An 80-year old man had discovered, after 10 years of isolation in a warehouse, how to make gasoline from inedible plants and leaves, something, you say that is unimaginable. But, this is also true because God makes humble, unassuming men into what he wants. He doesn’t give knowledge to you just because you have 10 years of educational degrees and are “highly” thought of by the scientific community.
Of course the gas and oil lobbyists and politicians who owe their positions to the gas and oil men are all going crazy, as now so many investors are flocking to Marshall Medoff’s plants and throwing their millions of dollars at him. These men (corporations) are interested in one thing and one thing only: return on their investments and they can see that soon they will totally corner the market on gasoline sales.
Some of you reading this may have seen this on 60 Minutes last night. If not here is a link to it:
As you can see what I say is true: this man is interested simply in discovering something that can be used to help save, yes save, so many of the poor, down-trodden people on this planet to be able to afford to live better lives because, as everyone knows, the gasoline industry, as all corporations in America are in business for one reason: to make a profit.
If all people were as open and honest as Marshall Medoff we would live in a much better world. I am only surprised that someone didn’t “steal” his invention.
This man is a god-send to this earth, now let us hope the devil doesn’t steal everything and ruin him and his invention and ideas, as so often happens in America.
ONE DAY IT’S GOOD FOR YOU: THE NEXT DAY IT’S POISON?
When I first started boxing in 1962, I was 17 and in the Marine Corps. I was a member of the Cherry Point Boxing Team, where I would learn many things about the sport, not the least of which concerned my health and training regimen. One of the first things that you are taught is that milk is a no-no and to replace it with orange juice because milk puts on too much weight, while orange juice provides more energy and adds less weight. All boxers soon become embroiled in a ‘fight’ with themselves when it comes to “making weight.”
We all wanted an advantage over our opponent and this usually included a size advantage, by weighting in the upper end of the weight-class you fought in. And so, I fought in the 156-division but there were two of us in this division and the other guy had more experience than I did (neighborhood boxing matches, of which I had had many, didn’t count.) I had had my first official boxing match in boot camp, at P.I., several months before. And so, I boxed mostly bigger guys, at 165 pounds. I saw all the other fighters avoiding milk, even while I drank it down, because I actually needed to gain weight, not lose it. But, then in a golden gloves match in Raleigh, North Carolina, I fought in the 156-pound division and won easily, which then began, unknowingly to me then, my weight-making diet, which all boxers, except heavyweights, engaged in and the orange juice came back into my diet. It replaced milk and ice cream and when I later turned pro, in Las Vegas, I was ‘instructed’ by other professional boxers to drink a glass of OJ every morning with an egg beat into it. It was even given to me freely by one of the boxers, Ferd Hernandez, who was a bartender in the bar owned by Bill Miller, who was the boxing promoter, and who also owned a motel and restaurant. Ferd put a glass of OJ into a mixer and then broke an egg into it and, walla, a sweet confection most of us boxers drank; it was very tasty with the egg blending into a foamy delicious drink: forget about the Rocky character drinking a raw egg in a glass; that’s bullshit that only an idiot actor like Sylvester Stallone could fall for and imitate.
Another boxer, a friend of mine from the Washington, D.C. area, where there was little if any bouts to be had, was already in Vegas and I joined him when he informed me of the situation he was in: we were provided with “free” room and board. The way it worked was that the meals, provided by the promoter’s restaurant, were served to us three times a day and we signed the bill, which he would then subtract from the money he paid us when we boxed for him later. I was an amateur but he nevertheless, let me eat these meals and sleep in a room he provided me, virtually, for free. He was the promoter and, of course, expected us to “box for him,” which we did.
Anyway, to the crux of this story, the OJ, as you can see was, sort of, a mandatory thing and accompanied by a raw egg blended up a nice morning drink. I got into the habit of drinking one every morning and for 50+ years I have done it: until now, as it appears that the miracle OJ and egg I have been drinking, although at one time healthy: ie: https://www.floridacitrus.org/oj/health-nutrition/orange-juice-health-benefits/ is, now, apparently poison.
But, then, things have, apparently changed, as some professional, medical as well as scientists have discovered that ornage juice is not only not healthy nowadays, it is, actually, poison: ie: https://www.momsacrossamerica.com/all_top_5_orange_juice_brands_positive_for_weedkiller
Aw, well, so what do I do now: “well, at my age, sooner or later, I, we, all, just die: right? Yeah, well, I still got a little life left in me, yet but I’m finding it very hard to believe, though, that I, we, orange juice drinkers have been drinking weed killer in our orange juice? I have stopped drinking O.J, but, after 50 years I doubt it’ll do any good and so, maybe in my eulogy they will also say: it was, in the end, the weedkiller that got him. No, no, the truth never shows up like that: no matter what the cause it will be the usual H.A.
Neurontin and its newer, more powerful version, Lyrica, are widely used for unapproved indications that are a flagrant direct danger to the public. These most “successful drugs” were approved for use even though the FDA had no idea what they actually did in the brain. A new shocking study shows that they block the formation of new brain synapses1, drastically reducing the potential for rejuvenating brain plasticity – which means that these drugs cause brain decline faster than any substance known to mankind.
The problem of these drugs is aggravated by their blatant illegal marketing. Neurontin was approved by the FDA for epilepsy in 1994. The drug was subjected to massive illegal promotion outside the indications that cost Warner-Lambert $ 430 million (the first great good for off-label promotion). The drug is now owned by Pfizer. Pfizer also owns Lyrica, a super-potent version of Neurontin. It has been approved by the FDA for various types of pain and fibromyalgia. Lyrica is one of four drugs that a Pfizer subsidiary markets illegally, resulting in a $ 2.3 million deal against Pfizer.
Even though the marketing of these drugs has been heavily fined, they continue to rack up billions in sales from off-label uses. Doctors use them for all kinds of nervous problems because they are good at suppressing symptoms. However, such uses can no longer be justified because the actual mechanism of drugs is finally understood and they are creating a significant long-term reduction in nerve health.
Researchers in the previous study try to downplay the severity of the drugs by saying “adult neurons do not form many new synapses.” That simply is not true. The new science is showing that brain health during aging is based on the formation of new synapses. Even these researchers managed to question the common use of these drugs in pregnant women. How is a fetus supposed to produce new nerve cells when the mother is taking a drug that blocks them?
These are the kind of situations where you say that the FDA must (should) be everywhere. As usual, the FDA is sitting around reflecting on a Lyrica suicide warning, while its off-label uses include bipolar disorder and migraine headaches. you are likely to spin your thumbs for the next decade on the subject of brain damage by the FDA. Consumer Alert.
The FDA budget for FY 2018 was $5.4 billion. About 55 percent, or $3 billion, of FDA’s budget is provided by federal budget authorization. The remaining 45 percent, or$2.4 billion, is paid for by industry user fees. The FDA budget is equivalent to $9.11 per American per year.
The Food and Drug Administration said that it intends to withdraw its existing analgesic guidance for developing new pain drugs and will issue new guidance in 2019. The decision, said FDA Commissioner Scott Gottlieb, M.D., is in response to the shifting nature of the nation’s opioid epidemic.
I have just looked at a 346 page booklet written by the Dept of Health & Human Services for the FDA’s
Fiscal Year of 2019 for the Justification of the year 2019’s Estimations for the (various) Appropiations Committees.
I f the common man was to read this booklet he would say it makes no sense. That is because the common man is not a politician, a politicrat, bureaucrat or anyone else who makes their money from these things. It is a budget that throws millions upon millions at different “institutions and businesses” designed specifically to give money away: away to people who are friends of someone in government, like Trump, who has the power to make his friends and associates millions of dollars, such of which Trump, and those who “speak his language” expect them to return the “favor” by giving them a cut of the “profits.” What do these bureaucrats do for this money. Beats me, read the 346 pages of double-talk, innuendo and hyprocrisy. God help us; obviously no politicians, bereaucrats, hypocrites or any other one man or group of them means to help the common man. That is exactly why Jesus Christ came to this earth, as a common man, lived a life explaining everything in common, everyday language that even a child could understand.
And so, the antiChrist, the devil, did and does the opposite and his followers are, literally, everywhere. They are leaders of numerous countries, dictators ruling authoritarian governments where no common human beings have anything to say because the first thing that is taken away from them is that “right” of free speech.
Are we heading in that direction? No one but God knows the answer to that but a good guess is that we are. And Donald Trump appears to be the sort of “leader” who would like to have the “authority” of his good buddy Vladimir Putin, who he praises everytime he mentions the despot’s name.
Our system is breaking apart in front of our eyes: for in a system that demands you have money or be forgotten about we now see that there are soon to be many more forgotten about human beings than “remembered” human beings. In other words: the poor will soon outnumber the wealthy.
Is there an answer to this quandry we find ourselves in? Well, we (as a mass of the population) do identify ourselves as Christians, myself included, and so why do we not demand those leaders at the top of the privelaged class, who claim they are Christians also, to act like they are: to act as Jesus Christ did. Too big of an answer? But why should it be? Why cannot these people share their money and their possessions with those who have little if any of these things?
A question that answers itself: The only ones who would put everything into the “pot” would be those who have little or nothing, right? Well then do away with money: every man for himself, right?
No? Why not? Oh, you mean because the billionaires and trillionaires actually can not support themselves? If their toilet won’t flush or their car won’t start or their rugs need cleaning? Hmmm, very interesting. You mean, because they, actually, don’t really “do” anything: they just let their money do the “work” for them? Hmmmm, very interesting.
But, what if, what if a revolution by the masses of poor people overwhelm the few wealthy billionaires and …. oh, sorry … that could never happen because it did and we “won” over the Communists, right? I mean, we do live in a Capitalist World now, a world where money does all the talking, right?
Wait … I see something … a bright shining star is heading this way … ah, a man is walking this way … he looks like he is quite poor, he is dressed in shabby clothes, although clean they are … wait .. he is saying something … he says his name is Jesus Christ and he has come to judge the world … wait a minute now, what’s that line forming here: why, they’re all poor people, they’re all … hey, wait a minute, where are all the wealthy, successful people … where is … where is Trump? Ah … ahah … very interesting.
I am hypothyroid, meaning I have an under-active thyroid. I actually felt very healthy for 26 years on a thyroid medication known as Levothroid, a synthetic brand of Levothyroxine, a synthetic thyroid pill which stopped “working” for me sometime last year, around February of 2018, on a trip to Switzerland where I was attempting to cut processed sugar out of my diet: something all world-wide corporations are not in favor of you or me doing, because of the enormity of the billions of dollars in profits these companies make by, literally, putting processed sugar, into almost every food we eat. This untruth has been going on ever since the formulation of super-companies incorporating into one gigantic monster better known as Big Sugar. In fact, I wrote a story I named ‘Big ‘Sugar,’ which was published in ShortStory.Me, several years ago, as well as a book of short stories I had published in a book of my short stories, in 2014. The title of the book was: ‘Muhammad’s Revenge’ and ‘Big Sugar’ was, I believe, the 4th story in a book holding 22 of my short stories.
I realized, long before then, actually, that sugar was an enormous “problem” in human beings’ lives on this earth and specifically on the poor, the downhearted, the destitute and, especially the young children who are so truthful about everything on this god-forsaken planet.
So, I was in Switzerland, in March of 2018 and I was trying desperately to eat food with the minimum of sugar but, unfortunately, this is (was) almost impossible, as there are so many code names, so to speak, that this god-forsaken industry, (Big Sugar,) has these other names for sugar being written in code, so to speak, but is is all the same sugar: candy, caramel, dextrose, fructose, glucose, lactose, Levulose, Maltose, saccharose, sucros, xylose, sweetner, saccharin, carbohydrate and caramel are all just another name for sugR, which is, added to literally every food we consume: esp. fast foods, where most poor and disadvantaged people eat.
Speaking of poor people, if you wish to feel good about humanity, no matter if you are poor, rich, religious or atheist please, read this link I have added, below here: https://www.npr.org/2009/07/27/111091624/homeless-man-leaves-behind-surprise-4-million And may we all have a Happy New Year and may God bless us all with the ability, desire, tolerance and courage to speak truth to power. This guy (above) said that he was an atheist but, I always remember something that Mother Teresa once said, about a homeless man begging for food, she said you should always give to anyone poor, destitute, or in need because: “It was (actually) Jesus in one of his disguises.”
CHRISTMAS IN MANY DIFFERENT PLACES
My daughter gave me a pair of new tennis shoes, aka sneakers, for Christmas. I wear out two pairs a year, just as I always have over the past six decades, ever since I was a teenager. They are a size 10 but I wear a size larger, as I have always had ‘big feet.’ The doctor told my parents I would be a “monster” of a man, judging by the size of my feet. I guess they measured us by the foot size back in the 1940’s. Well, I might have been but, then, God apparently didn’t want me to grow to be a monster and so I ended up: 5’9” tall, 165 pounds but by the time I was 16, with size 11 shoes on my feet.
So, somehow, someway, I ended up in boxing, after being what many called a “juvenile delinquent” in, it seems now, any of the many schools I attended. We, my brother and sister and I, lived in five different locales before we were old enough to ‘leave home.’ Or, at least I was as they stayed long enough to graduate from high school and college; while I joined the Marine Corps when the other branches ‘turned me down’ because of a ‘police record;’ mostly fighting with other kids along with grown men also but always in self-defense. The Marines had a plan for kids like me, you could join up, with your parents’ permission, and signature, at age 16, and go on active duty on your 17th birthday and so I found myself in Parris Island, S.C., on Christmas Day in 1962, with 2-weeks yet to go to graduate from boot camp, which I did eight days into 1963. My first regulated boxing match was in boot camp, where I lost a decision to another marine, who I later found out was a professional boxer in ‘civilian life.’
I was stationed at Cherry Point, N.C., at the Marine Corps Air Station and quickly joined the boxing team there. I still remember other fighters on the team stepping on my feet purposely to throw me off balance, propelling me to quickly learn the rudiments of boxing and become good enough to turn pro when I was discharged three years later.
It was in the 5th Street Gymnasium where I met many friends that would enter my life in my early years in the prize-ring. I had already turned pro in Las Vegas, after winning six straight amateur fights and then going three and three in six professional fights when a boxer in Vegas, also a friend of mine and an ex-welterweight champion, Ralph Dupas, who was being handled by Angelo Dundee, told me to look Dundee up, if I needed a good manager, as I was flying back to D.C, with a friend named Andy Kendall, also a boxer who was travelling to Virginia to be with his ex-wife and visit his two children, of which she had custody. He bought me a plane ticket, with a check I cashed after he put my name on it. It was a ‘bad check’ and he and another guy were in cahoots managing an apartment house in Las Vegas and collecting rent monies they never returned, fleeing to Virginia. He cashed many checks by giving them to other ‘friends’ who kept all the money, I found myself in a very perverse situation as could not happen without some form of destiny involved.
Here’s what happened: we got separated at the Las Vegas Airport, as, little known to me, he had bought a ticket to board a different plane from me. And, then, even more perversely than one would think possible he ended up knocking on his ex-wife’s door only to be answered by his father-in-law, who had a shotgun and blasted him in the stomach. He, perverseness still calling, ended up recovering and returning to boxing where he, then, ended up earning a fight with the then world lt.-heavyweight champion, Bobby Foster, who I knew from Finley’s Gym, in D.C.
So, now, I’m in D.C for about three months with only one fight, an exhibition in Lorton Prison, in, Virginia and I saw, once again, that boxing, in the Nation’s Capital, in 1966 was almost nil and fighters had to travel to New York or Philly to get fights and so, I ended up in Miami Beach, in the fall of 1966.
The first guy I met was Chris Dundee, a man who always mimicked a ‘Dick Nixon’ smile whenever he ‘wanted something’ and you could be sure, I quickly learned, that he was from the streets of Philly and would pay you, or any other boxer, the absolute minimum he could ‘get you for.’
Now, there was a fighter there, a lt heavyweight named Jimmy Ralston, who had been knocked out in a previous fight by a middleweight named Herman ‘Scatterhawk’ Dixon who was scheduled to fight him in a rematch but Dixon pulled out of the rematch due to a pulled muscle.
Chris Dundee asked me to spar with Ralston, and after a couple of rounds, he asked if I would agree to a match with him. I did and ended up losing when the bell rang for the eighth round and the referee stopped the fight for “lack of action” on my part.
Two fights later, after I had kayoed a lt. Heavyweight named Lou Howard and beat Charlie Jordan in an 8-rounder, Angelo Dundee asked me to sign a contract with him, making him my manager for 3-years plus a 3-year renewal. I signed it and a week later, as I was punching on the speed-bag in the 5th Street gym he gave me a gym-bag saying what I would hear innumerable times: “Keith, here use this, yours looks kind of worn out: hey, it was Ali’s.” When he looked at my boxing shoes he smiled obliquely: they were spray-painted white, originally having been black. White shoes were the thing to wear at that time, thanks to Ali. He vaguely asked me what size I wore and when I said eleven, the usual question mark appeared on his face.
Several days later he handed me a pair of boxing shoes. Size eleven. He smiled: “Used to be Ali’s, get dressed you’re goin’ a few wid Louie, he’s got a fight comin’ up.” Louie was Luis Rodriguez, a former welterweight champion, who was fighting as a middleweight and used me as his chief punching bag, aka sparring partner.
I stood there as Angelo walked towards the prize-ring, where Luis Rodriguez awaited my presence in the ring, wanting to know if I was sparring that day. I walked into the dressing room, where I nodded at another fighter, a welterweight named Larry Adkins: “Used to be Ali’s,” I said holding the shoes up. Adkins smiled laconically: they were black.
I was driving to my house from the gym when I tuned in looking for some Christmas music and found it on Joy FM 91.5, I think it is. To which a disc jockey came on and two or three others were talking about a question they all thought was quite funny: “Who would you rather spend the rest of you life on a deserted Island with: Your best friend of your worst enemy?”
Well, needless to say they laughed at the question and all answered it quickly: Their best friend, of course. Well, their answer surprised me, especially considering it was a ‘Christian station.’
Why? Well, I would say that I would much rather make a friend out of an enemy, than an enemy out of a friend — especially my (reportedly) ‘best friend.’
Now, I am 73-years old and have been in many relationships in that time and, if there is one thing I have learned it is that no one knows, really knows, another human being’s mind-set or what he himself would do or say in any given situation, much less a deserted Island; but I do know this: If we were on a deserted Island for what we thought might turn out to be the rest of our lives we would obviously get to ‘know each other’ pretty quickly and, I believe my ‘best friend’ would find out some things about me that I, myself, never even knew about myself and vice-versa: I wasn’t maybe who I thought I was and maybe he wasn’t who I thought he was, after all. I might be better or worse, and he might also be a better or worse person than we both thought, as time would mean little, if anything, to two people living where watches or clocks or jobs or money were useless and their whole lives were just “survival and sanity” something in which he (or she) and I could even end as “best friend’s” or, at least a friend instead of an enemy. And, needless to say, even as some “elderly” men and women end up getting divorced after decades of marriage, and usually over something so small that they have both forgotten it by the time they separate, we both may find out many things we like about one another and may, like I said, actually, become friends. After all there really ain’t a hell of a lot to do on a deserted Island when there’s only two people there.
And, I might add that I’d hate to think of how I’d feel if my “best friend” and I became so embittered at one another as we discovered the “other side” of the other that we had now turned from best friend’s into bitter enemies. Just thinking of what could happen, you know?