Monthly Archives: February 2016
Why are eating disorders more prevalent around the world? The obvious answer you doctor doesn’t want you do believe….
Yes, there are more eating disorders in the world. Yet most people don’t understand the REAL reason why. If we put our thinking caps on, we can see clearly why this is happening.
I highly doubt our shrinks want us to have our thinking caps on, actually. They want us uneducated. An uneducated slave won’t run away. An uneducated slave will remain obedient and compliant. An uneducated, unenlightened slave will never question what he’s told. This was the thinking regarding the Negro slaves in the early Colonial days. What happened was the once the slaves became educated, learning to read and write, they managed to network and communicate, and eventually, got free.
Oops. Empowerment means danger to the status quo, gotta be more careful next time or all the slaves will figure out that slavery ain’t so great.
This is what I figure. As far as I know, there was no money in ED prior to 1980. No one wanted to study it nor specialize in it. It wasn’t profitable.
Around 1996, I spoke to an old-timer at McLean who had worked there many years. I asked why a certain “unit” had been torn down and then, designated for a different demographical population of patients.
He told me that treating the prior group of patients was no longer profitable for McLean. So they tore the unit down, and built a new one to serve the other population where they saw an opportunity for profit. Now, he told me, due to new regulations with insurance, there was big money in treating the elderly. This was why they now had a bigger senior unit.
Expect big money in addictions. Huge profits. The rise of the giants. I hear Pharma has taken over AA. Poor Dr. Bob and Wilson (what’s his first name? Can’t recall) would roll over in their graves since this is breaking the Traditions.
And so it has gone with ED. Someone realized, “Hey, these are wealthy families, let’s make a DEAL!” and realized they could get rich.
It’s not that more are getting ED. These institutions WANT YOU. They profit not so much off of making you start off getting sick, but off of KEEPING YOU SICK. If they didn’t temp you to go back, over and over and over, then they’d go broke.
We are their commodity. We make a huge profit for them. They need patients to stay sick. The rise in ED is because someone is getting rich. Someone is extremely happy because they have a pool of customers that is guaranteed to KEEP COMING BACK. Isn’t that what every great business dreams of?
Yes, they’ll turn people down. Every great business is picky and choosy, too.
Fight back. Don’t be a slave, nor a commodity. You might even get better!
Laughter is free. Unlike material blessings, no one ever builds up a tolerance to laughter. We will always be grateful for our ability to turn hard times into humorous past events, to view as bits of nostalgia to cherish rather than to fear. Laughter is the sacred path to resolving any trauma.
Our stories make us who we are, make us unique people. Isn’t that terrific? These are not positive nor negative character traits. These can be things that fascinate us.
Do you know why I am interested in famous prison escapes, espionage, magic, Houdini, solving puzzles, cracking codes and ciphers, courtroom drama, exposes, and why ultimately these childhood fascinations led me to take on role of whistle-blower?
These interests were borne of a specific early childhood trauma. This wasn’t a source of angst in my life, but a thing I ultimately thrived on. I did not “suffer” throughout life due to this trauma, but instead, enjoyed my hobbies and interests.
The actual trauma might as well have happened to any child. I was born with an anatomical defect. Many of us are. Actually, we all are! Can you name a few? I’ll bet you can find one or two things. The fact that we exist at all is somewhat of an odd fluke anyway.
I was born with a urethra that wasn’t quite formed properly.
I was also born with scoliosis in my back.
I also ended up with supernumerary teeth when my teeth grew in.
My feet didn’t face the right direction.
My very wise parents didn’t do anything about the scoliosis. I’m awfully glad, since nothing needed to be done. My back is fine and never hurt. I’m very happy my mom handed me a backpack, saying, “Now, Julie, ‘I forgot my books’ is no excuse. You can’t say that anymore and use it as a reason not to do homework. Put them in this backpack and get to work.”
Shucks. I tried, you guys. I even tried hiding my school books in the bushes!
My feet weren’t too big a deal. I had to wear shoe pads inside my shoes. Many kids also wore them.
As for the urethra, well, that had to get operated on. I was five. Unfortunately, there’s no way that couldn’t scare a five-year-old. There wasn’t any way around it. I was okay for a few years, then ended up with minor behavior problems a few years later. Thankfully, someone figured it all out.
Why? Because I didn’t get diagnosed with a disorder. I didn’t have a disorder. I didn’t know how to express my fear. I imagine I came away from what had occurred with a feeling of distrust of adults.
Stay away from my body please and don’t call me Julia. That’s not my name.
You know, if you stick a needle in a five-year-old’s arm, for all that kid knows, the needle will be in there forever and drain all her blood. This is the case especially if no one explains otherwise. However, I can’t imagine anyone, at the time, realized the kid’s point of view. Yet it’s not a huge stretch of the imagination, is it? Is that kid going to believe a nurse who calls her by her wrong name? Not likely.
I distrusted adults when many college students distrusted the government that had put young men to war in Viet Nam and they were coming back in body bags. I fit right in in 1967. I was the nine year old who protested homework. I was not labeled ADHD. Had that happened, it would have been a crime, in my opinion.
My life went on. I stopped acting out. Instead of being a bit of a pest, I delved into my hobbies. Soon enough, one of my Hebrew school teachers taught us Biblical law and compared it to USA law. Now that was my decent year at Hebrew school, the one year when it all made sense and had meaning for me. Let’s pick it apart on a human rights level. A rebel is born. Or right around the corner.
Yes, you can find yourself. Your story is who you are or who you become. Even if you have the most horrific event in your past, it doesn’t have to translate into a negative character trait. It”ll certainly translate into a character trait, but not one that has to have a value judgment or moral basis. It simply is.
So when I look back on psych abuse, I realize that now, I can laugh over it and to have the gift of laughter is a blessing to me. Yes, after the abuse my whole personality changed. I won’t be the same person that I was before. I’m okay with that. But now, I’m so much funnier. I love that. I love putting a smile on people’s faces. I love making myself burst out laughing so hard I cannot contain myself, even in the face of adversity.
They say he who laughs last, laughs best. Undoubtedly this is true. The day I die, I’ll probably die because I flew off the planet due to laughing too hard, and never landed back down. Uh oh, gravity screwed up this time. Where’d she go? I suppose no one will know. But I’ll be busy cracking jokes.
There’s a joke I recall about the Joke Book in Prison. The prisoners were bored, so they memorized the joke book, by number. To tell a joke, now, all the prisoners had to do was say the number of the joke.
Now, everyone remembers number ten. A good one, right? So all the prisoners laughed. In comes a new prisoner. As per usual, he’s handed the old, tattered joke book and is told, “Get memorizing.” So he goes back to his [padded] cell and memorizes absolutely perfectly.
They’re sitting around acting normal, playing cards, while the guards are all acting off the wall. So the prisoners start joking.
“Number thirty-two,” says one prisoner, an old-timer. They all laugh.
The newcomer gets himself all worked up, then says, “Number eight.”
No one laughs.
He tries again. “Number eight.”
Later, they’re in their gang showers, being watched by the sadistic guards (remember the Stanford Prison Experiment?). The newcomer asks the guy in the next shower, “Hey, I told one of the funniest jokes in the book. No one laughed. What gives?”
The seasoned prisoner responded, “Hey buddy, some can tell ’em, some can’t.”
This is a type of psychiatric abuse that is very difficult for anyone to put into words. I am posting this here for those who have been subject to it and their friends and family. I hope that if there are subsequent damages tangible enough to then go through the court system to prosecute and hopefully stop this abuse from reoccurring, families and victims can direct potential attorneys to this post.
To the casual observer, diagnosis abuse is not what it appears to be. In fact, it is deceptive unless you question and look beneath the surface.
What you see is a psych patient that you suspect is “faking it.” Or perhaps you think the person is “exaggerating” her symptoms to “get attention.” Oddly, she becomes symptomatic around the time of her appointments. So this gets you wondering. Actually, as concerned friend or family, you might be getting fed up. That’s what it looks like on the surface.
Now, let’s look at the picture from the flip side. Almost always we see a female patient and male psychiatrist. Or we see a rather disempowered male patient. The patient is disempowered by gender, by unemployment, by family situation, by living situation, or any of a variety of combinations of situational complications. The doctor or therapist, if not male, is at least domineering, although most observers never even met this doctor. This could also be a “team” working together. One sending the patient to the other. If this is the case, not all need to have the necessary degrees to diagnose.
Imagine an actor. The actor is never herself. She is only an employee. This is her job, and she does it well. She is handed a mask, and she wears that mask and plays whatever role assigned to her.
The patient walks into her abuser’s office and asks, “Who am I this time, Master?”
He responds, “You are schizophrenic.”
So for the next few months, the patient is that, till the doctor decides to pull a fast one. “You are bipolar.” Suddenly, the patient changes her mask and goes on a manic episode. “You are a self-harmer.” Oops! Suddenly, cuts and burn marks. “You are deeply depressed.”
Two years later, the cuts are forgotten about and she’s on antidepressants, not antipsychotics anymore since the abuser took away the Schiz mask.
For him, he gets a high from the power trip. She keeps losing her friends since they assume she’s at fault. They call her a faker and a liar. She defaults to him, not even knowing who she is anymore. She has totally lost herself, and actor without a center. He has stolen her soul and murdered it. She says he’s the only qualified one to determine her diagnosis. Only he knows her, her One and Only. In an instant, with his power to diagnose, he snuffed out her soul, because she is, and will always be completely at his mercy.
I am wondering how we can help a person in this situation. This is not something new. I have seen this for decades. I saw it maybe three decades ago, and I see it now still. My guess is that it is just as common now as ever. I believe this is a very serious type of abuse since: 1) it lends itself to blaming the patient, when the doc is to blame, 2) it is too hard to pinpoint and prove 3) on the surface it doesn’t appear that anything is off-kilter with the doctor-patient relationship, and 4) the end result (though I have no figures on this) that I myself have witnessed in my personal life has been absolutely devastating, actually I have seen suicide result from it.
I just thought I’d give ya’lls a heads up on this and I thought I’d try to be helpful. Please pass this one along if you want.
Although I get tired of the petitions (don’t you?) here’s one I am passing along:
Maybe there should be an app for this, just like there’s an app for “auto-wishing your friends happy birthday.” Now how cool is that? Never miss a birthday again! Never miss a petition again! Auto-vote! Yes, the petitions are now getting to be too much, too.
However, what’s happening is that wicked essential ones like this one (please help this person is going to be die before our eyes due to racial profiling, framing, mistaken identity, no one caring, and people turning a blind eye)…..And other petitions such as, “I want to wear pants instead of a dress to school….” All these are being thrown together in the mixing bowl. So now, we’re so bombarded with petitions that the most powerful ones lose their impact. We’ve numbed ourselves to them out of necessity.
But who am I to say, “This one out of the mixing bowl is vital and this is not”? I’m not God. I am not the one to determine such things, nor are you. Nor am I the one to say, “This person’s funeral is worth stopping an entire town’s traffic for and diverting public transit all day long, and this other one you won’t even notice since that person was not worthy.”
For whatever reason, it breaks my heart when I see folks taking it upon themselves to play God, deciding human worthiness, separating the fat from the gristle. I think human beings do a poor job of it, and we have had a rather poor track record now for centuries, have we not?
Isn’t the saying true that justice is blind? Maybe the idea of a jury of twelve is better than one judge. Undoubtedly. Yet most decisions are not done by jury at all. Most don’t even make it that far, and much of the drama has already been pre-determined before the curtains rise for Act One when the curtains rise over the courtroom.
Authors of article in scholarly journal, Eating Disorders, attempts to “rate” blogs according to “quality,” say what?
I found a summary online of this article a while back. I am unable to find the summary now, although I recall bookmarking it. Here’s the article, though I cannot access the journal Eating Disorders, as it’s not publicly available:
Guardiola-Wanden-Berghe, R., Sanz-Valero, J., & Wanden-Berghe, C. (03/01/2010). Eating disorders: Eating disorders blogs: Testing the quality of information on the internet Brunner/Mazel Publishers. doi:10.1080/
Of course, even though we have the First Amendment, god forbid ordinary people have access to scholarly research. We’re not professionals and couldn’t possibly be at all competent and knowledgeable about our own bodies, could we? Let’s have “professionals” do all the deciding for us. We should never read such complex stuff, it’s TRIGGERING!!! So they tell us to keep us blindfolded, unenlightened, and enslaved. Oh, and to ensure we keep showing up for appointments.
Anyway, I do recall the summary. Listen, were these “researchers” also writers and bloggers? Well, what did they know about types of blogs. They summarized by saying that the only accurate blogs out there were written by institutions and authored by those who were institutions’ authors.
Okay, so you learn about a drug by going to the drug company’s website…NOT!! Oh no, you don’t! Go ask your buddies who took it and found out the hard way! Ask your neighbor who had to take it for ten years and can’t walk anymore or who is on a respirator or who is divorced or who nearly died last year or who is on dialysis. The drug company is out to make a buck.
If you want the real story about eating disorders, ask a sufferer. I highly doubt you’ll get it from an institution. You WILL get statistics. You WILL get inaccurate reports of that institution’s recovery rates. Why? They are out to make a buck, legal or not.
You’ll get the story in real time. So you won’t get the “entire picture.” You never get the entire picture no matter what anyway. That’s not possible. You can’t. Don’t expect it. A blog is not supposed to do that. Blogs, like memoir, give you a slice of life. Only that. We don’t live our whole lives online. Okay, some you have to pry off the screen, but no one is 100% virtual.
You won’t get perfection from any blog no matter where you go. It’s not possible because machines are made by humans. Even the best journalists admit this. In fact, the greatest journal editors will tell you they have made many errors in their lives. Why? They;re human.
I don’t see how blogs can be “tested” for quality. How does that make sense? Quality is not quantitative, so how can it be tested? Did anyone “test” the Mona Lisa and did it get a ten?
Dear Mona, can you tell me how you are feeling today on a scale of one to ten? Oh, I see you have no eyebrows. You’ve plucked them? Okay, here’s your script! No wonder she has that drugged, spaced-out look. As a matter of fact, she seems kinda stiff to me. We need to add Cogentin to her cocktail, eh? What’s this with the selective mutism? If she refuses to open her mouth we’ll have to intubate.
Note: see, I”m doing it, too. Talking about the patient right in front of her if she can’t hear. In third person. Don’t you hate it when they do that?
Never mind. Only a professional knows, right? We patients don’t know anything about ED even though we have lived with ED every day. Just give up your freedom, let someone with a bunch of degrees run your life.
Have you ever been seen as “a nuisance”? Well, now’s the time. Who else is there out there? Now’s the time For Us. Who is there? We know all about you. Come out, come out, wherever you are! Come down from those attics where you were locked away for years by Mr. (gosh, I can’t even remember his name now)….Jane Eyre’s dude. Wasn’t she oh so much in love with him! Rothing…..No. Rochester. Mr. Rochester. Now his wife…..Nameless, faceless. But we’re coming for you now. That “wretch,” that “inhuman monster” who dared to burn the house down.
Hell, what choice did she have? I ask anyone out there. Locked up for years. Imprisoned. Bertha. A woman he stole from an island, a woman he had no right to sweep up and capture like that.
We nuisances are coming back, and we are hitting dudes like Rochester good and hard.
Are you considered nothing but a “drain on society”? Fight back. Are you considered a “waste of taxpayer money”? Fight back. Whenever you go get medical care, are you told “other patients are more worthy than you are”? Yep, you’re one of us. Fight back. Are you told that because you are an artist, a dancer, a musician, a sculptor, a writer, and you don’t generate enough income, you are a waste and a nuisance to other people? Fight back. How dare others judge your worthiness as if they are gods. Have you ever been told you are not worthy enough to join a club, a church, a political group, a dating club, or kicked out of anything due to “mental instability” or “maybe you’ll get violent”? Fight back against bigotry NOW.
We plan to embarrass. Our words should suffice, but not much more needs to be said, and those that have claimed we are a nuisance have already done their nasty deeds. Our honesty, and their dishonesty, should reveal enough. The proof is already there, and no more needs to be done. There is no need for a battle. We have already won in so many ways, through our persistence and resilience.
Mr Rochester sure will be embarrassed. You don’t do that, you don’t lock up your wife without serious consequences.
Are you among the nuisances? Ah, so am I. Rest assured, we will overcome, not someday, but now.
Ninety-nine percent of relationships are about using, 1% are about valuing each other for “what’s inside”
I am not sure of this ratio at all, but after a time, I became aware that most of my friends were not interested in me as a person, nor valued my company. Mostly, they were interested in taking something from me. They wanted something that I had. When we are young, we are scarcely aware of when this is happening. Perhaps it doesn’t matter if our pals come over only to have fun with our dolls, or to watch the TV shows their parents won’t let them watch, or to enjoy the food our mom has stocked here.
I recall going to friends’ homes before we had color TV and marveling over “Living Color.” After that, I begged my parents “Can we have one, too?” I’m sure my parents were not too happy about that.
Later in life, I recall feeling dismayed when I realized my friends weren’t really my friends. They only hung around for “rides.” The day I got rid of my car felt so liberating. No longer did I have to be the carpool driver. I was amazed that the users stopped calling me and nagging me to drive them places. Now, I could hop on a bus any time I wanted and not be obligated to be mom to anyone.
Later, I found out that in some circles, having a printer is the in thing. So I found out that if I were to move in with this gal, and bring my printer, other people would come over “just to use it.” I wasn’t too fond of this idea, even though my new potential roommate assured me, “We’d be very popular with the neighbors.” In other words, used.
Sometimes I see complaints on Facebook from women who feel used for sex. I don’t quite know how to respond except to say that this “phase” lasts for decades but does, thankfully, end. I don’t know why that “phase” goes on and on, and then, suddenly, a woman is no longer eyeballed by men as sex object. Does this ending come with menopause? Or sooner or later? Some say marriage or having kids can convince the guys to give up. Maybe it’s cultural. Maybe it’s just random. It’s not forever, that’s all I can say to console women who are sick of being used.
Are there any quality relationships in this world, or is it all about money , using, and taking? I don’t know. Maybe 1% of friendships and relationships are quality relationships, the rest you might as well laugh over now rather than cry over for the next ten years or so. Another observation is that this rarity of quality in relationships is across the board, that is, you will find quality relationships and shallow ones not only in friendships (or supposed ones), but in the workplace, at school, and in your neighborhood. I am not sure this changes with age, but maybe the way it matters does. Human nature tends to be fickle no matter how much we fight to change it. Maybe we simply notice it more, and later on, take these things less seriously.
If I were an eating disorders coach, I would strive toward enlightenment, rather than narrowing a person’s viewpoint. I would never want to halt a person’s natural growth process nor discourage one’s natural curiosity about the world. I would want to broaden experience and generate all sorts of interesting discussions.
The discussion of food doesn’t need to be only about “coping” and “feelings.” All that is mostly how traditional ED treatment talks about why people develop ED. I would broaden the topic to discuss economics. So I will discuss something right now that I was thinking about this morning. I would be interested in hearing your reaction.
I was thinking about housing and raw materials. Raw materials, like food, are distributed unevenly throughout the world. This is the entire basis for rich and poor. This is why some are haves and others and have nots. Those of you who live in “developed” countries might not realize that many of the metals you ordinarily see, the components that your stove and fridge are made of, what your pipes are made of, and ordinary things you buy in the store are not even available in many other countries around the world. What does this mean? Is it important? How does it affect me? Why should I care?
Well? Maybe you shouldn’t, and if you think this is hogwash, x out my blog right away. How long have you had your fridge? Five years? Ten? Here in Uruguay, my guess is that most refrigerators don’t last a full ten years. Why? Because of the metals they are made of. It comes down to basics. I brought my own dog leashes from USA because I figured anything I purchased here would be made of cheaper quality metal from China.
I am not saying “buy what’s made in USA because USA is better.” Think about where things are marketed and why, and the thinking behind it. Just think.
Know what pipes are made of here? These are pipes that bring water into homes and carry waste water out. Unless you are very rich and can afford something extremely expensive, pipes are about as flimsy as plastic disposable drinking straws, the kind you get at fast food restaurants wrapped in paper. Our pipes are usually reinforced with wire coil (think: Slinky). Many pipes are made with PVC, which is a plastic.
Let me tell you what I know about PVC. First of all, I’ve been to stores here and seen, side by side, PVC items and the same items made of other plastics. The PVC items are cheaper. However, I’ve also looked up PVC in Wikipedia. I invite you to do the same. Unless I am remembering wrong, or there has been new research, or they’ve altered Wikipedia (this happens, as the PVC manufacturers may have paid someone to remove the article), PVC is NOT a safe plastic. It is a known carcinogen. This is well-established. So you may be wondering why PVC is so heavily marketed?
Why? It is marketed to poor countries as “cheap and useful plastic.” I stumbled upon the PVC website maybe a year ago, quite by accident. This was a manufacturer in Africa, one of the larger countries where they are exporting tons of that stuff. To where? Mostly Third World countries. The company’s website said the stuff was easy and cheap to ship and was bringing in a fortune. The site boasted of how successful the company was. At killing poor, dark-skinned people who don’t matter, are inferior, live far away, and no one cares anyway.
So no one should care, we should all x out what I am saying right now. Shut it off, shut off the starving children “elsewhere.”
Maybe six months ago, I saw a petition a woman had sent out regarding a home she and her family had hastily moved into after they’d been displaced by Hurricane Katrina. Apparently, this home had been built in a hurry out of poor quality building materials, cheap stuff shipped in from China. The children became ill, and then, one adult developed thyroid cancer. Her petition asked for the banning of one particular type of drywall. She had researched her petition well. I think that’s a very reasonable and tangible goal, and I hope she achieved it.
Here in Uruguay, that’s all we have. Cheap materials. Homes thrown together on a budget. What results is leaks, bugs, fog indoors, disease, too hot in summer, stinking clothes, impossible to heat in winter, food cannot be safely stored nor prepared, human and pet waste cannot be effectively removed, no one has enough personal space nor personal privacy, and children cannot be properly cared for. Since folks end up in overcrowded conditions, domestic violence is common. And yet there is plenty of open space here. Only for those who can afford to pad themselves with it, apparently. I’d say you’d need to have the money to purchase your own home and have even more money to repair it, otherwise, you’re doomed to rent, and you’d better rent an expensive place otherwise you’re stuck with cheap cheap cheap. I have noticed homes boarded up, as it seems they are uninhabitable and no one can live there. I also notice moldy homes re-painted and then re-rented to unsuspecting renters who “find out” the truth, AFTER signing the year’s contract they can’t get out of so easily.
Same with food, similar economics play out, the shipping, marketing, distribution of food is quite similar. Except the shelf life of food is much shorter than the shelf life of plastics.
What does it matter? Why should anyone care about people who live far away, mulattos who don’t matter, who speak another language anyway? Go ahead, x me out. Turn away. If you do not like economics, if you do not want to know these things, only learn about how to freeze an orange and then, hold onto it and think coping skills will solve everything.
Don’t even ask how that orange got to your freezer. The day your freezer breaks, call the crisis team, as the number might be posted on your fridge. I’m sure they’ll have (ahem) plenty of solutions for you. Like “Take a deep breath.” Wow I need to do that soon myself within the next year or I might drop dead.
Puzzle is scheduled to get her hair cut soon. I have put this off long enough. She cannot sport the hippie look too long. I don’t like it, actually. I don’t think she does, either. I had to let it grow out for a while, since having it short but nonexistent wasn’t going to work too well. I figured if she had no hair, long and bald would be better than short and bald. If that makes any sense….
Now, most of it has grown back. She’s got a thick head of…Oh no, that sounds thick-headed. So, shall I say she’s got a full head of hair? But that’s not right, she has a whole body’s worth. Will this translate to doggy? If I ever had to do a Spanish version, I”d be screwed. But I can’t go too far with that, either. That’s tornillo in Spanish. Screw. Or screwdriver. I can’t recall which. Doesn’t that sound like tortilla? Or tortuga? Did you know a tortuga is a turtle, but it’s also a food here? It’s sort of a sandwich. A pocket-style one, as you may have guessed. I don’t think I’d ever eat a turtle, but in some cultures, they do!
Speaking of retreating into one’s shell, Puzzle is hiding out in her airline carrier. I think she lives in that thing. You can imagine what it smells like. Um…..Okay, it’s really time to gross you out with further news, coming up….After the haircut maybe. Then you will have the opportunity to hate me more. See you later.
I hear there’s a Facebook page set up called survivors of Mercy. For whatever reason, someone decided to join forces with other survivors. There seem to have been abuses there. I want to know what these abuses were. Have these been reported? CAn someone send me contacts and links and any relevant information? I would love to see human rights workers in there gathering info from patients. I would love to see an outside investigation, that is, not done by DMH, but independent of the state so there would not be a conflict of interest.
By the way, that is what my dad did. He went onto units to see to it that human rights laws were followed.
I suppose such efforts can’t really do much, but we can try. The System seems too big. Too much to fight, too much to argue with. Abusers are automatically right, even though it’s obvious they aren’t. Anyone who calls them on what they do is called either disgruntled or paranoid.
The emperor is fully clothed, and has been all along but who will spill the no-calorie beans?
See ya’lls after the strip search.