NEWSFLASH!

Dame Wotta back from an Intergalactic Mission

Workers Compensation Board Entering Black Hole Soon

Some of my devoted readers will have noticed that I have not been present to dispense advice. This was not my wish, but was entirely unavoidable.

I was asked to temporarily join a secret unit, a special Intergalactic team of freedom-fighters who support the liberty and dignity of all life everywhere, even if it’s small, beige, wriggly and leaves faint stains behind it as it moves. The time for personal prejudice is long over.

It had come to the attention of certain beings that have the best interests of human people at heart that injured workers everywhere were being denied compensation that by rights were legitimately theirs, and that entire families were being consigned to the garbage can of life arbitrarily and corruptly. Of course, people are always treated unfairly everywhere and in every way on Earth, and this is to be expected under the present planetary regime.

Nevertheless, as most damage is actually administered bureaucratically, and Worker’s Compensation Boards everywhere have re-written the law to protect themselves, it was decided to make an example of them.

Nobody working for this outrageous outfit (which is ultimately controlled by an incredibly loathsome demon) is yet aware of their fate, and the beauty of the plan is that the staff, all brainwashed lackey’s selected for their lack of compassion and scruples, wouldn’t believe it anyway.

Just as nobody remotely believes anything WCB the not for profit organization concocts in order that they may retain all the lovely dosh they have collected that doesn't really belong to them.

The job at hand was first to select the correct suitable black hole and then funnel the entire combined Workers Compensation Boards of North America into it. This was accomplished, and the whole incredibly delicate operation was coordinated from the complete safety of an Intergalactic Starship, where the procedure was instigated and the opening stages were put into motion. If it proves successful we shall later repeat the exercise around the Globe.

Although the results will not be made apparent for several years (approximately 3), WCB have already been consigned to a black hole of suitable proportions and are as we speak on the very edges of its outer limits.

The black hole finally selected had to be of a massive size to successfully subsume the intense density of both the combined digital and paper files, the ridiculously massive and expensive buildings, equipment, parking lots, and, sadly, the pathetic ‘staff’ of the entire shebang, along with their ego’s, which apparently turned out upon analysis to be made up almost entirely of Heavy Water.

This was an unprecedented decision made at great personal cost to all members of the team, and certainly not to be taken lightly. We knew these Borg souls would most likely be atomized meeting themselves coming in on the way back out.

The law of cause and effect operating across the Multiverse will allow them another opportunity for soul advancement, but not for several thousand years in Earth-time, and not until they have each personally eaten the equivalent weight in paper of the entire WCB case-files of North America collected since its inception.

I myself did not come out of this unscathed. On July 31st, I received a death-threat via my computer screen (shown above). My computer immediately crashed following this event.

A psionic attack was then launched upon my home leaving the occupants, including myself, severely injured. While I was being rushed to a secret hospital, perpetrators entered my home, stealing the hard drive, which was then transported to a Transylvanian restaurant in Vancouver to be worked on.

This website was then attacked and completely flooded and ruined by the ensuing water damage, being almost entirely melted during the invasion. This was yet another cowardly assault designed to end my humanitarian work. I spent a considerable sum of money on the services of an excellent restoration company to try and repair this site.

Digital Damage Dudes did a brilliant job and I don’t believe you can even see where the destruction was. I would recommend them anytime and space.

Suffice it to say after a long struggle I recovered my health and completed my assignment. I also recovered my hard drive and the vital information on it. I have Friends in Sideways Places. People have been suitably cosmically spanked. We will leave it at that for now.

Dame Wotta Tripp is back in your service.

Liquored-Up Beasts

Dear Wotta,
I felt I had to write to you, I feel so spiritually close to you.

My pastor actually believes that animals have souls. This thrills me, as I love animals and my previous pastor thought they were soulless and unimportant, much as goths and the like.

My dog, G. Campbell, was given some beer while I wasn’t present by a rather bad person. He got horribly drunk and I don’t wish to go into the details of what he did here. Now he gets terribly excited by the slightest whiff of alcohol, leading to loss of bladder control and indoor accidents.

Now my joy has turned to grief as I am constantly worried that my dog will end up in hell. Could this be possible? Please help.

Thanking you in advance,
Wanda Campbell


Dear Wanda,
I absolutely disagree with giving any animal or creature mind-altering substances. And of course animals have souls, also Goths, but I’m not sure about your pastor(s).

Animals inhabit the many Heavenworlds and interior plains peacefully and prolifically, thank you very much.

Hell is a state of mind. It’s cold, not hot. Hell is often experienced right here on planet Earth. There is no eternal Hell – it’s a very obvious lie, designed to keep you in place.

As far as your dog Campbell is concerned, although many people don’t realize this, it’s a fact that imbibing alcoholic beverages and partaking of drugs is seasonally prolific among diverse species, voluntarily.

Many birds get deliberately and completely hammered when fermentation takes place naturally.

Hummingbirds spar angrily with each other at neglected feeders full of perilous red nectar, making them extremely dangerous to humans in the vicinity.
If you were to visit the homes of the sort of people who are featured in Harrowsmith Magazine, you would see that a substantial amount of them wear eye patches. The connection should be obvious.

Although I’m sure that glass artist Dale Chihuly lost his eye in a car accident as reported, it’s not beyond the bounds of reason that he was momentarily but hypnotically attracted to the sun blazing through the glorious crimson glass of a humming bird feeder. He may have wandered closer only to become the victim of a vicious attack received from one of these extremely territorial creatures, enraged by fermented syrup and by now totally bladdered (the humming bird, that is), and intent on protecting it’s stash.

I wouldn’t wish to advertise an incident like that either, especially with a rapidly rising career.

For instance, in the correct season the African veld is teeming with a wide selection of inebriated creatures, many of whom will have accidents attempting to navigate in the usual manner. They will literally injure themselves falling from trees while blotto, slipping sideways into bodies of water and dropping heavily to the ground, unconscious. The elegance of nature is noticeably absent on these occasions. Ripped, animals and birds attempt to walk with their legs crossed, like humans. Flying and swimming are out of the question for creatures that are three sheets to the wind.

We all know people that are permanently ploughed, even if they’re incapable of standing up to be counted.

There may in fact be an excellent reason for this. The brains of both humans and animals contain protein-based receptors that allow for response to drugs of various types, as keys fit into locks.

I have a lot of difficulties like this when dealing with the problems of some of the more evangelistic Christian humans who write to me for advice. I do keep trying to explain, but it’s almost impossible to tunnel through the multiple layers of brainwashing to any good effect. Please try to comprehend: evolution as you perceive it to be was not responsible for these receptors. No, not at all!

They were inserted in the long-ago time when your present prototype was created in what was a huge genetic experiment. One of the main reasons for this was to create a living genetic library and spiritual evolutionary opportunity on one of the most beautiful planets anywhere, and we did try very hard.

These receptors were originally designed as interfaces with various substances so all life could still commune and communicate interdimensionally, but they are now used to control you all.

This was an extremely long time ago, and many things have unfortunately changed since the beginning, and not by design, as the original plan was in line with the Creative Principle. For instance, you are all now slaves and yet most of you have not yet worked it out. You may write to me if this bothers you, but in my experience until the beer runs out, all balls (mainly of the sporting variety) deflate and the doors of the religious institutions of the world close permanently, you will not grasp even the basic concept that you are utterly controlled.

After you realize this and you have dealt with the trauma, there is a way to become free and evolve. That’s another story entirely.

Tut! Wotta Tripp is ashamed of you all! Yes, all of you who are still asleep!! Yes, you!!

I personally know a lady with an amazingly large set of frilly pink narcotic receptors, by the way. You can’t really talk to her much, but it seems this is a natural condition for some after all, so there it is.

I hope this helps your confused mind-set.

Regards,
Dame Wotta Tripp

Free Kentucky Press

I must pass on to you all a newspaper article sent to me by little Leroy Bliss, aged 8, from Kentucky. He wrote me a private letter describing his fear of going out to play alone in the evening and I felt I should share the article with you. For shame!

FREE KENTUCKY PRESS - DAILY MINTO - September 16 2008
Man Killed by Enraged Cabbage Whites

An almost upright, white, right, middle aged Kentucky man was killed yesterday evening in yet another of the growing number of attacks recently perpetrated by Cabbage White butterflies.

This hard-line species are extremely clannish, and few humans have ever penetrated their enclave, but they are known to be white extremists and many of the recent attacks were carried out against people of color. This is the first confirmed death associated with the Cabbage Whites, who are becoming more militant and violent in Kentucky, and it was also surprising because the victim was a person of rather pallid color, indeed none, to speak of.

Billy Joe Bob Willy Joe Brown died of his injuries shortly after being left on the side of the road when the ambulance attendants discovered he had let his insurance lapse through lack of funds.

Brown's widow, May, allowed us to interview her. Talking through her tears, she described the terrible last moments of her husband’s life. "I was feeding our only chicken when they played their evil trick!"

According to Brown’s widow, Brown had been cycling home from choir practice when it happened. Using the little known 'white rope' trick, which involves dozens of Whites linking legs across the road, they awaited their opportunity. The trick resembles a rope strung across the road at dusk, and naturally Brown braked hard when it appeared, tumbling off his bike to the ground.

"They were on him in a second, he didn't stand a chance. They stomped on him all over so hard, he looked like a close-up of newsprint!" sobbed the anguished widow. "They killed him because his new friend was black, well, technically, but to me he seemed rather a light brown, and I thought no-one would notice. Of course, we knew they (Whites) were racist so we always left them well alone, and anyway they always smell so strongly of cabbage and old family Bibles, but I never expected this! It's just me and Betty the chicken now!"

Police will be looking into Brown’s death in the next week or so.

Ostrich Leather

Dear Dame Wotta Tripp,
On my seventh birthday, now many years ago, I was given my first ostrich. A few weeks earlier, when at a zoo, I had evinced great interest (in the enthusiasm of the moment) when I saw a group of them in a pen. From then on it just grew.
I became known as Ostrich Olga, the girl who loved ostriches. By the time Christmas arrived my interest in the bird had begun to diminish, but nevertheless a well-intentioned relative presented me with a second ostrich and I was too shy to tell everyone that I was now not so interested in them.
We lived on a farm in the Transvaal, so accommodating the ostriches was no problem, but by the time I had been given a third bird for my eighth birthday the first two ostriches had produced offspring. I never gained sufficient courage to confess that my interest in ostriches had ended, and now, at age seventy- three, I have one thousand, seven hundred and ninety-three of these amazing birds.
People from all over the world visit the farm and their donations, together with the sale of ostrich feathers, has provided a good income, but I have begun to resent the birds and am considering changing the operation to ostrich-meat production, since there is now a considerable demand for their flesh. I feel there is a moral dilemma here, and am not entirely comfortable with this idea. May I ask you to allow your readers, through your platform, to add their advice to yours, to enable me to reach a sound decision on this envisaged change?
Sincerely,
Olga Van Maas


Dear Olga,
What a bottomless pit of regret you must be feeling if you have spent you life caring for creatures you have little emotional feeling for. Poor birds!

This is what occurs when a person has insufficient self-esteem to be honest, for fear of letting down the people who care for them. Such is the destiny of one brought up to please those around them, a common fate for a girl, especially almost three-quarters of a century ago.

You and the ostriches probably never stood a chance.

I’d lay odds that you have never had any of the children you once dreamed of, what with managing irrigation and all the other countless chores.

If you do farm them for meat, remember that the leather is also becoming very popular now due to its unique texture and it can be made available in any color or shade.
Ostrich leather undergarments, perhaps feathered for special occasions, might be one option.

May I also suggest hernia support items, waistcoats, hats, golf wear and ball-gags?

Personally I do not condone using animals in this way, but I must remain impartial.

Naturally I see your dilemma and will be happy to ask my readers for their input. I think a poll will be in order here. Please go to the bottom of the page and give Olga your opinion. Thank You!

Help is on the way –
Wotta Tripp