These are Rubini's words. He will not be forgiven.
(BLANK), this is (BLANK). It is assumed that you knew this already, but as a courtesy to any without your skillet, I made mention of it first off.
As you know, this is the first time I've written to you from this address. I really just like the sound of it when I say it out loud, and I have come to a point where I've marked out a place to branch out from.
In short, I've decided that I am (BLANKING) your (BLANK). Now, I know you're thinking I can't do that—remember, #Psychic(BLANK)—but as a matter of fact... I can.
Blood feud rules—also known as kanly—have a lot of caveats. I'm new at this, I don't know how all this stuff really works, but there's one thing I do know, and that's when I have been pushed too far.
It's actually nothing to do with you at all. A couple of events, unrelated, combined with various extant and emergent forces, well... things have come to a head.
I'll be happy to tell you later. It's interesting, to me, to go back and analyze how events unfolded, but I'll skip for now, just tell you to focus on what is relevant to your interests:
Fuck all this mushroom bullshit.
Now, whatever you're doing over here, it's not working out. Maybe it's working for you? I would not know.
However, this broad is frontin’ that she's terrified of opening either of her email clients because of, allegedly, you. I did instruct you to stop sending her emails. You did not.
I'm not sure why she can't report this shit herself, but corruption in the 5G programming wave might have something to do with it. In any case, my approach to the circumstances is changed, effective immediately.
There will be further changes.
I would prefer this be handled in a way that respects everyone’s interests. Underwear. Damn auto-correct. In any event I would have thought that you didn't have any interest here at all anymore, but it turns out maybe not so much.
Also, you may actually have interest in me, and to that end you should probably pay attention to what I'm saying: burn my other numbers and addresses, and prepare to freshen things up.
I made mention of this before, but who fucking knows whether you noticed or if this is even the “right” (BLANK). This address—(BLANK)—I've had it for awhile.
At least three of you should recognize it. If not, I don't give a single ripe fuck, as we are under Fog Of War, nothing is certain.
This is more of an announcement than it is an invitation to dialogue. I can't dialogue with you, (BLANK), all the other boyfriends of all the women (and girls) you have sexually harassed and/or assaulted and/or raped and/or non-sexually raped (that one's me: hello ahriman) would get jealous, as I'm sure they'd all like some access restored as well.
Yeah, well, that’s not me here. I would prefer to be doing something else tonight. I don't need to be dealing with this horse dick drama, not my stables, not my jockeys, and not all of all those old nags in that barn could be mine... maybe one or two, but, holy chao, you've been a round so long, you're practically a square cantaloupe.
I'll post this to web if I don't get a reply in a professional amount of time. I have shop to talk. ALL OF this b*******, that I never OPENED, has really been getting in your way. And now, my way.
There is no "our way,” (BLANK), and that is part of the problem. We can address this. We have the technology. We have the huevos. We have (BLANK) tied up. (Nice web, Punylings.)
That needs to end. And it has, right here, right now, oh and Art just said hello, which is wild. Seems like he's really excited that I'm finally getting to you, seems like he has a lot that he would like to communicate to us. (Turns out he was just cheering loudly. No messages are waiting... yet.)
So, I hung up on him. Probably just a hallucination anyway. I had a lot of cough syrup this morning while masturbating to soft-focus, tastefully framed nudes of Ramona Quimby taken on the morning of her 18th birthday, which, while technically not illegal, makes it a titillation enough to make that joke that a ghost just told me, should be enough to establish my bona fides.
I would prefer that you stop bothering (BLANK). I would also prefer that I stop being bothered as well.
This email has been a long time coming. Imagine the Draft area in my mind.
Oops, just deleted it all. Oh well. Nothing of value was lost.
Guarded salute,
(BLANK)
p.s.: I would prefer that our communications are spoken of in low tones--not secret, but I would prefer that people not get the wrong idea.
p.p.s.: I'm going to rip off your shed and shut down your wreck.
REST IN HELL RUBINI
This is Hell, Lady.
