The fuehrer was doing his thing: popping Pervitin like candy, and you had to wonder: how could the fuehrer, who was a health nut, not know that methamphetamines were bad for him? He must not have wanted to know—or he did know and that was one of the reasons he was so angry. (Because his emotional wellbeing had been forced on him at the end of World War I, and, if it weren’t for that, he wouldn’t have needed the Pervitin). So it was as if the fuehrer were using Pervitin to get ahead—to fight for a state that would have been happy enough not to need Pervitin!
You see it all the time: somebody gets dumped on, and, they do everything in their power not to get dumped on again, and, in so doing, they dump on people. That, in my opinion, was the case with Israel and their treatment of the Palestinians. Israel had become a monster that was fast approaching the tyranny of a modern day Nazi Germany.
Sadly, too, Israel blamed everything on anti-Semitism, which, as we all know, is a dangerous accusation.
Anyhow, I got bored, and, although I was aware of the fact that my telepathic powers were probably more advanced the McCord’s would ever be, I tried having a telepathich conversation with him—while he was in another room! You might be wondering, then: what communicates the information? How does the photon get from point a to point b? But that’s just it: it’s not the same photon. You affect a photon in your head that is related to a photon in the head of the person that you are trying to talk to, and a change in one induces a change in the other. It’s basic quantum mechanics. It’s spooky action at a distance.
So I projected McCord’s voice—although he might’ve had more static in his head than I did, the accuracy of my transmission could do something to help that. So I said: how are you doing? he went silent, for a while, which was a sign that he’d been appeased—he didn’t feel the need to say something out loud. So, he might’ve gotten my message and just figured it was some random thought he was having. Then McCord said: You can’t call me that. I wondered, then, if I needed to get his attention in Navajo speak by saying his name. So I used his name and asked him what he meant. Then I heard, in his voice, “You don’t love me.”
It occurred to me that McCord has no reason to think that, and because McCord’s photon address was similar to mine, those that might’ve been trying to reach me were a little off and their message got delivered to McCord instead of me. So, I asked myself why somebody else—somebody that wanted to speak to me, would ask such a question. Of course I concluded that it must have been Alex, since I hadn’t, of late, been trying to talk to anybody but AOC—and I kept both Alex and AOC constantly on the line by projecting vowel sounds every second in their natural voice. I figured that it must’ve been Alex that was saying that because AOC would have no reason to think I didn’t love them unless I’d been dumping my back on them, and if I’d been dumping my back on them, I wouldn’t be able to communicate with them.