Vanity of Their Minds

By Patrick M Schlievert PhD

This is a timely book where our current Earth appears at a tipping point, with several tyrannical countries disrupting the normal procession of the free world. Wouldn't it help the world immensely if the tyrannical leaders no longer existed and no longer rose to power? Patch, the main character, and his spouse, Olivia, try multiple ways to make these malignant leaders disappear, including uniting the world in the fight against infections, uniting the world in defining once and for all true religion, and finally successfully showing the world how to make these tyrannical leaders disappear, never to arise again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665753845

Patrick M Schlievert PhD

Dr. Schlievert has been a professor of microbiology and immunology for 45 years. Prior to that, he worked as an economic geologist, mostly interested in pretty rocks that are worth lots of money, such as emeralds and gold. Dr. Schlievert has described the causes of 29 new infectious diseases and how they may be treated, publishing over 450 scientific manuscripts. He is listed as the 45th best microbiologist since records have been kept. He has written a non-fiction book on his experiences with toxic shock syndrome, He now uses his professional experiences to write this historical, science, and action fiction book to teach the world how to prevent psychopaths and sociopaths from becoming leaders of countries.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

HELL AND HEAVEN

There’s someone knocking at my door.

Open it please! I trust it’s not the devil,

Taking my soul; to drop through the floor.

To hell with me, down to its ninth level.

I trust it’s my soul, arising to heaven.

Eight hundred years is all I can give.

Too many chances, mistakes that I make.

Follow my lead, and learn how to live?

If I am wrong, it’s hell I will take.

If I am right, I will be in heaven.

By Patch P. Lieveert

T he following is an accurate reckoning, an accurate summation, an accurate shebang of my endeavors to free the world of despicable, sociopathic, and psychopathic leaders. At the end of this memoir, I will call those bad leaders Trolls because in the end, that is what they are. We should accurately refer to them as Trolls. I will do this only near the end of this life story, only to avoid confusion as you read along. And I don’t mean Troll persons who leave offensive messages on the internet. I mean monstrous beings who are hostile to men, women, and children, doing citizens great harm along the way.

We, and I know I speak for most of the citizens of the entire world, have suffered at the hands of these dumb shits’ (sorry Helen) for way too long, far too long, and it is time, beyond even time, to scrape these blood-sucking leeches from our lives. If they try to re-assert themselves and re-take unwarranted power, we should smack them down, smote them as was done in biblical days, smack them down even with the force of a Southwestern post-hole-driver.

As I write this discourse, it is not my intent to come across as totally mean, just a plain mean person, but instead, as a person who is just plain mean to bad leaders. There are plenty of these bad leaders. Time to change the narrative.

Also, as I write, I have at long last found the best, and likely only, way to purge them from our lives, hopefully for all of eternity, and most definitely for the good of the entire world. A way to send them to Hell in a handbasket and at the speed of light. These types of leaders, purely and simply put, are not needed. They are not wanted! They are not good for us! They are like poison ivy, except even worse. More like deadly nightshade. There are not even any infections worse than they are. So, why do we permit them to infect us. Why do we even tolerate them? Why do we let them kill us, when there are so many other things that we have no control over that can kill us? Wait a minute, they for the most part do have power over us, which makes it easy for them to kill us. Time to change things for our benefit.

Believe it or not Ripley, I just recently celebrated my one-hundred fiftieth birthday, June 2, 2052. Yea for me! I made it to one-hundred fifty years. I celebrated my birthday in private though, which is kind of a bummer. But so goes my life these days!

Yes, I am an unusually old guy. I have way outlived my wife. However, I am destined to continue to look only thirty-five to forty years’ old. I do not have the expected face wrinkles and body wrinkles of a one-hundred fifty-year-old ancient duffer, an old coot, a real knucklehead. I am not in a rustic pine box or even a high-quality, velvet-interior-lined plush coffin. I am not six feet underground looking up at daisies, instead of looking down at the current pretty side of daisies. Beautiful butterflies dance along merrily, and bees buzz along, both attending to the flowers at my feet.

I wear regular clothes. By regular, I mean just a plain polo shirt, but turquoise as my best color, and boot-cut blue jeans. I continue to have most of my head hair, though some of my extra hair is drifting to my back, outside my ears, and into my nose. I lost most of my butt many years ago, according to my ever-honest family practice physician, but at least I do not have a pot belly. I do not have a cellulite belly. I am not a tub of margarine. My belly does not wobble like an errant ripply ocean wave in front of me as I stroll, walk, jog, and run.

I run every day to stay in my sculpted, svelte shape. I run five miles a day at a modest clip in Midwestern speak, except Sunday when I run ten miles at the same unexceptional clip. Modest in Midwestern speak means pretty darn fast. I do not have to wear flood pants because of lacking my butt, but also because I don’t have a pot, cellulite, margarine belly for my belt to be looped above. I look reasonably normal. I still have over six-hundred fifty years to go before I pack it in, go out to pasture, go to the glue factory, become an economy-sized tub of diet margarine, begin to look up at daisies.

I have now, after all this time, finally figured out how I am supposed to use my two unique gifts for the benefit of the world. This is mainly what I have been pondering these days, along with my one-hundred fiftieth birthday. I am just now realizing how to bring the world’s religious and philosophical leaders together to identify once and for all what it means to be religious, irrespective of type of religion. In this way, we can classify the world’s peoples as religious or non-religious. Religions are not supposed to believe in terminating people with extreme prejudice, or in common English, kill them.

If we can get agreement on this absolutely imperative definition of religion, then those people who go about killing other people will be considered non-religious people, never able to argue that they are doing their killing sprees in the name of their religion. Then perhaps the world can have the time to identify sociopaths and psychopaths and prevent them from ever becoming leaders of countries, or leaders of anything except maybe the outer reaches of Hell.

However, I am getting way ahead of myself. I have been accused of starting too many conversations in the middle of the conversations, midmost, midpoints, instead of setting some perspective at the beginning. Like, how did I get to be one hundred fifty years’ old?

How do you convince anyone, much less the United States Federal Government, that you are one-hundred fifty years’ old? Think about it this way. The Federal Government has come to believe that we are all mostly their dishonest minions, that it is their primary, if not major, responsibility to keep us honest, even though we as honest folks pay their salaries. Wouldn’t you imagine, that for just one time, they would grasp the obvious concept, at least to most of us, that they work on our behalf, for our well-being, and that we do not labor forty to seventy-hour work weeks for them?

I guess that makes me an idealistic dreamer instead of a realistic pragmatist. I’d rather be an idealistic dreamer, as we were all born to be, but as too many of us lose with achieving adulthood. The ethical ideals of the world are what we should all strive for throughout our lives. Just doing something decent for people is an ideal we should all be able to live with, and to which we can all strive. In other words, no more is it OK to be mister bad men and women!

I have been collecting social security payments since I turned seventy years’ old. You do not acquire, you do not merit, and you certainly do not collect extra social security payment dollars beyond when you turn seventy. Thus, you should begin collecting social security benefits at least at seventy. Dumb not to. After all, you did graciously pay into the Federal Government a mountain of money for social security during your nearly fifty-year work career. I for one have been contributing into the social security system since its enactment clear back in the year 1935.

Do you know that when I was one-hundred thirty years’ old, the Federal Government indicted me, requiring me to appear in Federal Court in Minneapolis, after charging me with defrauding the American taxpayers, by pretending that I was still alive, that I was still the person christened Patch P. Lieveert. I would ask you this, who else would I be if not to be me?

I most often use only my first name though, Patch. Kind of a cool one-name don’t you think? I used to use my last name also for most matters, but I was kidded a lot in school, so I now use only my first name, Patch, whenever possible.

Yes, I am Patch, one named as I usually imagine it. My official name is Patch P. Lieveert. You guessed it. My middle name is also Patch. I need mostly only to remember my first name. At one-hundred fifty years’ old, if still alive and kicking, most citizens would be senile and not remember much, likely not even their middle and last names. Not me. I still have a mostly eidetic, kind of photographic memory, except for remembering people’s names. I have trouble there. It’s like I have a short circuit in my brain for a person’s name. What did you say your name was anyway?

I have a friend, Dr. Mitchell Overhand. Whenever Mitch meets someone, even if he has known them for many years, he approaches, extends his hand to shake, and says: Hi I’m Mitchell Overhand. You can call me Mitch. This saves everyone the distress of making a blind stab at remembering his name. Just in case they drew a blank on his name. Remember how embarrassing it is to attempt to introduce your friend to a past friend of yours? The pressure is on to remember names and properly introduce folks. This is even more of a problem if one of the persons is known, but not well known, by you. Sometimes I forget and say in a whisper, Jesus Christ! Why can’t I remember this person’s name? Mitch usually overhears me, so he must have super hearing. He then replies. You don’t have to call me Jesus Christ. That’s nice of you, but that is not my name.

I try to laugh it off, and for a time, I tried to explain myself. That just made matters in his mind as his comment: funnier than a barrel of alligators. What does that even mean? Incomprehensible. Now, I don’t even bother to explain myself.

I do remember one time serving on a committee with a senior faculty member from another University Department, Literature I believe. I am a past Professor of Microbiology, Immunology, Geology, and Astrophysics. Yep, I could not decide what I wanted to do with my life while here on Earth, so I accumulated graduate degrees in sciences. I am the ultimate science nerd. A mathematics-science savant! A bundle of brain electrical discharges of numbers, formulas, microbes, B lymphocytes, antibodies, T lymphocytes, rocks, minerals, stars, planets, and asteroids.

Anyway, one day I was walking with a good friend of mine. She had a stroller, pushing one of her young kids. The senior faculty member came up to us and asked the name of our child. My friend and I were not married. This was not our child. It was my friend’s child with her husband.

It turns out that I could not introduce the senior faculty member to my friend since I forgot the senior faculty member’s name in those haywire cobwebs that comprise my brain for people’s names. I could not even remember the child’s name. I still cannot. It might be Maya, but I am just not sure. Kind of embarrassing, but that’s the way my brain is put together. I remember a lot of things about mathematics and science but not people’s names, unless I see them all the time.

If you want to know how mathematics-science nerdy I can be, think about this. I daily toy with numbers during my free time. One day, while playing with numbers, I discovered that if you multiply twelve-million, three-hundred forty-five thousand, six-hundred, seventy-nine (12,345,679) times nine, the answer is a long list of ones. Notice, there is no eight in the numbers to be multiplied. This does not work correctly if there is an eight between the seven and nine. How nerdy is my spending time on things like this? How did I even find out this gives an answer of all ones? Just random luck and playing around with numbers. I guess!

Speaking of being built, I am six feet tall and scrawny, gristly my friend Gearhead would say, a real mathematics and science, neurodevelopmental savant with wild, uncontrolled hair when it grows to shoulder length. Yes! I still have my head of hair. My hair has only recently started to be re-distributed, as happens to countless older guys when they are a lot younger than I currently am. Some folks think I look a lot like Dr. James Watson when he was young. The James Watson who is given credit with identifying DNA as the structure to contain our genes in chromosomes. He and Sir Francis Crick were given the Nobel Prize for this research. I continue to think this Nobel Prize minimally should have been shared with Dr. Rosalind Franklin.

I am scrawny to look at, but I am an adequately tough one-hundred fifty pounder. Wiry is the word my friend Gearhead Wind also uses to describe me. I have taken years of judo, karate, and yoga. Do you realize that the warrior one position of yoga is the same as the basic stance in karate kata? I have come to think that yoga is slow karate without all the actual punching, kicking, and yelling. In other words, no violence in yoga, except violence to my poor scrawny muscles.

As I said, I weigh one-hundred fifty pounds. I can military press one-hundred fifty pounds, that is deadlift one-hundred fifty pounds directly off the floor and hoist it above my head, without jerking the weight. I can also do twenty pull-ups. We all know what pull-ups are from gym class in High School. We hated doing them. I pole-vaulted in my younger days which builds upper-body strength. That’s why I could do twenty pull-ups. I used to climb a rope to the top of the gym twenty-five times every day to build upper arm strength.

I will tell you a lot more about my unnatural speed a bit later, but I am a smidgeon faster than fast! Not bragging. I am faster than a locomotive. I can leap tall building with a single bound. If you look up in the sky, you won’t see me. I am too fast. I have blonde hair, and I do not wear eyeglasses. I have 20/20 vision. Unfortunately, I don’t have X-ray vision though. I can only wish that I had X-ray vision like superman. I do not wear a disguise, and I don’t have a red S on my chest.

How do I convince the Federal Government that I am who I state that I am at one-hundred fifty years of age, that I am not defrauding the Federal Government and American taxpayers? It isn’t easy. It isn’t pretty. It isn’t painless. It is something you do not want to have to do. It is something I had to do. It is something I was required by law to do. It is something I did. It is something I did in kind of a cute way. Here’s how.

When I reached one hundred years’ old, I had my chromosomes sequenced, in other words my entire DNA genome. I mean I had the DNA of all of my chromosomes sequenced from start to finish, all three-billion, two-hundred million base pairs of the DNA of my chromosomes. Lots of A’s, T’s, C’s, and G’s, arranged in unique ways to make me who I am. To show you that I know what I am talking about, this was done using an automated DNA sequencing machine, performed at the University for about one thousand dollars. Yes! Only one-thousand dollars.

When the Federal Government accused me of fraud at one-hundred thirty years of age, I landed in Federal Court. I hate being in court! It’s almost as scary as Hell. It could be a hell of a lot scarier than Hell. I think I know how scary it is, having been in court lots of times, nearly always as an expert witness. You’re supposed to tell the truth in court. My experience is that many witnesses in court distort the truth at best. Garble and invent the truth as often as possible. Misrepresent themselves as experts much of the time. Many so-called experts simply lie in their roles as professional, expert witnesses. I have tried all my life not to lie. I do not lie in court. That way I also cannot be caught up in a lie when I appear in the next court case.

The judges in court even wear black robes, reminding me of what the Devil, Lucifer, Beelzebub, or evil spirit, if you wish, wears as he has the stone-cold dead transported across the river Styx, to spend eternity in real Hell. I think the river Styx must be equivalent to flying at the speed of light beyond the known Universe into Hell as I define it. The border between what we know as Heaven on Universe and Hell. The end of the last star-filled galaxy, into eternal blackness, full of dark fire and dark brimstone. The hell you say!

The difference between the Devil and a judge is that the judge usually can only send you to jail for some designated period of time, which in itself is hell, particularly if you are not guilty of any crime, instead of the Devil condemning you to an eternity in the armpit we call Hell.

I consider myself to be an honest person. There are quite a few innocent people in jail. There are even quite a few innocent people on death row.

I have always believed that if a person is incorrectly found guilty of murder and put to death, then the judge, who conferred or affirmed this verdict, should also be put to death. I can assure you then that no one on death row would ever again be put to death.

This current rant of mine reminds me of a judge who used to ride the same city bus that I took home from the University. The judge was a heavy, chain smoker. It was all he could tolerate to ride the bus for fifteen minutes from downtown to his bus stop without puffing on another cigarette. He developed the nasty habit of lighting up his needed cigarette inside the bus, on the steps, while waiting for the door to open so he could step off the bus.

One day, the bus driver told the Judge politely to quit lighting-up because the cigarette smoke remained in the bus and was negatively affecting the rest of us riders. How did the judge respond? He turned to the bus driver and pompously stated: Eat Shit and Die! Sorry Helen. This is actually what the judge said. believe it or not. How would you like him to be the judge deciding your case in court? Do you know which judge would be a better judge than him? Any judge!

And what the hell is the river Styx anyway according to mythology? According to Greek mythology, the river Styx forms the boundary between Gaia (Earth) and the Underworld (Hell). According to some ancient Greeks, the river begins near Feneos, Greece (Latin: Pheneus). What in the Sam Hill did he just say?

There are many legends about Styx. The river is so named because mythology gods were so absolutely arrogant that they took everything and anything they wanted to satisfy their godly desires. I mean everything and anything! The river resulted in the death of those gods and thus became the river Styx. Literally, Styx means Shuddering because of the loathing of death by people and gods in those ancient times. Is it any different now? I think not.

There is a legend that Achilles’ mother dipped him in the river Styx to give him immortality. There is a concurrent legend that the river Styx could indeed confer immortality. Nice try Achilles’ mom!

Anyway, Achilles’ mother dipped him in the river Styx, except for his heel where his Achilles’ tendon was, and which she was holding. Thus, although Achilles himself may have become immortal, his non-immortal weakness was his heel.

It is said Achilles was a hero of the Trojan War, the greatest of Greek warriors. However, Paris is said to have shot Achilles in the heel, and Achilles died from this arrow shot. The river Styx carried Achilles to the Underworld. I presume he died of a Staphylococcus aureus bacterial infection. There were no antibiotics back then. We know the plagues of Athens, in Before Christ (BC) times up to the present times, were likely caused by the same Staphylococcus aureus bacteria, so this seems a reasonable assumption to make on my part.

In any case, the Federal Government dragged me kicking with, in my own mind, ear-splitting screams into Federal Court. I will now sum things up more quickly for you. I said to the judge that I had my entire genome (DNA in my chromosomes) sequenced when I was one hundred years’ old. I asked the judge for me to have my chromosomes sequenced again. If the two genome sequences matched up, then I must be the same person that I said I was. I must be me. I must be the scrawny one-hundred fifty pounder that I said I was. In other words, I am who I say I am. I am not that I am, as God would say in the Bible.

We are all unique, not sharing identical chromosomes, except identical twins, and so our DNA sequences will be different from each other. DNA analysis is used all the time in court these days. I don’t have an identical twin. I am allogeneic to everyone else. Allogenic means I am different immunologically. I would reject foreign (allogeneic) transplants. My friend Gearhead would have told me. Yes! You are indeed different. I think he meant my brain function made me divergent from normal, possibly ninety degrees divergent away from normal.

Don’t you just love scientists who seem to have the need to use new names for common things? Did you know that your kneecap is the patella in science and medical terms? Why not just use kneecap since we all know what the kneecap is? The reason of course is that it makes scientists and physicians seem more important. At least kneecap tells you where it is and what it does.

Geologists and astrophysicists are no different in wanting unique terms for everything they study. I am reminded of the word schist. This is the name of a metamorphic rock, a rock made from extreme underground pressure on an igneous or sedimentary rock, and its transformation into the metamorphic schist. This means common rocks which formed from silt or volcanoes can be compressed and changed into schists by pressure and heat during mountain building.

Nearly all schist names are modified by a major type of mineral found in them. For example, I know of a mountain near Custer, South Dakota that is composed of one massive garnet schist. Yes…garnets, those semi-precious gems. Millions of them in the garnet schist near Custer, South Dakota. I can show you if you want.

Many schists have lots of mica flakes in them and thus are called mica schists. Mica is that flat mineral that makes granite sparkle. There is another type of rock blown out of volcanoes which is called tuff. This of course means you can have a tuff schist. I’m serious! I am not cussing Helen.

Helen was my senior High School English teacher who taught me that the only reason people cuss is they do not know how to use the English language properly. Did you notice I did not split my infinitive? I did not say this: "The only reason people cuss is they do know how to properly use the English language." Helen would be so proud of me. Doesn’t infinitive mean able to live forever? What does that have to do with using the English language correctly?

Then, there are astrophysicists. Do you know, or even care, that Angular Size and Distance refer to the apparent size of an object in the sky, or the distance between two objects, measured as an angle from your vantage-point? Your index finger held at arm’s length spans about one degree of angle, your fist about ten degrees of angle.

Aperture means the diameter of a telescope’s main lens or mirror, the telescope’s most important attribute. As a rule, a telescope’s maximum useful magnification is fifty times its aperture in inches (or twice its aperture in millimeters). Huh?

Asterism means any prominent star pattern that isn’t a whole constellation, such as the Northern Cross or the Big Dipper. The Big Dipper we see in the sky, is only part of the whole Ursa Major constellation. This just starts the As in the alphabet of astrophysics.

Where was I? Oh yes! The judge ordered my genome (chromosomes) to be sequenced again for one thousand dollars. Yes, only one thousand dollars. The same sequence came up as the one from when I was one hundred years’ old. I am the same person that I said I was, except quite a bit older. I even pinched myself to be sure I was the same person. Yes, I am the person I said I was. I merited having the social security payments.

The Federal Government again started up my monthly allotments. They will have to do this for an additional six-hundred fifty years at the very least. Speaking of breaking the piggy bank! I may break the Federal Government piggy bank by the time I pass on, hopefully to Heaven, at the speed of light, and not-hopefully to Hell in a handbasket.

The judge was suitably impressed that I was still alive, and that I looked only about forty years of age. He decided he needed to ask me some additional questions about my longevity when I was in his courtroom. He was surprised, shocked even, that I could still be alive and look so relatively young. I looked like a forever thirty-five to forty years’ old old fart. That would continue for several hundred additional years, assuming someone doesn’t assassinate me; portending future events to be addressed in chapters later in this memoir.

Just like for my other distinctive, unique ability, that of intense quickness, the Supreme Being, God if you want, said I will live for at least eight hundred total years. I think I have the possibility for more years than eight hundred years if I act justly in my life. Since I am one-hundred fifty years’ old, I still have six-hundred fifty years remaining…at least.

A friend of mine recently said the following to me. This friend was a person from one of those gun-toting Southwestern States in the United States. The friend pointed out to me that God believes in the second amendment to the constitution, meaning God is a double gun-toting good-old-boy, one pistol on each hip. God is faster than Hell. God will no doubt take you to heaven by shooting you when you are eight-hundred years. Finally, put you out of your misery. Nice thought by this friend, don’t you think?

With that horrible thought, I want to tell you a story I heard today from another gun-toting friend. "There was a new sailor on a war ship. He of course had to go through the typical general hazing routine onboard. The new sailor was advised that career Navy personnel do not like being thrown off a ship and into the ocean because of sharks in the oceans. They said that the only reason you would end up in the ocean is if there is an explosion on the ship, either due to a bomb launched from somewhere else or because of an explosive technical problem on the ship. Either way, the explosion would normally cause any number of cuts and abrasions on the sailors, who would then bleed into the ocean when they were thrown overboard by the explosion. Sharks can easily detect blood from at least a mile away. They can detect human poop from at least two miles away. But even more impressively, sharks can detect poop from at least three miles away from sailors who have had the shit scared out of them by an on-board explosion. The moral of the story: Never get the shit scared out of you onboard a ship. Sorry Helen. This cussing is what was said to me.

Why was I picked for having these two unique characteristics, namely speed of one-tenth the speed of light, and incredible longevity? I ask the Supreme Being, God if you want, all the time to answer this question for me, but as is typical in these conversations, I get no answer. They are one-way conversations most of the time. I am sure you have experienced the same thing with night-time conversations with the Supreme Being, God if you want.

Here are the major questions the judge asked me to answer for him. These questions provide the basis for this entire discourse on how I am supposed to use my unique characteristics for the good of the world.

The judge asked me these five questions.

First Patch. How can you still be alive at one-hundred fifty years of age?

Second Patch. How long will you live?

Third Patch. Who gave you this longevity?

Fourth Patch. Will you please tell the Court the story of your life already lived? You have been around for such a long time. This may help us to predict the future of our world.

Fifth Patch. What are you destined to do with your long life?

The answers to these questions should minimally help keep you out of my Court in the future if I have any say about such things. You cannot be tried twice for the same crime. You are innocent of defrauding the Federal Government. You are not lying about your age, and you are who you say you are.

This was nice of the judge to say, but it did not really keep me out of Court as you will see later. These days, it seems everywhere I look, there is another courthouse, Federal, State, or local. Maybe, they are banks for lawyers, just like there are banks for bankers, and they are everywhere. You ever see a bank that is run-down and crummy looking? Nope! No such thing. You ever see a courthouse that is run-down and crummy. Nope? No such thing.

As I said, this is the accurate memoir about me and my experiences as I related them to the Judge. Let me begin by simple answers to some of the first questions.

God, the Supreme Being if you want, told me in one of our rare two-way conversations that I will live for eight hundred years, plus the possibility of an extension if I do well. I’m not exactly sure what that extension entails, but I will see in time.

I am supposed to use this longevity trait and my other unique trait, explosive speed, for the benefit, the good, of the people of the world. I just have had to figure out how to accomplish these good things. I may finally have this figured out though. I think so anyway.

I will tell you how this will occur as my discourse grows longer. I have made some attempts that worked for the benefit of people and some that went nowhere faster than fast. Some went all to hell, and some even went to hell in a handbasket!

I will now speak about my experiences thus far in my life as I related them to the judge. I will tell you later my predictions of the future, a future that I will modify for the good of the world. If I can.

Achieving my ultimate goal will come later, so bear with me here, and later you will read about my real success story. I will lead you into where that story ends…I hope. The virtues of my stories are to tell, convince the world how to prevent sociopaths and psychopaths from rising to the top, to stop them from ever becoming world leaders.

Think about how we could have a chance at Heaven on Universe, not just Heaven on Earth or Hell on Earth. If only we could have prevented toilet paper like Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot, Idi Amin, and Vladimir Putin from becoming horrible leaders, of Germany, Cambodia, Uganda, and Russia, respectively. In other words, the world would have been a lot better off, and millions of useless deaths prevented, if we had not allowed these four, and many others like them, from becoming leaders in the world.

Have you ever noticed that most world leaders have, or border on having, sociopathic or psychopathic behavior? Too many times they ignore their people, except the military and gun associations, whom they pay enormous sums of money to remain in power, selling death as their end point. Even in science, when we do experiments with use of animal models of human diseases, we cannot use death as an end point. Those scumbag leaders in fact use death as an end point! They use their relatively uneducated citizens as so much cannon fodder. This keeps the leaders in power, usually for long enough to allow them to acquire and sequester billions of dollars in other, agreeable dictatorial countries. This was especially true for Vladimir Putin, a kleptomaniac and power monger of the absolute greatest, but worst magnitude. A warty toad by any other name would be a saint by comparison to Putin.

Have you ever noticed that no one is named Adolf anymore? I can see why, considering the huge number of deaths for which Adolf Hitler was responsible. My guess is fewer and fewer if any persons will be named Vladimir because of the offensive, despicable way Vladimir Putin behaved while he was trying to reconstruct the old Soviet empire in 2022, killing great numbers of people in Ukraine, and bombing cities into complete and utter ruin. He was a hemorrhoid on the world’s butt. Even worse than that, he was a viral protuberance on the nose of the wicked witch of the West.

I spoke with the judge about another unique trait that I have, a trait that also led me to appear in Federal Court several years previously. Suffice it to say, that at that time, I worried that I would become dark matter in the Universe, present in the Universe but never seen, and of course then, never understood. In other words, I thought I would end up in Guantanamo Bay, also known as Gitmo. However, I have not ended up as dark matter, I have not been renditioned into obscurity, I have not been renditioned to Gitmo, the East end of Cuba.

I am the real person that I said I was, with the special trait of incredible speed, eighteen-thousand six-hundred miles per second, in addition to exceptional longevity. I am Patch, and that is a pretty good one name for an old guy like me.

When I was seventy and looking like a nearly forty-year-old, I was indicted for possibly defrauding the American public by saying that I had been to Mars. I tried to publish a manuscript in the journal, Nature, a premier scientific journal, with the manuscript entitled: Earthlings are Martians. Later, I wrote a book about my experiences. The Director of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration, otherwise known as NASA, accused me of scientific fraud for saying that I had been to Mars. No one has been to Mars, He stated with certainty. Thus, Dr. Lieveert (he stated Liefaart) has defrauded the American public of millions and millions of dollars by spending research grant dollars to do what no one has been able to do. No one has been to Mars.

Now you know why I try to use only my first name, Patch. Liefaart? Get real National Aeronautics and Space Administration Director!

I have in fact been to Mars, and I did in fact show that Earthlings are Martians. I could go to Mars because of that second, special talent I own, namely, I can run at one-tenth the speed of light. I can do that without burning up in the atmosphere. How? I have no idea how. I can circumnavigate the Earth in a little over one and three-tenths seconds. With that speed, I can break free from the pull of Earth’s gravity and launch myself to Mars. When I go to Mars, I of course, wear a spacesuit.

I daydream along the way to Mars and back, which takes forty-five minutes each way, even at my speed, and even when Mars is at its closest point to Earth. Space is vast! I spend a lot of time daydreaming. I daydream of scientific and mathematical things a lot. I also dream of Brennan my first love when I was age fourteen. Sometimes, I dream of stories I have heard. I never dream of mayhem.

Here’s a quick tidbit for you, one that I told myself along the way to Mars one time. Hey Patch! There was a man who went to Heaven. His name was John Michael George, a good Christian name. Well…John became tired of wearing his halo and playing his harp all the time in Heaven. He asked God if he could go visit his friend, Stan Fran, who lived in Hell, for a day trip. God of course said sure so long as John left his halo in Heaven. John went to Hell to visit his friend Stan Fran. Stan Fran had a disco in Hell. Yes, the dancing kind of disco from the 1970s. Stan Fran took John to the disco, even playing Disco Inferno" for John. John had a great day dancing disco-style. However, then it was time to go back to Heaven. He had such a good time in Hell, at the Disco, that he was kind of disappointed to have to return to Heaven. When John arrived in Heaven, God immediately noticed that John did not have his harp with him. John said. Oh no! I left my harp in Stan Fran’s disco. You younger folks can ask the older folks what this means if you don’t know. Does it sound like a song to you?

On one of my trips to Mars, I had collected Martian soil and rock samples from fifty feet below the Mars’ surface. As I said, I am a scientist with specialization in Microbiology, Immunology, Geology, and Astrophysics, so I know how to do this. I showed that there are microbes on Mars, called Archaea, that gave rise to the tree of life here on Earth.

Those microbes had been blasted into space, freeze-dried (powdered) in space, and settled as new Earthlings here on our wet, oh-so-inviting Earth. At the time this event happened, there was no oxygen in our Earth’s atmosphere. These Martian microbes, like Archaea here on Earth, cannot live in the presence of oxygen. They are called anaerobes, meaning anti-aerobes or anti-oxygen. These one-celled Archaea use carbon dioxide and sunlight to grow. They produce oxygen, which in the end killed most of them but ultimately gave rise even to us as adorable aerobic humans.

When I was seventy years old, the Supreme Being, God if you want, told me that I would live to be at least eight hundred years old, just like Noah, Methuselah, and Abraham, and others from the Bible. Think about it. That time frame is twenty-seven generations. That is a lot of family coming and going, being born, dying, while I continue to look nearly forty years’ old.

At one hundred years’ old, looking only forty, during one of my slow, ten-mile runs, I had to figure out what to do for my future if I was going to live for at least eight hundred years. The first thing that came into my mind was that I ought to have my genome sequenced, as I said and later did. Then, when I became older, and the Federal Government wanted to cut off my social security payments, I could simply have another genome sequence done. The two would match almost identically. The Government could not do anything about that. I can’t fake my own genome sequence. I have lots of As, Ts, Cs, and Gs, in a lot of unique arrangements…to make little old charming me.

There are a few, minor things though that might not completely match up. My immune system is constantly changing as I fight microbes, so there may be small variability at immune places in my genome. However, basically I am who I am. However, I am not…that I am, as God said in the Bible. I am not God. I am not even a Messiah.

My telomeres are interesting in the DNA sequence.

What the hell did he just say? Telomeres? We don’t need no stinking telomeres! Yes, we do. What are they?

The reason we age and then we die is because our cells senesce, meaning they get old and wrinkly, and stop dividing, stop renewing us, then of course making us look crinkled, making men’s butts disappear, making them wear flood pants, and ultimately making them die. Cell division is under control of telomeres at the end of our chromosomes, as in to be or not to be…that is the question?

When telomeres become too short, choosing not to be, our cells can no longer divide. Maybe they should be called micromeres instead of telomeres when they get too short. Sooner or later then our cells build-up what are called free radicals, usually involving oxygen.

These free radicals have nothing to do with the 1960’s Hippies, the Vietnam War protesters, wearing bell-bottom, tie-dyed pants, women wearing hip-hugger jeans and burning bras. Whoo-wee! Free radicals have nothing to do with Donald Trump and QAnon, the fringe group that took over right-wing politics in the United States as a result of the 2020 Presidential election. QAnon espoused that a group of left-leaning, Democrat politicians were sexual predators, soliciting sex as pedophiles.

Our cellular functions make use of protein enzymes that allow us to function for energy generation, to allow us to move, and even sometimes to allow us to think. Our ability to generate energy depends on oxygen.

Enzyme function and energy production as we breathe automatically means there are small mistakes made in the presence of oxygen, mistakes that lead to free oxygen radicals in our cells. Yes, now just like Charles Manson run amok, Helter-Skelter on a molecular and cellular level.

In other words, our cells are not