Tuesday, June 25, 2013

Cancer Crazies

I've been lucky enough so far to avoid the cancer crazies.  I feel extremely fortunate that this has been the case.  If ever confronted by such a person, I'm not entirely convinced I'd be able to remain civil.

Cancer is a series of genetic or epigenetic malfunctions.  It's not a spiritual or emotional disorder.  You don't get cancer because you're a bad person, or because you've built up too much karmic debt, or because you slept with your best friend's aunt's room mate's boa constrictor.  And stress may certainly be a factor in lowering immune response and aiding in the progression of disease, but negative thoughts alone, launched out into the cosmos, are not going to be flung back to you a hundredfold by an advanced race of ancient aliens with a bizarrely vindictive agenda.  I almost promise.  Besides, they're too busy experimenting on my reproductive organs as I type this.  Did I say organs?  Plural?  Yes, I've been enhanced.  By aliens.  

There is also no cure for cancer.  This is terrifying, and a lot of folks can't handle information like that, even if they've never experienced the disease personally.  Death anxiety inspires a lot of funky behavior, including the urge to make shit up for no reason, as well as the urge to be taken in by said made up shit.  

Logic, please.  Cancer sucks enough as it is.  Survivors feel bad enough already, and they could do without you berating them for not drinking your potion made of camel jizz.

Source: Whitemans Wildlife Park, Perth, Australia

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