Here I am out on my Harley (Topper Scooter 1962) with two babes. We are not wearing our leathers today. When Pauline and I need a little endogenous adrenaline to boost our remote viewing abilities, we put on full leathers, slap on a few Henna tats, and we ride our Harley down to the the Star Light Inn, used to be run by our man John Peter.
We kick some righteous butt, mock their pathetic rides, Pauline usually kicks over some knucklehead or softail weenie bike, then we roar away on our Harley.
I typically end up head banging and fist dancing with some joker named Tiny, until finally Pauline smashes a extra large energy drink can over his head. I shake up a Diet Coke Zero (Cherry Flavor) and shoot it up his hyperventilating nostrils. I know we’ve done it right when it sprays out his ears.
We do our best remote viewing after these sorts of warm up sessions, find it really lets some right brain sensory stream information flash dance all over our jumbled left brain severely impaired reality generator machine, just peels those left brained based motor cortex psychic fingers with their death grip on the ledge of the right-left brain interface right off into the general right temporal/hippocampal CA1 zone, baby! Helps to let some of those streaming 3 billions bits of info per second into the general mix.
Poor Tiny doesn’t know his CA1 from his CA3 and that Coke Zero brain shower totally F–s their perforant pathways. Typically Pauline gives him a mantra to reboot his left brain ego based convergent reality matrix, she’s just that kind of Topper Harley Motor Cycle Mamma.
I don’t know about you, but I find your average Harley riding motorcycle Dude, sure he’s totally into functional neurogenesis and he knows his neurogenesis-depression hypothesis down cold, but you try to explain that new neurons mature very slowly in monkeys, and he goes bat sh-t on you, I typically have to give him an active lesson on neuronal firing patterns in the waking state, yeah baby, totally replicated in the sleeping adult, that Vulcan neck pinch comes in handy.
Here’s a shot of Tiny, dang he is a “bad Dude”! Its open season on mice when Jason “Tiny”
Snyder is in the house. Sure he is Functional Neurogenesis Man, and is on track to totally teach us how to dial into God, not bad for a running dog materialist capitalist lackey of the ruling class, but did he really have to kill 10,000 to do it? When Pauline and I swagger into your typical biker bar, af…ter launching through the plate glass window on our 1962 Topper Scooter “Bad Boy”, we come to stop three inches from his substantia nigra, and while everyone else is having a mass bowel evacuation, Jason just laughs, raises his bottle of Perrier to us, and says. Dr. Morse, don’t have an amygdala storm baby, and don’t forget “all human experience rewires brain structure”.
Do you see why we love this guy?
Uh, sorry Jason, man love only.
Dr. Morse and Pauline
Oh Yeah, We are also Harley Bikers. See you next Ocean City Weekend Dudes