Let me explain, as clearly as I understand it. I am NOT a lawyer--not #Official, anyway. I might be a lawyer in certain narrow instances, but even then, I doubt it counts.
I've been a jew dictator, not a jew lawyer. Anyway, "fair use" is the legal precedent that makes it so that my OUTRAGEOUS history of OVERSHARING is not unlawful in anyway--it's protected free expression in these United States, period. It's not like it's criminal to tell stories, right? It's not like I'm breaking a security oath, or endangering anyone, or harassing anyone, or anything like that. Oh, no.
I am, in fact, a person subjected to ongoing harassment, attempts to extort, coerce... look, fuck the list, remember S.M.E.R.S.H. & S.P.E.C.T.R.E.? If you do and you don't know what all those letters stand for, lucky you, as I've been subjected to basically every dirty trick applicable to me out of them phone Alphabet thuggy agencies.
Except IRL, I don't think it works that way, and however it works, let me tell you: it does kinda suck. A lot. However, there -are- rules in the real world, and what does not kill, makes one stronger. And well, I am.
I have come out the other side. Whew. And the way that I did that, was through the use of more cowbell. Hahha, no, just kidding. You can't inject cowbell.
But, I can. Now, back to the question of "fair use." Some might think me liable for damage my posts may have caused, that I was seeking revenge, or looking to coerce, through the exposure of "secrets," and in fact, on many occasions I was speculated to be doing that exact activity.
But I will tell you all the stone cold truth, right now: there was nothing else I thought I could do. I was in legitmate fear for my life, and I honestly believed that writing openly about what I was experiencing--although not TOO openly--would not only ensure my survival, but protect everyone involved from as much harm as possible. I mean, I can't help everyone, but i can help myself, and I chose to do so, ultimately, but posting willy-nilly about any got-damn thing I felt like spitting out.
And now--I don't feel the same burning need. I really don't. And I'm frankly heartily sick of writing about myself in that context. I really am. And most of the news at this point, is TRULY no one's business.
It's not "fair use" to sit around and trade stories and speculate as to what people may be doing since the glory days. But it doesn't have to be fair use for -you- people. It doesn't have to be for me. However, now that I am, honestly, no longer in nearly as much sheer terror--and my gratitude is overflowing, MEGA--it's hard for me to respond to anyone who might claim that I am liable for violating the privacy of others by saying, "Oh, I have to tell jokes about what those idiot yokels are doing now, because making myself look better by puttijg other people down, that's a matter of life and death! fair use! FAIR UUUUUUUSE!!!" *puny, impotent fists flail madly around, seeking to SUBMIT*
Yeah, it's not like that. Look, I still got a no contact order going. I'm still out on bond. You fuckers probably hacked her computer. (Kudos.) What the hell am I even doing here with you? Oh, right, I'm a fuckin' lunatic. Go on, dare me, call me up and confess. Oh, never mind, you all did that already. I don't need anymore of that. And, if anyone is seeking revenge against me, if anyone expects a comeuppance, uh... wow, really? What did I do untowards? Fill me in, I'd love to know.
In general, in truth: I don't plan to have a lot to say, compared to before, until after I am exonerated. I don't see how it would be kind, true, or necessary, to just incessantly run my mouth off before trial. I've done it enough. Important things have been said. I don't feel like more threats are incoming. What would be the point? What did I do wrong?
I am listening. I am.
Of course I'd love to chatty-batty all fuckin' day. It's quite a story. Well, guess what, I gotta wait. And casual, dimly aware mockery, look, I'm just saying, it doesn't bother me, but I don't think it's in anything but very poor taste for most of you to think A) you have anything right, and B) that baiting me is gonna get you anything useful.
I've already slingshot so far past all that hootenanny in the recent past, and with No Contact ordered... I mean, actually, I think if I showed an interest in finding out what's going on over there, that might not be looked upon favorably. Also, those people are very much entitled to their privacy.
You know. Like I was entitled to mine.
I will be happy to share something, though. That blank Space that is on my Twitter is not blank on purpose, and I do not doubt that Overlord Overseers are monitoring my communcations, and it would be hard pressed for me to claim that recording is not an "attempt" to "contact" what's-her-face.
I mean, I say her name a lot and I make a of questions and bold, declarative statements. Most of which I do not remember. I was not, per se, distraught, but I knew while I was raving on and on, golly, this does sound like I'm pretty salty, huh? Basically, because I was.
And I know why too. My freedom of choice was taken away from me, without being consulted, or optioned, or even attended to much later. It was as though I had been forced into something against my will. It was as though my consent had been violated.
And, like, that's a bad idea, right? Should I call five-O? How about now? Are you busy doing something else? Come on, consent matters. Do The Right Thing. Acknowledge the power of a single tattletale using TweetDeck to rat out eight or nine people with a single breathy impetus. Now, that's power.
So not one surprise in -fuck- that the hour plus show was blanked. As I replied... they probably saved my life, and to be honest, I don't know that I did want anyone to listen to it. I'm not gonna lie, I had been drinking. Some. Enough. And I don't like what alcohol does to me there.
I'd trust amphetamines first. I don't know what the real effect on me difference is, because unlike clearly all of you, I haven't been granted the right set of circumstances yet. I was gonna look into it, but research has been stymied.
Which is fine. In any event, I can only imagine that pate is seeking to make me fiend, or flinch, or ANYTHING to indicate that there is anything actually untoward, right? Who knows. Because I'm looking for a Safe Space Slumber Party, if anything, but not even right now, and not even right here, and wow, hey, you, guys, uh... project much?
Don't confuse me for a man who lost a blessed thing. Let me break it down for you, real slow: FUCKING TELEPATHY, TELEPORTATON, AND TIRE IRON MILITARY SCHOOL HONORS. That's about as far as I can go right now. Look, I'm doing lovely, and you know what? Don't fucking bother trying to rub it in.
Because she doesn't need that, and neither do I. And I'm telling ya, if you push the issue too far, there's no telling what might develop. Sticks? Lasagna? Sticks & lasagna? Look, I don't know, I don't wanna know. Why do you want -me- to know? Hey, guess what: y'all spent shitloads of time, out of sight, out of mind, doing, like, whatever.... and then?
Spare me the Spacey details, if you don't mind. I don't need to hear about her (blanks) all held up in Customs. Et cetera. And frankly, the absolute less I know, the better for everyone.
On the other hand, someone (someone special) who would like to go back to the last posts I made on the subject and check out those questions I had there... well, let's see someone answer my questions, before you start running pell-mell for more low-hanging fruit. Because, look, I'll be honest: what some of you did was absurd and disgusting.
Kudos. Oh, and you completely managed to fuck up everyone in the world around me, except me. Nice shootin', Tex. Maybe next time, a little decorum? I'm just sayin'.
See, now, this post here, I believe is fair use. I feel strongly, life or death level, that my posting the truth about this here, is ultimately, and important response action that, for better or worse, fucking no one else is able to do for me. (At least it would seem.) What am I going to do? Respond to obvious insults with threats to call the police? Yeah, right, uh, no.
I don't call the police. They call me. Thoughts and prayers. Don't fuck with me, Lee.
Many have tried to silence me. All have failed. It's time to let the sleeping dogs lie. Have you not been entertained? Do I deserve no respite?
Tell you what, go on back to your bars, your temples, your massage parlors, your private Discord server, your hidden YouTube channels, your bleachers where you can go hang out underneath to get high as balls all you want at age 13 because your dad is a Sherriff, you know: whatevah.
Tell them I love them. Kiss them for me. I may be delayed. Because, fuck mother fucker, if playing Siouxsie & The Banshees and singing "Kiss Them For Me" in the shower while opening portals in quite earnest attempts to "randomly" throw my jizz at Native Clarice counts as "contact," well, shit, by all means, I should be going into the hole, right now. G-ddam, I'm not gonna lie, I think I got some up a nostril with one of them. Eat your heart out, Gambit, yeah, throw playing cards, sure, yeah, I ain't playin', Frenchy. Pfft.
Hopefully I will have a moment or two to practice my new hobby, and that I won't have -yet another- wedding fork -stolen- but by this point at this time, you know what? It don't even matter.
None of you have even an inkling of the truth, and as yet, neither do I. But as I am the victim here, and you aren't, I can confuse and confabulate the issue as much as I like without fear of reprisal, because, like, who am I damaging? I ask you. Who do we think is hurting, right now?
Because I love them too. I even love pate, you dumb sonofabitch, and I understand you're probably kinda bent out of shape over something. Huh. Well... what's that like?
Oh, right, you can't go into details. But you want me to. Okay, sure. Here's my detail: you have no Earthly idea of how worth it, all this nonsense really did, turn out to be. Judge not, lest ye be judged.
I didn't judge at all. I discerned that there was a shitshow a-comin', and rather than exploit the situation for any personal aggrandizement, I burned my whole research corpus to the ground and did all that I could legitimately do to ease future suffering. And, behold: I SUCK SEED, Ed.
Heh heh. Look, look, they be all flummoxed now. I can feel their distraction in my bones already. Now, that's power.
Now, are any of you on the hook for a goddam jury trial? Okay, then, have yourself a long tall glass of whatever you like, because I see know reason to rag on any of you for enjoying your Constitutionally protected freedoms, and of course, teasing taunting and mocking in the most tacky of styles... someone who won, and you imagine you'll get anywhere? Huh. Interesting.
Because the reason I feel I won, is because I am pretty sure we all did. WWG1, WGA. Yeah, whatever, it's stupid. It's also code.
I like codes. I like those cipher wheel thingys. I think that kind of stuff is mega hot, because the difference between a cipher and a code is quite simple: one is unbreakable, and the other is unbreakable when used correctly. And both of them together, enable my magick. And it is something I created as a result of all this, and it's mine, forever and ever. No one will take what I have done away from me, and in spite of the lack of public recognition here, people know. Period. People know that I created something new, and I am still on my lonesome, figuring it all out.
It's kinda like I made a baby. But it's a nice baby. It's not a mean one. Is anyone mean still around? I thought they swooped them all up in that Purge.
Oh yeah. The Purge. Hrrm. Maybe that's why some of you are so pissy that I trifled with you--I mean, wait. No, it was the other one.
I've already moved on to something none of you, not one, has ever even considered or conceived of, and my life is as full of happiness as it has ever been... and as a bonus, I am absolutely not getting weapons drawn on me. This is actually a grandly healing time in my life.
So, what, what do you want from me? You got news, fucking spill it, there's nothing stopping me from knowing, it's just, I ought not ask. Because that looks bad. It looks like "contact." Which I want nothing of, because, #1) I am following orders, and #2) I don't wanna barf. Again.
So do as you like. But unless it's mission critical, guess what? I -already- want to know, so, go ahead, gaslight the truth revelations all you like, don't be coy on my account. And to be shy at all at this point, well, wow... that's fascinating. I'll figure out what that means later, when it will matter and I will give a shit.
Right now, the best thing is that people who ought to have had no damn business in my life are still frontin' like they're disappointed. Aawww. Well, I know what that is really like. I really do.
I wish you all the best of fortunes as you finish up what is undoubtedly your senior year in high school. I am sure it has a happy ending, at least for me, if not for you. And, isn't that what everyone wanted? I mean, besides me sucking cock on command, that is. Well, tell you what: the night is still young.
I'm sure I mentioned: like, actual teleportation. Okay, keep being obsessed with blowjobs. Sure. Be my guest. Here, take my share, I sign over my rights, forever, just do it somewhere out of my line of vision, what do you say? Like seriously, what am I, supposed to get motivated, or nauseous? Fuckin' hell.
You guys sure fell for the bait, I'll tell you what. For instance, what do you all think I wanted a flying car for, and why didn't they want that download? Shitfire and save matches, I don't know.. but I know, they didn't wanna tell me. Or let me know. Or anything.
Fascinating. C'mere, Spock, let me give you the umlauts. Let me tell you a story, I wanna hear your logical deductions. No, Metatron isn't coming over tonight. He thinks you're creepy. Because you fuckin' are, you Pon Farr obsessive -creep.- Once every seven years, huh?
Eewww, gross.
