The following is a list of “born-oneC” individuals, clearly interested in KISSing each others backsides no doubt checking here once in a while to see the Good Company they keep while setting up as their homepage www.NextraterresTrial.com, scrolling down to “...Less said the better!”
Note: Should anyone wish to be removed from this list please email us at firstname.lastname@example.org. It may take a while for us to respond.
 Born into an Orthodox” family on the eastern beltway of Southern Africa in a province of South Africa called Natal in a city called Durban, it wasn’t long before I, Gary S. Gevisser, the principal of NextraTerrestial.com “was taken” with the fascination of “Moc Crayfish” [sic] that was served on “special occasions” although I don’t recall this “kosher treif” being on the Passover menu. It was mostly an “adult thing” that had everyone prancing around as though they were engaging in something taboo, like watching X rated movies although more in line after a couple of bottles of maneshivitz seeing bottled up white women having sex with Jamaican men and likeweiss white men have also been known to behave “badly.”
I have been told that I would attract a much larger audience if I simply toned down the language, left out the personal stuff and simply delivered what some close to me think is a rather powerful message. What I have found though based on empirical evidence is that the number of hits my website gets seems to drop when I follow conventional wisdom. So far I haven’t placed any pornographic material on my website although if you happened to be in Superior Court back on October 24th of last year you would have thought quite differently. “Mr. Hearst”’s [sic] full color exhibit of my “travel companion’s” two children having a great time was depicted more like a sordid crime scene. Mr. Hurst Esq. is man of many words and he will now for the rest of his life have to live it down with all the garbage that he spewed in the courtroom where I was very fortunate to have both a fair judge and a “travel companion” that sent everyone including the judge a very clear message, “Even though Mr. Gevisser comes with a warning label, you decided to take your best shot at him and missed … butt think twice about every messing with me or my children ever again.” [sic].
I only began speaking at age 3 and so no one can say for sure what exactly was going through my mind during the “terrible 2s” but when I was age one I think I sent a number of signals that I could already count. I am the person in the front of the rowing boat and both hands have just 3 fingers showing and I can’t remember anyone fiddling with my buttons nor pushing me to do something I knew to be wrong. There are lots of coincidences in each of our lives but not all of us pay that much time to the detail. Back on 6-11-1999 “momworker63” presented me with quite a challenge and on October 1st of the same year with less than 2 hours to go before the statue of limitations ran out Mr. “Circle” K and other likeminded attorney-colleagues of mine set the wheels in motion that now gives all of us the opportunity to get on board the chew chewtrain without there being any more train smashes let alone collateral damage. Pictures tell a thousand words. A good example is the Wrigley chewing gum wrapper I picked up on my way to Machu Picchu in March of last year with my dog Pypeetoe in tow.
It takes a while to explain things like, “We should first chew on our words and only if willing to place our thoughts down on paper say what is on our mind, otherweiss toss those thoughts in to the waste paper basket” [sic] and of course no one wants to be the last one to abandon ship. Today folks like AON, the insurance broker giant may not yet have caught on to the wave that is about to engulf the leader of their pack but it is just a question of time before word starts leaking out that I know a thing or tTOo about things of matter, particularly “DARK MATTER” that distraction, too bright a light destroys the essence of our being, a mind a terrible thing to lose.
I am told that at midnight last night [January 7, 2003] Pacific Standard Time an agreement was “inked” and with one stroke of a mighty powerful pen that has the coffin of Ronald “The Finagle King” Perelman now permanently sealed. Mr. Perelman may not think he is “dead” in the current trend of thinking but in the age when tradition meant everything he is absolutely and positively out for the count. He and his minions have been nailed and I have not lost sight of his remaining fortune, dwindling however with each tick of the clock since no one in their “write” [sic] mind would do business with such a rapacious crook, certainly as long I can continue to stir the pot.
We are born with our names and we die with our reputations and when our reputation is dead we are caput and no one should pay any attention to us. Should offenders such as Perelman decide to walk down a street others should look right through them and if they so much as squeak then they should be treated as nothing more than a youngster spinning his wheels thinking to yourself, “How long will it take for him to grow up and realize that it isn’t the size of his car that attracts women as much as it is the size of his penus assuming he is already brainne dead” [sic].
Not everyone agrees with me but I make it my business to focus on those operating in the “negative” mostly leaving my supporters alone. Life is all about leverage, working with the negatives as well as the positives making certain that those in the negative don’t get left too far behind as the forces of nature can grab hold of anyone at any time and turn their world upside down. Negatives tend to balance out positives over time but there is only so much time one can devote to finding two negatives in order to make a positive which is why it is all but impossible to make up for lost time. Right now I am pressed for time to explain why I think there is little time left butt to kick butt, although this email to the executor of my estate begins to address the problem in no uncertain terms.
Nonetheless, I see opportunity everywhere not to turn spaceship earth around but to clean up all our acts beginning with ridding ourselves first and foremost of corrupt politicians to mention little of my penchant for picking winners and a 1000 batting average against losers, a rather impressive track record that pretty much speaks for itself. Making money in the stock market is not exactly my cup of tea given the fact that for every dollar made someone else loses a dollar, no matter what anyone else says even if it were to be the head of the SEC or former head for that matter.
My email list of approximately 360 names is a statistically valid sample representative of the world’s population and the feedback I have got proves conclusively that my website NextraTerrestrial.com is on track to be the number one website on the planet especially when I hear from folks like Stanford Law Professor Black to take him off my email list. Professor Grundfest also of Stanford University and a former commissioner of the SEC who has been bothered far more than Professor Black is at least smart enough to respond with, “Could I stop you? Professor Black, however, is one of the very few to have asked not to remain informed. He shares this spot with another South African gentleman who I was at school with by the name of Norman Lazarus whose first cousin I used to date. It has little to do with why or how she and I broke up some 30 years ago as much as it has to do with Mr. Lazarus knowing the knuckleballs I am about to start pitching so very close to home.
I would have thought that since Mr. Lazarus at least had the courage to date a “colored” lady who happened to be one of my mother’s models he would have grown in wisdom to know that it takes more than broad shoulders and “stiroids” [sic] to intimidate me. Why people would go to my website on average 5 times a day is something only those who go there can say for sure. Only you know who you really are and what interests you no matter what some member of the media might have to say.
I remain convinced, however, that it is humans who should be on leashes and as soon as someone gives me Mr. Ronald “Trash Bag” Perelman’s home address I will send him a custom made leash. So when you see him in the street and he isn’t wearing a leash say,
“Come over hear and let me pat your ugly bald head. Now why aren’t you wearing the eMANandDOG.com leash that Mr. Gevisser sent you… naughty, naughty, pants on fire… Oh so you want me to go away, why don’t you simply either stay home or pay the piper. Mr. Gevisser I am told is in the process of setting up a charitable trust that will allow folks like you to deposit what remains of your ill-gotten gains, ipsophato when you meet your maker you can say you have at least tried to make amends. You are though on a sticky wicket because although you probably know little or nothing about the game of cricket you have already been bowled out and the umpires have taken the stumps in to the club house, i.e. no matter how much restitution you offer your fate is already probably sealed. According to Mr. Gevisser who says he took an elevator ride with you while you sought refuge amongst the gentiles on 66th and 5th Avenue before being dissed out on your ear back in early 1994, your organs were already quite stinky and by now you know how Mr. Gevisser thinks God delivers the final punch when he downloads what a shithead you have been and returns you to earth as an ant on the doorstep of 4 E 66th Street although it is possible the Hearst have now also moved out in search of safer heavens” [sic].
Now is the time for everyone as far away as the four corners of the earth to come together and “seize the day” and help send a message that “Enough is Enough” that it is “The meek with teeth shall inherit the earth”
None of my mates growing up would have considered me the “class clown” nor would they have considered me much above the average “academically” but they knew I played a decent game of rugby keeping my head low and delivering the necessary punches when in the scrum. Never once do I recall, however, ever starting a fist fight with my hands but sometimes my “punch line” didn’t always sit well with the opponents as I mixed up my Hebrew, Afrikaans, but mostly my Latin when distraction was the only way to address superior and overwhelming forces, which is exactly what is going on right now in the chess game being played out with Iraq to mention even less the Koreans who must have at least someone in their government who didn’t suffer from infant malnutrition. The North Koreans are playing quite a brilliant hand given the fact that they have had their arms and legs chopped off which goes to show that there are other factors at play besides for eating right that lead men, mostly, to always wanting to resolve things by going to war. When, however, all is said and done, eventually the world will begin to focus once again on South Africa which sits today not only with the largest gold reserves assuming their Minister of Finance takes my advice and rescinds any future contract deals entered into while he and his colleagues were “brain dead” but weapons of mass destruction that could soon be in the youngsters’ hands.
It is hard for folks to know today how much is “put on” and how much “make up” will I allow when I eventually agree to sit down before a camera and respond to questions from the media but most who know me well, who have worked with me know for certain that when I mean business I mean business, but it took me a while to get to this point where I can articulate rather well the things that mean the most to me. For me to explain how I came up with GODdnaNAME and how it fits so well into a puzzle I been working on from when I have my first memories is tantamount to me taking you on an educational journey that has you placed inside my shoes and even then you might not have the same level of sensitivities that I have because mine have been developed over time and going backwards doesn’t really achieve much other than to frustrate.
It is much easier for me to go forward and describe the circumstances that led to me asking myself at a rather young age a simple question, “What is the meaning of life?” My fascination with this subject matter probably began around the time I started to see the reaction of my Jewish gentry to “Moc Crayfish” [sic] wondering who exactly was the clown or was it all one big put on from beginning to end and why did it mean entering into a contract with the devil to make ends meet? All the discussions seemed to go around and around in circles, making fun of this person and that person and who was doing it to who all while donning “Yamahas dNa tefellin” and eventually it came time to don camouflage, “every man for himself” although it was expressed more in terms of “If I am not for myself who is for me. And if I am not for myself who am I? If not now, then when?” Now it boils down to “who knew what and when did they know it?”
Over time not much seems to have changed back in South Africa except that the age of white folks having facelifts and tummytucks has decreased to the point that everything pretty much stays the same, Teflon to boot. Reality though was just a few miles away from our second permanent residence which was just down the road from the University of Natal where the smartest thing I did was not try out for the rugby team since there were few Jewish guys good enough to play and it was doubtful any of them would lend me a hand if I let slip a phrase or two like “Amo, amos, amacunt” [sic] amassing though a collection of photos that tell it all.
The biggest shit head though in our community was a man by the name of Gunter Lazarus, Norman’s father’s brother and business partner and as previously mentioned the father of my very first girlfriend. Never once did Gunter who died fairly recently of throat cancer ever say a cross word to my face and it is very doubtful he would have said anything negative about me even if I had slept with his daughter.
My family was in fact a step up from the Lazarus’ in all respects at least until I was age 13 when my father’s family business was sold for a song, although there weren’t really many tears in our household since my mother had a bustling career and knew a thing or two about how to bring home the bacon.
I don’t subscribe to anyone paying for the sins of their father’s let alone what begets a mother or tTOo to miss her two front teeth whether the result of poor dentil hygiene or promises of not so gentile gentile and infantile men who impress upon many “colored” women raised in South Africa that the road to a happiness lay not show much in coveting leopard skin ornatments but by sucking up to men fulfilling God’s wishes for more of us to perform oral sex a degree or tTOo more advanced than condoms for effective birth control, much in the same way men could argue that God had to have had some meaningful design in mind when moving the breasts closer up to the mouth.
“Sum colored” women had their entire upper and lower front teeth removed saving both on grocery shopping bags as well as the amount of blows they would get to their head after the men had relieved them of their personal belongings and let alone hopes for a better life by converting their paychecks into playing checks with shots of alcohol to boot, another courtesy of the white man with a heavy gun laidened hand heaving kuk on people of color whose thinning blood make them more susceptible to brain damage.
Pig was never part of our daily diet but no one in our family minced words when it came to referring to Gunter as “The Pig.” His brother was donned, “The Nog schleper” which is Yiddish for “just another leper who hangs on for the ride” although Bernard was not quite as ugly as Gunter. There wasn’t any Jewish household I was familiar with who didn’t share these sentiments about such despicable human beings yet for some reason everyone seemed a little tTOo shy and intimidated to express much more than minced words to either one of these hot headed characters although there is one buddy person I know who still recalls standing up to “The Pig” when he pranced around the Jewish high school one day and told this friend of mine that he wouldn’t be welcome at the school dance if he brought along his “non-Jewish” girlfriend.
Dispersed amongst my writings are today clear explanations as to what caused this paralysis of the South African Jewish community to stand tall forgetting some of the basic tenants of Judaism that suggested in no uncertain terms that God is the Almighty, that God watches each and everything that we do including not standing up for what is right, failing to band together to root out evil, never to be enslaved, again. Hell is a completely foreign soil to Jewish people yet the Jewish community allowed a man from Hell to get the best seat in the synagogue, run roughshod over our headmasters and schoolteachers to mention in passing the silence that came to our dinner table when I would ask,
“So this guy david came along and with a sling and arrow knocked out this Philistine… So tell me how much were you paid to carry The Pig’s poisoned tipped arrows…ever wonder about the Cato Manor shanty town on the other side of the University” [sic].
The name Cato only began to resonate with me when I started taking Latin in high school where I learned about the “pitiless” foe of Julius Caesar and this champion of liberty and republican principles. My year may have been the last time Latin was taught as it was now being considered a “dead language” but it helped graphically depict a reality of several thousand years back that now existed pretty much in my backyard that first raised its ugly in 1948 just 3 years after the defeat of Hitler. What is important to note is that growing up I also learned to skate and understood that just like it didn’t pay to wear the class clown hat it didn’t make cents to step tTOo far out of line.
Today, Mr. “Circle” K has a double or quits bet going with me. I just won $16 on his “1 in 4” odds of making it through New Year and now has agreed to paying me $32 in the event I make it alive through this coming Passover although he told me just very recently that my odds are no better than before thinking though to himself, “I have more chance of holding up the entire nationwide chain of Circle Ks in one “swell move” and getting away “Scotch free.”
I am comforted though since I consider my odds off of survival still as good as anyone else out there including those watching the windmills power up all over the world who think even a war in a place like South Africa that is currently off the radar screen wont reach them. We are all in this space ship together and it is time we all got with the program.