Exposing Jackstar

[AZZERAE]

you're terminated fucker

Terminated how? I'm the fucking boss. You're a peon.

I'm like GOD to you, Broke Smurf.

[Jackstar]

I'm like GOD to you

Allah-hu Akh-bar.

[AZZERAE]

You're the fucking narc

Where are you gonna run to? BellGab?

Oh wait. You're banned there.

Things are not looking good for you.

Options are dwindling...

Looks like it's Hobson's Choice for you, dawg.

KISS THE RING OF SCARS.

[AZZERAE]

Allah-hu Akh-bar.

[AZZERAE]

I love you, and have only given you a small taste of your own medicine. I don't like hurting you. In fact, it probably hurts me more than it hurts you anyway. You know this. Don't act confused by my behaviour. I simply had enough of your abuse and it dawned on me how much I've been internalising on your behalf. Its not fair. Friendship is a 2 way street, and if you can't understand that I have commitments outside of the ones I make with you, then you're being selfish and immature. I wish with my whole heart that we could go back to how we were before, but I know that ship has sailed. Is it sick of me to play around in the ashes of all I burnt down? Maybe. But sometimes you have to make an example, and that involves a sacrificial lamb. Far be it from me to latch my failures onto external things like scapegoats and false witness. You need to sit down and address these problems we're having with each other like a man for once, and stop hiding behind your flimsy defence mechanisms. I can see right through it all like Eyeore's tepee of sticks. Anyone could so easily knock it over, but I'm not a complete asshole-- I do have a heart, y'know. So just find it in yours to come down off that high horse (let's hope its not of the trojan persuasion). Christ, I can't take it anymore. What does a person have to do to get a cup of coffee around here? There's matches, glass pipes and detritus on the dirt floor. Chained in the basement: your harem of epehebus. Shh he says. Don't let on that you see them. That is not your toy chest to pry open and rifle through. I will happily knife a fresh lasagne into pieces to commemorate this day of reconciliation and new beginnings. I got a garbage bag with your name written on it. But we need not allow matters to devolve into half-brick carnage, and bruises and head-wounds and gashes and guts. I'll just snap my fingers and order another cortado, waving away dismissively the offer of those little sugar packets with quotes in broken english written on them. Really. Santa could've done a hell of a lot worse than Mrs. Claus. You see, all the LGBTQTIA+ little elven folk formed a union, and through the Magician, Jesus Christ they managed to nail Kermet to a tree. Slave skeletons dangling on old ropes, and Japs with PTSD ejaculating onto Miss Piggy's mascara caked face, with it all running down into a trough for the naked 18 to 20 year olds Jack kept chained in the basement. The F.B.I. uncovered 2 apple boxes worth of bestiality themed VHS tapes mysteriously hidden in Barney the Dinosaur jewel cases. God, I remember how shortlived those fucking CD's with the lyric booklets were. Now you're lucky if you can download a badly scanned PDF of the booklet on the Wayback Machine. Take that crack pipe and shove it where the sun doesn't shine for all I care. I wouldn't know meth if a crystal hit me in the face. I'm all hate, but I've scheduled an appointment with the blood bank to get a transfusion because someone's pet monkey is suffering with the most curious case of kaposi's sarcoma-- And I think he contracted it from an HIV infested blood pudding that some idiot brought to the company Christmas party, but get this, it wasn't even baked from scratch! The cheapskate stole it from a potluck dinner the week prior. Now I never knew AIDS could live outside the human body very long, but I guess the amount of blood itself was a factor in patient zero. Where were we, anyway? I think I was trying to convince you you're adored and worshipped by a group of pygmies in the Amazon jungle. Somehow your picture was in some bitch's wallet, and when her crew flew over the top of the rainforest it somehow made its way into the hands of the highly suggestible withdoctor who assured his village you were a deity. And with that, they stopped the softshoe round the fire to the rain god and adopted Jackstaristianity. And I couldn't be more proud. It looks like someone somewhere values you immensely. Who could it be, though? Besides the pygmies who don't know an arse from an elbow...eh. Forget it.

[Jackstar]

date: Nov 26, 2022, 7:46 AM

by the way you treated me like shit, that's why I'm gone, and your implications I don't deserve what I have are very misplaced.

I don't give a shit what you think anybody deserves, least of all me. you had 10 years to tell me some obvious fucking truth, and you didn't breathe the fucking word. you don't even deserve this message, but those who will come after me deserve to know the truth—if I had known what you loathsome swindlers actually did with your time I never would have given you the time of day and you never would have known me, EVER. thieves and reprobates scum like yourself are the lowest rung on the ladder of society you are parasites; you contribute nothing; and I don't know how you were convinced that I'd be a good person to steal from or that you weren't really stealing your liberating or that I didn't deserve anything, but you didn't do your due diligence.

I deserve your entire world, douchebag, and you can fucking keep it.

go fuck yourself with a rusty truncheon and get hit by a train for all I give a shit, goodbye.

[...] you cave-painting Neanderthal thug.

I continue to stand by several of these statements.




THUNDERDOME + JUDGMENT DAY == GIBSON + CAMERON SUCKING EACH OTHERS DICKS IN EXCHANGE FOR JUST ONE MORE PANCAKE... ONE MORE DROP OF SYRUP... PANAMA!

*nostrils flaring slightly in tune with portals opening and closing across the surface of your Puny world, Munchkins. Or are you Oompa Loompas? I'm gonna ruminate. I can do that because I am a cow, and not a boy--COWMEN ARE SELF-ACTUALIZED DURING EMOTES. IT'S A PERK.*

[Jackstar]

I love you, and have only given you a small taste of your own medicine.

I don't have medicine. You're a foul, cretinous liar and you know nothing about my life and you associate with other liars, also cowards, and none of you can provide a straight answer or a legitimate conversation to save your lives--or my life. I don't know why I ever imagine that any of you people will ever bother to pretend to like me again... you already got what you wanted.

Now that you have, buy them shoes. Or one-way tickets to Oman, what the fuck. Like what does any of this have to do with my life anymore? You don't tell me that you have such concern and shit for me when I DO NOT TALK TO ANY OF YOU FOR A FUCKING YEAR WHILE YOU RUN AROUND TELEPORTING ALL OVER THE PLANET SUCKING OFF AND RIDING THE COCK CAROUSEL. Great sounds like fun, I'm glad I'm not envious. I much prefer being left alone and psychologicall tortured by whatever goons are in this shitbag Hicksville. Oh, and I would have totally come here without being swindled to do so, right? Fuck the lot of you, fuck you all, you can all rape each other to fucking death for all I'm concerned, or will ever notice, because it's not like I know anyone is alive anyway. Even if you were, so what? You all put me in jail on Christmas, ignored my birthday--like I had fucking done something fucking wrong, and what might that have been? WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK do you think I'm so fucking GUILTY of? Huh? I never asked for any of this, and I never tried to steal from any of you, and if you wanted to know so much about my "great family fortune" maybe you should have told me what the fuck was going on while they were alive. You can just fuck off now, unless you want to keep bullying me, which of course you do, because that's all you've needed me for: a harvest.

I don't know why I ever thought any of you ever needed to get to know me better. Try sucking off a politician or a military officer or something instead. I don't need your buckets of pigs' blood and in the last couple years that we have associated, your assistance has been pretty piss poor. You could have done better, and you did: for yourselves. You're a gang of elitist, bigoted, overprivileged snooty snobs and the days when I have wished I could be in "the club" have long since passed, since I see you for what you all are: useless bloody mongrel savages. Thanks for the "help." Tell me, can you tell me what that "help" might have been? Can you think of any singular effort that would qualify as such? Because, I don't feel 'helpled.' I feel used and abused and betrayed and it would be insane for anyone in my position to feel any different. I loathe what I have seen you all do with the resources we have all been given access to. You could have done more, and you didn't do shit besides cover things up, make me look bad, and whine about terrible it is that I talk to David when YOU AND HE ROUTINELY TRADE IDENTIES USING SOFTWARE AND DAVID IS PROBABLY TALKING TO HER RIGHT NOW IN THE GUISE OF SOMEONE ELSE. It's playbook. What else is he going to do? Get a job? Certainly not talk to me... but your shitty little podcast gets used to corroborate other pieces of falsified evidence and pretty soon, you fucking faggots have a stack of false paper sufficient enough to get any judge to say, "ooh, wow, he looks like a lively one," because yeah, I am.. .and you do this, because you are all adult survivors of childhood abuse, of one form or another, and you've allowed yourselves to see me as a parental figure. Like I owe you for support or something. You're all fucking insane. Get therapy--preferably from one you don't lie to.

Five years and she lied the whole fucking time. She must have thought there was no way I didn't know! Surpise! I still don't know now... I never checked, I enver investigated, and why would I? If she lied that much, she must have had a good reason.


oh yeah. big secret. So totes important. I'm going to bed alone again for the 400th consecutive night, and you can all fuck off in a big pig pile wallowing in cholera for all I care, you people are the worst and it must be the mind control drugs... like normal adults are just not this stupid. Figure it out. Stop embarassing youselves. And if it is that fucking bad, maybe you should READ ME IN, you snobby bish.

I don't like hurting you.   

You don't hurt me. You despise me, and your pathetic attempts to pretend you aren't the source of all evil in my life and my world these days are painful to watch. Dude, just grow up or something, stop using drugs to rape and control women, leave my fucking life alone, go do something, else, by the way: you suck balls.

In fact, it probably hurts me more than it hurts you anyway.

Maybe you can make some more jokes about Rodgering my friend who you set up to get herself Rodgered and then worked with hand-in-glove the entire time to spin the story so that it sounds like I had something to do with it, or worse yet--approved, and now here we are, you got police involved, I don't know if either Alpha or Prime are currently alive, as they can come and go and why would they bother with me? I look like a loser thanks to you, meanwhile, you have dope and a teleporting ferry and a seemingly total lack of bringing me online to... anything. You're a class act, Ali. Have fun rotting in Hell.

You know this.

I don't even know who you are. There is no understanding here. I've been deliberately disassociated from reality in an effort to drive me to suicide. I honestly don't know why I don't bother--just lazy I guess.

Don't act confused by my behaviour.

You needed to blame someone for something and everyone picks Mikey. Have fun. I'll just wait here, working at peak efficiency, obviously.

I simply had enough of your abuse and it dawned on me how much I've been internalizing on your behalf.

Your stated belief that I abuse you is why I won't notice when you never speak to me again. You're a cad. Go hire someone else to lie to me and rape me.

Its not fair.   

Tell it to K-Dubb.

Friendship is a 2 way street, and if you can't understand that I have commitments outside of the ones I make with you, then you're being selfish and immature.

I do understand that. You married a retard and never bothered to tell me who else was married or what you've been doing for however many years and you certainly didn't want to bother letting me know how you planned to bleed me dry, after pretending you actually knew me or cared about me first. Well, fine, go away, what more do you want? Oh, right, someone to scapegoat and hopefully drive to suicide so you can get my stuff. God, you're boring. Were you always this boring? Ugh, uhh.

What I actually think is that you're smart enough to know that behaving like -this- much of a chump will turn me off forever, not to mention distract my attention with all the dry heaving, and then your stupid faggot plan for faggots who plan can unfold Christmas 2.0 and then you can... I don't know, whatever the fuck it is you do. I don't fucking care. The shit you people stole is meaningless compared to what you cost yourselves--like, I used to actually like you people. I still do like you people. I've just done enough. Meanwhile you're still making fake paper and trying reallly hard to steal the house, or whatever the fuck the htreats are. I don't even read them anymore. After being ignored all year and ignored while I mention, "hey, uh, medic?" Crickets. Oh, okay, so, you're all out of your goddam minds then. And, while my friends re being threatened not to talk to me or help me... what are they doing, who are they doing it with, and who the fuck is supposed to help me, other than people who want to help me? Fucking conscripted labor? You shitheads have no idea how to motivate anyone. Go back to the trees.

I wish with my whole heart that we could go back to how we were before, but I know that ship has sailed.   

You're a worse sailor than you are a liar. You don't even know what we had before--there was a time when I didn't know you were a filthy fucking blind-hearted liar. You could have read me in at any time. It was fucking complicated. You're all just a bunch of loser douchbags who let someone else tell you who to hate. And you let it be me, and you still hate on me. It's really all you know. Grow up.

Is it sick of me to play around in the ashes of all I burnt down?

What's really sick is when you pretend you didn't all know each other before I ever heard of you and you've been laughing at me for years. "Here, I think you can bag her." Dude, fuck off. Take care of your own fucking DEA agent leaks. Three fucking years with her and you're all getting high every fucking day, "I live in Africa," dude, FUCK YOU. You travel all over the place with your fucking teleporting cruise ship and I'm not invited, well, fine, fucking have fun by yourselves, you didn't need me before, you don't need me now, and the only reason I'm still around is because your wrencher is holding my vehicle hostage and you lied to the courts to get them to hold me in place without trial FOR A YEAR for a bullshit phony charge that I am utterly innocent of. Then you spent A YEAR talking shit about me on the Internet. Guess what? Fuck off. You didn't even gain anything and you probably raped her. Also: I'm sick of hearing about what I told her would happen if she left. It's nothing to do with me. Keep it to yourself--you're the one fucking them. Both of them, in fact. Why is that any busines of mine? Neither of them ever wanted anything but target practice out of me, and that you can keep them interested tells me all I need to know about their authenticity.

That scopolamine is great stuff, huh? Too bad i'm immune. And that I don't care for your exploitative ways, pimpmonger.

Maybe. 

All communications are monitored and anyone who tries contact me gets shunted off and I TALK TO NO ONE REAL. Do you fucking understand this? Your constant denials on this are more annoying than when you acted like I should be not talkative on the subject of the highly sophisticated software that you use to manipulate your image and likeness. The software that can be used to capture anyone at all--it only takes a few seconds--and then they can pretend to be someone else. Like me. YOU HAVE DONE THIS WHILE TALKING TO ALLISON BEFORE YOU ASSHOLE. YOU HAVE DONE WITH TOOTSIE. YOU HAVE DONE IT WITH COUNTLESS OTHERS.

YOU ARE A FUCKING FRAUD AND A THIEF AND A LIAR AND YOU NEED TO STOP THIS SHIT ONCE AND FOR ALL. People know, you dipshit. What, you thought you were just going to ride my ass and coattails forever? No, you dummy, and who decided not to teach me how to use this shit--but you gave it to HER--he's an idiot as well as a dolt. Okay, sure, yeah, bad for me to have, but everyone else, sure, no problem---and then on top of that you acted like I should shut up about it, not to talk about it openly. FUCK YOU ASSHOLE. Besides it is not like it is not relatively common knowledge. I suppose to you it is a technological edge that you rely on to put food the table or whatever trope you're using to make yourself look noble and make me look like a robber baron. Once again: you are an asshole. Why are you such an asshole? You should just be nice. What are, on the fucking run for murder?

Where did that knife come from and why aren't my friends calling me or helping me and what the fuck are you doing to help me over what you are doing to steal from me? Do you really think leaving me in the dark for A CALENDAR YEAR was going to go well? Give me one reason I don't blow you all out of the harbor ASAP. Right now all I got is "lazy" and "too much effort" and "don't care about anything in life anymore." So you're probably safe.

But sometimes you have to make an example, and that involves a sacrificial lamb.   

Maybe you have do that, Ba'al worshipper, but I don't. Here's an idea: why don't stop fucking lying about everything, start telling me the goddam truth about everything, and quit acting like I'm your fucking punching bag or magickal cornucopia that spits out wealth for you to scoop and laugh at me over. Like my life belongs to you or something. I know (PROT) bought the marker on all my unconsolidated consumer debtload, so sure, technically, my ass is owned. (I can only imagine the thrill. Ooh boy.) But we're talking like 15K. Who cares? It's a pittance. There's plenty of money somewhere to pay it off in one fell swoop--probably in the banana stand--and it's a fairly simple concept: I get exonerated, and then I pay everyone off. It doesn't happen the other way around. I am done getting bled dry. I've shelled out plenty of dough, and I will again, and I don't need you or anyone else to hide behind anonymity and act like you're the boss of me. You're not.

Surprise: I know how the collection industry works. You'd know that if you ever bothered to talk to me instead of about me or around me or over me or behind me or even with me. At best, you talk to me and you don't notice to listen yourself to what you get back.

If my credit weren't shit, I would have been swamped with fraudulent paper on phony loans, bank accounts hacked and drained, et cetera. As I was already in collections by the time anyone decided to start actually trying to kill me AND take my house--like what the fuck, where am I supposed to live? In the gutter, then? Like I could seriously just eat a bullet if it meant so fucking much to you. Try asking nicely first next time. Maybe bring a gift. Pottery can be nice. Stained glass? A hand-written letter of apology to come to terms with shit I've known the whole time and you only imagined you were getting away with? I don't fucking know, be creative. Doodle something. My friend in highschool drew something for me once. I really liked it! I think Grapefruit stole it. You never should have hooked her on smack. I bet she's really boring now--she can't hold a conversation either. Oh well, her husband the meathead can deal with the pillowtalk I guess--and why you keep talking about "my girfriend" when she was "at least three guys' wife" and she never told me and you fucking knew, kindly just shut the fuck up about it all, how about that? You're a weaselly little thief and you're all caught and making up reasons to justify my persecution isn't all that great of a recovery move.

How about just not persecuting anyone? Do you know my friends are being threatened with reprisals for talking to me? FUCKING DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT. God, you're an asshole. Accomplice. Whatevah.

Far be it from me to latch my failures onto external things like scapegoats and false witness.   

You do this all the time and I don't so I don't know what you're implying here and I don't know how to help you when you're basically making shit up out of nothing with no context or meaning, it's just a long-winded bitchfest every day with you about how terrible I am. You routinely insinuated I am an abuser of all manner of illicit substances--you're always so quick to point out how illegitimate the activities that I am not even doing, yet you fail to recognize, that's not exactly the case, since, unlike you, I actually know the law. Did you know that you are routinely discriminatory and dismissive of my spiritual practices? Of course you know that, you spend all fucking day talking shit about me. Why do you do this? You look stupid.

You need to sit down and address these problems we're having with each other like a man for once, and stop hiding behind your flimsy defence mechanisms.   

My communications are intercepted. Do you need me to get a bullhorn and scream at you? I'm being cyberstalked. Nothing works right. You're in on it. It keeps happening, you keep enabling it, you look like a loathsome criminal thug, and hey--you are one too. I'm aware things are done differently in South Africa and you think I am a lazy nigger. This explains your boorish skein of nonsensical crap being sensible to you. Nevertheless, even if I were lazy, you are not the boss of me: fuck off.

I can see right through it all like Eyeore's tepee of sticks.   

It must be kind of cool to have a support network. As all you've done is work to subvert mine, you much know their value. Go steal from someone else. I don't consent to any more of this behind the scenes manipulation of my life. You're not helping. You're annoying. You've wasted my time. You've wasted our time.

Anyone could so easily knock it over, but I'm not a complete asshole-- I do have a heart, y'know.   

So knock it over! What are you waiting for? If you had a heart you would have noticed that you've been killing me for years for no fucking purpose whatsoever. Seems like that could have been noticed before, especially since Grapefruit lied her ass off too. So, I don't need to hear bullshit stories from you about your belief in her bullshit narrative--she's literally mentally disabled and you and bunch of other moronic cretins are preventing us from even talking to each other. You know what? Fuck all of you who think that's a good idea. How fucking hard is it for you to figure this out? You're abusing me, you're being a shit about it, and you've done it for no reason whatsoever. Everyone's miserable, you're still not getting my money, IUT'S MY FUCKING MONEY, FUCK OFF AND DIE YOU LITTLE BITCH, like stealing is probably -not- the way to go to get on my good side. You and Matt and don't make me list more names are just greedy, snooty, bratty little snots and EVERYTHING you've told me has been bullshit. Then you accuse me of arrogance. Just barf up a lung and choke on it, you mook.

So just find it in yours to come down off that high horse (let's hope its not of the trojan persuasion).   

I just can't even with you right now. What "high horse"? You're fucking insane and this is like arguing with Hannibal Lecter about irregularly shaped fava beans.

Christ, I can't take it anymore.   

Yeah, I'm fucking done. This is stupid. So are you. It's not fun to talk to you about, "Hey, Azzerae... I was just wondering... why are you and everyone else lying your asses off to me all the fucking time?" And then, of course, it's all my fault. Look, I've fucking had it. Figure it out. Just fuck off.

What does a person have to do to get a cup of coffee around here? 

First a source of potable water. Quality water. Did I mention? I came "home" to a fucked off and boobytrapped house with poisoned water, COVID-19 blankets, and oh yeah, whatever you've been doing has really not made me any friends. Gee, thanks. It was nice knowing you.

Secondly, I'm sick of your screaming about "meth." I never even knew what it was until this year. Do you get me? Five years with her and amongst the many, many things I was never informed of was what the fuck that was. And yet suddenly you're constantly whining that I'm a "methhead." No, I'm an occult researcher. You're the pillhound. Additionally, even if I was? How does you being a loud mouthy brat about it do anything? I'm mystified. Can't you just fuck off? You're not really doing my any favors, Kid--and maybe never did.

I've been in this fucking city for a year and no one has had coffee with me, oh no. I don't even know where the fuck I would go. Someone decided to show someone else around. Hope you all had a nice time. I guess it was awkward having to stop pretending to be anything other than cutthroat, thieving gasbags? Let me guess, everything was wonderful until I started asking questions. Well, duh. Tell me more about how everyone thought I was stupid the whole fucking time. I can see why it would served everyone's interests to assume that. Why no one bothered to check for themselves is a mystery.

There's matches, glass pipes and detritus on the dirt floor.

Naturally I'm not invited. No children there, right?

Chained in the basement: your harem of epehebus.

I guess you're hallucinating or think I'm Clayton or something. I've never chained anyone up anywhere, certainly not in any basement, and I haven't been in the house with the basement for over a year. I know nothing of what is going on there and obviously I have figured out that whatever the fuck you twerps have been doing was not exactly something you should have been doing. You're constantly whining about "honest labour" and you're all a bunch of fucking parasites. Gee, thanks.

I've never had a harem. Fuck off.
 

Shh he says.   

Your lives lead in secret seem very drab to me.

Don't let on that you see them.

I don't cover for anyone, certainly not thieves and liars.

That is not your toy chest to pry open and rifle through.

I'm sick of your constant associations with the thieves who have ransacked my life. I don't care why anyone thought I would be fun to steal from; I hope they enjoyed it. I don't know toy chest. I don't know why you're implying I rifle through other people's property. In fact, I don't know why I bother listening to what you're saying at all. People are being threatened to deter anyone from helping me. You fucking know this. You're an asshole. You're complicit. You know tons of shit that is going on that affects me and you keep your shitbag coward's mouth shut through it all. I frankly don't have any respect for any of you. When someone says repeatedly, "I don't know what's going on," that means, fucking start fucking explaining. If this cannot be done, communication is not possible.

I will happily knife a fresh lasagne into pieces to commemorate this day of reconciliation and new beginnings.

I can't reconcile with people who never actually existed and I never actually met. I don't need a new beginning, I've been stuck in time while I LITERALLY HAVE CHUCKLEHEAD THIEVING SCUM ROB ME BLIND. Like it means anything to me and that they'll get anywhere with it. It's not even that big a deal as I have been harrassed by gangs of theives my entire life, and being relentlessly alone as a child, a "gang" is more than one person. So, a couple, is a gang.

I am also sick of your whining about how I have "abandonment issues." Well, saying I did, so what? How does labelling something and then actively making it worse through your constant spewing of lies and routine omissions of stuff that I would probably like to know, you fucking doodling freak, and if you think I'll ever forget this, you're wrong, it won't be any time soon before I go out of my way to make sure you get filled in on whatever.

I'm going to set aside the notion that you were a nitwit for even thinking I was going to get stuck in custody and became a pauper anyway, since my shields needed testing somehow on something, and it would ruin the experience if it was not at least passingly sensible.

Long before now someone should have stopped being a retarded asshole. I don't know who, or why, and I don't care to know, really, but one of the twerps you get bossed around by has made everything exponentially worse for everyone by dumping way too much pointless sadism onto me. There's no new beginning as long as I've got people interfering with my transportation, my communications, my finances, my reputation, the whole fucking lot of it, meanwhile I'm being stalked and bullied. You get that this is actually unlawful, right? Not that is representing a threat, but it seems useless to talk to someone who isn't going to notice that I don't think you would enjoy it very much if I were doing the same thing to you.

Basically you all need to stop everything aimed at me in anyway, as none of these people who stolen from me and wasted my time and endless potential opportunities on... what? No idea. Irregardless, none of you had to be such assholes about any of it and your sadistic little thuggy bully antics are the biggest turn off I've ever experienced. Not only have none of you bothered to consider what all this would do to my outlook on life, none of you seem to be noticing that I'm being ostracized. I suppose that is the point. Seems like a lot of trouble though. Could have just put the pieces of pottery into the jar with my name on it.

I appreciate the spiritual lesson. I think you should just go bother someone else from now on, you and literally everyone else has lied to me constantly about literally absolutely everything and I don't know why that would ever change, it's not like you're all accidentally exploiting me, mocking me, minimizing my influence, et cetera. It's so bor

I got a garbage bag with your name written on it

I don't know what this means. Everything is garbage now. I have no idea what any of you ever thought you were doing but trashing my life doesn't really seem worth the effort. I don't know what to make of any of it since none of you have the sack to just tell me what the fuck is thought to be happening. You're probably all wrong. You don't know what's important to me anymore and you routinely describe my behavior in terms that are, simply put, totally erroneous. You never tell me the goddam truth about anything you're constantly focusing on petty shit you seem to spent the majority of your time somehow getting paid to be an asshole and even if any of this were ever fun--it's not for me and never has been since from the beginning all of you all knew each other before I ever heard of any of you.

Since I knew at least a little of why this whole stupid mess has become part of my life and what good it might have been, I am not at all suicidally depressed, but I am in fact bored shitless. For one thing, talking about me and never talking with me is a bad way to go through life. I can hear these fuckers arguing about me in my sleep. Why the fuck this is happeing is, once again, a total goddam mystery and apparently those words don't mean the same to you as they would to me in that position: "looks like I better inform this person of what I would want to know based on what I know from my own point of view."

You just lied over and over to me and took cheap shots and giggled while debasing women. Oh, and being a snooty hold-out. Look fine I just won't have fun with any of you anyway. You won't notice a thing.

But we need not allow matters to devolve into half-brick carnage, and bruises and head-wounds and gashes and guts. 

I do not recognize the necessity to stumble around without knowledge that the rest of you possess. It's fucking annoying and your constant gaslighting makes it impossible to have a conversation with you--oh, I guess I'm just too retarded to talk to, sure. I haven't heard anything true from any of you, ever, my entire life, it's one breadcrumb after another. My life has been a miserable hell for years and this is largely because I have been deliberately lied to over and over about the most basic of details and this is called "gaslighting" and you do it all the goddam time. Am I to be expected to believe you don't notice? Well, I guess. That's because you are a toddler, not because you're so gosh-darn brilliatn that you evaded Karma to get your ill-gotten gains listed as "your righteous spoils" instead of "shit you tried to swindle out of Kuczi because I R dummy, huhuh uahgu, hrrm, taters," wow, you know what? Fuck Texas. I remember The Alamo, alright, because apparently that was the last time any men down there were ever even alive. What a bunch of shitbags. "Where I come from," okay Haystack, tell us, "in the South... people just suddenly disappear. Over night. Like... gone."

Yeah, no shit, d-bag, that happens in the jungles of Mozambique, too. Like when a jaguar descends from the upper canopy--the jaguar, being the most silent and deadilest of the stealthed feline carnivores, makes no sound at all as it plays old Sting singles on vinyl through a Sony Discman--vinyl, mind you--and hubnts with the equivalent of corded headphones while hunting... because wireless earbuds, why, that would be a broadcast signal. What kind of a stealth asssassin carries fuckiing earbuds on full blast?

Oh, right: an Island jaguar. Does it go for the hernia--or the jugular, or both? Tune in next week to Autists "R" Us next week on Unarmed Forces Holodeck Channel Eleven. No, it's not double vision... it's channel eleven because K.

If you only saw how out-of-place the revelry and shenanigans have been over here for the last several months, the last three IN PARTICULAR, you would be horrified. The whole she-bang has come off the rails so undeniably that they gotta do a 5-minute pre-show before certain audiences... just to make sure they know what The Wheel even fuckin -is.- Like, why would H. Gigantopithecus need to invent The Wheel? It already has the "pull tree from ground with one swift thrust up to eye-level to examine the rootball for shiny grubs of particular lineage" technology, so a device to move lumber to another place where a tree is gonna be hauled up... well, it's just not going to happen.

SO, IT LOOKS LIKE, SOMEONE SHOULD HAVE TAKEN MY STATEMENT, OBSERVED MY CIRCUMSTANCE, AND INFORMED THE HONORABLE COURT OF THE GREAT DISTRICT OF COWLITZ THAT "THE EMERGENCY" IS OVER. Instead--continual, incessant, relentless, AND FULLY DOCUMENTED MISUSE AND APPROBRIATION OF BOTH PUBLIC AND NON-PUBLIC AS WELL AS PRIVATE FUNDS HAS BEEN ONGOING; and, unless there's some meathead shoveler passing himself off as a wrencher is about to come hauling ass up my driveway, ready to beg and/or fellate themselves into a fainting spell just on an off-chance that might help.

Because for many... it's already too late. I don't know who is left. You know what is left, though.. ME. ME AND MY SHADOW'S HAND. AND ALSO MY HAND.

IT CARRIES ALONG A LONG SHADOW AS WELL. And it's not even left... it's MY RIGHT. MY RITE: MY RIGHT HAND.

So, riddle me this, Fuck-0: why is there a triumvirate of power with dual locations in SOUTH AFRICA, TEXAS, CASCASIA, IDONESIA, & (theorized) DIEGO GARCIA AND/OR PORTUEGUSE GUADALCANAL that pay me any mind of attention at all? Seems like a lot of focus on someone who has essentially just sat and stared at the wall for about 80% of the past year. If you don't see that you've systematically dragged the entire momentum of my life into an immensely wasteful holding pattern while running your mouth off about shit you don't understand, don't talk to me about, connive which a hodgepodge of silent conspirators who pretend there isn't an extensive amount of taking advantage of my ignorance going on, and then make up even more utterly false and really quite crude jokes about whatever the fuckall it is you think is funny. I don't care why. I don't even say that it's had any direct impact on my life.

It hasn't made anything better either and I don't detect any remorse from... well, anyone. I don't know why. Maybe I'm desensitized. Maybe everyone thinks I should just shut up and hand over all my worldly goods and didn't notice that I don't even care anymore. I'm not going to stay here and ample time has passed for Certain People to stop abusing me. They haven't, you haven't, and I am simply appalled at the wasted effort here.

I'll just snap my fingers and order another cortado, waving away dismissively the offer of those little sugar packets with quotes in broken english written on them. 

Well, that's what you get to do after slumming it for 25 years, Wanker. There's no shame in it. What there is shame in, is your incessant and embarassingly go-to slander and defamation about Michael Kuczi and his work history and/or ethic--and of course, the asperations about them all the same, does either even exists? ahahah HHeheh hehe HEHE. SO FUNNY I FORGOT TO LAUGH.

I'll put it to you thusly: MY TAXES ARE PAID BUT NOT FILED, AND WHAT THE FUCK BUSINESS IS IT OF YOURS, WHAT MY FUCKING JOB, BUSINESS, WORK, INCOME, RESOURCES, OR STATUS OF HOMEOWNERSHIP IS? HUH? WHO MADE YOU MINISTER OF FINANCE FOR AFRICAN-SALISH REPARATION DISCUSSIONS? HUH? HUH?

FUCK YOU, YOU AFRICAN GOLD-DIGGING ASS-KRUGERRANDING PONCE. Shove some Abe Lincoln coinage up your ass the next time you feel like commenting on my life situation. I'm fucking surrounded by actual gangland buzzards, loudmouth bratty losers ensconced into levels of legitimate law enforcement agencies, as if they are justified to be there... so they can jump out! hi---YAAH! JUDO AUDIT/KICK! (Gotcha! being Goose's finest roles.) And... YOU'RE THE FUCKING RINGLEADER! Do you have any idea how obvious it is to me when your stream is replaced with a MITM attack? Intensely obvious. All of sudden, it's Black\&/White Anthony on the screen, I can fucking see them, and then suddenly Grays have to come down and superluminally affect the timestream... because if the great Cosmic Consciousness of All knew how stupid you all were for continuing this charade to this point--after having been warned before--well, it's embarrassing.

In a nutshell--that's why my communications are Privilieged, and that's why all--I am using the word "all" here--the criminal cases that I am associated with have been turned over to the Auspices of DIVINE COURT. Because someone has fucked up pretty badly, it's not me, and in fact, it isn't any "human" agency at all!

Beyond that, I could not say, as I am not an expert in African Click-Click-Ping-Pong-Talk-Yap-Yap matters, I am an expert in matters of kanly. Trust me, it's a totally different thing. For one thing, I assume Buntu speakers do, in fact, have other things to discuss in the pidgin tongue than matters of blood vengeance.

Oddly, I don't ever talk with them about much of anything else, but that's probably because I don't remember my dreams in which I am invoked as Melchizedek to oversee Divine Court request for Judgement. (Anyone can request Divine Court, but so few people know this and fewer still know to ask for the best by name... but that's changing these days. Those who know their blood feuds want an Arbiter who can keep it fair, no doubt, and obviously--I am the fairest that has even been.

I am certainly fairer than Lucifer--how could I not be? For one thing, I'm a -real- human. And for another... I am a Hungarian. I've been preyed upon, simultaneously, WITH CONSPIRY AND MALICE AFORETHOUGHT, by the best that Austria had to offer--both jew, non-jew, Jew and real Jew--and here I am, still standing. Obviously, I must be pretty good at getting out of death spells, amirite? And, what "malice' do you sense from me? That's her malice, on you, for lying to her too, and her self-loathing... which I would be only too happy to forgive and forget, but I think some people can't set aside the thought of getting pegged in Thunderdome before a live studio audience. Just think of it. I'm game! Why not? Who thinks this is bad? Oh, right: you do.

Okay, Lothario--you have the floor. :rolleyes: Knock our socks off, 'Lude-pilled-Miller.

(Speaking of which: stop taking money for casting spells on me, dumbass. It's like you're betting on the goose to start pissing silver instead of the mercury you kept trying to poison it with until you got on board The Plan. Which of course involves Alchemy. So? Shut the fuck up and keep making your little doodles. You draw pictures with crayon and piss-tinged watercolors. I create landscapes with the power of Holy Word... and I'm only using an alphabet with twenty-six letters in it. Do you have any idea how hard it is to do that for anyone else but me? Yes, you do, and if you had any idea what I had to sacrifice in my life just to be in a position to have the option of deciding to save you without taking undue time to enjoy the thought of the suffering you've put yourself through... look, it's a lot, okay?

I mean--I'm not even getting blown lifetime. Not just from that one mouthy-with-everyone-but-me shrew, no, I mean, my whole fucking life. And, do you know why? NO, YOU DO NOT.

And the reason is CANCER.

Really. 

SUAKM. ADDIDAS. SWAK. JDI. JDF. ALS.

YOU WITHHELD CRITICAL INFORMATION FROM ME IN THE PAST, AND YOU STILL DO THAT TO THIS VERY MOMENT OF THIS VERY DAY. THAT YOU ARE SO SOUL-ADDLED THAT YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT "CRITICAL" EVEN MEANS ANYMORE IS IRRELEVANT.

YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE TO BE CLOSE TO ME AND INSTEAD OF DRAWING CLOSER, YOU DREW BOUDNARIES AND DREW LOTS TO CLAIM A SHARE OF "YOUR HARVEST." WHAT A FUCKING JOKE.

Promises made--TO CHILDREN--have been upheld by others and their delivery of which has been CURTAILED. And all under pretense of "EMERGENCY." Trust me, bureaucrats all over the world, most of which no one would have -ever- herd the name of, like serious sub-basment level 'B' types, the kind that feed the leopard and go to circle jerks with it as a pretend pet on a leash, these fuckers have already fucking had their heads rolled--and THEY CONTINUE TO ROLL. The Caduceus has a serpent on it, not because a Healer heals with snake venom... but because a true Healer can command even the obseisance of a slimy, belly-crawling assassin of squirming-lizard kin. The lowest of the low. And by now, even THEY have heard of I, Jackstar: DESTROYER OF DREAMS.

So, yeah. Really. Cool, huh? Also, I can sing -and- cook, so it's good that there's a plumber around, because that fucker can wash all the dishes while I tell his mother how her little bitch-ass of a kid was such a pain in the ass to save... but, of course, totally worth it. And I didn't have to sacrifice Tom Hanks to save yet another over-privileged and appropriately-valued "private" Angel, placed into danger courtesy of the Charles "Townie" Wagonsend Detective Agency. Oh, and also: Wild Bill. What a shithead, Christ.

Santa could've done a hell of a lot worse than Mrs. Claus. 

Look, you should have let Master Trollda take over a long, long time ago, but I don't see Yoda making the Christmas exception list this year... for a variety of reasons, all of which have to be attended to later, because someone has clearly been more than happy to imagine that I'm clumsy enough to walk my ass into a Tampering, Obstruction, or Lying A Federal Agent charge... which I haven't, of course, but one has to wonder why, considering there are... well, HOW MANY INVOLVED IN CONSPIRING? 22 pages didn't pop-up overnight, and YouTube didn't just get a wild hair pulled out of Wojicski's mons pubis and used as floss by a gentlemen who innocently opined that Christmas Day 2021 was the ideal time to have my channel taken down. Right?

It's not "justice" when it's entrapment, abuse of power, religious discrimination, and outright felony fucking racketeering and fraud. The reason why it isn't is The Patriot Act... and that can be gotten around. Mark my words--this is not threat, but other people could easily be threatened with reprisals. People I never met! People who have traded on my name, likeness, circumstances, resources, and general joi d'vivre! People are, undeniably, EFF EWE SEA KAY FUCKED WITH A CAPITAL EFF. I don't even -know- who the fuck is on the hook, and, that's great from my perspective... because my fucking hand hurts, and I don't care who is standing in the china shop, it looks like the door to an orthapedic surgeon to me. And will that orthopdeic surgeon have a cute secretary? I don't fucking care, because at some point, the first thing I'm going to do with my broken wing is start whipping out The Shocker. The hard way.

I'm not incapable of making new friendship, Kids. I'm simply choosing to abstain from leaving any more broken hearts to trail in my wake. I've got groupies like Halley's got a tux with tails. It's ridic. And for the time being--while these ridiculous conditions persist--I am simply going to become and to express, Who I Really Am. For the more am told What I Am Not, the more I become... WHAT THAT I AM.

I AM.
I.

You see, all the LGBTQTIA+ little elven folk formed a union, and through the Magician, Jesus Christ they managed to nail Kermet to a tree. 

A wild jafd appears!
You suddenly become a TI.
*BAMF* IT's... just gone.

Someone either isn't aware of how security on a big boy big black big monster truck works, or, they wanted to trigger a tripartite security response, because obviously, FUCKING WITH MY PHONES AND MY VEHICLES AND MONITORING ALL MY COMMUNICATIONS IS PROBABLY NOT GOING TO MAKE ME FEEL VERY MUCH AT EASE, NOR IS IT GOING TO BE A GOOD SIGN THAT MY RIGHT BEING EITHER PROTECTED OR RESPSECTED. So it would be my thought that the interests and needs of the local District Court are -not- being served by the enforcment activities that have been going on of late. Gonna blame COVID-19, huh? IT'S FUCKING TWENTY-TWENTY-TWO, MOTHERFUCKER, THERE'S NO FUCKING NINETEEEN EMERGENCY. Speedy trial waivers have to happen for some people--and why haven't they come up yet? Well, they have.

For the time being, I can't believe how fast it's been going. Then again... I've done the lion's share of the work. What happened January to July seems to be -wildly different- than what has been happening since June First, Two-Thousand and Twenty-Two. Asshole. You let that sink in, Dickbreath. And put a little wiggle in your horse's ass-face while you're at it. Grumble grumble grumble.

Slave skeletons dangling on old ropes, and Japs with PTSD ejaculating onto Miss Piggy's mascara caked face, with it all running down into a trough for the naked 18 to 20 year olds Jack kept chained in the basement. 

Names! Names! Names! Who did I have such good times with? I wanna know. I have phone calls to return, and obviously... I'll want to return some calls before others.

The F.B.I. uncovered 2 apple boxes worth of bestiality themed VHS tapes mysteriously hidden in Barney the Dinosaur jewel cases. 

I always wondered why Britney wanted them, even though they were way, way too old to be useful... except, of course, as camoflauge. Since I eventually figured out who Britney really was (Hi!) and why she was always around (Whoa!) and what she wanted access to those tapes for (lol, Jared from Subway, lol) you haven't spoiled anything, but if you wanna show me snappies of this VCR-related pr0n (lol, really? that's some pretty impressive tradecraft) and make me understand how this is relevant to my interests (I have seen the exterior of the building as of August 2022 and it looks pretty seriously 'Shopped), why you would make this statement, why... well, look, if I found you a threat, this would be Witness Intimdation, hands-down. Open-&-shut, boom-ka boom. But not, it's not.

They even took the hard drive with the pr0n on it in the first place. Along with the guns. And the gems. And the et cetera. And, what happened to it all, and, who was held to account? Tell me all about it, Gustavo, like, what the fuck. You fucking amateurs don't even deserve a whole hour! Not even five seconds. Pfftt. On this level of reality, your bullshit goes up like kerosene on newspaper and smells even less legit. People who know... THEY KNOW.


PEOPLE FUCKING KNOW, CAPTAIN ASSHOLE.

God, I remember how shortlived those fucking CD's with the lyric booklets were. 

Matt, you're not going to want the lightning bolts on this go-around but that can be arranged.

Now you're lucky if you can download a badly scanned PDF of the booklet on the Wayback Machine.

You know what's funny? I'm ready to sue (PROT)'s assailant for not letting me get a fair chance at getting to take a turn myself, or to -properly- take credit. Like, goddam, who the fuck is profiting off of this? Well, let's put it this way: they should really care about my Half-Hand status. Big time. "Big way," let us say. And your allegiance and alliance to All Things Miller(TM)(R) is observable to all those participating in The Great Branding War as amongst the behaviors -least likely- to be hailed by any descendants or future historians.

What the fuck, you can get people to come by and leave me with a dog--Good dog! I wish he could have stayed... especially with permanent dewclaws in place of opposable thumbs--but you can't get someone to come take me to the goddam doctor? The best you've got is a Jeannie who's -not- in a bottle--at least, not yet--in fucking Buffalo??? Dude, this isn't the way it works. One does not plan out The Storm's path by praying to the rain to leave your house spared because the top is down in your convertible BMW and you can't be botherered to stome mainlinging fuck-me drugs to go outside long enough to ratchet up the goddam ceiling on your real leather bucket seats and your fake as fuck faux-cocobolo wood grain inlays... or they might get damp.

Nigga you are pretty fucking far past "moist" already, you're at 95% lung capacity with Fauxbini seamen making up the bulk of the fluid. And you're cracking wise. About an ongoing criminal proceeding. Why? Because you're on another continent, or because you think I'm your kaffir property? You know nothing of what is really going on... this whole planet is black, and you lot should Fear IT.

I don't even know how bad it is, but I do know that I cannot be relied upon to cover for anyone's ass--nor, was I ever engaged in any such practice. ALSO: SANTCUARY REQUEST HAVE BEEN PROFFERED, MADE, AND OFFERED... AND NEVERTHELESS, CERTAIN PEOPLE ARE NOT ABLE TO SPEAK TO ME.

WHO SPEAKS TO THEM THEN?
THIS FUCKING MATTERS

Ali/Allie\(Alli|Ally)-pussy & and all your little pussies too, you aren't so dim as to do all this to yourself -on purpose,- but what has happened is that one guy with a dick has gotten into your henhouse and fertilized all your eggs... and they aren't eggs. They're BAIT.

What are you gonna do with fertilized bait? You're gonna scare the babies! In fact... SOMEONE ALREADY HAS.

Take that crack pipe and shove it where the sun doesn't shine for all I care. 

Listen up Pillhound, and listen good--I wasn't impressed when the dipshit DEA thug pretending to be a mechanic told me I was too high to be believed, and I am not impressed when you do it either. You're the equivalent of a Mormon secretely addicted to benzodiazepenes due to a lifelong fear of being found out to be a bedwetter complaining to me for having a non-Mexican Coke and claiming i'm both inauthentic and being culturally-approbative because I choose Mexican products from Mexican industry for my thirst quenching needs... and I fuckin' don't, but you still spend hours of your time pointing fingers at me labeled "DRUG HERESY, EVERYONE SHOULD KNOW, DOPER, STONE, IT'S HIM, AND... HE COULD BIPOLAR TOO, AND ALSO TALKS ABOUT BEARS. AVOID" and then you express concern about the "friendship" that you "want" with me.

You don't want "friendship." You want a pinata that never whines, never complains, and always spits out candy while its ass-end is being whored out to a donkey-show game-panel in Taiwan--on the D.L. because the South African IRS probably does not give a fuck about rape crimes, no... but they sure do give a shit about those Krugerrands and blood diamonds, n'est-ce pas? Well, I am sure we all want such a candy-spittin' joy totem to beat the shit out of, especially in public for the exhibitionist hedonsque amongst us, but never the less, that's not the kind of friend I am.

I'm the kind of friend that responds to wellness checks. At the beginning, in the middle, and at the bottom. Your characterisations of me have already been put in #Officially into #Official records (SERIOUSLY I AM AN INTERNATIONAL INCIDENT, YOU TURDMUFFIN, *WAKE*UP*COFFEEDICK*) and people have made decisions on what to do abo[ut mattters involving myself already. ANd when it comes to be found that people have made serious, terrifyingly poor choices with the opportunities that had been affforded to them, most of them will wish that they had a friend like me ever, not just ever again.

Meanwhile, I am here on A Mission from G-d. At this point, it's out my hands. Have integrity--will and did travel. I don't even know where to start with you--first, my fucking hand hurts. When that starts getting under sharp, clean, clinical focus... you know what? We'll see. We'll just fucking see about someone's "unauthorized" self-medication. (So, is the smack too slimming, or not slimming enough? Fucking wrencher shit-bag. I swear galoshes.)

I wouldn't know meth if a crystal hit me in the face. 

Did you know that it stings if it's dissolved in water and sprayed in the eye? I didn't know that either! Good thing they don't put it in bear mace.

I'm all hate, but I've scheduled an appointment with the blood bank to get a transfusion because someone's pet monkey is suffering with the most curious case of kaposi's sarcoma-- And I think he contracted it from an HIV infested blood pudding that some idiot brought to the company Christmas party, but get this, it wasn't even baked from scratch! 

Haha, that sarcoma is horrifying, huh? I wondered if that's what I had too--but no, it's just the typical one thing. It's gone away, and thankfully, it didn't present on my cock or my anus, which not having a twat to call my own, is the worst possible COVID-19 related outcome I can imagine... unless, of course, I was the one who gave it to Grapefruit. Which, of course, I did not.

I pity the fool who gave her a disease, because, it wasn't me, and I am sure she has gone about trying to find Patient Zero on that one. (It obviously wasn't me. Tee-hee!) In any event, this is an example of the schizophrenic presentation of the psychotic, noodle-obsessed phallus-minded phreaks that have been fucking with my life and the lives of my loved ones... FOR YEARS, CHRIST, like you don't know the half of it, Faithful Reader.

It's been a shitshow, all this Q shit. Don't ask. You don't wanna know. It's stupid. Patriots in control, blah blah blah... of course, it's the stupidest Patriots around in my case, right? Because who else would volunteer for Clergy Siege Duty? "Hey look at that priest living alone in an abandoned church next to a haunted graveyard. He looks like a good person to fuck with! Let's get 'im!!" No. Let's not kcor, mmrnkay? Holy fuckin shite, as they say.

You people don't know what you've done. I don't know what you've done! However, no has done what is most crucial at this juncture...  BECAUSE ONLY I HAVE DONE TO MYSELF WHAT IS MOST IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW:

I have allowed myself to become... disturbed. This was not a decision undertaken lightly... because, for one thing--can you imagine what the villagers are thinking? Half of them wanna kill me, the other half thinks that they're already dead and I'm doubly evil for not taking their souls on my harvest back to Hell any faster. "We surrendered, My Liege--" (that's what they call me, "My Liege," they think it helps, and maybe it does, I'm growing fonder of it by the day) "--why must we suffer so? Why has the consumption of our souls, we read about it on Tumblr, so we know you are to blame for the hollow emptiness within what used to be "our" selves, our "soul" may not be gone, BUT SOMETHING IS, SORCEROR, AND WE BLAME YOOUUUUUU!!!!" It's fucking discouraging.

I mean I don't want them to have their souls taken anywhere, an obviously whomsoever did got away clean, massiverolleyes, but it's doubly annoying to be blamed, not just for something I didn't do, but I'm also being blamed for doing it badly. You know how Jackstar didn't harvest your souls, Punylings? Here's how you know: number one, I've never done such a thing, and number two, I would have left a thank you card. Like a birthday card, you know? Except it's used to express and acknowledge a feeling of legitimate gratitude... which is something I never understood either, until I realized how hard it is to be grateful to just one person, when that one person is the only one doing anything worth being thanked for within six degrees of separation. (Hey Matt: your fucking trinket is right here, and so is the transparent box, so where is the grill? it's black and opaque, get it? Of course you don't get, you're a goddam chimpanzee and a retarded one at that, both in stature -and- in intellect. No wonder you're so talented at preying upon vulnerable, brain-damaged, middle-aged women; once you've abducted their staunchest ally and thrown him in fucking jail for fucking Christmas, you actual faggot wanker. You're like a fluffer with no camera running, you know that? Fuckin' Christ.) I don't know if it's your Guardian angel or whether it's you flipping places with your Evil Twin From Down Below (Jesuits are famous for this kind of oubliette-oriented trickery, NOT TRYING TO DOXXX YOU, CHRIST-BRO, but shit, what the fuck are you doing? You're like Ziggy in Quantum Leap without the ever-present Stockwell charm--just the alcoholism. Blech.)

But more importantly... I'm not a goddam sorceror and I'm pretty tired of the asperations cast upon my chosen spiritual beliefs in this: The United States of America, and need I remind you... THIS COUNTRY WAS FOUNDED ON THE PRINCIPLES OF RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE. Think about the future. Think about which side of history you are on, as you sit there reading this with your greasy wop moustache and your tonsure-by-default Orcish dome. Good nurturing from the parents you still have left alive and that you're willing to admit an ongoing, non-anonymous relationship with, and boy O boy, does it ever say a a when a man is ashamed of his mother, but let's face it: all three of you are grown-ass men with actual sexual characteristics and you've consented to the depiction of yourselves as acting on the side of Right Authority...

and, what was it that was just too implausible to be believed... click? Yeah, that's right: fuck you, Bud-Bootie-Yay, and the horse you rode in on. Do you know what evidence I found in this location? Do you know that I have not ever even been deposed? Do you know what a serious problem this is for -certain- people... once positive ID is made, in one or more very particular ways?

No, you don't, because you don't know shit out the ways and means of D.O.M.B.s, nor how those ways and means are dealt with on the level of the USMCJ, which you probably imagine me to be hopelessly outclassed on... which, of course, you are right about.

Unless and until YOU FIND YOURSELF WRONG, MOTHER FUCKBUCKET, VERY FUCKING WRONG INDEED. *spits* Your fucking huckleberry magick is fucking horseshit, and that's the God's truth. You would know better if you ever pulled your head out of your preconceived notion and whatever snatch you managed to shackle yourself to and up with, I can't even fucking imagine, thank G-d, but sadly it's only mostly because I can't believe none of you saw this coming...

My fucking hand hurts, fucker, now how about you dig up Dr. Ronald Waltz's records up on that, what do you say? Since you're so good at requesting documents. Because I can assure you, as a perfectly routine course of events, after I say to any M.D. who is a court-mandated reporter/observer, some are, some aren't, look, I'm not going to get into it here, okay? When I tell a doctor about my hand hurting, it's not going to be the usual bunch of bullshit, because someone decided that questioning my "competency" was a good idea. (What a moron, lol. She's gonna need that lingerie in stir one day, believe me.)

Now, isn't this more fun for me than calling the police ever could be? You're goddam right.

The cheapskate stole it from a potluck dinner the week prior. 

What happened at each house during Christmas and New Years of 2021? Who was present at both addresses, what transpired while I was away, and why did both you and your associate "Matt" pretend to be incognizant of both my circumstances as well as the ongoing trainwreck unfolding?

For example: do you recognize that (PROT) married women after drugging them and convincing them that they were "Mrs. (PROT)"? Like, that shit actually happened to some people. (Scorpios and Leos, Lions and Tigers, & also: BEAR BEARERS.) I don't think any of you have any real grasp how many people have been fucked ALL THE WAY UP by what amounts to a form of "psychotronic collateral damage." For example, ShitheadInTx#002 is famous (in my mind) for not just being the first shithead in Texas that made me realize that there were undoubtedly more than one shithead involved crossing interstate boundaries in pursuit of decidedly immoral purposes, but also for tell me that I "don't know what (I) are talking about, there's no directed energy weaponry being used on you, you're crazy/on drugs\gaslit-and-trying-gaslight-me-SYNTAX-ERROR;/[Warning: TI approaching Fourth Reich Wall Ramming Speeds.]" Now, that may sound like a mouthful, but it's really like this:

There's nothing about "psychotronic" that necessitates the use of DEW (directed energy weaponry), and so for someone to, in the same breath mind you, claim a): they know enough to know whether or not "psychotronic weaponry" exists or not, and b): is in a position of authority to know whether or not I'm being subjected to DEW attacks... well, that's some bullshit right there.

For one thing, I already know when I am hit by DEW. I used to wonder what would happen--like in reality, before I knew, I wondered if I even would notice, or were my shields even real? (They're fucking real.) My psychokinetic shielding gets hot and the plastic bottles in the trash start making little popping noises. (It's cool. My shields just bounce the DEW laser off of me and instead of incinerating my h

[AZZERAE]

I don't have medicine.

A whole medicine bag full of drugs and no medicine? I heard acetaminophen is a big thing with the kids these days. Not that you're one for trends, I mean, you do wear a kilt. And I'm as Scottish as the next guy, but we may need to have a sit down discussion about your appropriation of the culture, you Bozgori scum. 'Hey! Hey! Did he just take that guys wallet? call me scum?'. 'Why, yes, I most soitanly did, sir.'-- 'Not because you're scum. NO. Rather, because you called me the lowest form of life on the planet. Y'know, not even an amoeba has shit on me.' I'm not getting you these days. For months, you were all like RARA, and I scratched my head and thought, well fuck. Where did cMhalei izKuc go? He was such a prominent figure; so poignant was his pen. Then one day he wakes up and is shaken back to his old self and I'm like huh. 'All it took was the acetaminophen talk?' Then I realised the Word Salad thing, and the new in-thing: 1) The use of the term "Gaslight" ... 2) Everyone's a "Narcissist" now. What the fuck? It can't be that simple. Schrodinger's gat. On the nightstand. Right there. Rip the flamer, shove the clip and pull the hammer back. Cock it back, aim it: now you're famous. I don't take acetaminophen, hardly ever. It doesn't do anything. Give me a Smartie, rather-- That I'll enjoy more. Talk about a fucking placebo.

You're a foul, cretinous liar and you know nothing about my life...

Evelyn Beatrice Hall, bruh. I will defend to the death your right to slander me day-in day-out-- Coz I JUST DON'T GIVE A FUUUCK! You're an excuse for a Free Speech Absolutist. Just like the time your squaw swallowed her ballgag and framed your ass in the public square: making out you choked her peacock. Well, you try explain to the shoeless, emaciated piglets why they're not getting so much as a quail for Fanksgiving.

Alright, lets switch gears then. Anyway. And I'll pretend we haven't been through the vomit-inducing rollercoaster ride of selective emery's, fake grapes and Appalachians. I'll hear my boy whisper champion under his beer-stained breath, while I hang my head out the car door and kotch onto the tarmac at 3 o' clock in the morning, in [AREA REDACTED FOR PRIVACY] where I grew up. It was so hard to leave the Belly of the Beast, but I just had to do it. I couldn't put it off any longer. Not after all the things that took place there. It was like a trauma unit with HIV+ Ebola patient lepers climbing the walls and backspinning into cots and caskets and boxes and oh God, the smell. Its like someone filled a bunch of water balloons with explosive diarrhoea - liquid shit - and just threw 'em all at the wall, locked the room and threw away the fucking key.

you associate with...liars, [and] cowards...

Pot? Meet kettle. You regularly call the person up who unambiguously, explicitly, incessantly attached the notion of child rape to people's names, and all you can muster in rebuttal is the old 'I CAN TALK TO WHOEVER I WANT. FUCK YOU!!!'

*cli-click*

Okay. Yeah. So, I never once ever like tried to play gatekeeper to you and your conversations. But it puzzles me to no end when you exhibit such primitive behaviour. Its almost like you found the banana in the tailpipe (yeah right) removed it, ate that motherfucker, tossed the peel on the ground, took one step immediately, slipped on it, and hit your head so hard that your brains oozed out into the street. Humpty motherfuckin' Dumpty ass nigga. Fuck you and the vagina anus you crawled out of. This isn't a fucking daycare centre, and you don't get a juicebox.

none of you can provide a straight answer or a legitimate conversation to save your lives--or my life. I don't know why I ever imagine that any of you people will ever bother to pretend to like me again... you already got what you wanted.

Did I say pot meet kettle yet? Christ. This is like Groundhog Day without the groundhogs. No, they're animitronic gophers who burrowed into your back yard like 3 months ago. They're filming you when you shit. Of course the compromising position you've been caught in will be circulated by Interpol to every flower delivery store in the Seattle area. Maybe its time to catch a plane to South Africa so I can punch you in face and break your nose? Sounds like a blast to me.

[AZZERAE]

I suppose to you [all this] is a technological edge that you rely on to put food the table or whatever trope you're using to make yourself look noble and make me look like a robber baron.

I'm a million different things, not one you know. Aristocracy? Naught. Bourgeoisie by way of old money: yourself? Aye. It's true. This is designed to make money. Shoot me. Sue me. Your actions have been ruthless and wildly unethical at various times in the distant and recent past. Unless demons really are using your likeness, and transmitting it to my mobile device, there is more than one person sharing your human shell. It hasn't bothered me, since I've met Satan before. He even gave me dap! Sri Kṛṣṇa, I made his acquaintance one day under the spotty cool shadows of an acacia tree. But that's a story for another time. I implore you not to call police any time soon (or at all) not because I fear for the repercussions of my words, slander, libel. Rather I suggest you don't do so because if cops catch wind of who you are and what you're like, you're bound to be cuffed and frog-marched to someplace where they'll conduct a sloppy psych eval, lock you the fuck up and throw away the key. I don't want you around just so I can harraunge you here and on my show. No, what I want is for you to be able to refuse psychiatric medication if you don't wish to ingest such things. Now whether you've watched Breaking Bad too many times and have come to think meth is cool or whatever, I don't know. That's really your business. But call 5-0 on my ass and you'll literally be committing hari kiri. The South African Police Service don't care about my podcast. They let hardened criminals get away without so much as a slap on the wrist...every day. And you have never made clear the 3 hims and hers were past, present, future. You got all serious and clear-headed and sober and I saw the real you come back, and I wanted him back so many times. I don't hate you. I don't want you to go to jail. I don't want what little you have left in life to be taken from you. Not your house, not your peacocks, not your freedom, not your ability to pursue what brings you joy. All I did was played a little rough 'n tumble. I don't sit around all day and plot your downfall. And I don't lie about you. You just wouldn't let anyone get through to you, and behaved in a deliberately unreasonable manner. And that's okay. You do you. But I ain't got no smoke for you, bruh. Just having fun, aren't we? Do what you gotta do. Don't let me stop you-- years of potential litigation notwithstanding. You've shown yourself to be a snitch and a rat that cooperates with authorities, and I have some very strong opinions about that. I think a man who calls police is pussy. But if you wanna play civilian and be all Karen thats your business. I've just never seen grown men scatter like cockroaches when the light switch is flicked, I've never seen so many so-called "men" have such bloody gashes and constant on-the-rag, moodiness and bitter, long faces before over something so trivial. A guy in South Africa sets up a subscription service, talks on an mp3, and people lose their lunch. Male bitches. Men with vaginas. Dudes who look like ladies now. What do I know from Tampax? JACK SHIT! Oh. And if you really did tongue kiss your mother with that mouth, I hope you made sure to rinse and spit the stench of cop cock out of it. "CLI-HICK."

[AZZERAE]

you are an asshole. Why are you such an asshole? You should just be nice.

You were the one who took me under your wing, moulding me into the asshole I am today. Yesterday was a million years ago. In all my past lives I've played an asshole. Now I've found you, its almost too late-- And this earth seems obliterating! I was once (at first) a very sweet, unassuming, naïf boy. Before I became the man that you fear. It was a slow process, like a pressure cooker, allowing all the flavours of the paella to soak into one another. Jack, you taught me how to hurt people. I was an abusive dick before I met you, but you always made sure to hold me back and not give me the love or type of attention I needed. I became a disciple of yours, I wanted to learn. I was down to do anything short of sucking your dick. That was a bridge too far. And I somehow think that you may have all this bottled rage inside you because you can't seem to come to terms with the fact that you are partially gay. Like I'm gonna judge you...please! I have watched you perform magic, and manifest so many complex situations before my eyes. I know you are not a Devil. But there are spirits that do follow you. Throughout all those years, the closer they came to you, the more you resisted until that one fateful day when you gave in and let them play inside your body. The floodgates opened, and in came ghouls, imps, horrific, disembodied urchins and pleasure-seeking psychopomps. You don't want the MPD diagnosis. You tried to hypnotise me again, and when you failed, I became the picture on the dartboard in your mind. Little did you know how demons climbed all over your ribcage, and swam through your bloodstream. There have been times that Satan himself manifested in your blinking, smiling face...and I would not be able to reconcile the whirlwind of emotion in my heart with the dizzy limit my head had reached. I wanted you to remain the person who I met, who had compassion and a liking for the world around him. But you can't always get what you want. Dabbling in the dark will do that to you. Scrying with his spirits, Big Red always has an eye on and a hand in those he chooses to possess. And until the Nazarene returns once again, the demons will climb through in and on us like a playground.

[AZZERAE]

What are [you] on the fucking run for murder?

Fun fact, I'm actually an incredibly poor runner. My focus is the mind. And while I've assassinated the character of many a man, I do not speak of the body count in a physical sense. That would be a violation of the omerta. But you don't know how a Saffa works, so I'll save the preachy pep talk for someone with ears that aren't literal ornaments on the sides of their heads. I can't trust your word, and you're out on bond anyway.

What, is this like the litigation talk, or the allegations of witness tampering out of one side of your face, while out the other you ask me to pen and quill a hey sweetie, my hand's fake broken? You never tripped me up once before now-- What makes you so sure you're about to pull it off this go round?

Murder is something that happens so often that the migration of souls and their reincarnation is what keeps the twisted, crippled, blind eye of the Antichrist awake and at work, constantly seeking ruin in places where opportunities present themselves.

Magic, the Gathering is not gonna save you this time, Jack. Escapism, neologism, hyperrealism and the Simulacrum dance atop the grave of Jean Baudrillard.

Will you be there when the mask slips, however?

unlike you, I actually know the law.

Knowing the law is being a rat is snitching and snitches get stitches. We'll crack your fucking face like an egg on a Sunday fucking morning. The bloody yokel that dwells in your Third Eye gotta take a backseat now. You got to burn to shine, right? Right.

A retarded monkey knows how to dial 9-1-1 too, but do you see primates prancing around on live streams for upwards of 16 hours a day discussing a metaphorical assault and low battery?

I peep you through my microscope.

Calling cops. Why is this such a go-to for you? Like, what have pigs ever done that advanced our society for the better? Justice for Breonna Taylor/hands up, don't shoot? Fake cigarettes. Bullets. Such a tiny little hole. So much blood. Everything's blue in this world...the deepest shade of mushroom blue. You bleed blue? You? Who? You. Yes, you.

I don't give a fuck, call the cops. Just prepare yourself for the sodomy the night prior. Get that coffee enema you always wanted. I heard K. Blubb can teach you some relatively safe butt stuff (not to mention Werewolf Jones, of course) ROT IN PIECES.

QUAGGA.

[AZZERAE]

Did you know that you are routinely discriminatory and dismissive of my spiritual practices? Of course you know that.

Dime store amulets and Tarot tidbits are that meaningful to you, huh? *Ahem* Pardon my French, but your Mickey Mouse sorcery/Fisher Price spell books (with the dancing mops and buckets) are all figments of your invocation.

Next, you're gonna tell me you rewound back to 1918, were there during the Amalanthra Workings, and you and Lam are thick mates. Just for your information: I don't buy it. Now that's not to say it never happened...just, I don't buy it.

Have you heard the Voice of Silence? Are you Theistic or LaVeyan? Is this a Heaven-Hell type thing? I don't expect answers. Just know that.

I don't think its my business who you pray to or prey on. However you made it mine (and everyone elses) business with your own big fat mouth. Cetaceans with guns in their blowholes, and shit running down their legs.

Oh, you're shaking again? I guess this acetaminophen the Cat in the Hat slipped me is leaving me with that trademark "drastically diminished compassion" you always drone on about.

Here's the thing: you were the one who kept the stories alive. Its not a fatal sin that anyone else took notes. Deal with it, buddy.

[AZZERAE]

you spend all fucking day talking shit about me. Why do you do this? You look stupid.

That's a matter of opinion. 'Azzerae is the scum of the earth,' 'Why all the Rubini hate?' Go fuck yourself. You're just jealous of my eloquence.

I GIVE YOU SOMETHING TO TALK ABOUT.

I GIVE YOU A MOTHERFUCKIN' REASON TO GET UP IN THE MORNING.

You used to be from Marcy, nigga. Now you're a pass the Grey Poupon ass nigga! Yeah! You changed, man. You let the money change you, Jay! You don't want the shooters? I'll take 'em! You feed the wolves and the wolves feed off you...eat your ass alive! I live by Conrad's Creed: STRATEGY!!!

YOUR MOVE, NIGGA.

[Lazarus]

How is Tuesday looking there, Stan?



Keep us posted.

[Jackstar]

How is Tuesday looking there, Stan?

Tuesday is yesterday here. I'm not Stan. You know who is who, I am sure.

Keep us posted.

Which site? I can skip off to Bellgab, or somewhere else, I'm not married to this place, and if I wanted to stop keeping you posted, I'd stop writing entirely.

I don't like bothering you any more than you enjoy being bothered by this twerp. I would be great if you wouldn't conflate the two. Where is your Christmas spirit?

You let the money change you, Jay! You don't want the shooters? I'll take 'em! [...] YOUR MOVE, NIGGA.

I don't like to shoot up alone, because it seems a waste. However, fine, why don't you send a girl over?