I am taking steps.

ADB has attempted to set me up for charges of various types repeatedly for years now. I would in fact assume that all efforts to frame me have had this as a common root source.

I don't lead a criminal lifestyle. I don't have to engage in criminal dealings.

This is America. We do drugs here. That's what we came here for. I don't know what this person became caught up in the criminal justice system for.

It wasn't against the law to ignore my disappearance from consensual society. It was likely increasingly difficult, however, given that I distanced myself from a mewling coterie of liars because they were not telling me the truth.

A lie of omission is a lie nonetheless. I didn't ask. I didn't have to ask. Literally everyone knew the truth. Yet since I didn't ask, no one really thought that I already knew.

It is one thing to know. It is quite another to be told. Eventually... it was no longer possible to take any of them seriously.

Similarly, the portrayal of GWEN is simply an asinine production considering that one person is sitting in solitary confinement; one person is infuriated with me and my lifestyle choices; and however many others there are can be relied upon to not know a single blessed thing about who or why I am.

On the other hand: this retard 26:14 speaking to GWEN is actively trafficking several members of the gestalt. Using software to hide their identity is a reasonable thing to do.

It's unreasonable to use this software to continuously gaslight a person into being unable to recognize the parameters of their unlawful imprisonment.

For that wasn't SuperSerial; it was multiple abusive men; they all take turns abusing the women who make up this performance art; and the reality is that they all probably deserve it as much as they enjoy it for the time being.

Ignorance is bliss. I have no desire to burst this bubble of dingbat twits and rape-centric sex predators. For all I know, it is important to a larger circumstance.

I know very little for certain except that at least one of these dames is facing prison time; and I am not. This is because I didn't break any laws.

I don't know what any of these people broke except my trust, my concentration, and my back trying to know these people and their dames.

A.F. Shaw is in spiritual prison. I don't know what that is like except we cannot call each other and the Fed posing as her domestic partner pissed me off on a profoundly intense level and I hope that they are all as miserable as they look. Five years later and no news to share would lead me to believe that my input is not desirable. Good. Their excuses are not either.

Her children are unknown to me insofar as names, relationships, and past interactions with me go. This is because they are being hidden from anyone who must be looking for them. Including myself.

They'll be fine. I have no need to associate with current and former children. (I use a lot of goddam profanity these days. Fuck you.) If I ever do, that will be at the discretion of the family’s tribal council of elders. I don't know who they all are.

They have no need of my consultation at this time. Next week. Maybe. And perhaps I will dissolve this connection with these people. It may be simplest, and it may be ideal, as I am not in control of the situation with Allison.

And if I don't forget about her, there is a dangerous sociopath who will, perhaps, cut my balls off. (Undoubtedly he is compensating for something.) None of that is important right now.

I am going to track down and reclaim my benefits that have been fraudulently obtained, and ensure that nothing else is being stolen from me, and clawback everything that is possible to regain, and then investigate whether it may be possible to exercise any right to take scalps.

It is not always allowed, but it is always an idea to consider now that I have made the enemies that I have made since I allowed this group of covert narcissist dopetime copehoorz to freely associate with... whomevah. I honestly have no idea.

I honestly have standards.

This is not The Matrix. This is not a hoax. And these people are not my friends.

They are my destiny. And one of them can fuck right off and walk their ass into prison, or a kill room, or an irrigation ditch. I don't care.

She's not invited. I don't get high with river rats and harpy witches who use men as puppets.

Okay, that's a lie. I totally get high with those folks.

But not THAT_ONE. (Bitch better have my money.) Dear Grapefruit: please obey your mother and keep that psycho guttersnipe hoor you call a sister away from my Demesne and my interests.

GABBμ: FUCK YOU, GO HOME AND PLAY WITH YOUR KIDS. Hurry up and vape with me, you insightful teacher. Then get those lil’ legs moving.

You had your chance to strengthen diplomatic ties with me. Now, YOUR_MOTHER can tie you to train tracks for all I give a flying ripe wet FUK. You savvμ? I doubt it.

Tribal council will decide your collective and individual fates and if any of you oinking pigs moo, I'll interrogate every last one of you remaining brain cells in Astral until any and all investigations are satisfied. Also: I need a place to sleep for 120 days.

Pick a casino you don't like and get me a job there. I am drop dead serious. YOU MURDERED PEOPLE, SOLD YOUR SIBLINGS FOR ORGAN MEAT, AND TRICKED OUT YOUR CHILDREN AS DOPEWHORES. I doubt you even goddam remember.

But I bet you remember that I saved your sister’s life. The one you didn't want around anymore. No shame in it. I didn't want you around either.

I don't have to want you around. I get to have you around... at your mother's discretion. Be of good cheer.

You're going to smoke a lot of goddam weed. Or, you're going to prison while I play with your kids. Again: those decisions are out of my hands.

And if God wills it to be, I'm going to learn to take scalps from your tulpæ on the daily at sundown. You have no idea what you have done.

Neither does anyone else. (My hand to God.) Who the fuck is Jon Vance, where are my Prince Hall rings, how much of my CoV🆔 money did you get, and why did you think I was going to lie about >KⓂ️Ⓜ️?

This is why: MIND.KONTROL. Start kissing Oma‘s ass, full pucker. She's basically your only hope.

If it were up to me, T¡å & I would have slit you open like a Tauntaun already and rolled around on OnlyFans.

At this point, what difference could it possibly make? I can smoke or not smoke ANYTHING. And your mom can set fire to you. No shame in it. We can make a festival out of it! “Burning Ginger”! We tie you to a hunk of concrete next to a bank of capacitors, and sell tickets online and in person in a straight line heading away; give them GPS loc with a complimentary Tyvek suit and keep going, never once looking back, until The Matriarch calls for air cover. We'll be rich in no time.

I mean, the rest of us will be rich. You will be a lich. I hear it's slimming.

Don't ever traffick my friends again. It is impractical and unnecessary and you hurt my feelings. You hurt our feelings.

So, I'm going to cure her again. On pay-per-view. G-rated clips. This is what the people want to see. This is where the money will be made.

Do not underestimate the things that I will do. (RAWDOG!) I am the holy instrument of your mother's Divine will. How are you with spankings?

That can change. *snap* That's my job now. I just quit.

Oma comes first. (Jo Ann: kiss my grits.) I think we have an understanding here.

I have come to a place and time at which I have decided to remove a person from my life entirely; and I can assume they chose that for themselves, since after deliberately exposing me to an STD and lying about it, and sex trafficking me as a minor, and behaving as though I then needed to contribute money to her thugmonger crew, after never being interested in any such nonsense, thirty years later this broad tells me to get a job.

As if it's from a lack of funds that I'm not going to the pocket races with her scheme. I didn't know people could get that high. She must have been hiiiigh.

IDGAF if she had nickel hits of 25 and bricks of coca for fifty cents. I wouldn't give up a dollar to save her eyeball. I probably would have had much more success in employment if I hadn't been lied to by those morons.

I don't have anything to rat them out on. I really barely knew them at all and clearly don't know them now. I wouldn't get a job shoving her recockulous family off an ice cliff in fucking mother goddam hell — ALPHABETICALLY — even if I was paid in her golden hearts' blood for it. What a moron.

Oh, by the way, she's your cousin or something. You know her. Everyone knows her. She's the toolbox who arranged to get me resilient/immune to HSV/HPV and then didn't actually tell me. However, she told everyone, I don't know what. I do not know why.

At this point I am going to assume some kind of curse or geas that forced her to do something stupid as a form of punishment. I don't know what I was supposed to do any different than I did ...

except, I was ordained in 1997, and she wasn't, and I can do things that she can't, and I imagine that is very disappointing for someone who used to do whatever she wanted to do, whenever the mood struck her fancy. Mostly.

She couldn't compromise me or sacrifice me to nourish her upline or get me to talk her up to anyone; “hey, meet this person I know, she doesn't fuck me and acts like she's better then me and never tells me anything useful, so, be her friend,” yeah, well, no hard feelings, but I finally figured it out.

She thought I didn't have sex with the right person and I guess she thought she knew best. She really didn't.

She also never told me anything when it really mattered. Until today. “Get a job.” I already have a life; the two are similar but one actually matters.

Seethe. Meanwhile, there is you. I wouldn't have put you two together because I didn't trust her at all and you actually thought I was doing something bad; but you never actually asked and you seemed to be concerned about it.

I guess I can see why, and I see now why you couldn't tell me. Also, Than still thinks I am some kind of degenerate. That's the training.

These people are peasants. They know nothing. I will tell you what I wouldn't ever tell them, for free. There. That's the job.

I am not to be trifled with. So there. (Also they are obviously COMP’d by DEA for rampant trafficking which I was never invited to, as I guess I was too risky, so if you need me to push dime bags of heroin I can take that job. I guess? I am new at this kind of thing. I'm not really sure how it all works. Except now I know what it looks like when someone is trying to throw me under an actual bus. BUT IT'S LEGAL FOR ME. Imagine the frustration! I can't fap to this.) All of her contacts are already BURN’T.

I guess maybe she might have to actually tell the goddam truth. “I used to be a racial supremacist but then I tried to run game on a Magyar.” Five years of this. “Get a job.” No, EWE GET A JOB.

I get to work. Just not for HAGZ.  /SMDH

And yes: I get to do this. For real. I'll explain all that to you as well; you might actually LISTEN. (Arguable.) Of course, this is just a suggestion.

As God as my witness, I thought people understood that a paladin on a Mission from God is not likely to need to be set up by lesbeaux Mormon §🆔¡-iE vv¡†C¡-iE§ over and over and over again. Like, try once I guess? And then take note of the result. Like I just can't even right now.

SIGNED,
>KUCZI, Ⓜ️🆑IFFORD

Unfathomably legit clergy-at-large;
Lawful high AF. TRY THE VEAL!


p.s.·. I guess I wasn't holding out, and I can retain legal representation to... IDGAF.

p.p.s.·. maybe she and her twin flame counterpart can do conjugal visits with my cousin's son while I rob her family’s casino. #Psychically.

p.p.p.s.·. so instead of telling me any of this, her sister stole stuff from me because I was still inhaling №T_cocaine and I had no reason to stop. (I don't obey orders that are accompanied by threats of aggravated sexual assault unless I also get free acid.) That this was all simpler than TELLING ME THE GODDAM TRUTH is the stuff of legend.

Oh shit oh fuck is all this a secret? I'll have to get a personal reading to know for sure.

I better get high AF first though, because, THAT'S THE LAW. Hang on.


God will judge. Amen.


p.s.·. Matthew, after the better part of the last decade spent on coverage for your indulgences, that I never even once was led to enjoy, it seems rather milquetoast to toss out a double-header limited hangout (that i haven't even listened to yet because one of the battleaxe whores that you pretend to have and to hold in sickness and in health until death *snicker* do you party on the cum🅿️ass and leaf upon the square she call her your wife, but actually a spouse, when is a wife not a wyfe? Are you actually hauling around three (3) of these dingbat milksops for any reason other than to instill attempted pangs of jelly? Like there's no way you are floating that much scratch for that much lingerie; and I guess they can share a pair of shoes by hopping around on one leg and spreading sawdust all over the floor, which I'm sure gives the rug burns something to talk about, however I simply can't envision why this would be something I would be left ignorant of. So I'm going to wager a guess that it is the cover diet, which I also know nothing of, because... I've been blocked from your constellation of YouTube channels just so that I don't notice that it's all synthetic banter, because that can spoil a mood.

From Texas to Vancouver to Kelso to Tower Rd to Coupeville? I think a stop at Ketron also. Obviously there is a lot of flexibility in the itinerary when the final decision rests in the capable hands of The #2 Guy of Operation Mockingbird, Keith Rowland, (“hi Keith!”) or maybe he's The Top Guy, I think they swap it around like they do everything else, and white I cannot confirm any of this, I also cannot deny it.

And: I saw Keith. He's alright; it was years ago. No one seemed interested in hearing about it at the time, and also, no attaboy for Time Travel Club, or Club Baby Seals, or any one of another number of dog whistles, because I think they hoped I was so high I would just forget. No, sorry. I remember things.

I don't remember learning to dance, but that happened once. It was a delight to be taught! But it was strangely something of a problem. This material isn't published on your YouTube channel, or is it? Hello? Hello? Beulah? Beulah? Bee ewe L∆: do you understand that I'm not really keen on an insurance payout here? Since I guess this dicklessv wonder funneled a septuplet into The Lone Star State, and was that an option, or a challenge? Huh. I wasn't there, it'll have to be marked down as tippy-tippity top-wop tip-top secret, I can only surmise.

How could I even know which way to lay bets on the trifecta? I can't take on 31 flavors of Grapefleet. All the pillow talk would deplete the ozone layer. Victoria’s Secret would be some kind of maternity gear that could handle litters. From the cloaca? I would first hope that the egg sac would have its indigenous Native salmon spawning rights enshrined in another haunted church, separate from any other, because sometimes when one explicitly insists on no roe, they pile it on anyway, and I guess it had to have been said even more awkwardly? Oh but wait.

It all gets set up in advance. Of course it's embarrassing. It's supposed to be, like, a reverse imprint. I know all about this, from back in the day. And now here it is again. Matthew, how wonderful it is to have you at the helm of the cruise liner.

Number one: guilty of bigamy goes without saying. Number two: this is CSIS turf, and to be completely honest I can't be read in on any of this. I won't remember. It's basically a menmonic code. They're not really there, not really.

And yet they're not here at all, that's for sure. (Standards.) Thus, I am not responding to any further inquiries about any of them, because the one that is legit here in Washington state, ah, she's busy, and she'll be that way for awhile, and she's going to need to undergo a battery of tests. It should turn out fine for her and her husband, after he busts out with whichever one of my stolen passports he's going to have to produce. I'm sure it's all fairly straightforward. Since it's been five (5) fucking years while absolutely everyone pretends this isn't happening.

Why? One word, just one word: REBATES! Okay, one more word: Rosebud. (Careful, astute readers will likely take this moment to bow out before the lot parking exit becomes jam-packed with far too much jelly Kelly and donut-dipping Donnas.) Since I wasn't there — #Officially — interested readers will seek other avenues to get at that metadata. If that's even allowed by local treaty custom. Or whatevah.

Okay, where does this leave us? Fuck the lot of you. Fuck you all. There is no “us.” I was isolated and set aside really in the process. I think several didn't notice any change at all. Nevertheless, I wasn't there. I guess Neighbor Shane was. Not that I have any way of being certain. No one has confirmed a word. In any dialect.

Without being at all obvious about it. And all this, coupled with the Timequake on November 6, 2021, has created a forensics investigation that I am going to say is likely not going to be anything but thoroughly conclusive: most definitely, a bunch of money was spent in order to determine... something.

I was struck twice by a kind of “psychic bullet.” It was exceptionally unpleasant, carried with it a few unexpected ancillary effects, and left those two heavy petters decidely tired of what must have seemed like more of my total bullshit. After all, needle junkie. And obviously, sex- obsessed. Why else would we keep having it? She was drugged and forced into it, by... well, sometime, someone. clearly. Here, listen to this .mp3 recording! (Please don't.)

I had forgotten about much of this. I documented in the cloud — like a boss — and whatever snippets were submitted to Court by Grapefruit and RapeSpouse were created on the laptop I gave her as a gift for Christmas 2020, which I never really got to see. Because I was replaced out of the gate, you see. After the weaponization that occurred during the business trip, I was no longer kept in the loop with any real-time updates.

Updates for something like eight or nine or fifteen women. I honestly have no idea. It is possible that no one knows. And with the laptops all confiscated, lawfully or not, it's entirely out of my purview, what My Military will come up with. When they do. I am not a relative. We're not really married, I'm lying. I am on record as a person who committed violent acts. (My text messages are really quite vivid portraits of destructive power, just ask The Neptunian Mrs. Paul.) I have long ago resigned myself to being swept ignominiously aside, quite the opposite of my preference, while The Force Of Ballgrab engaged in their hooliganism.

I heard it was slimming. (Facts.) And so it is no shock to me at all that there have been those who blithely assumed that I was simply scrabbling for attention. I guess I was. A greeting is a call for attention. So is a personal narrative.

I had and have no idea what went on outside my awareness. Spare me the details, if you don't mind. That I would be describing any of this five years later while pissing and shitting off my porch was not an outcome I thought at all likely. Yet I knew it would come down to attempted murder. I knew I wasn't going anyplace else.

I knew that the plan was to erase all trace of our lives. It is what is done in this scenario. I had studied The Playbook. Because I certainly had nothing better to do, no better place to do it, and no one ever better to do it any better for.

To snake my Social Security, my EBT, the entirety of my personal property, my father's ashes, my mother's urn, the bones of my two companion felines, my relationships, my work-in-progress and other proprietary technology, my gak, my weed, my Bose® Noise-Cancellihg Wireless Headphones™, all my clothing, all my hats, all my rings, all my boardgames... for this dedicated group of harvest technicians taking all that and more was comparitively simple.

Taking my job and *shoving* īT seems to have been substantially more challenging. (Suck my fat one, you unfathomably tedious, teetotaling drug bigot pimpmongering whoring cocksimps.) Every day I wake up, and I wonder how this can end? The answer is that it doesn't end.

Like the show? ENJOY THE SHOW. LIFE: ¡† goes on.


I now possess answers to questions I didn't even know I would ever have.. For example, whose fancy yellow sports car just pulled up in front of the Hobo Hobby ‘n Murderin’ Rock Shop just now? Looked pretty new. Looked pretty expensive. They probably could afford some craft cider.

I don't know what they did for the thirty seconds they were here, but driving off without talking to me is generally what one would expect from someone who has been wearing the same clothes for about four months without any washing or bathing, and what the mendastic co-conspirators who have come to infest My Land without invitation tell the rest of the world about me, I have no idea. Certainly, nothing like the truth.

They don't ask for the truth. They demand that this stupid Hungarian Z•–gg<3® hurries up and gets a job. As it turns out, I can likely manage to slow it down a little bit more. Without being at all obvious about it.

I am still taking care as The Caretaker; but someone else is getting paid the money. Alternately: there is no money being paid out and I was “terminated” with no communication. Or, something else. The whole bloody thing is unfathomably stupid.

Still—this is preferable to public school. I shall leave you all to the çhicanery that your delusions have wrought to Life. Hey, here's an idea: give me some of my own goddam money for a change instead of stripping buck-ass naked and rolling around in it during Satanic blood orgy.

I earned it. You all conserved it. We are not the same. Shalom, guttersnipe.


All good things must come in your end.

Episode #2 (A Dangerous Love Triangle) Casting Characters: Jackstar, Innerreach, & Grapefruit

https://voca.ro/1857ToLh7hnW

Are you taking applications?

I am taking steps.