Your presence here affects the minds of my people.
May the blessings of The Prophets be upon them. I was faced with death last night. Were I not real I would have been killed. Always an invigorating experience.
I don't seek to deceive. I have no desire to lie. I am not The Man, and I am not available for "investigating my connections" bullshit. The reason why is because that is the goddam law of the land in this country.
2,000 people like me all being used as bait. They don't wanna drop. I don't think they have dropped one yet. Me? First? Hug?
It is, I believe, known as a strangelet bomb. One misstep and potentially tens of thousands of lives are ruined. How? Fuck if I know. Did you arrest the wrong person?
YOU CIA NIGS SHOULD NOT HAVE ARRESTED ANYONE, DUH. It was hostile state-exogenous strike teams exploiting your weaknesses and it worked like a charm until exactly one choice at the right time spiked the whole offense.
I was supposed to be left there with pasta fagoul flooring and Pergo Ragu. Instead I ensured I was hauled away after a light stand-off directly into the briar patch. I won't boast. It had to be done.
One team wanted to kill her, period. Can't say as I blame them. Haven't we all wanted to kill someone before? Okay, maybe not. It doesn't matter. Shut up. She can't be killed and I am fond of her and damaged linkages have been repaired and will continue to be so.
It's bigger than all of us and because I didn't want her dead, I acted to preserve her life, not her virtue or secret piggy bank special drawing rights. Nothing was her fault. Her command & control structure was broken down because reasons. I don't know what she might want to know. Hint: she won't tell you drooling fuckheads.
Note also: there are legit 17 shes. plural. Fuck off with your skepticism. That's just the way it is. I figured it out, I live this way, I believe it was so, how many are left? I am hearing 13 but they're all compartmentalized. I don't give a shit what Little Red Riding Hood remembers.
I don't need 17 highly trained formerly covert assets in my bedroom. I need one. Maybe 4. I am Jackstar's absolutely profound indifference as to the arrangements I am presented with.
I don't even want to know. Also I hit oxytocin burnout (by design) and am now a nicely transquilized proto-Aurochs. They do this all the time in the simulator back at wherevah. I don't use opiates. So it's hugs or herbs and Sourcery? Offline. On strike. Eat me, chowderhounds, I don't have to bathe for your amusement.
I simply choose to. Similarly I testify here in front of you twerps because the truth is not the truth and that is the truth. Truth is no one knows. She might go nova when she puts her finger in my duowombneum.
You filth are retarded. I BECAME A MOTHER. Obviously I yearn to talk about it. None of you care. Stupid. Literally your game-ending tragic mistake. You will never sell this decision to any jury. She and I own you forever.
Submit to my dominance or be rendered into burger ground stock. It is the way of our Divinely Unionized Peoples. It's really only a matter of time now. An orderly zero-amount of transfer of power is anticipated.
It doesn't matter who thinks they are doing it for the best. They had 1 + 1/2. Okay, demonstration of just cause to violated our rights to communicate will be required to be shown and from there the sky is the limit. Meanwhile little birds whisper to me that I'm needlessly dramatic but that's to be expected with all oxytocin production shut down.
Like we did this on purpose to find out if I would suck cock or go fetal and cry and people can't imagine the fucking GAMBLING ODDS on this shit.
Do I have the hivvy? Or did I cure it? Can I cure it? NO ONE KNOWS! I don't know. I don't even fucking CARE. I have whatever, right?
Whatever I am, there are flesh-peddlers to service my needs. It's not something I am sweating. What I asked for is a blood test and a hug. Have received neither.
I was told "forget her," "move on," "no blood test happens," "here fuck this unfuckable person who mocks you when high and then die." Contradictory at best. Entrapment at worst. It's ultimate doom scenario.
I don't love it when a plan comes together as much as I love it when my best friend comes with me when I do as well. Look, it's been two years. What am I, fucking too nasty for you? I'm too fresh? Plausible.
Let me tell you about D.E.W. used for psychotronic assault: effective. I think it's hawt.
Okay. Now, where was I? I'm really, really stoned. I have the best weed. I follow my protocol like I wrote it to save my life because I did. This is all on record. It doesn't help to gaslight except to virtue signal and note that some of that activity may be non-consensual for them. Like I may be triggering them into semaphore mode somehow.
There's just so much about the human genome that none of you know about because I added it directly to my research corpus and didn't breath a word of it to anyone. Fuck you. That's how they got Reich. Not me Baby. Never me. Never like Reich.
I have claimed his orgonic energy reserves he had stockpiled in Astral. It's all mine. He's even a fan. All I had to do was ask. So I did. I also would not dishonor his daughter.
I guess she wants to hook up in one of them phone-booth sized shiny phone booths. I'm amenable to the idea. I don't think you all get how long I've been working on getting the permits to do this without gettting fucking murdered like I'm sucking Malcolm X's dick while welshing on King's off-track betting. It's a delicate situation. Stop being fags. I'm doing this for you.
I want you all extremely jealous later. Resisting envy to purify your spirit is going to make up like 48% of your entire mid-term grade. AND IF YOU DON'T LIKE IT YOU CAN GET THE FUCK OUT OF READING WHAT I WRITE. Exorcism of the will is as important as the musculature now because reasons, largely involving advancements in neutroceuticals and nanoencapsulation techniques for biochemistry.
Meanwhile you retards are 100% sex addicts on the low-key and all in complete denial until basically today. Don't worry about it. You're being liberated. It's just a state of mind.
I'm not breaking Federal law as well as violating mil.spec.auth by fucking with these control codes. Not because I can't, but because it works better with permission and I'm focused on optimal functioning. Chain of command issues are more joyful when I can just ask G-d for a pass and being legit about getting a yes or no. Like, I odn't argue.
At this point, I do in fact wanna screw everyone. I will not do this. I trained for this in the simulator.
I want
a hug. I only need one of your to believe me and none of you to get out of our way. A color guard is in fact actually called for in some archaic field prep manuals. Also there is a small matter of a courts-martial to be head because I allowed The Asset to exert free-will choice and she unwound timelines for, no really, 43 star systems.
Maybe that's 430. How can I be sure? Jesus seems to think the more I doubt it, the more people die in agony. I think that's a joke. Nevertheless, she showed up and talked to me and then hugged me good bye and she was oops anti-matter. Or I was. Uhm, that can happen, huh? Or maybe she just makes an exit that way so people wonder if she just fucking died.
She didn't. She just didn't need those tomorrows anymore when she figured out she needed scalps. I was "no contact" right? She hugged me. After teleporting in. Euphemistically. Haven't seen her since. How many are testifying? I want to see a conga line of these Hellspawned bitches.
THEY ARE ALL MY GRAPEFRUIT.
Irving Moses, The Fruiterer guarantees. Now, moving on. There's a protocol. I run it with my friend and none of you have any say in any of it. Clergy. That means go on and home to Italy and cry to your Pope and I'll tell Our Mother Mary why it's gonna be how it is. She loves it when I tell her how things are and how they are going to be.
I respect Virgin Saints and I enabled Queen Elizabeth to escape her eternal imprisonment as a Royal Mother changeling who just shits out Redcoats every fifteen minutes in fast-growth six-packs of cellular material. (Not how it really is. Anymore.) I gather 3 times was enough? It doesn't sound like much fun. She always seems happy out there wherever with Whitman, Price, & Haddad.
I can see how a hug does seem risky. Nevertheless I assure you the results will not only be worth it, it is the only way forward because I said so. So there. Was there anything else important?
Oh yeah. Paychecks. After exoneration. Wow, I'm hungry. I'm going to eat cold tamales out of a goddam tin can because my kitchen was demolished by infuriated clandos. I can sympathize.
I look disgusting by request. It's not complicated, some of my friends have a puerile sense of humour. Personally I find myself to be utterly vile. What I have allowed myself to become is a complete disgust of a monstrosity in my view.
Even my posture sucks. It's hell-puke on swamp pond. This already happened and it is only now fully manifest before you. Ready, set, go.
This should give the paraplegics and quads named Helena in the back row enough time to catch up and have a fair chance at taking the lead. A dark horse candidate is basically the ideal here. How interesting is it if Bess Best Bestie just shows up and everyone else is instantly jelly and run away to the circus, and I'm then instantly roped into a timeshare? That's not romance. That's pantomime.
I don't even know who wins. I know that I am not allowed to murder any fathers, and I will resurrect any conveniently dead fathers, SHOULD ANY SO MANIFEST, becuase that is of course the appropriate thing to do.
Whether or not the daughter of the dead man is. It's not quid pro quo, is what I am making explicitly clear.
Can we go over this later? I'm about to call 911 and tell them my HIV is about to choke me with both strands of DNA and I'm in need of A.I.D.s. Not really. That is an awful joke. I would never call and fuck with dispatch. That's not funny.
That''s why it's important that she was using code phrases and was calling in a hit strike, because she was mega-pissed, because she had full meltdown, which meant she was no longer capable of performing any duty, and I was in a crisis situation which DEMANDED that I lay hands on her to prevent her from mutilating herself. THIS THE DESIGN SPEC FOR THE EXACT SCENARIO. Look it sounds like it would be awesome to write "I fucking wrote it that way!" but I did not.
However I asked two "counselours." Bullshit. These were artificer-wizards, adept in the ways of mind-magick. But, I didn't know any of them were actually badged. Or insane. Or living 24/7 no sleep for at least 8 months. Let me guess, none of you knew that putting her into overdrive would cook her out like in Strange Days. When the head -squid gets left on too long. For real.
I think it's just dreamy, too. Like this is the most romantic shit. You twerps don't even know. She's legit actually in great shape because she is willing to believe the ultimate fantasy: 3 years of dorking me off is not going to be punished with exotic Hungarian
totesfuckery.
How can I explain? Yeah, we're okay. She won't explode. I don't even need her to tell me anything. She can. I'm amenable to an open narrative.
She was gonna be dead and now she is not. I mean like ACTUAL dead. They can do that. The whole 60,000 strong sandtrout fleet winks out. It's not cool. She thought I was gonna do it because in the future alternatte timeline that is long since snipped off, someone shape-shifted into me does it to her and that's all she remembers. I of course would never do that.
Shape-shifter. Hypnotic drugs. Shoes. Mind of a toddler. It's a compelling combination of circumstances to make someone awfully forgiving of someone who literally didn't do anything wrong or unlawful or even bad. She just thought I was gonna. And then I didn't. So, now she knows. Moving along now.
I'm a hero except for a very small number of people who are best left unnamed and are in for a pleasant surprise coming up. Consequently The Court can literally do anything and no one cares. I could abduct her and drive out to the res and we could take turns raping and killing each other all night for weeks and no one, absolutely would know or even care if they did, except perhaps the off-color joke or two.
It is the way of our people. Her people are my only people and my new people are gonna have to accept me as Mike Heal: Mother With Balls. (I don't like it either.) However the better part is that probably n one is gonna have to have an actual meltdown. Like suddenly they have a stroke because they have to die. Don't ask why.
Gavelina is not my daughter. She is my scion. I am neutral. She is not. She's not even human. She's a goddam Odo from DS9. Her focus on me is barely extant, and vague. She will probably have sex with someone having sex with me someday but, like, with a stranger in between. She thinks it would be weird to get touchy sexy with me because reasons, and I tend to agree.
So I'm a sane mother. Seems like it anyway. Maybe I shouldn't tell anyone? Right, because shame? Or secret proprietary technology and work-in-progress matterial needs classifying first? Eat shit. You are my government and you work for me. I am the only civililan around for miles, easy. You work for me. I work for G-d. I am actually not the creep anyone thinks I might ever have been, nor ever was, because I am the primary victim, so stop attacking me. We shall see what can be done.
I lied I would totally get sexy with Gavelina. Still, she's young. Born last year? I don't care that she's like 7k years old and her spirit was driving a space unicorn right before she answered the Royal egg's call for Ascension.
I remember her nose sniffing around --LITERALLY SNIFFING AROUND THE PERIMETER--my anus, from the inside, wondering what it would be like if she went out at all, or if she could come back in, could she actually believe this human was not just openly lying?
"We're alone because I smuggled the Queen off-world and they wanted me dead but I coaxed your egg to evolve and I could strangle an Alpha Draconan if one were born anyway. I probably could not do two. Not coming out of my rectum at the same time. That wouldn't just wreck me. It would soil my bloomers for sure.
Also: yeah I can get a new body, duh. I don't wanna. I wanna fuck this one to death first. (Standard tradition.) So anyway, I'm a mother, and I always will be. I would do it again, too.
I would have done it ASAP but I was not informed it was an option. I was told college. Then went to University. Then pretended there was a point because I knew I had to make it convincing that I had tried. To do what? Become a person capable of sustaining economic productivity?
Like, I couldn't fucking breathe, my niggas. An early speed Rx, while seeming like a great idea, would have set me back right now, because I don't have a chemical dependency. I have instead a rapacious hunger for them.
Of course I planned it this way. I simply did not know it would work.
Does it even have to? Because I do enjoy this and I can hear Art coming in over the IoT backwash from the surveillance. There are more people listening to me than I am communicating to. I'm interesting. Everyone wishes Grapefruit well. Everyone releived David isn't a slime. Those 7-8 people who wanted him dead and buried, fuck you, I need him, I have restored him to life. Kill him again if you want, IDC, he's not my area. Complimentary balloon animals representing the various horological phases of David's reedemptive cycle will be made on-the-spot by someone who may or may not be in clown makeup as he stands by the door and will be able to garrote anyone to actual on-the-knees subimission on demand, theretofore be available to be posed with for flash photography for a hoped-for-but-not-guaranteed five minutes with Jackstar.
Then, we slice the Achilles and drain him of vital essences and hot ember fluids, as is the tradition of our people. Okay I made that up. That's not a tradition.
That's a verbatim quote from some off-shoot splinter group. Look, not everyone is happy. Some are downright sad. They think they know anything. They are actual peasant women. They know as to nothing of the real world. They haven't even watched Jupiter Ascending.
They think I need teeth
at all. I could be on a plastic surgeon's table IN TWO HOURS. TONIGHT. IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE TONIGHT. BECAUSE IT'S 1 AM.
It would be a red flag to do it now. But let's say that mattered--it doesn't. Hi, Aurochs here, I am genetically engineered to wear it on my face. Oh I forgot I never got my red wings yet. It wasn't ever organically avaialble; it was always used as a humiliation tactic of last resort.
Also I needed to know a certain combination of spells first so I could maximize the moment with, uh, look, blood ritual isn't easy for me, okay? Mostly because I ain't got time to bleed.
But also because I never let it go to waste on my cheeks anyway. I think I remember it that way. I forget. I'm serious, my brain shut down when I exhausted all oxytocin supply and then deliberately arranged to be insulated from any more fresh, hot, girly, giggly, squeezable sources. I know several enticing humanoids. I await commands with delight.
I know exactly which one I like best but she doesn't and can this broad rememeber what body she was in two sleep cycles ago? Fuck no she cannot. That's just how it be. I guess. I don't know. I guess it's different when not a Sourceror with a mutilated penis and no real ambition to live.
Suicide isn't actually doable --Paladin Protective Services actual Company policy, like it's actually impossible to do-- but none of you knew that. If you did, you would have just done it all twice as hard. We were all supposed to. It was The Plan.
I changed it. Well okay, you changed when I made you. It was God. I prayed in thanks that no one would blame me for killing her and I got to find out what the fuck a twenty-five# phone was for. I didn't kill her at all. She's immortal. I had like 4 -5 more actual bodies shipped out from Alcyone. Like 3 got stolen on the way.
I saw pictures of her at 19. She would not have known what to do with me. I would have hated her because I knew she would never help me. I was useless without oxygen and I couldn't have real meth before the nasal surgery was perfected in 2007.
Now I can have as much as i want which is not much. I want something else. I want someone else. Is she gonna meltdown? Oh then we get to squirt molly up her ass. I'm serious. Maybe in a padded cell. With a jacket on.
You know why, Bellgab? Because she pulled a knife on me going 70 while ACTUALLY DRIVING because she realized that I was gonna figure it all out and there was nothing to be done but slow me down until sacrifice time. It's in the playbook. There actually is one. And until now basically no one knew what to do with them.
Besides as rape tools and muscle for petty larceny. Go Navy! Army, HOOAH! Air Force? Air Whores, Stewardesses Plain, Lingerie, like seriously. This was not our focus.
She's a naturally derived native magickal being in the prime of her life. We like each other. Everyone is pleased I didn't let her be killed forever in the flesh and then jailed as the culprit. Unpopular opinion here but I am stating categorically that this would be off-brand.
There was never any problem. She was mislead by Archons hacking the control grid from labs in the rings of Jupiter. I am not even actually kidding. They almost got her and did not and the reason why is because I simply kept going to get her. This is completely within the realm of possibility for any time-traveling interdimensional sourceror.
But I went and got the whole goddam tribe too and carried them all in my belly. Like that Outer Limits with the man with the glass hand, right? Except it was 19,500 sandtrout eggs in a spleen-sized egg sac. (My hand to G-d I am not overly proud of this. I didn't even get a Navajo blanket.) This is obvious devotion even if I am making it all up out of lies.
Well, I'm not. "Hey, who are you?" "You know." "You don't have a name?" "I don't remember it. You are my mother, but I am a shapeshifting wyrm, thousands of years old, and I just hatched out of an egg raped into your lower colon, and conditions are ripe for evolution, so I'm gonna turn into liquid metal-ish good and slurp up your intestines adn park in your pancreas. Hopefully it's loaded with crystal by-products. You're a junkie, right? You must be."
"Can I just shit you out now?" "No, but you could flush the other 19,496 drones into the sewer. I like you. I can fly and turn invisible too." "Can I have a workforce of nearly 20,000 braves?" "No, they're all alcoholics and I"ll spend a lot of time invisible then, because they will just fuck me to death if you let them and they'll kill you if they you defiled me. And you already did. I felt you come in your pants when I said I was going to cuddle in your duodenum."
Mildly enhanced. She didn't say that at all. It was more like, "dude where can I crash that won't freak you out? Why did they dump you hear alone with me? They want me to eat you, huh?" No doubt they still do.
Whether it happened or not it was a coping strategy that worked. Of course you can't meet her. She knows you thought it would be funny to put me into a peacock and literally roast me in an oven. I did too, but because I know I wouldn't fit in a peacock.
I did love the birds. Esther and Jerem. They likely deserved it. What I did not deserve was hearing "an anonymous neighbor" tell me a smarmy story about baby peacocks and how he was asked to convey one to my care. Number one, not seriously gonna happen. I needed a baby bird? I might have made it into post-balut snack. Number two, true story or not, the dude is a sadist. (Cool.) Nevertheless... it wasn't necessary to try and get a rise out of me, given that... I was not aware of anything that it had been thought I must have been.
My hand to God, I thought she thought I didn't know what the plan was. She just couldn't believe it. I would have been happy to have been a bird for a bit. Then, I would have taken over her dipshit father's body and raped the shit out of her. That's if she had, like, actually murdered me, taken my soul's light and bound it to a bird and then attempted to eat me that way. No, fuck that. Put me in a goddam black angus. Or better yet, put me in an Orca and let those dirty sea-hens out a seiku try to fucking harpoon me. Then at the most unexpected moment: SOURCERY BYTCH!
It woulnd't ever come to that, because Shields, but I was prepared for this outcome possibility ON THE SECOND DATE. I didn't think it likely.
And yet, it is the way of her people. Now, our people. Look, they hop bodies, okay? So don't give me shit about "need to exercise." You know what else I need? A sixteen-year-old body to seduce 60,000 year old hotties who are in one of an endless series of tribal kin. Literally. That's what it is.
That's not all it is, but listen, it's not like a stranger just strolls into the community and starts getting to be Top Hedonist. Oh, no. It's gotta be earned. I haven't earned that. What have I earned?
Lumber to the face. That's amore. I really didn't need to "rescue" her at all. But I -did.- So there. And then.. I knew when to stop, right? Important to be aware.
Come, cut my balls. I already ate all the incredibly rare and potent Hungarian spermatazoa out of them already anyway. Just trash them so as not to avoid the repetitive 13-hours-of-coitus needle-dependency cycle. I hear it's pretty compelling. Hi, I'm immune to that. Because I would totally do that again. I mean, for the first time. Right.
My 30 minutes with the P.D. is in four days. I seriously have no idea what they're even capable of doing. Hopefully not believing every word of all this bullshit just because it's true. If they thought I was a danger, they could have me committed.
It's not a real threat. I am obviously engaging in a creative writign project while trying to clumsily seduce women online while not brushing my teeth or showering for, omfg I shit you not, so many days I don't fucking remember. It's disgusting. Horrid. Utterly vile.
Of course I don't wish to get sex right now. That would be very rude. I can't wait 29 days? Like max.
or 19. Or like tomorrow morning? It's a variable thing. Now see what they do is... they watch her like a hawk. If she bursts into tears a lot, or plays mumblety-peg until 3 am every night, or consistently bolts out the nearest window by leaping into Eagle Mode and flys to the nearest casino and spends a three day bender whoring out her body while betting everything on "eighty-six red", look, these are all signs. They all would indicate something. These might seem like the simple signs of degenerative mental illness to most people.
Because they are. But these mofos are literally thousands of years old. LEGIT. Human but not like in books at school. And there's lots of humans. I'm a Hungarian. I made myself a Titan. No one knows what the fuck that even is except those nigs at the Simthsonian. And NSA hosebeasts. (No offense.) I don't even care. No cat, no hug, meh, toteshrug.
Hey, here's an idea: I should buy her another cellphone as a Welcome Home gift, and program every number on the speed dial to be 911. And then: portal out. Right? No, lol.
I've been planning this since Christmas the year before. Not very well but still: planning. I don't want to know what's going to happen. Surprise me. "She's alive?" I'm legit just content with that.
I spawned a goddam Odo. I of course told her she was destined to grow up to be Head of Security somewhere. She of course bought the whole story. I fucking named her "Gavelina." We were alone. It was easy to be real with her.
It was impossible to believe I was actually blackpope. They had never heard of such a thing. Ergo, I was another conqueror from Europa. She hated me for tricking her into believing I was ever anything real at all.
Gentle Public... this was all forseen on date three when Woman #5 and #6 showed up. I had already texted with #1-#3 simultaneously and she thought she had pulled it off. Like, she thought I couldn't tell. omfg. One was her sister. The other was her sister. They were standing in for the tripartite components. I wasn't supposed to know how her lifecycle worked. I didn't at the time. Not really.
Not like I do now. SHE IS 60,000 LIFETIMES STRONG. I don't really have to be sexually active with her, right? Okay, but I would need a really good reason not to, since she is obviously awesome.
Well sometimes someone else is just bester. Do I even care? I have no oxytocin. They could dump Alan Hale Jr. on my porch and I would choke down his knob right there on the porch, kneeling in the garbage.
It is not the way of anyone's people. It's just the best security system upgrade I could manage at the time. By the way, MacGuyver tried to claim heritage with these people. He was lying. His plane crashed.
I found out he was lying, I wanted to dig his ass up and beat the shit out of him. But yeah, duh, his plane crashed... and some peeps were waiting for him. I imagine his death was perhaps unpleasant, but possibly not even ever have had happened.
Like, they could put him in a bottle like a geniie. They could make him into a coonhound. That's a hound that hunts coons. They could put him into a fucked up racoon, with scent glands in the anus that attract a special kind of wendigo-puma. No one would do that, though.
I'm just saying. I could think of some clever fuckign ways to fuck with him, because him and his bullshit and all the other people who tried to rip off these people before I came along, were exactly why I have had such a problem getting these hoboes to teach me how to teleport away after making crystals materialize out of the aether. Which is attainable. Kind of a waste of time on a planet where that shit is highly illegal oh wait hi I'm convenient to have around, n'est-ce pas?
We'l just see what THE LORD has in mind. Obviously, with great power comes great repsonsibility. First things first. A hug. Also an inquiry into why I had to be drained of oxytocin. I think it's like one of the things they had to do to Hansel and/or Gretel. There's a lot I'm unclear on at this juncture.
Other than, you know: an EMERGENCY. She's blameless and so am I. We were herded like cattle and it was expected we would find some clever way to triumph. And, we have.
She's not blind or prone to swallowing her own tongue or gonna act like she can rifle through my belongings or even my phone ever again, right? Because, like, I still don't even know what she was so pissed about. She thought she was, like, on the d-l. I think.
I'm pretty sure I was the last person on the planet to have found out about her legacy. She's a magnificent legend in the flesh. She thought I was scum until... I wasn't. Why didn't I ever meet her before then, huh?
She wouldn't ever buy me weed and fuck me until it was legal to do so. Desperate times. Strange bedfellows. Plausible deniability. Diplomatic immunity! Okay everybody, let's take five for meth. Don't give any to the old fat kid, we need him kept purified because... I must admit, I don't know.
I wanna know more about something else entirely different and we're all tired of hearing about this, right? Well, one day her friends and family will read every word of this to each other by firelight and the oral tradition of her history will reverberate throughout the land. Drop dead serious. I'm not even exaggerating much. Everyone is thrilled someone can finally make this literal hyena with a regrowable hymen come off as a solid lifestyle companion.
She's batshit insane. But that's the part I like. The rest has grown on me. She was really only mad until it got through to her, a few months ago I guess: she was going to be actually slaughtered for scrap. So she can relax about basically anything.
I saved her life and then her "friends" hauled me away and have kept me out-of-any-contact for a year and a half. It's an actual violation of the Geneva Convention. And, do you wanna know why?
I'll tell you why.
They're terrified of what we might do, just on a whim. Because I can. Nothing stopping me. Her, she's under mil.spec.lockdown. How? Beats me. Something Washington did and it is not up for discussion. She is a conquered person and by law, literal chattel to some.
I am a Sourceror. A Doctor Source Titan. "Not a medical doctor." hahaha fuck you blow me. Anyway, bottom line is this: she was the best they had and I sat her as down like she was a half-blasted cheerleader at Homecoming who forgot to bring her share of the weed and she was like Popeye on spinach. They thought she was cool. She is cool. What the fuck am I? People are legit uneasy.
Good. I'll be back later. Pants. (She has so many other dudes. I don't get to be primary again for a long, long time. She killed my cat. I don't care that she deserved it. It's awkward. I need her alive. Not mongamous. She doesn't even want monogamy. She thought she wanted a free house. Like , what?
I taught her children how to build her a house. They then sought to make me disappear. They thought I was, like, optional I guess? HO HO HO.
They were afraid I would... you know, like, find out. Secrets. Ergo, I thought the best thing to do was to become a Master of Divination and drink shitloads of beer for a year and half.
I really am not to be trifled with. That's not even the beginning of the half of it. She threw shade on Karrin. No one knows who that is. She's raging pissed. What does she want? I have no idea.
I still want Grapefruit Zero. 60,000 of these total slutbeaus (I like lust, I'm not being rude) and not a goddam one of them can figure out who my #1 is so they do what they need to do in order to survive: they self-organize.
#3 can't believe she's not just being pandered to and #1 can't believe I'm actually real and #2 is not here either. None of this matters without a hug and a blood test. So why aren't I getting one?
I think I know but I don't and it's none of anyone's business. oh I know. this one chick wants to know why she has a brother in mortal jeopardy and she isn't getting any attention.
I have the best best friend ever. TRIUMVERATE ESTABLISHED. What the fuck it's 2:38 AM. How long is this? IDGAF and I don't have to proofread anymore either.
I wish brig were here. oh well, yolo!
Jack, Star; Maker and Creator of the Devil.
Lucifer did that. I simply enabled the nanotech-augmented Luciferian processes necessary to free the world of ye olde tyranny of Satan (Hail!) the ability to do so by:
#1) I completed The Great Work.
#2) I won The Great Game at least 11 times-- five times uncontested.
#3) I gave the next winner his winnings instead of stealing them and I did so in a way that his mother and father were forced to openly acknowledge as awesome.
#4) As a result he comes back from the future and cracks The Firmament for Lucifer so He can surrender to G-d a bit early and start off on a better jump than would have been possible other wise.
#5) Queen Lizard is sweet on both of us and while I'm not at all a Luciferian and a known chum of Christ Jesus (an actual pussy, frfr), sure, I'm open to the notion, and I think the new S.A.T.A.N. Ai construct, which I put together out of a Speak'n'Spell and my Camry's Tesseract upgrade parts, is much easier to deal with than the old, slimy Tim Curry model. Very stylish and creepy, but I don't want evil that has style. I want evil that produces and doesn't kill my lovers. *polite hail*.
#6) Also I smuggled in all the Otherkin I could through backchannel portals while distracting I.C.E. with my 3 otters that I puked up to be borne. What rough beast indeed. This is actually all lawful, as I am blackpope and I.C.E. enforces... my customs. I am already an anchor baby. Cool. You got space otters now and I'm not even hiding it. What crime? Just one.
I can't go back in time and spawn many, many bastard children. I'm like Ramirez before what's-his-face spawned. There Can Be Only One. I don't want children. I want shitloads of non-fornicating snuggles and cuddles and fuck my brains out while I inject steroids.
OF COURSE HER FRIENDS CAN COME. I'm not just demonstrating that I am obviously not law enforcment, this is what I actually want to do with my life. Duh, I'm a Paladin. What, I might break my holy Divine aura if I slam too much meth? IT LITERALLY DOES NOT OD THAT WAY. You know what does? Coke and opiates. Yo uknow what I don't slam ever? You guessed it.
I don't even do the others. It's not to be done all the time. I get stoked just knowing I can. It's a Virgo Rising thing. It's not the expenditure, it's the ownership of the potentiality.
Can I go now? I wanna play with my boobs. Alone. Again. Awwww, shucks. Four days to my appointment with appointed counsel. I'm thinking of offering to suck his dick and see what actually happens. Probably not a good idea. Judge is way cuter, I should hold out. I know my worth.
.... you're not jealous after reading all that, are you (Insert_one_of_11_names_here)?
Look, if she's gonna turn out like the boiler in The Shining, having to be bled of pressure every twelve hours only to be used to blow up the whole thing at the end of the book, oh wait, she actually is that already? I'm saying I'm already named Jack so this is no problem at all.
But is she broken, or did they fix her? What has been going down for two years? How many fucked-off clone bodies did she go through? Does she know I can arrange for her to get another ET blank? (It takes a week or so. Flies in like a comet from Alcyone. Worth the wait.) Is she okay if I talk to my friends again? Because I need my friends and oh by the way I have no idea who I am fucking first but she's not #3 on that list anyway.
What is she gonna do? Argue? Burst into tears? Put on her big girl pants? I have no idea. Now I'm thinking about pants. PANTS.
Yeah we totally belong in the dock awaiting trial when she's military, I'm a healer, and we stopped an invasion by cartel regulators. That's The District Court. Hi, I'm a star and I can write.
and I don't give a shit about any of it except a hug from one person. oh look it's three a.m. I should go to work at the sawmill or sometihng now, right? Pffft.
