So, who's next?

Somebody in Italy is pissed off because seismologists didn't predict an earthquake that killed several people. I suppose had they predicted it and the folks had died anyway, well ... science is wonderful. I am thankful that the Italian legal system is more absurd than ours, though I suspect the profits aren't as great. Who needs god when we have a courthouse? QUAKIN' AND BELLYACHIN'

A woman says she was paid to make up a story about injecting her child with Botox. The reporter says, yes ... money was paid but nobody made anything up. Journalism that I used to know and love is full of crap. First off, everybody involved here is conspiring to create a theater of mistrust so that everyone involved makes a profit. Off the kid. Maybe the kid should have to pay taxes. Here's the story. Not as bad as the kid in the runaway balloon. BOTOX MOMMY

Penning my thoughts before the Rapture, wondering if there were people I have offended, cheated or dismissed as being irrelevant. Probably. For that, I am deeply sorry. I know in my Heart of Hearts that I should have been Saved, but after the hospital did such a nice job on me last year, I thought I was in the clear. Guess not. I need to scurry down to the bank before noon to open my account that the church can draw off its 10 percent. They will need that as the zombies come to the door, all seeking handouts. The Rapture has been forecast for some time, but like driving down the highway being alerted that the left lane ends in a mile because of road work, we ignore it, hoping somebody will let us in. Well, now it's too late. Nobody will let us in. The Time has Come to shake hands with Mister Demise. The pretty ones will get to be with Jesus. The rest of us will just sit around and sort socks. Socks. What a nice thought. Wait ... wait ... what? No Rapture. It didn't happen. Here