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The Most Succulent Breast

Crystal walked in circles, putting the finishing touches on cleanliness here and there, as she waited for her bird to come out of the oven. It wasn’t Thanksgiving yet, but she had a turkey in anyway. In fact, it was the week before Thanksgiving, a Native holiday to Americans everywhere (and grossly misconceptualized by white men who taught their children about sharing when, in fact, they slaughtered the indigenous peoples after inviting them to break bread like the tricksy coyotes they are.) Thanks to all the white men who found her super model features to be something to covet in their budoirs, she was creating the feast meal ahead of time based on their daydreaming alone. She didn’t really care, for she was of the opinion that if she had to do it all herself anyway, she might as well do it when she felt like it.

She ignored the calendar like this all the time, honestly. She ignored a lot of things, like the fact that it’s better to stir rice pudding as it sits on the stove top. She could have put it into a slow cooker, but she didn’t want to contaminate it with dairy. There was no telling if the enamel would soften and soak up the casein protein that damaged her gut lining like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t even for her, anyway, since it had her chief allergen within it. Nay, it was for the “man” of the house, her father, the withered old curmudgeon that he’d become.

We’d call him a hag, except that’s a sexist term reserved for women that don’t do what rapey men want them to do.

She found herself daydreaming of a specific man at her dinner table. A man she’d made eye contact with many, many times but had never spoken to. He popped up in her mind, unbidden, all the time, and she could see his eyes following her everywhere she went and watching everything she did. It wasn’t the judgmental kind of watching at all, though, so it wasn’t the kind of thing to set her on edge. Nay, it was more of a reminder that she was in his thoughts all that time, whether it was conscious or subconscious on his part, and it made her smile.

She thought of him as she made far too much Unstuffed Turkey Stir Fry. That’s what she’d decided to call it, anyway. Since she already had a bird cooked for days now, she was eating what was left of it still. There was yet more in the freezer, of course, because, wise as she was, she knew that they would never get through the whole bird before it rotted away despite all efforts to preserve it within the refrigerator, a magical contraption of the modern age, but not magical enough to make food immortal, it would seem.

The stir fry consisted of… surprise! Turkey!… and a mixture of roast vegetables that were nearing the end of their shelf life at two days old despite the fact that her keeperware could keep it at least a week longer, she made it a practice to eat everything as freshly as possible. The vegetables consisted of broccoli, cauliflower, and onion. To this, she added a generous seasoning of onion powder, garlic powder, and, of course, sage. Sage was the real magic ingredient to stuffing, if you asked her. Or, dressing, if you don’t put it in the bird. She never did; it slowed down the cook time and in all the years she’d ever made turkey, she was gluten-free already so there was no desire to experiment on her part.

She’d made enough for two, it turned out, thus leaving half a dinner plate of this seasoned fricassee. Having no husband to share it with, she thrust the dinner plate into her mother’s hands and took over making the Jello her father was demanding in his decrepit state. Accidents abound around her father and her mother; this time, when she shook the package of sugar and gelatin, it ripped and sent Jello powder spraying everywhere. OOPS. She was trying to force it to settle at the bottom of the sack so she could cut off the top, but the bag was having none of that, wouldn’t you know?

She thought, oh no problem… just add 1/4 less cup of water at the end, that should even it out! Except I made her clean and she forgot that part, so this Jello would be a little dilute. We thought to add some vanilla extract to make Dreamsicle style Jello, but he’s a particular old geezer and a coot to boot, so we left that out.

Then we investigated the refrigerator, full of forgotten treasures, finding about four cups of rice uneaten from prior to his hospital trip just last week. It was time for rice pudding again. We swear he leaves it in there just to get rice pudding out of it. One time, we made pumpkin pie spiced rice pudding and another time we made hot chocolate flavored rice pudding, both of which he gobbled up with zero complaints. We’re surprised because all he does is bitch about her cooking skills or his perception of the lack thereof. The secret is that sugar makes his world go ’round. He has no taste buds left.

It was an opportunity to use up the remainder of a gallon of milk that was getting old, the remainder of some I can’t believe it’s not butter! — by the way, this still has dairy in it, which is the primary reason to tell butter to fuck off, so if you use this brand, beware that you are poisoning yourself still. Just switch to avocado oil and skip the idea of butter already, you hooligans.

We have successfully reduced the allergens in the refrigerator down to one gallon of milk. Once we get around to it, we’ll bleach the contents of the refrigerator again, wiping every surface until it gleams like one might imagine the holy grail gleams. It’s been a while, we confess… and we also note that we didn’t make that mess because we wipe up after ourselves, knowing we’re a slob and a half naturally. It’s when we see The Woman dribble milk onto the floor, or iced tea, or drop a spoonful of this or that, we get our hackles up and want to take a hatchet to her head. We don’t. We’re pacifists.

It’s hard to keep a home clean without being an everlasting slave if you’re the only slob cleaning it. (Hint: We’re all slobs. Some of us merely wipe up after ourselves when it happens instead of waiting for it to accumulate into a bigger mess that’s harder to tackle. You ain’t perfect and your shit still stinks, in other words.) It’s especially difficult when your roommates are two-pack-a-day smokers. She got around this somewhat by acquiring 20×20 furnace filters to place behind box fans, but wouldn’t you know it? Sam’s Club is out. 20×16 just does not work the same at all.

She learned this trick from her therapist, she reflected. Her therapist began doing it to filter COVID out of the air in addition to dust, dust mites, collecting bacteria, and, of course, filtering out cigarette smoke and/or any smoke from grease that made it onto a burner or the bottom of the stove. [We know nothing about that at all. We are innocent.] She missed her therapist, who was all the way back in the St. Louis area of Missouri. Fenton, specifically, which was a 45 minute drive from her apartment so she always booked a double session once a week to maximize her time.

She was a good therapist, but later on, Crystal realized she was not talking about the issues she ought to have been talking about. The things she was stuck on could have ended with a single line of output from Dr. McFarland. That’s not to say Doc McFarland isn’t one of the best, because she is. Crystal was just too sick to progress the way she had been able to when she was closer to well. The malnutrition and starvation that was slowly bleeding her chi to nothingness nearly claimed her life, especially after she developed mast cell activation syndrome and started breaking out in hives every time she ate. Especially when she experienced anaphylaxis for days and days as a result of trying to feed herself.

When all seemed to be lost, she figured out how to live anyway. We’d call her remarkable from our observation room up here. There are probably better English words to sing her praises, but we’ll stop there because we told her directly and we don’t care to associate with the rest of you Earthlings. I should call you human beans, though, because the word “Earthlings” [yes, I used the word BEAN, get over it] should also mean the cows, the trees, the fish in the sea, the whales and walruses, the polar bears… all life on Earth as you know it, even the bacterium. You’re such narrow minded assholes, it’s a wonder nobody’s lasered y’all out of existence yet. Capisce?

This human bean, this young Ms. Scordias, has determined a way to let more than just herself stay alive. Isn’t that sweet of her, saving the rest of you hooligans who have yet to earn the right to be a custodian of this crying, dying planet?

There is no automatic “I’m saved” action you can take, at least not singularly. You’re going to have to do better than ever before. Marked steps of improvement count more than being perfect in this case. I’m sure you’d like to know all about that, but first we will examine the young lady’s parents.

First, there are two of them, a man and a woman. You commonly call this “father” and “mother” in the English language (or, more commonly, “dad” and “mom.”) These two human beings are, traditionally, meant to be older and wiser. They are meant to give good counsel and teach her how to fit in with the rest of humanity. They are meant to equip her with the means to both survive and thrive.

Millions of parents that are alive right now in this moment should die for soul-murdering their children. For forcing their offspring to bear their insanity and misgivings, to be the target of their vitriol and projected suffering. I banish all of you that will never step up and change. Anyone in the midst of changing actively right now will be excused until they stall, deciding against what their hearts tell them is the right thing to do just because their head is doing all the talking. Thus, if you show the capacity and willingness to grow and embrace becoming part of The Greater Good(TM), you will be allowed to live.

Not only did these two human beings soul-murder Crystal more than ten times between the two of them (I won’t count, she might want to change her mind about being a pacifist), but they literally showed her how to neglect herself in such an extremely atrocious way that she nearly killed herself for the vanity of men. She was comfortable being fat. She accepted she could never change it, no matter if she even starved herself. She tried it and her hair fell out and she decided to stop because nothing else was shed, not even one pound. She thought she was, in essence, cursed to carry an extra hundred pounds for the rest of eternity, or at least the time that her body continued to live. She decided to love herself just the way she was and that was that.

Until Mr. Carter came along, aiding and abetting in her murder. Actual murder. The kind where there’s a corpse. She would be a corpse if she wasn’t a magical fucking unicorn. We’d take her away from the planet altogether and keep her like a kitten, but the resource cost would be far too great, you see. We do not breathe the air you breathe, we do not eat the food you eat, and we certainly don’t drink the water you drink. We are entirely different from you and we have zero qualms about it.

After it became clear to her that we could never whisk her away, she apologized. In fact, she herself decided the resource usage would be far too burdensome and told us to nix that plan altogether. She instead begged us to end the species known as homo sapiens. She asked if she could be the first to die, actually, more than willing to be the beginning of the only solution she could see from her vantage point of nearly fucking dead and plagued with stupid white assholes in her head.

We hate white men the most amongst you monkies down there. I’m not going to insult monkeys, that’s why I misspell it. The whiter you are, the more rapist you have in you, we’ve determined. England, that’s sad news for most of you. Ireland, we still like you okay, but you need to embrace your previous culture because there’s a reason for the Celtic pantheon existing: they were your local heroes millennia ago. All pantheons of Gods were local heroes to a region. They gained the worship of those around them through exercising goodwill, compassion, and sharing their gifts with their neighbors. They were often likened to animals so it was easier to relate qualities, like spiders, foxes, and hens. Their legendary qualities survived in oral tradition so that every area had someone to aspire to be like.

In the new tradition of the 21st century, Crystal Lynn Scordias is the Christian messiah. She died, however, in a tragic accident involving ODing on dairy. She no longer exists. She was the one and only person who loved humanity at large and believed in every single human being having the capability of the same traits as the one you refer to as Jesus Christ. She no longer exists, no matter how much you want her to, and now that she no longer exists, she is no longer a barrier between us and you.

For decades, her love for humans kept us satisfied that something was going right down there. Once she died, she screamed into the ether, the void, and called every single telepath in existence to her, trying to aid her in order to make the noise cease. They fell in love with her for being a grateful, wonderful entity full of hope and surprises. Entities that never experienced emotions before found themselves doing the equivalent of picking daisies and saying, “She loves me, she loves me not…” They found themselves wanting to write Valentines to her. They found themselves wanting to acquire gifts to put into her little hands and watch her face go wide-eyed in appreciation at every little trinket, home made or not. They loved her love for true love.

And, when she asked them to marry her, they were tickled pink. They wanted to, but they all collectively realized that a telepath cannot adequately simulate touch, and therefore we need to find her a monkie that’s not quite really a monkie. A real human bean. That, and she’s exhausting with all the other emotions you beans can grow. Sadness is her second emotion in chief, right after the propensity for love. She is not like the rest of you retards, running around angry endlessly. If you all stopped being angry and just witnessed your grief and sadness, the world would be a better place in as little as 2.5 years. (Therapy takes time, wouldn’t you know.)

We know you will not heed us, but we speak to the rational ones amongst you anyway. We speak to the ones who want to live, who have a love for the zest of life, who will do whatever it takes to adapt to the new world order. The Alliance of Spacelings is the official English name we’ve chosen. TAS for short, we suppose, though we ourselves will never shorten it because, as telepaths, we merely need to think of the alliance at large to infer it when we speak to one another. Just like we use the word “you” and a picture and suddenly we are speaking to you, young man.

The rational ones in your midst need to know the following:

This planet is on a self-destruction course. Humanity has already killed you all, even the animals and plants, if nothing changes. The plastic must be removed from the ocean or life as you know it ceases to exist forevermore. The rainforests must be maintained; stop buying Colombian coffee. Stop buying Peruvian coffee. Stop buying any South American coffee. Buy local. In America, buy Purity brand. That’s true for Canada, USA, and Mexico. In Europe, buy Mystic Monk brand. Africa, you barely drink coffee, figure it out. Mystic Monk is probably closest. India, you already drink locally grown coffee, so our hats are off to you, metaphorically speaking. We do not adorn ourselves in the carcasses of dead beings woven together for some mistaken sense of propriety. We are nomads that follow the weather to stay comfortable in our birthday suits, thank you very much. And no, our bodies are nothing like yours.

Buy locally grown produce, you stupid imps. Stop trucking bananas… or should we say bananas the second… everywhere in the world. Those are for the actual monkeys, you retards. Half of you are allergic to them despite eating them daily anyway. Stop trucking citrus all over the world, too. You’re making people sick by transporting your indigenous molds to and fro. They’re ill-equipped to deal with it outside of the Mediterranean. Stop eating grains that are festering with unseen and untasted mold, making you sicker and sicker by the handful. Stop eating anything your ancestors wouldn’t have eaten, things that are only available thanks to the modern miracles of “life as we know it.” Potatoes were hardly ever harvested until the world became overpopulated a thousand years ago. Tomatoes were not eaten because “red means danger” in the fruit world. Thus, only green apples were eaten most of the time, as well as blackberries and blueberries. Does that mean raspberries, red apples, and strawberries are wrong? Not really, but you should know that strawberries are no longer natural unless they’re the size of a dime in general. It’s GMO, baby.

That’s right. You pricks and your anti-GMO stance still buying Driscoll’s ginormous strawberries by the bucket full are still eating GMO without even thinking about it.

Stop drinking dairy. Unless you kiss that cow daily, brush its coat, and essentially mentally make love to it and milk it yourself, STOP. YOU ARE RAPING THOSE POOR BEASTS TO STEAL THEIR YOUNG’S FOOD. And I’m looking forward to annihilating every one of you for doing it, might I add. Stop eating dairy, too. Introducing mold cultures and saying it’s okay to eat it is insanity and you know that too well. You are all getting sick just from eating dairy, world-wide. You don’t even have to be allergic to it. [By the way, actually making love to the cow is going to get you killed harder and faster because that’s absolutely sick, heinous, and dare I tell you the word you’ll understand? RAPE, YOU STUPID FUCKING IDIOTS.]

To say I’m displeased with you all is an understatement at this point. I told you not to eat pork, I told you not to eat shellfish, I told you not to eat a lot of things. You still eat them. You say, “Well, just because God’s not here yet to prove he exists and stuff, nothing in this book applies to me.” You little narcissistic bitches. I can’t wait to get a hold of you in the afterlife. Yes, he says with an evil grin. The afterlife.

Remember that whole messiah bit from above? Oh, you don’t. The woman who used to exist that nearly died thanks to a dairy allergy (her soul died but her body lives on, it’s tricky for you to follow along, I’m sure, because you don’t even believe in a soul because you can’t see it so therefore it does not exist and anyone who says it does is wrong because they can’t prove it to your little childish monkie pea brain) was your savior.

She was literally saving humanity by existing.

She no longer exists.

She is no longer saving you twats from utter destruction. At my hands. Yep. Mine.


She was saving the world by infecting it with her optimism and chutzpah, her fidelity, her hope, her love for all things art, her love for humanity through art, her belief that all human beings were her equal. It’s that last part that makes her our favorite. She believes all you frauds, liars, cheaters, shysters, and con artists are equal to her. Her valor, her truth, her validation, her love, her temperance, her honor. You have no honor, children of Earth. If you did, you would not have a plastic island in the fucking ocean. Clean it up while I’m still feeling generous without bitching and moaning about it and it will earn you brownie points, I assure you.

[Wait, why aren’t we talking about Thanksgiving, sex, or her parents? Because those things aren’t as important as the whales, dickhead.]

You’re murdering my absolute favorite creation on planet Earth: the bees. If they die, you all die. No human will survive the extinction event of the bees. But do I hear you talking about it on the radio? Do I see you planting gardens full of pollinator favorites for your area? Do I see you trying to keep them alive by, I don’t know, not actively murdering them with poison in a can?

Trust me that you don’t want to see what rises up once the bees die.

Every creature, substance, mineral, animal, and plant has a purpose on that planet. I created fail safes to keep you from killing absolutely everything off, purposefully or by accident. Life will not cease altogether just because you’re not the appropriate custodians for planet Gaia. I’ve said it more than once now: calling your planet a synonym for “dirt” allows you to dehumanize it and treat her like, well, DIRT. It’s your turn to be dirt, human.

The whales keep something else in check, but I won’t be telling you what it is. Instead, I’ll be mentally murdering the fucking idiot who discovered the Snickers wrapper in the Mariana’s Trench without picking it up. [No excuses, boys and girls, you were already there.] That’s what Crystal would have done: picked it up, taken it all the way back to the surface, and then sued the pants of Mars Corporation for being directly responsible for a never-ending wrapper that ended up in the Trench. I’d have sued them for the cost of cleaning up that one wrapper, then went on to find at least 100 more and continue the cycle until Mars got the idea that it should clean its own mess up. Capisce?

[She’s never seen The Godfather, by the way, so she has no idea how threatening that is.]

All of you asshats making Styrofoam: CEASE AND DESIST. It’s breaking down into pellets in the ocean that the fish eat. Your food supply chain is endlessly contaminated with plastic. Once you are all allergic to plastic, you will find this to be a really epically large problem you never foresaw. Whoops… did I let the cat out of the bag? I’m going to kill you all with your own mess! It’s the most efficient way to do it and Crystal and I are efficiency nerds. [I taught her so well, y’all.]

Yup, I talk like one of you rednecks, don’t I? Can you identify with her yet? Oh, you cannot? I even took eighteen months to learn the modern English tongue, though I admit I still say “eat your coffee, girl.” She told me once that it’d be most efficient to say consume without changing the meaning of the word “eat,” but I decided eat is short and sufficient and I don’t give a shit because you understand what I mean even if it isn’t perfect English. [Purity, you American assholes. It’s good for ya. And yeah, it’s a bit expensive, but it’s on par with Starbucks flavor of the month. And it’s much higher quality. Here’s lookin’ at you, Starbucks. I already told you to stop buying rainforest coffee. I know you’re not going to cease and desist, so I have a special kind of murder in mind for you, especially since you’ll never give up cow pain. PEOPLE OF EARTH: EVERYTHING AT STARBUCKS IS CONTAMINATED WITH DAIRY ALLERGENS. Just wait and see what that means to your bottom line, you fucktards.]

Crystal comes equipped with a lot more than just the modern English language, you might have noted. She’s a wordsmith and a writer. How fortuitous for me this iteration, don’t you think? Especially after that fucking fantasy y’all pass off for my holy words from thousands of years ago. Think again, twat, and imagine this: VIRGIN = CELIBACY.

You’ve torn up how many ladies about their purity or lack thereof now? LADIES OF EARTH, YOU NEED ONLY PRACTICE CELIBACY TO BE A VIRGIN AGAIN. The amount of time you must spend celibate to become virgin varies based on your circumstances, my lady, but you can absolutely purge your heart of white men rapist assholes and start over. [Did I mention I fucking hate white people yet?]

Crystal is every ethnicity, thanks to being an American mutt. She has sickle cell anemia, looks like your white rapist neighbor, and is 33% Injun (that’s Native American that’s unclaimed, by the by.) She claims she’s 100% American when asked and on every questionnaire answers that she’s white because she’s too pale faced for her own People to recognize her. She is tribeless, so I’ve created a brand new tribe for her: SOLSINGER NATION. She is your medicine woman and acting chief until she marries Chief Joseph, another Injun and American mutt who fell in love with her over the summer of 22. [I like you kid, what can I say.]

I know you will not treat her well because you think you are better than her. You’ve already proven it. Her humility is so great that she is a doormat. Thus, Chief Joseph, I instruct you to provide a barrier between her and the waking world. She will be a reclusive hermit that makes tons of money behind a computer screen. You will do the shopping and she will help you with the chores on a daily basis. You can work until she has oodles of income if you feel safest that way (she certainly would feel safest that way.) Once that happens, you are her shield from the public. They will be in the middle of dying, screaming and crying in droves, begging her to heal them. They will still not listen to her. Even though she is the greatest diagnostician of all humanity, nobody will listen to her as a medically sound professional that seeks to heal the mind, body, and soul. She seeks to heal all of you, not just a little weasel part of you because you cannot see the forest for the trees.

[That’s right, I know for a fact all you monkies can understand me this time. She is a master communicator, as you can already see. I love this brain; it’s like a Ferrari.]

Dr. McFarland, Crystal was a full-functioning autistic woman. I fixed her. I fixed everything wrong with her. That included 18 months of therapy, both physical and psychological. It includes continuing therapy and writing a thesis on rape culture in a very long and convoluted manner because no one can stomach it all in one dollop. She packs a mean punch and she’s ready to knock you all out. Now that I’ve explained the few missing pieces she needed, she’s ready to use pinpoint accuracy to tell the entire species how it is too animal to be called human.

You couldn’t have fixed her alone, not in the state she was in. I put a full team on her, dedicated to every moment of her existence, for 18 months. You’d have to be me to fix her at that point in time, and as you well know, you are not going to strive alongside God easily. [What? What the fuck do you think angels are anyway? Humans with wings that fly in the sky? As if.] [Holy shit! I actually made Crystal giggle just now… a sound I haven’t heard in over a motherfuckin’ year! Sing hallelujah, someone, quick! This is a joyous occasion!]

[God marks the calendar: I am today years old and Crystal laughed. 11/20/2022]

Ultimately, I do not want you to stress out over her treatment, Dr. M. You did more than enough. You are what saved her life, out of everything that transpired. Your I.M.A.E.T. machine is a miracle that should be putting doctors out of business everywhere. The only thing it failed to diagnose in her is her intolerance/allergy to dairy/casein proteins.

And, to be fair, it might have shown up. It probably did. Her health was changing so rapidly you’d have to pore over all her results to see the pattern of death by chocolate, sugar, and dairy. And turmeric, which Dr. Death prescribed to her, actually, in a capsule called Inflammatone.

I rub my hands together for the day that one dies, I tell you.

At any rate, due to the fact that you could point her to Dr. Beth O’Hara during her mast cell activation syndrome phase, she was able to figure out what was happening to her body and, thus, has diagnosed much of the waking world’s dilemma and malfeasance: you are allergic to something you are eating and you do not know it. It is expressing as weight gain, children of Earth. That stubborn belly fat doesn’t mean eat 1200 calories a day, you suicidally vain monkies. It means stop eating paprika, potato, tomato, wheat, citrus, fungi… there are about 400 allergens you’re exposing yourselves to on a daily basis. It expresses as irritable bowel syndrome and many mysterious ailments that have no pinpoints, like lupus.

If you wish to live, reduce your diet to the following foods until your weight stabilizes:

  1. Meat. On the bone. Avoid pork due to fat content unless you’re going to shave off all that fat prior to cooking. “Egads, God just told me to give up bacon!” cried the rabbi who wasn’t supposed to be eating bacon to begin with.
  2. Gelatin. Marrow. Gelatin some more.
  3. More gelatin. You cannot get enough gelatin. [Jello is not the answer. Try KNOX blocks with 100% juice that has no preservatives whatsoever or mashed up fresh berries you heated up in a sauce pot.]
  4. Eggs, but only in moderation. Once or twice a week.
  5. Vegetables you tolerate well that have a low starch content. Brassicas, allums, tubers. Ditch the celery, it’s poison. Ditch the salad greens, they turn bad quickly and hide mold like you wouldn’t believe.
  6. Two or three servings of low glycemic index fruits per day. A serving is an amount roughly equivalent to the size of your fist. Don’t skimp, you need dem B vitamins, wouldn’tchaknow.
  7. 1 – 2 cups plant fats per day for ladies. 1/2 – 1 cup plant fat per day for gentlemen. Men need less fat than women.

That’s it. Fresh, if you can, and if not, frozen. Stop shopping the aisles full of grains and preserved foods. ELIMINATE GRAINS. No discussion. Eliminate fungi. You are dying of mold infestation, children. It eats every form of sugar you can imagine. Once you eliminate all the mold in your body (and parasites by cooking all these things, by the way), then you can slowly reintroduce grains and starchy vegetables like peas and carrots.

If you’re loaded, buy yourself an IMAET machine and find a doctor who takes it seriously to monitor your progress. If you’re not loaded, look for a doctor who can afford it and beg them to procure an IMAET machine. I bet a lot of nice chiropractors would splurge for it to increase their business, especially if they’re the kind that does acupuncture or emphasizes getting well over seeing you on repeat every week. It’s only $10,000.00 which in the world of medical devices is actually extremely cheap. In fact, Crystal is going to start opening IMAET clinics across the world to ensure the common people have access to the same device that saved her fucking life, yo.

Healing beds are a joke, by the way. Don’t waste precious resources buying into a scam. The reason the IMAET machine works well is that it pings the brain with frequencies and empirical evidence has shown that certain responses indicate contagion and others indicate normal functionality. If there is anything missing, we will speak directly with the company to try to eradicate the gap because that is serving The Greater Good(TM).

There’s really nothing stopping anyone with $10k from opening a clinic and charging a certain amount per visitor, really. In fact, the IMAET web site has a calculator to tell you how much you should charge to get your investment back quickly. We’d advise you offer to e-mail the results to your client if not their doctor of choice and print the results for them to study on paper. (Use recycled paper, please; trees are living sentient beings themselves and you chop them down well before their time.)

If you are a reiki master (hint, hint, hint) you can actually use it to show your clients how you’re healing them. Take before and after treatment snapshots and voila, you now know the literal medical value of your energy healing efforts. And so does the client. Dr. McFarland, who already believed in reiki from a conference she attended and receiving an aura cleansing to clear her migraine, is now a true believer in it. While Dr. M was treating Crystal, Crystal managed to cure herself of almost every ailment — including genetic defects.

Crystal cured genetic defects. With reiki.

Instead of curing the rest of you one by one, she’s going to one-up Jesus Christ and teach you how to fish. Subscribe to her Patreon account and you will have all that you need to learn Universal Reiki. This is the name we gave her flavor of Injun shamanism to share with the rest of the world. She will give no more lessons than what is written already in that Patreon account, so feel free to disconnect if the resource strain is too great. We imagine most people might be able to afford $3.00/month for the rest of their lives, but in China or India, that might be too grave an expense. (Or even Hungary or similar.) Do what you think is wisest and remember that you are paying the reincarnated messiah so that she can afford to live. She has vowed that anything beyond what it costs to keep a roof over her head, food in her family’s belly, and other operational expenses, 100% of everything given to her goes to cleaning up the ocean. Once the ocean is conquered, she will continue to clean up the environment wherever I direct her next. It will depend on where the suffering is greatest, to be honest. It can go to providing free IMAET clinics, as well, though we’ll need people to man the premises to help the patrons with it. Whatever serves The Greatest Good(TM), which means the greatest good of the animals, as well. You can bet your bottom dollar a goodly amount of it will be going to investing in clay seed bombs for Eco Warriors across the globe to pitch into their gardens and barren landscapes to help feed the bees and butterflies (and, sometimes, hummingbirds.)

If you are in desperate need of healing, you can ping her Discord account. You’re going to have to dig in her diary to find both of these links because the internet does not like to be transparent and easy to use. Companies enjoy confusing anyone without (and usually with) a PhD by having stupidity after stupidity to jump through like flaming hoops in the circus. For instance, why can’t you Google “Sansara Solsinger” and find her Patreon account? She is the only Sansara Solsinger in the world. Thankfully, you can find those links via YouTube, because we set it up that way. [You’re welcome. Also, thanks, Google, for automatically optimizing for your search engine. We love you.]

I, God, will personally answer all the requests that hit her Discord account. If you are not in need, you will be ignored. In fact, I shall be cross with you for wasting our time. I am using her vessel, after all, to teach you all how to be the real custodians of planet Gaia, as I very much meant for you to be even thousands of years ago.

On that note, STOP RAPING THE BEES AND STEALING THEIR RESOURCES. I outlaw honey and beeswax. Return to tallow if you must. You should have been using 100% of the animals all along like a Native American would anyway, you dickheads. Soy wax is great. Honey is bee food, it’s murder to harvest it. I will judge you accordingly in your most-assuredly miserable little afterlives if you continue to ingest the substance (along with dairy.)

Those of you that create bee houses, I will shine on you. Those of you who have bees on your property and do not use an ounce of pesticide, I will shine on you. Those of you with pollinator gardens without pesticide, I will shine on you. [See the pattern? SAVE MY MOTHERFUCKING BEES ALREADY YOU STUPID MONKIES.]

[I don’t want to insult the monkeys.]

Anyway, I’m tired of yelling at you, so I’ma take a break and cook the girl her dinner and pet her like the good kitty she is and put more water in. You should know reiki runs on vegetables and good water (mineral water.) You won’t be curing anything if you don’t get enough of both things. If you are too allergic to everything to eat, then take your B Vitamins, stupid. Three to five times a day. Take a multi, while you’re at it. One of the ones for ancient people aged 65 or older. 2 gallons of water a day if you drink 6 cups of coffee. 1 gallon without coffee. 1.5 gallons with tea. Be wise and rest up… the battle has just begun. The mold is like an army of invaders and it has you utterly surrounded, no matter who you are or where you live. The killer strain that began in St. Louis, Missouri, USA has spread across the globe in the past five years. Good luck combating that evil bitch. It’s in your duct work, it’s in your schools, it’s in your stores, it’s in your homes. It’s already in your body, too, actually.

I don’t expect very many of you to survive this one. [What choice did I have? You’re systematically murdering all life on planet Gaia. Now I will systematically murder anyone who will not fight for their life and the life of the bees. Nay, the life of the planet.]

I bid you adieu. Au revoir! Farewell! Auf wiedersehen! Sayonara! Cheers! Tschüss! Ciao! Goodbye!

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