Selling Life

By now, the secret’s out.


It appears to be the single greatest medical discovery in decades, and I just saw the story that made its way to Sunday Morning on CBS.

What really stood out to me in the story was the parents’ fierce determination to try anything and everything possible to save their daughter, whose body was being eaten by cancer.


That’s what the father called their decision to take their daughter out of one hospital to go two hours away to another where they would eventually see their daughter’s cancer remit, then reappear, and finally disappear for good.

I pray that it stays that way.

Think of the possibilities.

Selfishly, I can only remember seeing my mother spend her final days in a hospital cancer ward.

We were told before they performed her biopsy, so they could get a clearer picture of how bad her cancer was, that if it was a long time span, it meant they were able to locate the issue(s) and work on them.

The biopsy lasted three minutes.

They basically opened her up, saw the cancer had taken deadly residence everywhere, and closed her back up. From what I understood at the time, the exposure to oxygen just kicked the cancerous cells into their deadly dance even faster.

She would pass two days later.

So, here I am watching this story, enjoying my coffee, and who is the voice of doom amongst all this optimism?

Who else?

The Domestic Despot.

“Honey, isn’t this the greatest story ever? Look at this beautiful young girl who beat cancer! This is a real game changer. Just think of all the people’s lives it will save!”

“Yeah, somebody will find a way to fuck it up. The next step will be for Big Pharma to monetize, and then for the government to weaponize, and the end game will be a serum for sale to those few that can afford it.”

I love that girl.

Because, after the sanguine outlook, it is the end game, and only the end game, that really matters.

She’s right.

Another short clip of a story about a woman who lost several fingers after catching her hand in a meat tenderizer.

A similar occurrence in my life.

No, not me.

When I was employed as Executive Chef at the highest-volume restaurant on the California coast from San Francisco to Long Beach, I employed two full-time fish cutters.

Both were illegals, and I had their fierce loyalty, as I ensured they were treated with respect from every single one of my kitchen employees.

One of my guys, Pedro, was feeding an electric shrimp-peeling machine when it clearly malfunctioned and grabbed his work glove, and then his middle three fingers.


The major equipment manufacturer hemmed and hawed about not paying due to his illegal status.

So what did the big bad blustery chef do?

I called my Daddy.

Pedro collected twenty thousand dollars, and I never heard from him again.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

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