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Thurston Thornton Tells It Like It Is!
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Put on Your AFDB and Save Your Brain

September 2, 2011

You know what, folks? I suppose that everyone reaches their limit at one time or another, and the way I figure it, I reached mine about a month ago.

Those of you who have been reading my articles will remember how I've been forced to take a regimen of psychiatric medication to keep me from running afoul of the evil sub-human vermin that control our society, the mutant villains whose thoughts and thus actions are remotely controlled by their extraterrestrial masters.

So, one day, I was sitting in front of the television, and I turned to the shopping channel for no particular reason. They were selling a faux diamond necklace, the kind of crap that my irritating neighbor Karen probably buys for herself. And they were asking for my credit card so that I could buy it within the next ten minutes and get a matching faux diamond bracelet for free, and then, suddenly, I got a phone call, so I muted the television and answered. It was Winston Lee, who owes me for six months of back rent.

Not thinking about the faux diamonds, I say, alright now, Winston, where's the rent? Because I figured that's why he was calling, to make up some kind of lame excuse or whatever, although he'd never called me before.

But that wasn't why he called. No, instead, he just said, Thurston, you must liberate yourself from the astral straw that is sucking your brain waves out into the cosmic void.

And I was still under the influence of those awful psychiatric drugs, which completely erode and diminish your perceptions, so I just responded by saying, what the hell is that supposed to mean? And Winston says, turn away from the diamonds, Thurston.

I felt a jolt of realization go through me when he said that. How could he have known what I was watching on television? I asked him if he was watching the shopping channel, and he said that he didn't turn on the television, since it was a portal used by the celestial leeches to extract and gorge upon defenseless souls.

I still didn't get it, though.

I said: "You must be on drugs."

And he came back with: "For me, drugs are the elixir of the gods, but for you, they are weighty chains and thick ropes used to tie you down."

"Who are you to tell me to stop taking my psychiatric medication?" I asked him.

And he responded, "Liberate yourself, open your mind to the true spirit within you, and wear an Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie to shelter yourself from the thought control beams."

Well, that really got my attention, and something kind of snapped inside me, and I started feeling angry with and disappointed in myself for having gotten so used to the mindless regimen of popping those damned pills -- hell, I'd even gotten to where I looked forward to taking them every couple of hours, which just goes to show you how thoroughly my despicable, scheming enemies had managed to infiltrate the inner sanctum of my consciousness and pervert my most fundamental and essential qualities.

I said, you know what, Winston, I'm going to forget just for the moment that you owe me six months rent, and I'm going to ask you to come on over to my house and show me how to use that Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie, because I have a hunch that you're on to something there.

But he wouldn't commit to coming by at any specific time, he just said, when the moment is right, I will appear. I was going to object, but then he simply hung up.

Well, what can I say about that guy? It's like he practically stepped out of the Book of Revelations or something.

So, I re-buried my television in the back yard -- something that I had done some time ago when that sinful commie Corey was living at my house. And I made up my mind that from that moment on, come hell or high water, I wasn't going to swallow another shrink-prescribed pill.

After a few days, my thoughts began to clear, and I was once again able to see the coded messages from the resistance underground everywhere, especially on the boxes of frozen pizzas at the supermarket and in the owner's manual for my toaster.

I reassembled my collection of six car batteries, connected them up to an antenna that I fashioned from wire coat hangers, then, transmitted a mental signal into the apparatus, which broadcast it out into the surrounding area. My intention was to contact other members of the resistance underground using specially encrypted brainwaves.

An hour later, Winston Lee showed up at my door, telling me that he had heard my message, and that the time had come to advance to the next level of raised awareness. I noticed that he was wearing his Aluminum Foil Deflector Beanie, or AFDB, as he calls it.

Under Winston's watchful guidance, I followed the directions for assembling the AFDB, then, placed it upon my head. Immediately, I felt my thoughts sharpen and intensify several times over. It seemed that my IQ had jumped 10,000 points in the matter of only a few seconds.

I remarked to Winston that the feeling was breathtakingly exhilarating. He noted that such a heady sensation is perfectly normal, because one's long-shackled mental capacity suddenly springs forth in a burst of unrestrained energy once the alien mind control has been blocked out.

I was so thankful to Winston for his sage advice and counsel, I invited him to stay for dinner, something I never do with anyone, ever, and he graciously accepted. I offered him a strawberry-flavored Twinkie, but he only ate one bite of it, and didn't touch the glass of Cutty Sark I poured for him.

I asked him what rank he held within the resistance underground, and he affirmed that he was its founder. I queried as to how he planned to overthrow the forces of evil, and he shocked me by saying that, in reality, we must overthrow the forces of good so that evil may triumph.

I was ready to throw him out of my house right then and there, but he continued, saying that good is actually evil and vice-versa. Only the enlightened are able to understand that darkness is light, that pain is pleasure, that six is nine, and that if a million monkeys got together to randomly type on a million typewriters for a million years, eventually, one of them would type out the complete recipe for a spinach soufflé.

Humbled by his rebuke, I threw myself at his feet and begged for forgiveness, which he refused to grant until I first completed my mission. Let me know when you have overcome your tormentors, he pronounced as he walked out my door, and I'll assist you with the next stage of your journey to immaculate perfection.

A few seconds after he left, I remember that he still owed me for six months rent, and I raced out the door to confront him, but he had vanished as if into thin air. That man has capabilities and powers that the rest of us can only dimly understand.

Since that fateful encounter with Winston, I have barricaded my house in preparation for the final doomsday apocalyptic event, the approaching Armageddon, the end times, the descent of winged demons from the clouds, the reemergence of animated corpses from their graves, the global alien invasion.

I will defeat them all with my mind beams, which I will continuously concentrate upon them with laser-like intensity for no less than 2,000 consecutive hours. I realize that this will not allow me to eat or sleep for an extended period of time, but I am not worried about that. No guts, no glory, as they say.   

You might follow my example and put on your AFDB before it's too late to save yourself. But knowing you, I imagine that you'll continue to let the aliens control your mind.

So, when you wake up on a cold, metallic table, and a bunch of bulbous-headed aliens with huge, shiny black eyes are standing all around you, prodding you with cold instruments and administering mildly painful shocks, it'll be your own damned fault for not heeding my advice.

"Won't you tell me where my country lies?" said the unifaun to his true love's eyes...