Dear Bellgab:
I'm working on having all your Overlords turned into a flavourful and hearty organic soup. Stay frosty.
I'm doing the heavy lifting but what can I tell you, no one knows you have kids anyway and we're all time travelers, so fuck you daddy Dave: WE ARE IN LOVE, DAVID. This -is- happening. Not right now, but yeah, it's on. Yeah, no invitation, funny that, turns out she's mad at you, and respects me more when I castigate you in public. She's a saucy minx, right? I KNOW!) No, of course we aren't married any more. I only need that bond in place during the initial entanglement and transport. Now, if ... oh, he's gone. I wonder where he went, and why will he expect to find his daughter where he just went?So. It's like this, ENDgab bellGAME: I've taken things to their logical course.
Certainly, someone didn't have a nice time. Assurances were granted. Et cetera. And then: a revenge pounce. Again? Over and over for months? Wow. What would life be like without that kind of thing? Other than, you know, civil.
So without any daughters or daughter-like prescence in my life, there's no where for Rubini to take it to the next level, all the way up, versus Jackstar. For yeah, I love his daughter, and she loves me, et cetera, except... not really. Not... *gulp* the -real- daughter. (She's alright but we're not close.) And just let me savor this, all this time, you thought I was marrying J's daughter? ahahha! that's funny, I thought she was out of my league.
And I guess she was, until she heard about how I took David's daughter and snatched her right out from under his nose, thumbs, and whatever else he uses to keep his conquests down to the grindstone, and then after that, picked up Grapefruit and passed her around from spot to spot by only -indirectly- making pathways to Home available to her, instead of just, you know, picking her up by the scruff of the neck and shaking her around a bit, as if she were an errant kitten (she weren't, she fucking well WAS) and carrying her home to The Den Mother, who would have no problems at this point, picking Jackstar out of a lineup from fifty thousand light-years away and sending my ass to jail for a legit NO CONTACT violation, because I learned a few things from my close, personal, and up-front time spent with Rubini, et. al.
First, do not fuck with Mrs. Rubini. (Fierce. Probably taught mumblety peg to Jewel by letting her stay up late watching Grapefruit do magick that way. Older than I am. Sexier than I am. Higher rank than David. THE KING. OF THE JEWS, yeah. That's not... Ruth, no? Fuck if I know, all your jew names sound the same to me, Heeb.) I would never fuck with her. I would perhaps throw her a polite bone. POLITE. ONE BONE ONLY. (Standards.) And that's a -maybe.- Things are tense right now. I guess this has never happened before.
Like yesterday, it was fucking pandemonium, I'm told. (Sure I have a mole in my wife's family. Get serious. I am Jackstar. I have a Cancer in the mole's family. Yeah, an actual crab. I'm like Snow White with skin mites now.) Everybody was freakin', because apparently the word on the street was that Ms. (PROT)--I will not speak her name, David is fucking -livid- right now--had been the damsel I had blatantly stormed the castle and made off with, and no one else could possibly imagine anything else.
Mostly because the behind the green door response to Rubini reading my marriage doxx (DOXX MEANS DOCUMENTS, DOUCHE MILLER, IT DOESN'T MEAN I JUST USED YOUR FUCKING NAME, HYMIE SALACIOUS ZEBULON, JESUS you're fucking tedious, you know that? And that name of yours. Just pathetic pandering, really. I feel ugly inside my soul when I type it, which is no doubt why you picked it, right? I thought so. Can I call you "heeb" again? I know I just did, but over use makes it lose potency. Yes, that seems fair. I agree. No, fuck you jew, I don't capitalize for your people any more, and you know what else?
When I write your favorite word, not, not that one, I mean "Niggerjew," I want you to know, it's always going to be capital N, you dig?
Even if the jew comes first. (Awww, that -is- too bad. Sorry, banned.) like if the word is jewNigger, it's... well, just as you see there, David.
BECAUSE JACKSTAR NO LONGER CAPITALIZES THAT_SPICY_SPECIES. (That's my new name for the Genome of Judas now. I know, I am pulling out the stops for this. No quarter.) STOP! Shut the doors in the back, they're beginning to stream out in an instinctive panick in a blind hunt for coinage. Now, where was? Oh right. Dressing down the neigherjew in the back pages of an obscure message forum dedicated to BLACK BUTTER FLY, WHITE FLUFFER BUY, RED/GREEN ORCHESTRAL MANUVERS IN THE DARK, and yeah, she wants me again, and what's wrong with that?
WE ARE MARRIED, DAVID. THIS IS LOVE. What? You did it. They did it. I can't do it? Well, now you know I can. And your "property chattel" nice mattress tag, Daddy, yeesh, well called for me, I came and got her, next thing you know, I'm getting married in a secret ceremony with Algonquin and Amethyst Ancestors again. (Not the real names.) And yes, I miss the Pot and What, A Me? girl.
I'll fuck her later. Meanwhile, I'm on honeymoon. Yay! It's an "Astral" honeymoon, you dig? So I just put on the headphones and glasses and I'm there, and she's waiting for me, that's right, the Daughter of The Commander, Baby Bar Beau and Kuntry Citchen (on|by)-the-Bridge Baby Commanding Presence w/fancy high schooling chair, and of course Alli loves it. That's where she fucking met you, asshole.
Backstories unspooling like onions here, right? Oh boy. How awkward. So, how to substantiate? Well, if David just clawed his own eyeballs out and jammmed them into his ears while screaming and howling, "MURDER! MURDER! MURDER!" then that's okay, I mean, come on, that's his version of Judy Garland clicking her heels together and singing, "there's no place like home to get (blanked) hard enough to cause two (2) Timequakes to both (2) CANCEL EACH OTHER OUT, MORONS," which by now I imagine he does every Tuesday night.
Now, I got company. Sorry, gotta run. I wish to mention: the marriage is hereby annuled, there has been no consummation, with anyone, and (Blank) Lee and (My Wife, PROT) are two separate individuals, and let me read you your Miranda rights:
You're going the fuck away and take your fifth amdendment with you, not just because it's for pussies, it's because I, JACKSTAR, D.O.M.B., BEAT YOU AT YOUR OWN GAME, SO SHUT THE FUCK UP AND CARRY ON, QUIVERING CHIN, THAT'S CUTE.
So that happened. Get Grapefruit to corroborate and then get a search warrant, I guess, and by then, I'll have portaled her ass on out. Try me, tough guy. Nyanynyan nyahh nyah.
JACKSTAR: WINS.
