeamish!

Sometimes the wave of the future and the natural order of things and the hand of God and the way things ought to be — they all coalesce to form the firm foundation of the future. Trusting in the Lord and trusting in your instincts are the two surefire ways to starve the users of life from feeding off of your own inherent goodness, and to unmask their inherent evil.

My new chunk of property, which had been brown-dirt bare for almost a year, is now a soothing vision of loveliness to behold. I’d had my doubts last week, upon discussing this massive project with Marc the Landscaper. You might say he was in need of a vacation from one too many clueless but stuck-on-stubborn clients, demanding it “their way.” I think I gave this master gardener a respite from the nitwits!

In the space of just one week, the blank, and dusty dry, canvas that was my yard — front, back, and sides — has been magically converted into one of those cascade gardens that this former Brooklynite specializes in creating. I wasn’t a skeptic of his artistic expertise, but I wasn’t a believer either.

My trip with Marc to the local nursery was a two-hour trek through green acres, and into my knowledge of plant taxonomy that mightily impressed this professional. Of course, I have my beloved, late neighbor, Patt, to thank for my prowess in naming a plant by the common name and by the scientific term.

A bit of competition always spurs me to greater heights!

When asked which lavender is the most fragrant, I replied:

“It’s supposed to be the lavender of Provence, but it actually is the English lavender. The Spanish kind just attracts bees.”

Three trailers-full of plants later, my property has taken shape in terms of gorgeous foliage, botanical refinement, and structured fun. This morning, I gave the thumbs-up, fist-bump seal of approval to Marc. Yes, a lot of that barren ground has been terrifically transformed into a lovely and lush garden, a phenomenal park-like setting.

And the dust has settled everywhere!

Gabrielle the Snowshoe cat had been taking refuge in the detached garage, under the hood of the vintage Ford F-100 truck. Yesterday, that truck got driven by Dear Hubby to the transmission shop for a check-up; I led the way in the Ford Edge, that cross-breed that I disdain. (Gabby has since sought refuge under the table saw.)

Amidst the 18-wheelers, I easily exited I-80 West and drove right past Monroe’s Transmissions in Newcastle. I immediately realized my error, but, by then, I’d sailed through a one-lane tunnel. I then reached the road-repair STOP sign at the intersection of Taylor Road and Old State Highway.

The work-crew flag-gal asked me where I needed to proceed, and I told her I’d just missed my turn off and had to go back. She cleared the way for me to perform the quickest, sharpest 3-point turn I’ve done in a long time!

I believe that many of my fellow Americans are currently executing their own adroit 3-point turns on the highways and roads of life. Properly performed, that maneuver is a marvel!

I pulled into the auto-shop parking lot, waving to my laughing spouse. I then took note that the Shakespeare Abridged billboard along the freeway has been taken down — and replaced by signage that exhorts:


The pompous political California Wine-Cave Dwellers might consider donating their boats, or, more accurately, their yachts, before those aquatic conveyances get torpedoed or turned-upside down by reality. Don’t count on it, though.

The clueless corporate shills populate tinhorn Titanics — all around the globe. The panic-porn ain’t workin’ anymore for those elected freaks. The tips of those icebergs, below which are the masses of crime, graft, extortion, and fraud, those tips are getting scrubbed.

Not pure-scrubbed. Those political pigs do not deserve such kindness. They deserve the wrath that’s long overdue them. The non-pure scrub will permit the truths of the past three or four or even five decades in America to finally become fully and forever known. The realities about the democracy-killing frauds cannot be gussied-up anymore by the faux-crisis-churning, commie-owned media who used the liberties of this land against its citizens.

The cascade effect then occurs, and, like rivers to the sea, life in America can be — life in America, once more.