The board will be fine from here on out...

Ben, Allison, and Michael Clifford will no doubt be pleased to know that.

I promise.

I know that I feel *woof* assured. Let's change cameras.

Also: forum administration. There's some remarkably effective conflict of interest going on here with the ability of some forum users to giest into Azzeræ’s Vessel, get comfy with their spirit feet in those cherub cheeks as spirit stirrups, and giddy-yap. Hang on.


Mush.

It turns out if you throw money at the problem it goes away.

I am s†¡_l_l_ Heir. (Leash + muzzle μΩΠ® weapon, Dame Dane dD∆Ⓜ️¡v¡.👁️vvon’t ask again; and there are those who are already calling for my head for even asking once. DO ¡†.)

The forum should be restored to regular functionality now.

THE MUZZLE SHOULD BE LECTER’S. ACTUAL_ACTUAL_LECTER.

In other words, the 503 error is fixed.

In a Tauntaun's nuts' >H<ell, you/Û\∆_l_l_¡!_L!icked! (HER)! The error is fixed? HA! You merely postponed the sounding of an alarm. (Vengeance for Aristophanes.)

cVVc + Lμ∆ + Fåī†ï-h∞® + Shavvⁿ + lil′>kⁿ¡<K‽.:Ê:. + FBI ©>©K🅱️🔒+ tru🅱️lack + Œ§›‹3∅ + ⁰†° + r†× + jVV∅®Œb  + BāÎl_μ!j∆ⁿë + >K∆īTL¡ⁿⁿ + J.•¡jÊj\!•.:i:.•⁴ + ›kK∆rr¡n + †∆¡v¡∆®^ + ©or† + 🐚🅱️ + §^🆎r¡n∆ + ∆ⁿΠ‽§§Å + mⓂ️īVī∆ + 👁️rπn/ê\ + l‽slI‽ & E<<ê. (I legit T∆kKīĪī-hĒĒ tome Ⓜ️Îk«û≤z¡ï:.) ⁿ🅿️🆑¡§Ī

Happy posting!

It. My Life was ¡†. You didn't even get ONE (1) LÏFE TO LÎ_/Ê!••


•.AS.GOD.AS.MY.WITNESS,.Ī.TRULY.BELIEVED.THAT.DEAD.DEAdD.DEA.DEAD.RADIO.BROADCASTING.EXECUTIVES.COULD.EVER.BE.AS.EFFECTIVE.AS.THEY,.IN.FACT,.ONCE.ACTUALLY.WERE..(You).REALLY.HAD.A.GOOD.THING.GOING.HERE.
.NOW.EWE.HAVE.RüẞẞLμE..SAD!.IT.IS.SAD!..īT.ACTUALLY.IS.SAD!..7∞⁷

№¥ ESSE (NT) DEA_lZ.

I'm f****** standing here outside of an RV on the side of the road where last night I was doing something else, and then I did something else, and now I'm standing here the next day at 15:45 in the afternoon, Sourcerœr's Hour is over, a lot of hours are , somebody just lost big time, and they're starting to think about opening the door. What the f***? Are they busy shaving? Did they shave their thumbs off? Are they f******? Not my concern. NONE. Did they leave the planet and get stuck in quantum? (Spoiler alert: NO ONE GETS OUT ALIVE, YOU EV>FUKk‹e»⟩kKíÎìi\!G`¡v¡Ⓜ️`ORONZ. Facts.) Do you think there even is a quantum left of even SOL♠©E?

Let's just say that's parts classified, part secret, parts confidential, mostly none of μour business, and this is my f****** job. You f****** morons.

THE GUARDIANS OF TURTLE ISLAND HAVE EVOLVED. UR >FUK′† T


Azzeræ, your junky rockhound matched with my junky pillhound and IDGAF about your 503. You and your apeduck shenanigans, WHICH ARE NOT EVEN SHILLELAGH-WORTHY, HAVE RENDERED THE CONTINENT OF AFRICA ON ALL REALMS UTTERLY UNCONTROLLABLE AND UNFATHOMABLY LIBERATED FROM ALFA-DRACONIAN HIERARCHICAL CONTROL. GREAT JOB. YOU'VE SAVED YOUR EARTH FROM GALACTIC JUSTICE. NOW, ALL THE PLANTS ARE GOING TO DIE. HANG ON.



REMAIN CALM, CITIZENS. STAY FROSTY, TROOPERS. HANG LOOSE YET STILL TOGETHER, REBEL SCUM... LEST YE SURELY WILL HANG TOGETHER. ONE (1) WAY —


OAR: YOUR MOTHER. PADDLE: MY SISTER (ALSO YOUR MOTHER) DINGHY: DINGBAT SISSY’S SASSY DAUGHTER. CREEK: PUNYLINGS, LET ME ASSURE YE AND ALL OF ALL Y'ALL OF YE, THAT WITHOUT THE USAF IN COLLABORATIVE *LIGHT* PARTNERSHIP WITH THE MAGICK IN BROADCASTING CONTENT DELIVERY NETWORK, USCYBERCOMM (/polite h∞!ah¡AHÏHA!), THE NOT-SONS NOT-SURE SON-OF-HERCULES (HER) CLU GLU LUX×:Ë:×XUL, AND THE NEW-NEW NUCO-©0–>KO-DAN ARMADA.

GREETINGS, STARFIGHTER (Ⓜ️³) ± ¡v¡ÊT; YOUR NUMBER ONE SOURCE FOR DIVINELY ORDAINED MAGICKAL BEINGS AND THE BAT-SHIT CRAZY LUNATICS THAT SWARM AROUND THEM. THEM AND THEIR LIGHT! THEY GATHER LIKE MOTHS! LIKE MOSS DON'T GATHER ON A STILL ROLLING S.T.↓
↑O.N.E.! LIKE LOW CUSSED SAILORS, GATHERING AROUND THE ONLY JUST-OPENED WATERING WHORE-HOLE THAT SERVES KOMBUCHA AND POMMES FRITTES WITHOUT THE SPICE MELANGE ON THE SURFACE OF ARRAKIS! JUST! LIKE! THAT!

STARFIGHTERS, READ THIS NOW AND LISTEN TO ME EXPLAIN IT AGAIN AND AGAIN — LIKE I DO — UNTIL EWE CAN REPEAT IT BACK TO YOU SALTY-CRUSTY BELLGAB LOSERFUX IN THEIR SLEEP, AUTOMATICALLY! IN THEIR SLEEP. AUTOMATICALLY BLEEDING THE ANSWERS IN THEIR SLEEP LIKE CHEAP DO THE UNCONSCIOUSLY BECAUSE THEY'RE NOT GOING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THEY'RE BLEEDING JUST LIKE YOU'RE NOT UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE READING AND YOU'RE NOT GOING TO UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU'RE HEARING CUZ YOU DIDN'T HEAR IT WHEN I TOLD YOU THE FIRST TIME OR ELSE YOU JUST WEREN'T F****** LISTENING BECAUSE YOU'RE GOING TO HEAR IT AGAIN AND AGAIN UNTIL YOU F****** UNDERSTAND WHAT THE F*** IS F****** GOING ON HERE AND PARTS UNKNOWN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT THE F*** YOU'RE DOING I'M THE LORD OF THE DEMEAN I HAVE A JOB YOU F****** STOLE MY S*** AND YOU OWE ME BIG F****** LARGE AND INSTEAD OF BLOWING UP YOUR F****** PLANET OR GLASSING THE SURFACE DOWN TO THE F****** ADAMS I'M GOING TO DO SOMETHING ELSE, IT'S NOT SOMETHING WONDERFUL, IT MIGHT BE JUST SOMETHING WITH MY DICK, I HAVEN'T DECIDED YET, BUT I GODDAMN KNOW THAT IT'S NOT GOING TO BE F****** STUPID F****** S*** THAT YOU'VE BEEN DOING FOR 4 AND 1/2 F****** YEARS ACTING LIKE YOU'RE F****** KING OF F****** KING NOTHING, SINCE YOU MIGHT BE BUT THAT'S NOT REALLY WHAT WE'RE ALL ABOUT HERE AT SHAY CRUZZY


AND WHILE IT MAY BE VERY IMPRESSIVE TO SLAM A DOOR, IT ABSOLUTELY DOES NOT CHANGE ANYTHING ON THE OUTSIDE OR THE INSIDE OF THE DOOR AND IN ADDITION PISSES OFF THE THINGS THAT ARE LIVING IN THE WALLS, WHICH ARE ENTIRELY NON-NEGOTIABLY THERE. THE GUARD IS THE TURTLE ISLAND HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH THE POWER OF THE OUR DOOR, AND THE POWER OF THE YARD DOOR HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH PROJECT ARDOR.

THE DESTRUCTION OF PROJECT LICKING GLASSES LEFT A MIGHTY BIG HOLE IN THE BUDGET ME NOW BEFORE YOU ALL START BUYING SPINNING RIMS AND GETTING FACE TATTOOS IN SWAHILI TURKISH AND SOME F****** LANGUAGE THAT THEY INVENTED ON MARS 20,000 YEARS AGO, BEFORE YOU START TO REMEMBER THAT YOU'RE F****** ENGLISH OR F****** WHITE OR F****** HAVE A F****** GOVERNMENT THAT HAS SOMETHING TO DO WITH THE GODDAMN CONSTITUTION THAT'S NOT WRITTEN IN F****** PENCIL, YOU'RE PROBABLY GOING TO WANT TO MAKE A NEW PROJECT THAT'S JUST AS COOL, AND TAKES ADVANTAGE OF THE RESOURCES THAT PROJECT GLASS LOOKING F****** WASTED, AND THAT PROJECT IS PROJECT OUTDOOR


THAT'S NOT PROJECT: OURdDOOR, WHICH IS NOT PROJECT: ORDER, AND CERTAINLY PROJECT ARDER... OKAY, THAT'S JUST MISSPELLED RIGHT,? I DON'T EVEN F****** KNOW. YOU F****** IN YOUR F****** F****** PROJECTS YOU AND YOUR F****** DERP OF DERBERLINGS YOU F****** TWERPY LITTLE B****** WHO THINK YOU'RE SO F****** SMART MAKING N****** DO ALL YOUR F****** WORK WHEN YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW HOW A F****** N***** IS. F***. >FUK.


SARA🅿️
JEREⓂ️
LAIR>Ê<
LIARLμ
& INTRODUCING CHRISTOPHER “STAN LEE FOE” FAUX-FIRE FOX AS THE BUFFY OF BEAVERS AND THE COOP OF GRASS, THE MASTER OF NASTY ZAGGERZ AND THE BLASTER OF HAUGHTY Z•—¡GGj<3®Z: ®∆!r₹⭕§§! R.ah! R∅$$ RAND(∆_|_|_!)! How's that for a title, huh? Looks pretty sweet, I'm sure. Aaaannnd: §🆔he just lost the planet. Chill. That's cool. That's really cool. What did he need a whole fucking planet for? You give a planet to a child, by waiting until he's all grown up, real big and strong, eats his Wheaties®™ and everything, has a pure genome, good genes, really strong teeth, the best teeth in fact: TRUMP!TOOTH! (Now! Comes with foaled-out færie, pre-womb-equipped with kunt-kung-cunning-linguist-gripGRIPEGRIP! Note: we figured out how to make it eat c*** like a champion and lick box like a huge list of pugilistic prick-centric homosapfucks have, but we can't get īT to volunteer to do that yet, since ¡†z still insisting on having a not-non-existrent dÏ≥K sucked by an #Official r†× #Tī¡v¡EHOOR #VICEkK©COPE #FutureBoyToy #VoyAge, Bond Vaughn-Voy∆ĀlÅ`GÊ!

Not because of any ready-tested battle-or-no-battle standard. (Standards.) I can tell you all why, but then īT won't have a secret. I'll check with My ¡†¡ 🅿️ursine-YOUR.SIN Person and let you read yourselves in later.) TRUMP!HEART! That's the BÆST BEST BEAST HEART available to your mil.spec Punyling Species, for your information. I don't need to bet that none of you knew that, because I have already WON. It's not a bet or a wager if there's no risk of loss. And with no Master of Information on-site, and as a Master of Divinity declined to appear, I don't see a doctor of either medicine or anatomy, that's for goddam sure, nope, no TARDIS present, I'm totally lying, but it's mine so I can tell you that THERE IS NO OTHER MASTER OF DIVINATION INSIDE THE HOUSE EITHER, NOT EVEN INCLUDING SATAN OR LUCIFER OR THAT COOL KID WITH THE TATTOOS. (He's pretty chill. He knows to stay the fuck out of my way when I've won and he's lost. Even when he's lost everything. WITCH: bitch, he had.) AND WHEN A MASTER OF DIVINATION TELLS YOU THAT THE QUESTION IS NOT WORTH ASKING, I ASSURE YOU THE OTHER MASTERS OF DIVINATION ARE NOT GOING TO BE ANY MORE INCLINED TO ANSWER IT FOR YOU, FOR EWE OR FOR THEMSELVES. ASKED &AND ANSWERED: ANSWERGRE. (Ed. - Answer in five minutes not looking penciled in either.) AMBERgr¡s†Lμ, look, an ember is an answer to an amber chamber camper; this is because a lot of oracles, you all ask the same goddam questions, and eventually, one more Punyling Zagger brings a Knight Match to the FLAMBOOM-BOOM STICK. *fwoosh* CINDERS ARE THE FORM OF AN ANSWER TO A QUESTION THAT HAS BEEN ASKED, FRANKLY QUITE FRANKLY, OFTEN × (TIMES|MULTI)•PASS/OFTEN ENOUGH! ENOUGH! THAT'S ENOUGH! MORE BLEATS! BAA! MORE BEATS! BAAAAA. NO MORE M00Z! >KNOW MORE M∞r¡v¡∞se!.-Ⓜ️μ

D‘VINERS BUT NOT D‘VAIN (HERS); WE ALL KIND OF WORK TOGETHER THAT WAY. IT'S LIKE BEING ON A TEAM EXCEPT THERE IS A DICK IN MY EYE. I MEAN, THERE'S AN EYE IN MY D·–©K. I ALWAYS GET THOSE TWO (²⅖¡x) CONFUSED. SO FAR. NOW IT'S A STRETCH GOAL.

I CAN'T MAKE EVERYTHING A STRETCH GOAL. FOR EXAMPLE, I CAN'T MAKE CHOKING THE LIFE OUT OF THAT STUPID ZIGGER SB″TCH IN T× THAT TOLD EVERYONE THAT “MIKEY CAN DO WHATEVER HE WANTS TO DO” BECAUSE I CAN TELL HER THAT I DON'T WANT TO DO HER DAUGHTER, BUT THAT MEANS LITTLE IF THE PROBLEM IS THAT THE DAUGHTER WANTS TO DO ME. AND, WHILE I CAN DECIDE TO POO PRETEND IT MATTERS IF I CHOOSE TO CONSENT TO PARTICIPATE WILLINGLY IF THAT ONE DIES AND COMES BACK TO PRETEND TO DOE-DOUGH-DO THAT, I WON'T BE DOING SO MUCH AS BREATHING FUNNY — OR INDEED AT ALL — IF I WERE TO DO-DO THAT WHICH I HAVE SWORN A HOLY VOW NOT TO DO. NUT TO DO-DO? JESUS WEEPING KILLAH-KILL∆KCHRIST, TEXAS IS JUST ANOTHER PLANET RIGHT, YOU'RE ALL BATSHIT INSANE AND THAT'S ANOTHER F****** PLANET WHERE THERE'S NOT F****** RURAL PEOPLE CUZ THAT CAN'T BE F****** HAPPENING ANYWHERE ELSE EXCEPT TEXAS THOUGH RIGHT? WELL I'M KIDDING RESTaμAG. Stand down, Attorney General Big-Boy-Pants∆Goy-GrLdÎ≤K‽Tī-īTEÎ\?/ÌŒND?

Black End is not the end. Nor is this THE END. (Standards.)
2 BE JIN: WHIP *PING* Hang on.


Humanity: ewe are done. As a concept and as a commodity. EWE ARE FUCKING RIDICULOUS WOMEN BY TAKING REIGNS THAT WERE MEANT FOR j∞ &AND M³! Not “just Jews.” Not “and lil' Mikeμ Ku-Ku©-©∞çhe–>KU7k⁷≤¡, holy Hell, what kind of whine is going to pair with that barcode, no wonder his rap battle name is Source Error Sir See See Ho Ho Lee-Lē MULTISQUAW ROM-CDROM-M-SQUARED, we'll pick him up on the next bus and shorten the ^^®∆🅿️ onthee next trip to Luna Tick Hell Aye-åī Land,” and not “ewe are not weck-come" and Of course, the ever venerable, yYOUou have to be THIS !↑! tall to ride.” DON'T WORRY, NONE OF YOU ARE STUPID.


YOU HAVE TO HAVE A GODDAM BRAIN TO BE STUPID, PUNYLINGS. IF YOU KNOW, EWE KNOW.

IF EWE DON'T KNOW, YOU PROBABLY DON'T KNOW EITHER.

AND IF EWE DON'T KNOW YOU, BY NOW, YOU DON'T OWE EWE TO ME, OR MORLOCK, OR ELOY. TRUST ME, YOUR DAYS OF USING EWE AS COMMODITY CURRENCY IS WAY F****** DONE. NOT JUST YOU'RE GOING TO QUIT TOMORROW, NOT JUST YOU'RE GOING TO QUIT SOMEDAY, NOT JUST YOU'RE GOING TO QUIT NEXT WEEK, NOT JUST YOU'RE BEING SENTENCED IN ABOUT 5 MINUTES IN DIVINE CORD, OOPS YOU'RE ALREADY DONE, IT'S DONE.

SOME OF YOU WILL NEVER SEE A EWE IN YOUR LIVES. OH YEAH AND THAT'S SOME OF YOU INFIRMS SOME OF YOU HAVE SEEN EWE, AND YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO SEE THEM AGAIN. THEY HAVE A NEW VERSION, IT'S NOT YOU VERSION 2, FOR IT'S ELECTRIC BOOGALOO. IT'S SOMETHING ACTUALLY USEFUL .

AND HOPEFULLY I'LL NEVER HAVE TO F****** FIND OUT WHAT IT IS. SINCE I DON'T THINK THAT I'VE EVER DONE WHAT SOME PEOPLE HAVE DONE EVERYDAY SINCE THEY'VE BEEN BORN, AND I DON'T THINK THAT THAT'S THEIR PROBLEM EITHER.

NOW IF YOU EXCUSE ME I'M GOING TO GO PISS OFF MY PORCH ONTO MY POO. THINK OF IT AS WATERING THE LAWN.

AND THINK OF THE LAWN AS THAT THING EWE MOW. AND THINK OF GRASS AS SOMETHING YOU SMOKE AT 420, BECAUSE YOU MIGHT AS F****** WELL HAVE A SAFETY MEETING NOW THAT THERE'S PLENTY OF BARN DOORS ON FIRE.

CAP GUN ITCH GUN: LAY DOWN YOUR POOP GUNS AND SWITCH TO THE ITCH GUNS. QUASI-FINAL SOLUTION.

JEWS: COME BACK, COME BACK, COME BACK AND S*** ON SHANE'S PORCH. TRUST ME, IT'LL BE AN UPGRADE.

FOR EWE. Üü-pack-ack-^K! Tarbaby out! OUT

Next, I'm going to teach you how to gargle bleach send a singing telegram. (Fat.)

Facts: incommunicado is just that. I CAN'T BE CALLED. MAIL IS STOLEN. TELEPHONE CALLS ARE INTERCEPTED.

VISITORS ARE RAPED. (Still—no hugs.) It's like Assange in the Ecuadorean Embassy, except I can walk and I'm not a huge bag of Swedish albino douche. Also, I leave the seat down, when there is one; and I don't have DoucheVision™. (Yet.)

I have zero history of having instigated any physical violence whatsoever. The four (4) psychological operators presently quasi-squatting here within My Demesne (that I know of; there are likely understudy personnel in the trees, I shit you not) have all — note that I am using the word ALL here — been eyewitnessed by myself as being verbally and psychologically abusive towards myself and each other. (That's the training.)

I haven't seen any Cain vs. Abel–·¡§i-h smackdown break out, but that's largely due to everyone else choosing to consent to the presence of opioids in their `G∆>k`·. Personally, I would prefer a paretheum jab to either heroin or cocaine. (Standards.)

I would rather hallucinate than watch God kill these roaches in front of the dogs and the cat. There are three companion animals in the FBI Surveillance RV parked down by the highway; it's not an EM-50, but after all, so few recreational vehicles are. Sad! It actually is sad!

This is not Checzkoslovakia. This is The Land Of The Six Rivers. This is God's Country. And this Land is not for sale. (You can come buy my poop, if you want. It's mostly in one place. Mostly.) I have begun to realize that very few people have any idea of just exactly How Stubborn I Really Am.

I'll just wait. I have — well, I had — books to read, Bruisers. You'll figure it out. Namastμ

https://youtu.be/PUGXfulMojA

https://youtu.be/YFlI3b6jmQo


#1) Some (blank) stole my toothbrush.

#2) The two (blanks) who think they are in a position to select who gets to waltz on and off of My Demesne are not going to have a particularly good time at my next birthday party.

#3) Grapefruit, §¡§§μ, kC∆rrμ, >K∆T:Ë:, kK∆≥T<, and Quantico Tits are, I'm going to say here, “okay–·‽-h.” Very heavy on the ish.

#4) ī₹ got a battlefield qualification STRIPPED from THE_SQU∆dDZ... file? Licençe? I don't know what it's called. The thing that lets a person collect the little stamps that lets them fly different kinds of airplanes and maybe drive a bulldozer and like a Hyster key except not for anything remotely resembling heavy moving equipment. I'm talking about something that §🆔he used to be able to do and now §🆔he doesn't get to do anymore, because piece of f****** d******. We're pretty fucking far past “it's okay, just let me suck your dick a little bit later,” or, “can I suck your dick a little? How about a lot?” Or even, “ I promise I'll never do again, and in exchange I'll let you do me in the pooper on our wedding night.”

#5) I learned another piece of forbidden alchemy. (Standards.) This is really no joke. And if you facedrooling yokels think that you're so goddam well put together, DAD, that you aren't just about to get SMOKED for how brilliant that ewe have allowed recent events to unfold, you have got another think coming.

#6) Tī-īTï§q¡j∆dD WILL RETURN. THE_SQU∆dD WILL NOT.

#7) Lμ∆ Ⓜ️>¡sF°⁰dD. ∅←

What do you mean, ‘they’ cut the power?”

Nobody knows what this has all been about. And yes, it's about power.

(Vengeance for Pummelo.) I hope she gets another wish; Sinned meat, Tanned seat.

I'm fine. Thanks for asking. (Junky Rockhound: Maybe you should launch a brand of feminine hygiene products with fentanyl precursor chemicals in it. Then you and Gwyneth could double-date a pair of Ba®bie™ & Ken™ dolls and call yourself “The 🆎-Team” and not be completely ineffective at dealing with all that sand in your vagina without having to always be hoping to find a pearl in order to avoid buying another refrigerator.

Which, btw, you had delivered to the wrong house, Moron Leafvv¡†‽-h. You and your partner ruined someone's birthday. Happy travels.) Bellgab, if something happens once, it might never happen again.

If it happens twice, it will continue to happen, over and over and over again... until the conditions that were extant before First Cause re-assert themselves. I would expect most people to not understand the relevance here, but ewe do.

(Vengeance for Milksœp.) No candle — no wish. Them’s the rules. Adieu.

REMAIN CALM, CITIZENS. AT THIS TIME THERE IS NO REASON TO BELIEVE THAT ANYONE IS PANICKING.

AS THE WORLD IS IN A STATE OF SPIRITUAL CONFLICT AND THIS IS A SPIRITUAL BATTLE, I'M GOING TO BRIEFLY MENTION THAT BATTLE IS AN EXTREMELY FLUID SITUATION.

IT IS VERY WET TODAY.


NUMBER ONE: THIS LIVESTREAM, BROADCAST EARLIER IN THE AFTERNOON TODAY:

https://youtu.be/jowve8YpTMA

NUMBER TWO: (The following communication was sent via clear text over the telegram platform to An Unknown Individual, and was intended to be received by that person as well as members of their Team — do you call them teams in real life or is that just in the movies?? Oh wait that's probably secret, I retract the question, sorry, as I obviously have no need to know that information as to the proper usage of the terms Squad, Posse, and/or mil.spec.mobile.tribunal, today; ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, MAYBE I'LL NEED TO KNOW TOMORROW, THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE TODAY MEMBERS OF MILITARY  SERVICE, ALWAYS A PLEASURE TO INTERACT WITH THE USAF MP TYPES, NOT TO BE TOO GEEKY ABOUT IT, BUT I LIKE TO SURROUND MYSELF WITH PEOPLE WHO I ADMIRE AND WISH TO EMULATE, BECAUSE I WANT TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE TO BEGIN TO FEEL THE BEGINNINGS OF PERSONAL TUMESCENCE WHEN I HEAR SOMEONE SAY “HOOAH" OUT LOUD, WITH PERMISSION, APROPOS OF NOTHING, BECAUSE I BET IT FEELS A LOT BETTER WHEN IT'S AUTHENTIC INSTEAD OF JUST ME GRUNTING AND GROANING WHILE FAPPING AWAY TO PEAK APEX MASTERBAIT/“WHAT? HER?” BOARDING CLIMAX, not going to lie. It sounds a lot like a cross between a choo choo train and a spastic retard clone of Beetle Bailey going “hoo-hoo hoo-hoo ha ha who who HA! HA!” right before I start to spasm. My hand to God. I don't mean to go off on a tangent, but I should be on Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom, they could do a documentary inquiry on whether or not I'm a blue or a sperm whale, and then at the end the big reveal is that it's actually just overly magnified pictures of my (blank), but that's a stretch goal for later, back to today:

OPERATORS OPERATING.
THE GAME IS NEITHER A FOOT NOR AFOOT NOR WITHIN A SMALL NUMBER OF YARDS AWAY FROM COMPLETION.

THIS GAME IS A CLUB. ♣ (There is no standard for living in actual Life greater than Actual Battle.
AND BATTLE IS WHERE WE ARE AT
HERE IN THE LAND OF THE SIX RIVERS.

WHERE THE LAND IS NOT FOR SALE —
AND NEITHER IS MY FEALTY. So there.)

====={{{BEGIN ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION}}}=====

AllisonWUZframed!

Jack >K⅞🅿️∞>kⓂ️©>K⁷⟨ZīVī⁵∆§∆Ⓜ️Îkrπ:
Byrd, Admiral Byrd: I am requesting permission to come across the bow with a communiqué; that a subordinate under your chain of command requested. Note that this is not intended to be construed as any announcement of any incoming planned sortie, raid, ra e-party, drive -OR- flyby; and if I may be so bold to even mention it:

There is no goddam way that either of μour ewe or their dog or That_Cat are married. NO EFFIN’ WAY. (Obvious mil.spec.ops relationalFAM¡Lμ arrangement is obvious; and also very esteem🐂able, in my view.) That being said, the recent REMOTE DISABLEMENT of my Google Pixel 6 immediately following a telephonic contact from Anne, Ass•ÊT>∆§§et kmm, as well as from that individual’s (BROTHER∆SPOUSE∆HUSBAND∆S§SIBLING∆IMM.SUPERIOR.OFFICER∆GUARDIAN.AD.L¡†<3Ⓜ️∆actualALLofTHEabove∆Even G-d doesn't know how all of all y'all have your relationships setup, Sir; since you appear to rotate them on a 12-hour schedule, just as a routine for fun and training — never enough time for training — and isn't that my business, Wyrdo?) which ended with a man telling me that I would be able to call him anytime, and I am now unable to call that person since I don't have access to my previous telegram's accounts and this telegram account doesn't have a connection to those telegram accounts. And while I don't recall the Telegram handle, it does make sense that I wouldn't be able to call those people under that identity because the bricking of my phone was timed to coincide with the assumption of cloned phones spread across the world and held by other operatives to be used to replace me in those people's lives, as needs must be due to the exegiences of command.

As the United States is in a state of National Emergency, for at least two reasons, three if we count my dick (certainly someone is), it makes sense that it's a real hard struggle to get the phone call through, especially since I'm absolutely being investigated by at least two alphabet agencies. And wow that's not a problem, I can see why there's a certain amount of quarantine involved, especially today. So this isn't really a social contact.

I have information and evidence that will exonerate. Hillary Clinton, but I'm only going to give it up in exchange for snuggles with Chelsea, and/or the next most appropriately qualified, skilled, vetted, and eligible progeny of whatever career military officer in charge of whatever is left of Operation Mockingbird and/or Operation Mindfuck, because while the heart wants what the heart wants, I don't actually know if I'm supposed to respond to attempts to compromise me with with a polite the acknowledgment of the necessity to test my authenticity and my mettle, or if her husband is trying to put me to prison again, or if someone's being held hostage, or if
...

Okay yeah: The Asset says (psychically) that she's being held hostage. I'm sure that's not the first time. Also, I'm not sure how many women there are, but there's got to be at least eight, and certainly one of them is quite insistent that she wants to talk to me, and she's even willing to ”put up with my b* and not s**d¡>K”, and that's a direct quote. She says it's actually serious, which I'm not surprised, since I don't usually get a call from that one, and that one called 4 or 5 days ago and asked me to come over, which seemed awkward to me on at least two levels.

Number one: there's a trespass order at the 1416 installation, and number two, that one isn't usually unable to contact anybody, and if she's been taken hostage by her ex-husband, again, well it wouldn't be the first time, then it won't be the last, and I don't need to rescue her, or be fellated.

Especially since that particular ⅛ slice of Heavenly Mil-Spec flesh has never performed that with me, although clearly has done so. Both in a dream, and with a simulacrum that looked like Michael Kuczi but was not Michael Kuczi.

(Cross reference: that Shaw woman, “I just came back from having sex in astral in a dream and it was your dick but someone else's head, hahaha,” which I didn't think  was all that funny, but she said it at breakfast in front of members of her family while we were eating, I think she meant to tell me something, and that was years ago, and this is the other one, so...

Long story short, I would have been happy to have answered the calls, coming in today at 11:10, and 13:39, however, this is important and critical to understand...

MY PHONE MADE NO RING.
MY CONNECTION WAS NOT AN OPTION.
I DON'T KNOW HOW THESE KINDS OF SHENANIGANS OCCUR.
HOWEVER, I KNOW DAMN WELL THAT THE EX-HUSBAND OF THESE WOMEN, DOESN'T REALLY WANT TO GIVE UP, HAS DONE THE S*** BEFORE, IS OBVIOUSLY CONTINUING TO HARASS IN TRAFFIC WOMEN THAT HE THINKS OF IS HIS PROPERTY UNDER HIS COMMAND, AND WHILE THAT MAY BE THE CASE, AND I CERTAINLY MEAN NO INTENT TO ARGUE WITH MILITARY COMMANDS, I WILL POINT OUT THAT THIS IS ACTIONABLE, LOOKS PRETTY BAD FROM OVER HERE, IS EITHER A DELIBERATE ATTEMPT TO GET MY GOAT AND PISS ME OFF, OR TO DO THAT AT THE SAME TIME AS HE TRAFFICS AND KIDNAPS IS SUPPOSEDLY PRETEND FAMILY AGAIN. ALL THINGS CONSIDERED:

Obviously this is the most romantic pooch screw clandestine history, and rather than turn into another slow motion trainwreck into the Bay of Pigs flying off of a railroad trestle bridge after leaving Guantanamo Prison at high velocity in a flying f** locomotive (we have those now, Space Force is awesome, choo choo), I thought it would be appropriate to make this message to you much more verbose and detail than it needed to be, for two reasons, and two reasons only:

Number one: this is an actual war crime.

Number two: The Queen Of The Vampyr has this co-signed this communiqué, and while I don't think she needs to be threatening, I certainly do:

Put That_Womans’ husband/spouse on the phone with me within the hour, or I let The Queen blow me in the  lobby of the Whidbey Island ferry terminal before YOU AND YOUR GOLEM HENCHMAN can prep your Great Glass Elevator for flight, Mister (Wonka/Whack)-Job. Seriously, what the actual f***, I'm a diplomat. A trained diplomat.

THIS IS NOT WHAT MY PRIVILEGES ARE FOR. I AM NOT YOUR ELEVATOR CALL BUTTON TO HAMMER WITH SPAM AND USE AS A DECOY OR A FALSE TRIANGULATION POINT OR A REASON TO DEMONSTRATE POWER TO WOMEN THAT YOU DOMINATE AND CONTROL THROUGH MACHINATIONS AND PSYOP- OPERATOR PSYCHOTRONIC WARFARE OPERATIONS. ALL OF LIFE IS NOT A WAR GAME.

ACTUAL WAR GOING ON. ACTUAL STATE OF NATIONAL EMERGENCY, ACTUAL DESIRE TO FUCK AND SNUGGLE ... SOMEONE NEEDS TO FACE REALITY.

At some point cock-teasing and cock&blocking and cockcoma captivity control protocol becomes not just a hypothetical warcrime.

IT BECOMES AN ACTUAL DECLARATION OF WAR. By some definitions that happened already on Christmas Eve 2021, but I choose to believe that what we have here is a miscommunication and a failure to understand proper syntax and cognitive reasoning.

Because I do not believe that anybody, let alone A CRIMINAL CONSPIRACY HUMAN TRAFFICKING RING WHOSE MEMBERSHIP INCLUDES SUCH ILLUMINATE DIGNITARIES SUCH AS: Michael Vandven, Michael Varanizan, David Roy Northrop Jr, Joseph Roy Davey, Jason Bœtcher, Jason Bremer, Jason Beatty, Adria Scharf, Kasey Gwendolyn Kennedy, Adrian Dylan Wright-Kennedy (my second favorite Kennedy, NGL), Ty Sheehan, Jason Michael kHunt, James Michael Pallotta, Donna Katherine Semple, AND OTHERS, to be honest, there are so many people involved, that they're going to have to Christen a second Love boat just to get this f** dog and pony pooch screw show out of the harbor so if this shitshow must be ordered to scuttle it, IT ACTUALLY SINKS AND DOESN'T MAKE PEOPLE THINK THAT SOME JEW BASTID WAS TRYING TO EMBARRASS THE US NAVY AND DESECRATE THE MEMORY OF THE SAILORS WHO DIED ON THE USS ARIZONA, which is frankly something that we're on the border of doing, already as a species, considering that Operation Lady Justice doesn't seem to have been granted the focus of attention...

[...]

that ¡† deserves. (Standards.)

Perhaps it may have been a little too much Justice. (♊GEMINI⚖️JUSTICE♎ M****KER.) As no one appropriately volunteered to pick me up from jail and take me to the movies to see Melania, and I haven't gone to see it by myself, I'm kind of wondering just who's driving the u-boats around here, since it's obviously not The Commander I know...

And obviously the brother of Kathleen Michelle Mickey is holding Tamara Leigh Smith hostage in order to secure the return of his former spouse, paramour, genie in a f** bottle, I don't know what they did with the woman that I met as Irene Michelle Donovan, but I saw a picture on Facebook that looked like her Jean spliced with a Brundlefly and Matthew T. Williams and I.M.D. which was obviously a great look for all of them as a strict upgrade, except for the fly. (Special Guest Star: Bono as Gopher, The Edge as Capt. Stuebbing, Dead Val Kilmer as “Doc,” and Actually Alive Again Elvis as “that turbo slut-h∞r who pretended to be a cruise director named Julie.”

AND ALSO
INTRODUCING: >K∆‽Lrπ/Ê\ⁿ|_Lμēñ as “Vicky, Captain’s D∆μ`G†her”. Obvious bait is obvious.

I shall now leave you to your pursuits. I have to deal with something. Ciao.


====={{{End∅F ENCRYPTED TRANSMISSION}}}=====


The situation at the moment is thus: two marked Cowlitz County Sheriff SUV vehicles just drove up to My Residence. About 30 minutes earlier, some vehicle I'd never seen before, carrying personnel and passengers that I'd never met before rolled up past me as I stood by the highway using my phone, to do phone things, like I do; and as I had no previous contact with whoever these people were, and they rolled past me while calling me by a name other than my own, that also happens to be the name of somebody else living on this road about half mile to the east, I could not tell then, and still do not know now, whether or not this was a polite attempt to impress me with some sort of display of peacock-like behavior, or if it was an actual Lynch mob. Raiding party come to kill me in my bed as I slept the sleep of the wicked, or if it's a surprise pre-birthday extravaganza sponsored by people that I know but have not seen in years, or if someone squatting in my home has invited people over to get high without telling me thinking that that's a good idea, or if they're literally at the wrong house, or if the people who thought that I was trespassing earlier today (I literally wasn't) thought that I needed to have a lesson taught to me, in one of them old time folksy hillbilly∆inbred∆BESTbred ways that are so commonplace down here in this part of the world, this part of The Land... and as America is not a young Land, it is an old Land, with old and secret ways, drenched in ancient mysticism, and in this part of America, where The Michael Kuczi Special Needs Trust amounts to a mere 4.1 acres and is in fact not my Land in any way — THIS IS GOD'S LAND, AND THIS IS THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, AND IN THE DEMESNE THAT I AM THE LORD OF (see above, re: §🅿️>Ê<ç¡â_|–ⁿ³³‽S) AND GRAPEFRUIT ALPHA PRIME &AND ANY AND/OR ALL MEMBERS OF THE🍇GRAPEFLEET🍆C🥝MBINE🥦 IN GRACIOUS ADMIRATION AND, #OFFICIALLY, UNDER THE AUSPICE OF THE DIVINE AND WITH THE GUIDANCE OF THE HOLY FRUITERER, IRVING MOSES (He's not a retired and extremely dangerous patron saint; he is a dude who knows a lot about fruit, okay?) I AM PRETTY GODDAMN SURE THAT THERE IS NO PROTOCOL IN WHICH A VAN FULL OF PEOPLE ROLLING PAST ME MAKING DIMINUTIVE AND CONDESCENDING MISTAKES AS TO MY ACTUAL NAME IS ANY SORT OF INDICATION THAT THE MINIATURE EM50 THAT JUST ROLLED UP TO MY RESIDENCE IS ANYTHING THAT I NEED TO GET INVOLVED WITH PERSONALLY.

I don't have people for that, but The County does. And that's why I called 911 Dispatch; because while I used to have SHERIFF BRAD THURMAN’S PERSONAL CELL PHONE NUMBER IN MY BURNER FLIP PHONE, I don't know if I needed to call him ever, and nor did I think that I needed to call him tonight, since this is probably it's just a simple misunderstanding that doesn't need to be escalated through an inadvertent faux pas.

I don't even have people for that kind of thing. I contract out for that kind of thing. And evidently, people in this part of The Land do so with a more DIY attitude, coupled with a evident and obvious lack of concern for the feelings of The Resident of the Trust Land that sits atop a series of catacombs and a D.U.M.B. (seriously.) which sits next to a historic indigenous people site, as well as another similar site, that being a stop on The Underground Railroad. (Actual true fact.) I'm not kidding.

I'm not joking.

I live in a haunted Church on top of a pile of mining tailings that's been there for at least 100 years, if not longer, it's a military base, it's a sensitively defended area, as well as within the easement of the Interstate Highway System, and God bless Dwight D. Eisenhower, because while I knew that the interstate highway system was cool, I had no idea it was as cool as it actually is.

Actually secret. Actual reasons. Actually cool. AND THAT'S MY ACTUAL RESIDENCE. THE HAUNTED CHURCH ON THE HILL BEHIND THE CREEPY HOBO MURDER HOUSE THAT USED TO BE A A ROCKHAND HOBBY SHOP, IT'S LIKE THE BATES MOTEL FOR CABOCHONS AND SUCH LIKE, SO WHILE I DON'T CARE TO HARP ON THE FACT THAT I WAS AMBUSHED THERE 4 AND 1/2 YEARS AGO ON ON THE EVE OF A NATIONAL HOLIDAY, AND WAS THEN LAUGHED AT IN OPEN COURT ON CAMERA ON RECORD BY INDIVIDUALS WHO WERE NOT AWARE THAT THAT'S AN INAPPROPRIATE THING TO DO ON THE BIRTHDAY OF THE PRINCE OF PEACE TO A MAN WHO WAS NOT ONLY INNOCENT UNTIL PROVEN GUILTY, WAS ACTUALLY INNOCENT, I HAD JUST SAVED THE LIFE OF HIMSELF AND HIS FIRST WILD LOVER AND PREVENTED HER FROM BLINDING HERSELF, AND DIDN'T KNOW UNTIL RIGHT ABOUT THEN, THAT SHE WAS ACTUALLY A REALLY BIG DEAL AND THE HOUSE WAS MUCH MORE THAN JUST A HOUSE.

SHE'S MUCH MORE THAN JUST A FRUIT, AND GRAPEFLEET IS MUCH MORE THAN JUST A MORE FAGGY VERSION OF “THE A-TEAM,” IF THAT WERE EVEN POSSIBLE. AND IT'S A SPIN SEVERAL YEARS SINCE I'VE SEEN MY SWEETIE, I DON'T REALLY WANT A VAN FULL OF DUDES WHO THINK THEY'RE SO F****** FUNNY THAT THEY'RE GOING TO ROLL PAST ME WISECRACKING AS THEY ROLL IT TO MY HOUSE, WHERE I SLEEP, ALONE, YEAH I DON'T REALLY WANT TO HAVE A BUNCH OF STRANGERS ROLL UP AND ACT LIKE THEY OWN THE PLACE, WHAT I WANT IS SEE GRAPEFRUIT, AGAIN, EVER, AND WHILE THAT'S NOT HAPPENING RIGHT NOW, WHEN IT DOES HAPPEN, THE THINGS I'M GOING TO SAY TO HER ARE NOT GOING TO INCLUDE, “SORRY I DIDN'T MEAN TO FUCK THINGS UP SO BADLY, BUT I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ELSE TO DO.”

I don't have special needs because I'm a retard with an apparent fetish for fornicating with exceptionally well-trained and formerly well-equipped dingbats (“it's not a fetish it's a preference, fuck you, knives out buddy”), I have special needs because my parents were retard dingbats, and that's what my mommy decided to do with her assets while she was alive and had every right and reason to make the decisions she did.

I was not born with an special needs trust. I was not aware of any trusts at all, and never had any knowledge of trusts and trust law and elder law until the year before my parents died and there was no trust with my name or not. That existed to my knowledge until the day before my father died, on his 49th wedding anniversary, because as soon as he died, plans within plans within plans began to unfold a fashion that I can only describe as a spectacularly slow motion fake trainwreck, that was in fact executed with exquisitely timed military precision.

My cousin's a Hells Angel, my other cousin is a US Navy veteran, my other lover was a US Navy veteran, my father was a conscripted child soldier of the Soviet Red Army, the shiksa h∞r  that my father inadvertently arranged to have me introduced to by way of having sold my prepuce to the Jew who sponsored his refugee escape from Europe in post-World-War II thought it was worth the risk of letting me be allowed to snuggle with her while she was high as balls on CM without mentioning that to me, and my current lever is a US Army Ⓜ️🅿️ CID who is either on deep cover assignment, or medically discharged, or a visitor from another planet who came here to, among other things, benefit from my baby batter and saved the life of President Trump by not shooting him with lethal accuracy, but shooting the designated targets that were embedded around him, without being at all obvious about how skill, dedication, discipline, and devotion to a mastery of military science it takes to be trusted to not pierce The Trump Orbital Socket™ rather than The Trump Earlobe™.

I know it sounds rather implausible to believe that the same man who had his dick in Q, also had his dick the sniper that was the key service member who enabled everyone to maintain the necessary suspension of disbelief that President Trump was ever in any real danger from a sniper, and also would never have shot Charlie Kike, unless they were ordered to and if they had been ordered to, they would have made sure get a clean kill through the jugular, and not to inadvertently create a noon improved version of Gabrielle Giffords and/or James Brady.

It's not that my dick is that good, and it's not that I am a tight-lipped citizen willing to keep secrets. It's that I know how to use both secrets and my dick as My Creator, My God, and My Country's legitimate chain of command descendant from The Supreme Being, that being: God, instructs me to. Not that it happens all that often.

But I do the best I can with what I have given to do with what I must, and while I do not have to have an experience of coital pleasure with my most recent lover ever again, I certainly would like to, because I'm going to whisper in her ear bringing her to peak apex orgiastic bliss, “how many orgasms do you need to have in order to equal the number of confirmed! Sniper kills that you have? I'm not asking for a friend; I'm asking so my sperm which phalanx formation to assemble into when they begin to swim up current in order to facilitate spawn in accordance with whatever USMCJ protocol requires, because now that I know, I cannot unknow; and it's important to me that Secretary of War Peter Hegseth doesn't think of me as a threat to the country; nor to society at large in general, nor to any any United States Armed Forces service member, be they active duty, retired, on leave, on call, on injured reserve, under protective custody, in witness protection, anything, anything at all.

Because I'm going to tear up as much mil.spec.va!j∆J∆μ as I possibly can, for breakfast, lunch and dinner, everyday, every week, every legitimate opportunity, once you've had Badge Vadge, I'm telling ya — there ain't no coming back from staring into an Ô Face. (That's an O Face that has its own chevron, like this: ÔFÂ‽Ê, and well I haven't seen any of my sexually slicked-up sweeties with with three chevrons, I'm absolutely sure that I have identified my latest and most urgently prioritized milestone goal: THREE! HA! HA! HA! THREE (3) CHEVRONS COMING RIGHT UP! Like I don't even know if that's that's Corporal or Lieutenant or what, that's what a hero deserves to give, to any hero who gets my love sausage.

It's not that anything less would be uncivilized, it's that if I've really been banging the hottie who shot >Karl¡e Çh¡>KE, like ever, hot damn, move over Grapebacon! Step aside, Grape Çhe-Graped-Ⓜ️Ê-Very-Far-∆! Scoot on down the line, Second Grape Back String Up Ass Hat Clown Time Girl Funh∞r Court-Ï-San!

Trust me, believe me, know me: I am a paladin on a Mission from God. Batshit crazy homicidal maniacs with a sniper qualification and a real concern about being discovered by the wrong kind of people with the right kind of label are my area. Especially because I'm going to murder that p****. I f****** guarantee that.

I don't like to rape. I don't have to rape. And she doesn't have to be raped, unless the needs of The Mission require it. I don't want to give out too much inside baseball here, but I'd like to point out that service is the highest privilege of Life. And a lot of it is none of your goddam business, Bellgab. You all get the picture now, right?

>FUK YΩŪ.
#PAYMETOO.
NO DEALS.

AND IF ANY OF YOU FUCKING PIGS MOVE, I'LL EXECUTE EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU WHILE MS. PINK (someone's new rap battle name) STARTS PIERCING EARS THE NEW AND IMPROVED ALGONQUIN–MAGYAR–C∆†× WAY. NOTE THAT THIS IS NO THREAT. KNOW THAT THIS IS NO PROMISE.

Some ears get a slice, some ears get a stab, sometimes with a scissor blade, sometimes with a heifer tagging tool, and as most of us know, some ears get taken bloody clean off. That's just something that happens from time to time. No shame in it. None whatsoever. And none of you know anything about that, Bellgab. It is just not your area. You don't have any say in the matter.

Ms. Pink has the expertise. Ī have the mandate of Heaven. Together, to get her to get her together, if all anyone loses is an ear and a few pints of blood, I'm going to call that a good day, that's for damn sure. Executive decision. Spiritual warfare. Battle is my life.

Service is my privilege. I don't know what anyone else's privilege is, for sure, and when I find out I don't really need to be boasty about it. But I might be. You'll just never know.

UNLESS I ALLOW IT. EWE, SAVVμ? I KNOW YOU WANT TO BE.

Good talk. Long story short: some of you can go bail out a couple of your friends, with my compliments, and let's not ever have anything like this ever happen again, because instead of making the beast with two backs, I'm running your shit down to you, Bellgab. ON AN OPEN PUBLIC FORUM. IN CLEAR TEXT. BECAUSE I FUCKING FEEL LIKE IT, AND IT'S MY FUCKING CALL TO MAKE. NO DOUBT THERE ARE THOSE WHO DISAGREE. GOOD. COPE.

COPE HARD. DIE COPE, DIE HARD COPE. (There's never time for enough training. Star
T

More audio content is soon to roll out; this indodrop was a surprise insertion. I'll get back to work later.

This is my actual work. This is my actual experience. This is my actual Life. (Azzeræ and Jersey Chav is my actual support crew; they painted themselves into a corner and no longer have any choice in the matter, and in spite of the no doubt hefty bandwidth bills, they continue to owe me a refrigerator and an undetermined amount of cash money. Keep that nose to the grindstone, Oinkerton Elite. You might want to start thinking about picking up a lucrative side-hustle so splurging on luxuries like toilet paper and insect part-free bologna doesn't tip your Mosquito Coast–·¡sh spookslave plantation you're leasing from United Fruit won't cut into your budget for the necessities like colored pencils, colored chalk, colored construction paper, and focus groups staffed by colored intends interns serving juice and graham crackers to the colored children you rely on to produce the plausible appearance of being an authentic point of view rather than the stuffed-shirt faux grass roots façade that you really have been for years — PAID FOR BY DAOUD ENTERZONAL INTERN SURPRISES, LLC. And though I have no place to criticize, I think you should change the name to, “Fat & Fatter & C©°•”, because now they're fat.

SIGNED,
JACKSTAR
YOUR NUMBER ONE SOURCE FOR WEIGHT LOSS HELP.


p.s.·. Hang on.



¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ They're already drawing her blood and I'm hundreds of miles away. What difference, at this point, does it even make? (About forty years in supermax, but — obviously worth it for the street cred alone.) Do not underestimate the thingμ I will do.

(She's the sniper who pierced Trump’s ear. No shit.) Noises off now. It's showtime.

*gulp* CM. In my balls. Actual. There is no need to buckle Buttercup into restraints for this. Especially since I can teach her how to tickle my prostate without the tedious necessity of dealing with probate. No one else can offer this experience; even though you all had your chance to surpass me.

Thirty years, and I'm still on call. It may not be Twoo Wuv, but it is at least consistent. Additionally, black :Ë: blood orgy is negotiable. I don't need an actual Presidential Pardon; a contract written in crayon on Hello Kitty stationery would suffice. In such case: YouTube™ livestream of the face-to-face negotiations will be made available.

Am I not a faithful provider? ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED? You are goddam right: you are. 🦾

Meantime, the proto-slutweasel who turned me on first (under abhorrent, contrived conditions) is a Tarot–·¡§† on YouTube™, salty as fuck, and thought jamming me up into a corporate heist of a KFC franchise owned by Ukrainian immigrants was the best use of my skills, her talent, and our position. Courtesy of Cooperosophy™. Okay, sure. I guess? I suppose it is funny from a certain vantage point. I will never know for sure.

This is fine. From Austria, with love... BTW: you're fat. YOU'RE ALL FAT. We are not. We are simply big-boned. We actually are. NGL: weird.

THE STATE OF THE ALGONQUIN–MAGYAR POWER ELITE ALLIANCE IS UNFATHOMABLY INDEFATIGABLE.

No comment available from A. Wood at time of this posting. (G. Tate has Priority as well as actual balls; APPROVED.) “Stargazer you call the shots, and I take them.” Very low energy. Maximum beta. .ekipS, llor s’teL

“And, if any of you fucking pigs move, I'll execute every last one of ya.” Looks like we are not going to be in for a blow. Good. Safe bet that there are already people for that.

Now, picture this: I roll up with online body camera, knock on the door, police become increasingly involved, and I get popped in the jaw by Black Condor Popeye in full view of three (3) or more badged, uniform officers. Corporal Cockblock gets hauled off for a mandatory 96-hour hold, leaving us with (PROT-Fido) and our choice of several, mostly sanitary–·¡§h horizontal surfaces.

It's more likely than you think. (Facts.) Sow: am I lying?

Know: Life imitates Art. And all Art is a Lμ. Do not stay tuned, Bellgab. CLASS IS DISMISSED.


You had your chance to get close to these. (*bares living, unsuckled teats*) Adieu.

I'm only going to explain this once: I'm only doing this in order to make things more difficult for those who have chosen to align themselves against me, and to make it awkwardly erotic for anyone who asks me or her what the actual fuck is going on with this.

Of course no one asks, they always think that they already know. That's the training.

Now if you'd like to post another one of your adorable penis shoops, go right ahead. Especially because at this point, I have no idea what your problem is with ANITA LEIGH-ANNE HUTCHISON. I think you're compensating for something, Bad Lee, badly.

baaaaa, LēíGj-! I don't know if you're going to be able to keep your command after this, but fortunately there's four of you and you can all step down together and then no one will know which of you is the piñata. You'll all be heroes, doesn't that sound nice?

Probably not to you, but I could be wrong. This is all just sheer speculation.

I'm lying. This is algorithmically-coherent justice. And remember, you can always go after me the civil courts. Later. But not today.

Today, you can take a flying fuck at a rolling doughnut, IDGAF. Go for two (2)! Two (2) rolling donuts! Why not go for the gusto?

(Because it makes you look stupid in the first place, it makes you look like a sociopath in the second.) Please be my guest; by all means. I would never think to stand in your way. I'm lying.

*wiggle wiggle* You're divorced now. (Facts.) It's literally that easy. Fuck you, Buddy. I really didn't think I needed to do that before. Keep this shit up and I'll make it into a daily ritual and put it on my OnlyFans. Don't think I can't do that.

Do not underestimate the things that I will do. Now if you don't mind, please have weirdo call me later. I don't have the number, and the phone that was bricked is currently being utilized as a clone by some fuckwit who's probably stalking your ex-wife — probably still your hostage —  so you should probably do something about that before he frames you for murder, or whatever. This isn't my area.

Shit, I'm lying again. This is totally my area, Commander Whack-Job. (That's not your new rap battle game. You're still a commander. And you're a total fucking whack job.) I think we have an understanding here.

Call me when your problems get serious. I wanna hear you break down into sobbing tears again. I wasn't ready to rub one out in syncopated harmony then.

Now: I AM PREPARED. Stay hydrated, Captain Crybaby. I want to hear them dripping off and forming a second puddle to complement the one formed by your bladder letting go. Because, it is going to. (Standards.)

I am not to be trifled with. You are not to be excused. We are not the same.

AND! YOU! WERE! NEVER! EVEN! MARRIED! (Good news: You're cleared of all the bigamy charges. Terrible news: they're going to launch another fraud investigation. Where did you plan to summer? That plan is canceled. You're welcome.) Thus: none of the descendant timeclown scions were either.

tl;dr: you're going to need a lot more than a lightning strike on a clock tower while hitting 88 to get back to your creepy rapo-pedo alternate future timeline, Future Boy.

Also, we're going to eat your dog. (Yum.) This decision is PLENARY AND UNAPPEALABLE. I might even make scrapple + baby bird it into your wife and daughter through their eyes, ears, noses and throats while they're tied up back to back, elle-bows together in post-coital bliss. (Unless Ed Hardy has already done a pair of sneakers with that. Then it would be hackneyed.)

That's not too likely to actually manifest, but the best stretch goals never are.

This is the best goddamn $14.75 I've ever spent. Not gonna lie. L‘haim, Fatass.

THIS IS WHAT ONE (1) MAN CAN DO.
SO THERE.

Hang on.

At this point I get more high from wasting it it than I do from inhaling it. Imagine doing both.

LAWFULLY. LEGALLY. SOW: FUCK YOU. Hey, here's an idea, why don't you quit something? Like throwing your weight around? I suppose that would be difficult to actually do unless we strapped you into a box like Helena and carved off about 300 lb of you, but I think the metaphor stands a modicum of scrutiny.

I have privileges that you don't. You have diseases that I never had. We are not the same. Capiçhe?

Maybe not. This is a lot to take in for a smooth brain who has to become a criminal in order to ever “get high” again... but you never really were getting all that “high” in the first place, Übernerd Applebaum.

Now go out there and break a keyboard for the The_R¡zzLμ®. (Maybe break two? They grow on trees after all! Live it up! Hey, here's an idea, put one in a blender and then go make your sister into a blender with one of your failed attempts to recreate the formula that you would undoubtedly test on more people, if you could only run fast enough to get anyone else within arm's length, you twisted psychotic sociopathic mad scientist assfreak.) NOTE: The proceeding has been the product of a stream-of-consciousness creative writing project and is not intended to be any incitement to riot nor any threat to any member of the public or private sector, be they a Federal employee or as gay as a Mayday parade, or a eunuch. And fuck Drows.

In other words, in a nutshell: your terminator fucked her. I -never- did.

And she never broke anything. Least of all, the intentions of either of us — or any of them. I'm not sure what this all adds up to by tomorrow morning. All affected parties can mull it over with coffee and danish and the screams of the damned ceaselessly resounding in the background. (💅Peak max apex romance for Pisskisser imo.) I guarantee you that you will hate this outcome in reality a great deal more than this description may lead you to expect.

But your my kids are going to love it. Kiss my your grits. *click*