The Brow-Beating Termaganter

Naggers and dominators have one thing in common.

They think they do not know how they got in here, here, into the collective arena of other self-afflicted termaganter and terminators.

What do they have in common?

They like to nag and dominate🤔

Not surprisingly, too.

One man’s trash, it has been said, is another man’s treasure.

Some luxurious and uxorious femme fatales fails to see their own ill-begotten frailties and failures. Their own power becomes the drug they sniff and pour over while they fail to assess the power of their own consciousness.

Until it is too late.

So.

Then, they may think.

”Plan B.”

Don’t ya know. There isn’t much difference between a chicken breast and a chicken tenderloin.

Nowadays, the fine line between the two exist as only as a number on a frozen food section shelf of the dead little buggers and birdies. Almost consensual when the buttons that are pushed beyond the conscience and conscious limits of what is described as

”Acceptable.”

”Laogong”.

As in: Come hell or high water. As in: “You will not leave me until I leave you first.” Per Chinese lingo and lanugo. Kinda an existence that requires the ballerina and the square dancer scratching their proverbial heads while at the same time bumping into one another and locking knees instead of loving eyes.

Yikes.

One might say.

Consensual.

One might also say.

Not so much.

Leftovers taste yummy when cooked in the correct tempature.😊

Pre-cooked?

Depends upon the cooks in the kitchen.

How hot it may be.

Who is the first to be “eaten.”

And.

By who or whom.

What it may all come down to is one man’s sacrifice is another man’s turnip. Like in stop trying to squeeze blood from one. 🩸

Delivered? From the sacrificial danger of being the next one to be:

Eaten alive. In some rare cases. A person’s livestock was the equivalent of a personal bank account.

Today.

Notsomuch.

Leaving the animals scratching vigorously and the humans scratching their heads in a wondering of

”What just happened?”

Eating too much beef is not good for the culinary colon process of pride and punishment.😉

We say, “I am weak.” I cannot say no to the button pushing of and toward another. To get my goods. Your goods. Anybody’s goods.

To you, I say, “ Get over yourself. Get to work.” Too much time has been wasted. Too much time has passed with the self-reflection and thinking of:

I am too old.

I am too young.

I am too fat.

I am too skinny.

I am too short.

I am too tall.

I am too blonde.

I am too dark.

I am too handsome.

I am too pretty.

I am too ugly.

I am too fugly.

I am too gorgeous.

I am too butt.

I am too naive.

I am too smart.

I am way too smart.

I am dumb.

I am way too dumb.

I am strong.

I am weak.

This list goes on and on and so on and so on.

The terminator waits in the wings of the termaganter during the square dance of the knee capping and the face slapping. The only thing left are the black and blue bruises to show as evidence there was even a hint of agreement.

But.

There was not.

Agreement.

Ever.

The Bible tells me so.

What tells you so, is beyond comprehension.

Your personal texts messages may say another. Sending a message of something else entirely. Hoping beyond the four letter measured word of hope that that battalacks is once and for all out of the picture.

Once and for all.

During the dance, the possibility of self-importance was what kept the dance fragially moving. In the wrong direction. We failed to notice. Because.

We failed to notice.

Trying to make up for our own lies, innuendo and jumped-over-pews to carelessly pummel the one who got in the way.

Allowing the one who got in the way. To stay away. While the manhandled one stayed,

Woman-handled. By the distance of relativity of arm’s length away-ness to keep the ball and chain rustily connecting until someone or something better came along.

Yep.

But.

Nope.

The hen peckers are alive and well and pecking away.

The good news.

He refines us with tests. Noise. And the like.

Hint:

Say the quiet part out loud.

He asserts His mighty deeds to those who can handle the pressure. Who know knowingly their life is in the midst of rescue.

True rescue.

From isolation, dis-repair and troubled troubles.

Echoing His high praise for the Most High. Reminding us He is the beginning, the middle and the end of all things.

Including and inclusive of the vomitron of all things lacking the freshness of a daisy. He excites all lands. Beg all you may want for what you think you may want.

He alone knows what we need. Sacrificial lamb, chicken, or pig?

At the end of the day.

Choices and choice are what make the land what it is.

And.

It is what it is.

You are who you are.

No matter who and whose alignment you may fake.

How much pesticide you use on the soil of your own future.

Bring on the witches, spells, black magic and curses. The laid back afflictions, the men who ride over our head.

He and me.

Are no match for you and yours.

Why?

We went through Fire and Water.

He.

Brought us out to a rich fulfillment.

Against every evil, spirit, works of the devil and witches. He desires no harm befall, no plague will come to your tent.

No reimbursement allowed for the bug and the bat.

Wash the chicken twice?

In the end He and He only provides all that we need.

We think we can devilish pretend we are more than we are.

We are not.

The terminator and the termaganter sache along with their arrogance and pomp and circumstances until they nag one another to the depths and deaths of their own despair.

What a way to live.

A worse way to die.

Maybe. We cannot all get along.

The hope may be there.

The reality is not.

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line.

No curves.

No bends.

No waffling.

He implores us to deny the existence of evil.

To move forward with peace and love.

The strength we learn from the knocking-kneed naysayers and those who carelessly dance into one another will be an arena housed with cluelessness and careless wondering.

Grasp on to all He holds for you in the palm of His hand.

Knowing.

Goodness is what he holds tightly for you.

And.

You deserve it.

Wholeheartedly.