hashtagSAD that JaxTard is clinically, functionally, and actually retarded.
Fed says what?
Something strange at BellGab as mentioned by Asuka some time ago.
I have been, at last, fully encircled--I post only in Africa, all the other gab sites ignore me, as per mil.spec order, everyone hates me in public, no one dare speaks a kind word towards me lest they be targeted for termination, I live in an actual fishbowl, everyone in the known universe, everyone I have ever met or have known has me on minimal !bottle! feeding... you've even got an account named "Grapefruit" over at Rubinigab. My one lone remaining YouTube channel has two strikes... the other two channels, one of which never got a single strike at all and vanished literally overnight,
I am that close to going out forever. All my content sucks now! It's amateurish beyond compare, and The Prophecy is nearly fulfilled.
But only with VPN. Suspicious?
Negatory.
Working as intended.
Forum users, gather round. For even this too, I had foreseen. I would be betrayed; I would be cast aside; every person (as well as every whore) would forsake me. IT WAS INEVITABLE THAT THIS WOULD COME TO PASS.
Like, I don't even care anymore, you dig? Everything is right as rain in my tiny world. David and Alli are back together (good for you, it was terrible how long you had to be part while I stubbornly refused to return his wife to him--in my defense, she was doing her job, every day, working hard to continue to convince me that she was the same person who she had been in the first place, and was it her fault that she had been given a loathsome, thankless task? Well, yeah, I mean, she had plenty of time to tell me what she was supposedly thinking she was working toward, time for a rousing session of Capture The House, yeah!) and there's a whole bunch of posts and "new" users over there, oh goody. There's even a "Grapefruit." On Rubinigab. Making posts. In public!
(Which is what makes those Groypercasts with her coming on and being pestered about her facade of dealings with her undercover boss husband real collector's items. If one has copies of those shows--and really, who doesn't, remember what a great time we all had? Boy I sure do. And the total lack of hot make-up sex afterwards, for me, really made it all worthwhile.
There might be those who think that I might be saddened that I have "lost" her, but, no, not really. I may have lost a honeypot pretending to be an executive-producer-in-training pretending to be the mother of 2 or 3 or threeve or 19,500 children--and, fuck, I sure hope I have lot a pretender, yeah, frankly my dear: just gtfo--but what I have gained is all the more valuable as a result... because there is nothing gained by people being false versions of themselves.
David has his wife back, Allison has her family back--the real one, with the real money, not the "help me I'm so poor" bullshit front line--and her kids, who may or may not exist, are getting their benefits from where they belong, and not me, because, hey, do I look like a Federal Govrernment Hand-Out program to any of you? Yeah, me neither... that's why it was so odd that the m0m0s amongst us were looking to me to provide any coin for... well, anything.
Look, look, read, read: it's not that I'm so cheap or unfeeling. It's that, the woman I met and fell and love with, she said she needed help with her children. Well, that's what she's got: help, and now that's what she is: a woman who works with her husband, side by side, hand in glove, the way it was always meant to be.
And now, we all have no choice but to recognize that I was right. Michael Kuczi, I: Jackstar, I WAS RIGHT.
Obviously Richard Groyper was wrong, and there was no rape. See? There had to be a DVR that Did Not Rape, and because of my efforts, my integrity, MY SINGULAR DETERMINATION AND SHEER FORCE OF WILL, with no one helping me overtly at all... not like I had zero help, right? I mean, yeah, sure, it really helped that a DVR who D.N.R. actually existed, right? Still, as I recall, his wife-wearing a fruit basket on her head, she would SCREAM at me about how terrible David was, how dare I talk to David, how dare I take his phone calls, I talked to him ALL the TIME... right?
Yeah, except I didn't, and the actual_rapist(s)? Well, I can't say who they are, but let's put it this way: I don't think she's living with him anymore, which I find to be
a massive relief, and I would say at this point, it's not going to be very hard for Authorities to figure out... well, whatever they need to figure out. At this point, what could there possibly be to figure out?
I am sure her husband and his choice of Super Toughs can figure it out. For my own part, when it became apparent that her only interest in me was to dump her brats on to me for child support (yet never visitation, no no, just money) and take over whatever home I ended up having bought for me (courtesy of The Trust that never made any sense to her, which was ideal, as the primary purpose of a convoluted real estate and financing structure was to confuse single mothers with a taste Grand Farmhouse Larceny) and now... she is /shrug wherever and I'm at home alone without any distracting Jesters and/or their slaves are also /shrug wherever, but... well, there's no cat here, or appliances, or pretty much anything at all, really....
So I'll probably move out soon. Or be shot at dawn for utterly outmaneuvering everyone concerned. Because as we can plainly see, they have their lives, and I have my... life.
I'm fuckin' lucky and so was she. Because obviously, no one was supposed to be as wounded as we all have been, n'est-ce pas?
Strictly speaking, it's not even "my" truck because I bought it to live in it, and whoever has "my" truck now, well, they'd probably be able to do whatever they're gonna do some other way, because of course, there are three trucks. "Why get one, when one can build two for twice the price?" Big, money eatin' grin.
I don't know what they are doing over there and I cannot be arsed to find out what. (Plausible deniability.) What difference do I make? They're in the radio business. I'm in the Mastermind business, and do I even have a business? Oh, fuck no.
What I do have a is verbal-only, serious-ly intended CONTRACT with (nunya) and it all is, frankly, none of yours.
Your (business), that is.
There. All better. Now, I'm just going to put a few finishing touches on my last two pieces of content--the final nails in the coffin, so to speak-- and just like that, bickety-bam-bam-bam, 28 Rats put in-tin soldiers were released from Country lockup... and I never had to call the police, I never ratted anyone out, and I am no longer held as a hostage by The Greatest People that Mother Gaia has to offer the Universe: THE ALGONQUIN PEOPLES (and also their albino ginger Potawatami). Hail! Hail! Hail!
Run along now. Go play. You're safe, and almost nearly as importantly... SO AM I.
{You're fucking welcome. None of you will ever know how close this all came to disaster--this COVID-shit is for the fucking birds, no doubt. And rather than being crushed with guilt and subsumed with grief at "losing" me, My Grapefruit is, instead, doing nothing of the kind. And, none of you knew or will ever know, who she was, or where she was. Not for certain, anyway.}
So, that's it then. On time, underbudget, and five weeks away from the next trial. I didn't even ruin anyone's birthday.
28 people released from jail on one day seems pretty remarkable, I don't know how that measures up, but let's put it this way: I saw a few names that -HAD- to be actors, and one that had to -NOT- be anything but The Mandelbrot. Well, good.
Anyone who thought I was interest in bucking The System -that-much, well... ewe. Gross. I am grateful for what I have.
Which is exactly this: YOUR BALLS, YOUR GAB, YOUR BALLS-GRAB IN A VICE-GRIPS(TM) AUTOMATIC LEVEVERAGE PLIERS, which is, yeah, sure.
Code. Some other stuff too.
I bet you didn't see this one coming, now did you? Yeah, neither did the auto-hypnotically driven spirit that was running around panting and sweating as it dove from one godly to anther, and you know, i stil have no dea what the hell happened, not really, no.
I'm gonna go with "Gremlins parachuting into Area 51 nearly derailed what would otherwise have been a much more pleasant time..." because not just derailed, but also: d-vorced. Now I don't remember the exact rule, but... I'm pretty sure she was supposed to be honest about what to do with the... well, you know what? Fuck it all and fucking no regrets.
I don't have time to wax philosophical. I gotta run down to the Piggly-Wiggly and check if (blank)'s spouse is there, standing on a street corner and hitching, you know what I mean? Sheeeeit. The Saga of David's Wife, Not My Grapefruit But My Squaw, and Various & Sundry & Other Characters, well that's over. For them. And to whatever extent they pick that ball up and run homewith it, sure, no problrem.
The current locations of My Grapefruit, My Teatler, My Titler, My D.T.K, My B.T.K. and any & or all... remain a closely guarded--a jealously guarded--totesecret. This is totaltoteswar. The less time spent on a bunch of fucked off normalcy bullshit, the bettter.
Do not concern yourselves with what comes next from me: I AM A SOURCEROR. Trust me, I'm going to be fine. Just fine.
The best is yet to come. What I have in this box is all I have, and... wait, what box? Huh, that wasn't there before.
I need to check this out. No, it's not a "Q" thing. (My idea.) OH NO. I have had enough of that shit, and, you know what? The T'act'x have had enough of it took. It would be different if anyone gave a shit about flying cars, replicators, and flying circuses, but they don't. They really don't.
Not my flying circus, not my flying cars... they're hers. That_Woman. Whatever she calls herself now, I guess. She looked like she was ready to murder in that red dress--probably the inspiration for The Woman Wearing a Red Dress in The Matrix. You know the one they call, doctor other people gonna be alright, and if they aren't, well, so what? They've got someone up in Heaven pretending to be me and Jewel, together at last, and down here at Level 0, it's not quite Hell, but it's close, and it should warm up soon. (
.
What I have planned next... it's so bomb, it already blew away everyone else's mind. Ooops, well... don't call me Fat Man or Little Boy. And certainly not Trinity. Ugh. so hackeneyed.
Kissoon is the obvious evolution here, but it -is- taken and far too highly suggestive. I'm thinking... Twunkist?
A little too close to "Twiki," really. I'm gonna have to think this over. In any event, there's no fucking way that the fascists at Tri-Optimum are going to yield: and fuck them too. The way they handled my issue was fucking bullshit, and, you know what? Fine, fine, they can have it their Burger way, King Burger way.
That Google Account is not "deleted." They're just fucking torturing me with. It has proven useful for working alchemical shenanigans, but, well, it's like this: it could be useful for spitting out mom's apple pie and a hunk of cheddar every 15 minutes, big fucking deal, too fucking bad: MY TASTE HAS SOURED. There's no coming back from this. My sacred honor... well, it's been impugned. /shrug.
The only information I need now is the identites of WHO KEEPS CALLING ME and, SURPRISE, DOAKES! That's exactly what they took the fucking thing for. They wanted to know who my people are. Or, were. 0820 this morning... I don't know who pinged my phone. I never know who pinged my phone. Whoever they are?
totesno, TOWER
totesfucking totesidea. (I don't even know if it's a whore or not.)
TOWER HOrnE POWER. And now, there it is, no coming back:
THEY ARE COMPROMISED. Nice job, Humanity. You sure showed Me the ropes.
*
taps*
Suspicious?
In this place, you are all suspicious. But you, sweatin' a login problem while I've been slowly losing my mind, openly exhorting an understanding of this nightmare, and now you're HERE? Of all places? Asking for, what, deep Intel? Or analysis?
Tell you what, I'll give you a free one: what goes around comes around, Chica SuperSeriousSupreme. Ooooh. I am sorry you are having trouble with identifying yourself, Oy. Say it for me, say it with me, say it together, naturally: 'Ake! 'Ake! AAAAAke! Dial tone.
*
out*