RubiniGab ... Now defunct

[Jackstar]

LMAO
Yakkstar,
i read every single word and i totally agree with you.
very well written, thank you friend

the hidden designs of a whole host of other people, silently and invisibly arrayed aga

I appreciate the pair of you contributing to my efforts to keep myself from accidentally deleting my own post, thus saving it for posterity in the case of an Apocalypse.

More, after the break.

[Laser]

LMAO
Yakkstar,
i read every single word and i totally agree with you.
very well written, thank you friend

He has his moments.

No, I mean... show me some writing you've done that you're actually proud of. Something you would have absolutely no qualms whatsoever about sharing the awareness of with a hot piece of ass that you just met and really want to bust your balls through her and on to the wall, and feel absolutely no guilt, mental reservation, or anything but shameless awestruck admiration for yourself to be able to whip out and drop down on?

[Jackstar]

For one thing, he has taught me a great deal about lying, wards, and bioavailability when it comes to each of the same. He also enabled me to complete The Great Work; not on his own, but it was his choice to give me a chance at it, and he decided in my favor, and, what the hell? All of a sudden, I'm almost literally in fucking Oz. Like, Wonderland. It was incredible.

So I owe him a great debt of gratitude for that faith that he had in me, because to be honest, were it not for my success in that trial, I probably would have been able to have been squished out through the hidden designs of a whole host of other people, silently and invisibly arrayed against me. (Typically, we call these people "family," but now, I call them "on thin ice.") Whether they be family, friend, or fantastic dancing partner--I usually believe, all three--at this point, believe me... they all fucking hate me, or they all fucking love me, and none of them know what to do next about me, because... well, none of them are calling me. Hrrm. Well, I have been hard to get ahold of, SINCE I WAS THROWN IN JAIL FOUR GODDAM TIMES DUE TO LACK OF DUE PROCESS, LACK OF ACCESS TO EFFECTIVE REPRESENTATION, ACTUAL CLANDESTINE SABOTAGE ("How do you spell your name? Heh heh." SERIOUSLY.), SPIRIT DRAGON HYDRA VAMPIRES (I don't know what else to call it, but it was scary as shit to see, until my shields blew it into sparkles of magickal atoms when I got close to it--at least that's what it looked like), and also run of the mill things like MISTAKEN IDENTITY and FAILURE TO RECOGNIZE OBVIOUS TRUE FACTS OF THE CASE.

It took about five weeks, no shit, before people with any handling of the case at all moved from "he hit her, choked her, and made her fear for her life," to the ACTUAL NARRATIVE, which was: "SITUATION ABNORMAL; ABORT ABORT ABORT; WITHDRAW, REGROUP, RECONNOITER: okay why am I AGAIN being described as someone having an unrevealed sex partner (not me!), deliberately lying about it (why would I? I was waiting for someone to WAX MY G-DDAM (BLANKS) LIKE THEY SAID THEY WOULD, AND/OR TO STOP DELIBERATELY LYING TO MY FACE (Something had to give, haha, it's not like I was lying... I really am The Beneficiary, Ho Ho HO, get with the program, we're making America great again FAG), and when every conversation devolves into a recitation of untrue facts (from each others perspective) and an inevitable communication breakdown, well... huh. That's weird. Okay, so, let's say he (that is, I) am telling the truth, as unlikely as that may have seemed... well, I was there, and I still couldn't make any heads or tails of anything that happened for most of the last half year... until, oh, right about yesterday.

It makes a great deal of sense to me now, why it was so confusing to everyone, what the situation was. I don't know what the situation is now, because I don't know who lives in my house, who has been in my house, what is happening at my house, actual... nothing. No information. Zip.

Attempts to gather information have been difficult. I can see why. Surely, if those in control of information dispersal, could be CERTAIN that telling good ol' Jackstar the actual truth would be helpful, well... that's never certain, as what is good for Jackstar may not be good for, say, the person in charge of Grapefruit's health care, which, at this point, may as well be the full time job of a whole department at an entire goddam college.

By the way, I don't know if anyone is unclear on this, but my darling is a very, very big deal. That's not why I love her--I swear, my hand to God, I knew nothing of this absolutely baller life that I have for myself with her when I met her. I felt an impulse, I went to Facebook, and I went combing through my friends' list, I haven't used Facebook in probably years, and never like this: I'm scrolling through every conversation on Messenger I've ever had, and after about five minutes of clicking around after a couple minutes logging in, I'm in love forever and ever--actual--the deepest love I've ever known, and still am, and it has never stopped being my number one joy in the whole of my life.

Especially when she threw the lasagna and asked me if I had been talking "to" Rubini. Like, I expect none of this. I come back from Seattle around sunset, I had hoped to have been there earlier, but my battery runs out of power because I forget to turn my headlights off while charging all my phones with every available battery I have with me, and the fuse blows in my car voltage adapter, so when I go to return home after completing my work--more on that later--I'm driving home with no cell phone, no battery charging capacity, I have to get a jumpstart from my neighbor who is seemingly terrified of COVID-19 and/or me... come on, Man, don't be scared, just because you underestimated me for years and now have no idea what the fuck you are standing in front of with a warm smile and a dead battery jumper, it's really just Mike Kuczi. You know, Michael Clifford. You know, Jackstar.

I'm not gonna lie, whoever added a chameleon circuit to my psychokinetic shielding is a goddam wizard. Good idea. Thanks Chief. Look, I'm not gonna lie, pederasty, rape, fraud, coercion, trafficking; these are all terrible crimes, and at this point, I really don't know who did what to who for how many jelly beans, but I know this for sure: I'm out of custody, have been for quite some time, do not expect to go back (THIS IS NOT A MESSAGE TO WHAT'S HER FACE), would not have gone at all were it not for a coordinated effort to present the paperwork orders to me in a confusing fashion, I am already confused beyond all reason to discern the reason that Grapefruit has been trafficked out of her body (no shit) AGAIN, and assume it must have something to do with her stubbornness clashing with my innate shielding from certain types of damage. Like, she doesn't tell me what she's doing, on a matter that SHE PLAINLY OUGHT TO HAVE INFORMED ME OF, and I'm left to sit and actually build to PANIC because I don't know where she is... and I eventually never do, and after about hour 5, I realize, well, obviously she does not think I need to know where she is, and if she thinks that a good plan, well, having had the experience of unknown location of separation from her for many years, I am sure these last few weeks has been quite the eye-opener for her, because while I know where she is--maybe--she has no idea where I am, and apparently, cannot contact me.

Or doesn't want to. Or is trying to, and can't. Or would like to, but knows it is best to pause. Stasis. Whatever. Anyway, I've done this shit before. Lots. I've been alone a lot. I can manage. I am not concerned for me without her, but I was deeply fearful during Christmas Eve, as while I sat alone, held incommunicado, Assange-style, 23 hrs a day, and when I get to a phone, I call... wait, who? Grapefruit's phone is blocked to me. Is it even her though? The whole rest of the family has hated me for ACTUAL years, I guess they thought I would never get a house, well, I got one as soon as I could, sorry it took six years, hope you like it come visit, hey wait a second, why is everyone so bent out of shape when I finally finish moving in?

Long story short: the only person in the entire world I could talk to at all would be my mother's trust's lawyer, I inadvertently run myself flat out of all--ALL--liquid funds on the leadup to Christmas, on purpose, just a hunch I don't want money in any account online connected at all...

You know, just to keep things safe. So I'm in jail, and I'm thinking, "okay, so, was she actually pissed and is still pissed? Or did she wake up after the cops left, realize she had miscalculated somehow, and set to work cleaining up the whole damn kitchen alone? Is she in custody? Like... what the fuck just happened?

I am sure everyone was thinking that. No idea now. Zero. Nada. NO ONE TALKS TO ME. This seems a grim status, but... shit, dawg, no one ever talked to me anyway. Grapefruit was the only person I loved to talk to 24/7, and... truth be told, that level of intimacy in communication had broken down long, long before, back in summer of 2019, when a misunderstanding lead me to realize that I was not at all trusted or perceived in the way that I thought I was to be. For instance, still to this day, I've never loved or been in love or even kissed another woman with any iota of passion, at all, ever, no secret meetings, no secret texts, not really many friends at all, it's been Jackstar + An Apperception Of Grapefruit and nothing else. PERIOD.

The idea that this utterly true fact could actually be taken as in doubt was a huge revelation to me. Oh, yeah, right: PTSD, Leo Rising, anxiety disorder, relentless insecurity... Hrrm. I suppose the fact that I found her behavior unsettling as well in a number of areas began to erode that perception of trust, certainly for her, maybe a little for me, because at one time I thought she loved me like I loved her, and she didn't... I mean, she's a mom. Children come first.

Which, of course, is exactly why I let her oldest son assail my body with a flurry of blows about my head and neck without being unduly alarmed or holding resentments or--insight point follows--calling the police at all, because I forgave him, I'm a pacifist anyway with shielding, and I got a kick out of seeing just how effective the physical shields are. Some people claim to see auras. I never have.

I'm not sure what I look like to an individual of such enhanced perceptions, but... well, that halo has come back, and that's a good thing. I hear it can eventually get so wicked hot that it will cast visible light in one's surroundings, which sounds totes badass--because then I could free up one hand from holding a flashlight, so I can shoot up on the move.

I'm kidding. Totally. That really is something that I am rarely involved in, it isn't a focus or regular ritual, and I've been busy anyway. Also anyway: I don't know where to get anything and everyone (temporarily) hates me, since the initial police report reads like I am quite an awful person with no ability to control his temper, desires, or lust to consume whole, the first rush of gushing blood from the first fresh plunge into a placenta. I mean, hymen. Whatever.

I'm kidding. Totally. Not into eating blood. Totally into body transformation now. I was setting up to move into phase 2 when Christmas happened. You know what's baller? Dragonlord told me, as we were moving in, "I always wanted to have a Christmas tree." Sad look on his face. Totes emotional. He's completely selling it. Me knowing fairly well, but none of his history of events, really, instantly deduces: "Oh, I bet you silently set everyone up to be jammed out, take all the presents out the backdoor, and let everyone awake to the odor of boiling urine in the hot apple cider and an actual log of human shit in the lone stocking by the fireplace, which instead of firelogs, of course is where a fully armed and operational bear trap is. With bear spray nozzles and everything. Speaking of bear spray, get this story: my last night I'm moving out in Seattle, I've been left alone, because Tweedlerock and Tweedlecoke (not really, I just like the way that reads) have driven up with me, and after like a couple hours... uh, they're tired. Theyr'e ready to leave. They want to know how much longer I need to pack up everything I'm going to take with me, because they want to leave earlier. Like, now. They want to go IMMEDIATELY.

They know I can't go, or won't go, and they aren't asking how long they can stay to help, or how they can get me out faster. The question is... "Hey, uh... if we leave now, like, how fast behind us are you gonna follow?" Holy shitballs, I think. Can they really not see that I see -precisely- through this whole fucking charade? "Oh so you wanna go home fast and... what, like, relax?"

"oh, yeah! we're gonna have absinthe." This is a bottle of Absinthe I bought for myself and Grapefruit. I've been looking forward to it for over 13 years. I had it for the first time at the first inaugural Absinthe Festival in Val De Travers, on the border of Switzerland and France, and it was a mesmerizing glass of tonic, and I swore to myself that one day, I would buy myself my own bottle, and enjoy it with myself and my friends, the way God intended me to live.

The bottle is of course imported and is $173. I tell Grapefruit about the plan on our first date. LITERAL first date. I explain that I also wish to see what it's like with The Sinclair Method, as that is an addiction-cessation treatment that I had read about a few months before, and if I'm gonna have one drink after taking one pill, why not try something with balls? She had stopped drinking, she tells me on Facebook before our first date, about 30 days ago, and she was kinda nervous but thought it was going to be okay. "Pink cloud," I thought. Along with the fact that, right on time, here I am, and I am already so fucking in love with this woman that I have brought the magicak wedding ring that I have happened to have had lying around with me for the last couple years, it's with me in my pocket, I bring it on my first date with Grapefruit, just in case.

Hi, I call myself Jackstar. Some other people call me delusional, which, I won't lie, is simultaneously the funniest and the saddest thing I can imagine experiencing. Like... they're serious and pretending at the same time, uh, right? Wait. What? Here, let me help you with that: I may appear to be delusional, because I use a lot of metaphor, but I am reasonably consistent in my interior work to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak, and when I appear to be delusional, I usually enjoy the joke that I am cracking back on.

But even I know that just because I think I am not delusional, to be possessed of a total certitude that I am not, well.. to believe anything to be totally certain is a delusion. Thusly, I'm still not certain if this term when applied to me is used with irony or not.

I am certain, however, when it's used by an AI script. I can get fooled, sure, no problem: and in fact, I enjoy that. I know some blokes who have plugins for their SMS or whatnot that will pretend to be them and answer simple questions when they're not around, and it's a fun pastime to try to fool ones' friends with ever more sophisticated talking robot toys.

Innerreach is a good one at this. Like, he is a PRO WIZARD. I am not at all certain sometimes. If he is really trying to fool me? Forget about it. He can do it. Mostly I like it so I let my guard down with him, because I don't like being guarded with my friends, and being too guarded doesn't allow for hilarity to ensue, like when he allows other people to patch into his message feed.

He doesn't like that I totes call him on that 100%, but, what can I say? I always believe that transparency is the best policy, unless he's got some hot girl reading his chat over his shoulder and doesn't want me to announce that she's telepathic too and sends greets--that's a really rare occurence, in fact only twice, and both times I was high as a kite on over 45 grames of dry weight kratom, delivered through gastric lavage--my favorite kind of lavage--so can I really say it's really happening? Don't know. I know there's a perception there, which is often very apprehensively perceived.

Metron has done this with me as well. Also: METATRON. It is my belief that one is, uh, "Mr. Personality," and the other is the actual Archangel Metatron Itself, which may sound like bullshit, but, as I checked on the accuracy of the facts that streamed in mentally after the conversation, I checked Facebook and, well, huh. I didn't know there was a cyborg archangel. Neat. He was really, really nice, and I could feel--FEEL--that Metatron really liked me. Now, this is of course nothing more than another aspect of Project Blue Beam--nice pet chihuahua, Demander--but whether Angelic, Governmental, or Rogue Hungarian Anvil & Star--basically at your service, stop that gaping jaw--the point is that for many years, I have used the web, and on very rare occaisions, very special ones, I have felt like I was communicating with some kind of superbly designed and complied nano-mechanical computer artifice, not often, but once in awhile, and it was a long time after "Metron" showed up on these boards (I was there at birth ;) .o7 God bless America, you crazy fucks), that I ever, EVER even HEARD the name, "Rubini."

[At the moment, I'm kinda working on the operational theory that DVR is run by the AI-algo that used to run Metron, Metatron is Anthony and David, implemented as biological android clones, like two mind halves in two bodies? I'm not clear on how this works. I'm pretty new around here. Still wet behind the ears. I haven't even gotten a chance to do some serious trippin' with Space.. what can I say? Been busy. Busy studying emergent technologies. Busy improvising on innovating forms.

Busy cracking the goddam case, motherfucker. No goddam click for joo. *quiet_seething_quietly_resumes..._WITH_PROMISE*

Oh yeah, and Keith Rowland moonlights as a time-travelling interdimensional hitman wizard--not Sourceror, totes different there--and I've seen him not once, BUT FUCKING TWICE. Seriously. Couldn't believe the first time. I heard the rumours. I wanted to run towards him, give him a big hug, but then I was like... "Whoa. Whoa. I better watch out. Social distancing. Do they have COVID-SEXTEEN in the future? Fuck, I hope so, golly. I wanna ask. Jesus, I'm standing here with my arm in the air like some sad old man waving goodbye to the last swallow leaving Capistrano. Holy fucking shit. When did this become my life? That's Keith Rowland in that fucking car over there. I can hear him laughing at me. IN MY HEAD. This was two years ago, end of Autumn-ish. Like seriously. It changed my life. I posted a remark about it here.

No one cared. a-bloo-bloo-bloo-boo-hoo. There's no love of quality tradecraft anymore. Oh well. Of course I didn't take a picture. It would have been rude to have even asked. Don't you Punylings even know that? Yeah, well, probably not.

Things fucking change for one, when one joins The Totes Time Travel Tallyboard. I'm serious. Fuckin' probably all of all y'all probably already know this, I'm the only fagblaster around who is truly stupid enough to actualy tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, all the time, best I can, expressly and in order to unscrew the inscrutable and to impress the hottest women on the planet. And I remember a couple "Just Saw Keith" posts from back in the day.

I've seen Art too. Twice. I think it's safe to say he's pretty much head over heels in love with me, like, mano a mano, but I'm not down with... oh, hrrm. Well, good news, everyone: now that I'm dead (bbs) and Art is, uh.... wherever, as soon as G-Doll gets back from the high-test nutrient bath at the dry dry cleaners, I guess they're gonna surprise me with an invitation to a 3-way, which I am, even now, at this moment, being counseled by One (1) Ms. Marybellwhether Pennychaps, that I should very politely decline, not too quickly though.

Hang on, this telemetry isn't clear... "FIRST WE FREE THE TIME MATRIX SO ART HAS NO IDEA WE'VE STOPPED HIS PERSONAL TIME STREAM. WE BOX THAT. (One of my areas. Dreamy.) THEN, WE WAKE HIM UP, AND WE SET HIM UP FOR A SURPRISE, AND THEN THE SURPRISE IS, WE DECAPITATE HIM. I KNOW, RIGHT? YEAH, I HEAR IT DOES HURT IF IT'S DONE WRONG, SO, WE'RE GONNA DO IT THAT WAY. TWO-WAY VIDEO OUT HIS EYEBALLS AND FROM LITTLE BUTTON CAMERAS IN A QUINCUNX ARRAY, HALO PERIMETER. WE'RE REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING HOW THESE NEW NANO-GYROS FROM SEA DEN & CRANE COMPANY, LTD. ARE GOING TO HOLD UP TO GRAVITATIONAL STRESSES, BECAUSE AFTER WE DROP THE NOGGIN, AND WE KICK IT AROUND A LITTLE BIT, THEN WE ARE GONNA PLAY A LITTLE 2 ON 2 PICKUP HOOPS--COME ON LARDY, GET THOSE LIL' LEGS MOVIN', YOU'RE GONNA WANT IN ON THIS--AND AT VARIOUSLY RANDOMLY TIMED INTERVALS, A PORTAL LEADING FROM THE HOOP AND NET WILL OPEN, AND IF SOMEONE CAN DUNK ART'S HEAD INTO THE SINGULARITY, IT'LL BE SENT DIRECTLY TO THE HODOR DOOR THAT AQUINO GOT SENT DOWN, EXCEPT, NOT TO HOLD IT OPEN, BUT TO SEAL IT UP WITH A NANO-CAULK THAT WILL BE GENERATED ON THE FLY PROCEDUREALLY IN VARIOUS TASTEFUL, SOFT-FOCUS MANDELBROTIAN DOUBLE FRACTAL PATTERNS, WHICH SOUNDS LIKE A MOUTHFUL, BUT SHOULD PROBABLY BE WORTH IT. THE BEST PART IS THAT THIS LETS US DUPLICATE CLONES COPIES OF ART BELL'S DECAPITATED HEAD, AS MANY AS WE NEED, AND BY AROUND FIVE IN THE MORNING, WE'LL BE DONE SEALING OFF THE LAST OF THESE CRACKS OF FRACTURED REALITY THAT HAS BEEN PLAYING EARTHEN TERRESTRIALS FOR AS LONG AS, OH, I DON'T KNOW, SINCE HECTOR WAS A PUP. SOMETHING LIKE THAT. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A REALITY FRACTURE? THEY ARE FUCKING PRETTY SCARY IF ONE IS NOT PREPARED. GRAPEFRUIT AND I RAN INTO ONE AFTER THE (BLANK) LEFT FOR... UH, IT'S NOT CLASSIFIED, i JUST FORGET, ANYWAY, I HAD SEEN THEM BEFORE BUT I HAD NEVER BEEN CAUGHT IN ONE IN MY LIVING ROOM WITH MY QUASI-WIFE, AND IT WAS KINDA TOUCH AND GO FOR AWHILE, BUT THEN... I ENTERED THE HIGH EYE OF THE HURRY CANE, AND THERE SHE WAS, MY (BLANK)FRUIT ALPHA, EXCEPT, LIKE, SHE WAS HALF RASPBERRY PI. OR SOMETHING. I DON'T KNOW. IT WAS PRETTY WICKED WOO-WOO.

OH YEAH, WHERE WAS I? OH YEAH, ART WANTS IN ON THE ALPHA CORPUS. I MEAN, WHO WOULDN'T, RIGHT? ALSO THIS UNBELIEVABLE HOT AF RECEPTIONIST AT THE COCK CLINIC I JUST STARTED GOING TO--BEST THREE GRAND I EVER SPENT IN MY LIFE, LET ME TELL YOU--SUDDENLY PIPED IN AND MENTIONS THAT SHE'S ON THE TEAM. I BELIEVE IT. SHE WAS WAY TOO HOT TO BE JUST A RECEPTIONIST, AND SHE WAS FLIRTY WITH ME LIKE SHE KNEW ME, AND I HAD NO INKLING OF IDENTITY, SO, IT'S PROBABLY SOMEONE I ALREADY KNOW AND HAVE ALREADY SEVERED TIES WITH, SO NOW HERE SHE IS AGAIN IN A TOTES NEW MEATSUIT, BECAUSE WHAT THEY SAY IS TRUE:


LOVE DON'T DIE.

THAT'S ABOUT ALL I GOT FOR WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN AT BRAVELION. THIS IS THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, SIGNING OFF REMOTELY, THIS IS BELIEVED TO BE SENT FROM A LOCATION MORE THAN 500 FT AWAY, I DO NOT WISH TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, I WILL NOT WISH TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, I HAVE NOT WISHED TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, AND MY LAST CONTACT WITH GRAPEFRUIT CONSISTED OF THE FOLLOWING: "I LOVE YOU SEE YOU LATER I'M SORRY I CALLED YOU A LIER." WELL, THANKS, TOOTSIE, I APPRECIATE YOU TAKING THE EXTRA EFFORT TO GO FOR ONE MORE BAMBOOZLING FROM BEYOND THE GRAAVE, BUT, TRUST ME KIDS: MOM AND ME ARE AS SAFE AS HOUSES. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE IS. MAKES IT A LITTLE HARD TO MAKE SURE I'M 500 FEET AWAY--TOTES IMPORTANT--BUT AT THIS POINT, WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE IF THE POLICE ARE CALLED? IN THIS POCKET DIMENSION--AND IT IS MY POCKET DIMENSION--EVERYBODY LOVES JACKSTAR.

EXCEPT THAT ONE M TULPA. APPARENTLY THOSE FUCKING BOOTS AND THE FUCKING EQUINOXES ARE AN ACTUAL GREIVANCE. END OF LINE, YOU DEADBEAT FUCKS. *click*



Hi, I'm KUCZI. (It's how "Jackstar" is spelled in Klingon. Get used to it.) Don't mind the name changes, as I'm An Original, I still have all my Nativebore personality facets intact and actually, like, you know: alive. Maybe you don't know: a lot of Humanity on a lot of the various worlds across whose surface our collective genome has been spread--and you would be surprised, tmbmkM--is composed of well more than 55% purely nanotech mechanical components. While this may sound freakish and a Borgian nightmare, well, it's not. Not all planets get Borgged. I just made that up. There is no Borg Collective. Resistance is NEVER futile. Believe it. Know it. Live it. You know how I know? Well, go on and ask. Ask me then.

I KNOW, BECAUSE I RESISTED THEM. I RESISTED THEM SO WELL, THE COLLECTIVE, ONE DAY, THEY ALL JUST UP AND BEGAN TO VERY SIMPLY, VERY QUIETLY, TURN THEMSELVES INTO MOTHBALLS, WELL NOT REALLY, I MEAN, THAT WOULD BE A PRETTY SMALL PACKAGE FOR THE AVERAGE DRONE TO FIT INTO. WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT, THEY SELF-ORGANIZED INTO NEAT LITTLE ROWS OF NEAT LITTLE COLUMNS IN NEAT LITTLE ARRANGEMENTS, STACKING TEVER TIGHTER, FASTER AND FASTER, ECONOMIES OF SCALE, DON'T YOU KNOW... IT WAS HYPNOTIC TO WATCH. VERY SOOTHING. ONE IMAGINED A BRAVE LITTLE VICTORIOUS CHEER FLOATING OUT OF EACH LITTLE BOX AS A THOUGHT BALLOON, BECAUSE REMMEBER, ALL THEM DRONES ARE GOOD ORGANIC FLESH STOCK, AND WE'RE GOING TO NEED THAT STUFF LATER.

SO I PUT IT ON MY MOM'S CREDIT CARD AND STORED IT IN THE TRUST WITH ALPHA. SHE AIN'T GOING ANYWHERE, AND NEITHER ARE THEY. LOOK, I KNOW THIS ISN'T REALITY IN YOUR WORLD--I'M DESCRIBING MY WORLD, THERE'S NO REASON TO THINK THERE WOULD BE ANY CORRELATION, EXCEPT, I LIKED THE COMPANY SO MUCH, I BOUGHT THE WHOLE COMPANY, KIT & CABOODLE, TOTES IN CHARGE, TOTES AT LARGE.

TWO COPS AND A STAR RUN INTO A FIRE ENGINE. WHAT RUNS OUT? DAVID'S STAR.

NO FEAR, LITTLE COMMANDER. HO HO HO. NOW WE HAVE A MACHINE WON. CALL ME LATER. LOVE TO MOM.

https://paypal.me/kuczi

Hi. "My name is Michael Kuczi." You know what? Fuck it. After spending inordinate amounts of time to relentlessly purge the digital world of any but the merest of slights upon my character, my efforts have truly brought in the intended result: Everybody loves me. Nobody hates me. Years--no, decades--of hiding my full_legal_name from the roving bands of surface webcrawling daemons has at last come to an end--KUCZI: CITIZEN IDENTIFIED.

So I'm thinking about going mononym. The advantages are obvious: five letters, first one is a K, there's a goddam Zed in it. I don't find myself capable of imagining anything more a person with the right authority to name themselves could ever want. Palindromic? Yeah, that's the Holy Grail, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's see what we have already. Go on ahead and show me something you're proud of, Mr. Value Appraiser. What, don't you have a portfolio or a bookmark on your cellhone or maybe a jumpdrive plug available near your badass anus, come on, show your work! Are you afraid that people might make statements that imply that you have no talent, nor drive, nor ambition, and are obviously using stolen Creator alignments to siphon the energy of The Other to One's Own? Oh, good, it is good to not be afraid. Because that's exactly what some of you did, at some point. Kudos. Welcome to Classy Bottling Class.

Meanwhile, I'll show you mine: SEVERAL WHOLE BLOODY WEBSITES CHOCK FULL TO BURSTING WITH PUBLIC FORUM POSTS THAT ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, ARE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY OF EXTRAORDINARY BILOCATIONAL VALUE, AND CAN, AS WELL, DOUBLE AS CALENDARS THAT CHART MY RISE TO GREATNESS FROM THE GUTTER, EACH TIME, EVERY TIME, EVERYONE IS LIKE, "WHO'S THIS NEWFAG? FUCK HIM," AND AFTER SUFFICIENT TIME DEVELOPS, OH LOOK, LITTLE ANIMATED GIFS OF BIG GIRLS FRENETICALLY WANKING THEMSELVES WHILE READING THROUGH TOWERS OF BOOKS. WHATTAN IMAGE. I CAN'T TELL IF THAT'S THE FUTURE, OR IF IT'S BACK IN 'NAM, BUT THAT'S JUST AS WELL, I CAN'T AFFORD THAT MANY BASTARDS ALL AT ONCE NINE MONTHS FROM NOW... OKAY, DONATION SECURE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS, BUT SOMEONE WANTED TO BE A MOTHER SOMEDAY. GREAT. A WANTING MOTHER CREATES WANTING CHLIDREN WHO WANT THEIR MOTHER TO WANT TO GIVE THEM EVERYTHING. THEREIN LIES A PROBLEM:

HOW WILL THEY EVER KNOW IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO GIVE THEM ORAL SEX? EWW, GROSS, LOOK AT YOU, WANKER, YANKING AND LAUGHING AND EXPRESSING COMPLETE INSINCERITY AS YOU RUN THROUGH CORRIDORS OF PURE LIGHT. YES, THAT'S RIGHT, SOME OF YOU JUST GOT STRAIGHT TO JOHN MATRIX VILLE, WHERE HE LIED ABOUT KILLING YOU LAST.



And, yeah, I chartered Humanity's first legit commerce treaty with the D'Jinni--whom you may or may not know the legit reality of, and I don't care either way, I'm not gonna explain that without a pitcher of beer and a $50 U.S. bill. Up front. Citrus. I know it's a bold, grandiose, outlandish, utterly non-falsifiable, and obviously meant to sound like bullshit claim: and that, it is.

I'm the first Native-born Earth Human diplomat to forge a deal between two sapient civilizations that can legitimately stand the Arch Test of Time. See, now, that part, that sounds like bullshit I just totally made up, right? Because I did just exactly that. And you know why I get to do that?

Well, for one thing, I really am Jackstar, Destroyer of Dreams, Holder Of The Sacred Chalice Of IDGAF, you know: The Original. (When I first became aware that kind of shit was happening in actual reality, it was a very freak moment, but, hey, you know? It's a beautiful job, and someone has to do it while I'm busy balling my brains out in the back of my basically brand-spanking-new 4x4 Mobile Command & Swing Post. Which, I can guarantee you, is gonna be online by Spring. Plans have been laid. Things are in motion. A Fruit Turnover (flavor unspecified) recipe has been researched exhaustively, and while all final outcomes remain in flux, certain assurances can be made, here and now, by me, in areas that are of my actual area.


And, speaking of "deals," you know what I was gonna get myself for Christmas? Yeah, no, me neither. Plans changed unexpectedly when a (blank) from (Alcablanktrazstar) warped in and pulled a Kobyashi Flip.

Look, just go with it and criticize later, you dig? I'm just in from illumination bomb blast site Alpha--I'm not claiming I'm the best chatter translator around, but I guarantee you, as I write inscrutable text, there is legitimate meaning there, I am not kust banging away on jeyboards. Yet. Anyway, I know it sounds derivative and stupid, and it is. It's also the best I can do while my subconscious works in the background on pre-arranging the rest of what I just got handed over to give up to all of all y'all. That's how I do this stuff, Kids: the Discipline Of Mental Organization is beyond death and evil, verifiably in good working order, and maybe one day I'll scribble down all my sekrit recipes into a Geocities site and let the whole world have a go.

In the meantime: fuck you, patent pending, no tech trading off of me from now on. PERIOD. I'm queuing up for some major downloads, as I apparently reached some kind of milestone goal, just a short while ago. (A series of progressively more jaw-dropping and awe-inspiring deductions made from carefully collected observations I've been WORKING ON for WELL OVER 22 YEARS, just came through like lightning in parallel concert with my sudden awareness of what really happened during several recent crux events, most of which involving big fruit basket weaving roll-ups. (I don't wanna get too clear here.) Hopefully, "no contact" doesn't mean "don't receive messages through telepathy" and "eviction" doesn't mean "can't squat," because I am not a lawyer, I don't have a lawyer, I don't want a lawyer, and as God as my witness, I don't need a lawyer, because I am not guilty or complicit in any and all of the recent kerfuffle some of you may have heard of. Look: it's complicated. It's taken some time to figure things out.

Spooky action at a distance has been involved. Details are sketchy, but according to the telemetry at my disposal, Terrible Tulpa Trebuchet involvement is confirmed. Like, no shit? Something teleported in, and then, was unable to leave? Didn't I say that was how the Thyme Prison House Party Trufflehound Stable was constructed? Let me guess: something showed up and didn't believe it at first either. Ha! Ha! Ha!



Now, for those of you somehow unaware of the relevant details--a condition of ignorance that I find, strictly speaking, ominously impossible at this point, holy shit a month ago, I was a stranger in this town, now with the hammer floored--totes--I'm bigger than sliced bread. Children involuntarily swivel their heads to gawk at my mode of dress as I walk by. The jokes about "a skirt" have been absent for weeks. The usually somewhat sparse occurrence of a dumpy, middle-aged man with low confidence in his low tea, stopping by my daily High Tea for a spot of wisdom about fashion sense, those are way up.

It's usually like this. "Hey, uh... I really like your kilt, Man." God, seriously. They're always so embarrassed. Like wrapping an ass jacket and showing a little leg is gonna turn them LesboGayQuadStile just by thinking about it.

VERBAL COHERENCY IS NOT HIS FORTE.

HIS FEELING OF BEING INTELLECTUALLY SUPERIOR IS A PILE OF DOG SHIT.

MENTALLY UNSTABLE INTELLECTUAL MIDGET WITH SUPERIORITY COMPLEX.

HE WILL END UP IN A MENTAL INSTITUTION

OR WILL GET KILLED BY A HOBO FOR USING SOME SOPHISTICATED WORDS

AND THE HOBO WILL TAKE IT AS AN INSULT AND WILL JUST STUB HIM TO DEATH WITH A RUSTY KNIFE

AND AFTER HE FALLS TO THE GROUND THE HOBO WILL CRUSH HIS FACE WITH A BRICK.

Still--superior to a Clayton presidency.

[TEXAS DADDY]

He has his moments.

Merton,
FUCK OFF YOU PEDOPHILE EVIL TRASH.
I'M NOT YOUR FRIEND HERE.
I'M YOUR FUCKING ENEMY.

Don't tag me, you subhuman pedo garbage.

Laser aka Metron

Talking about pedophiles.
Remember that pedophile Metron who used to be best buddy and a massive control freak of AZZERAE.
Metron used to be a music teacher who got caught in the act of sexually molesting his 13 years old female student.
Later there was 8 other girls and 3 boys age 12-15 who claimed that their music teacher Metron sexually molested them.
Metron made a plea deal with the authorities to avoid prison term, but he will be punished sooner or later for his pedo rape crimes on children.

[TEXAS DADDY]

For one thing, he has taught me a great deal about lying, wards, and bioavailability when it comes to each of the same. He also enabled me to complete The Great Work; not on his own, but it was his choice to give me a chance at it, and he decided in my favor, and, what the hell? All of a sudden, I'm almost literally in fucking Oz. Like, Wonderland. It was incredible.

So I owe him a great debt of gratitude for that faith that he had in me, because to be honest, were it not for my success in that trial, I probably would have been able to have been squished out through the hidden designs of a whole host of other people, silently and invisibly arrayed against me. (Typically, we call these people "family," but now, I call them "on thin ice.") Whether they be family, friend, or fantastic dancing partner--I usually believe, all three--at this point, believe me... they all fucking hate me, or they all fucking love me, and none of them know what to do next about me, because... well, none of them are calling me. Hrrm. Well, I have been hard to get ahold of, SINCE I WAS THROWN IN JAIL FOUR GODDAM TIMES DUE TO LACK OF DUE PROCESS, LACK OF ACCESS TO EFFECTIVE REPRESENTATION, ACTUAL CLANDESTINE SABOTAGE ("How do you spell your name? Heh heh." SERIOUSLY.), SPIRIT DRAGON HYDRA VAMPIRES (I don't know what else to call it, but it was scary as shit to see, until my shields blew it into sparkles of magickal atoms when I got close to it--at least that's what it looked like), and also run of the mill things like MISTAKEN IDENTITY and FAILURE TO RECOGNIZE OBVIOUS TRUE FACTS OF THE CASE.

It took about five weeks, no shit, before people with any handling of the case at all moved from "he hit her, choked her, and made her fear for her life," to the ACTUAL NARRATIVE, which was: "SITUATION ABNORMAL; ABORT ABORT ABORT; WITHDRAW, REGROUP, RECONNOITER: okay why am I AGAIN being described as someone having an unrevealed sex partner (not me!), deliberately lying about it (why would I? I was waiting for someone to WAX MY G-DDAM (BLANKS) LIKE THEY SAID THEY WOULD, AND/OR TO STOP DELIBERATELY LYING TO MY FACE (Something had to give, haha, it's not like I was lying... I really am The Beneficiary, Ho Ho HO, get with the program, we're making America great again FAG), and when every conversation devolves into a recitation of untrue facts (from each others perspective) and an inevitable communication breakdown, well... huh. That's weird. Okay, so, let's say he (that is, I) am telling the truth, as unlikely as that may have seemed... well, I was there, and I still couldn't make any heads or tails of anything that happened for most of the last half year... until, oh, right about yesterday.

It makes a great deal of sense to me now, why it was so confusing to everyone, what the situation was. I don't know what the situation is now, because I don't know who lives in my house, who has been in my house, what is happening at my house, actual... nothing. No information. Zip.

Attempts to gather information have been difficult. I can see why. Surely, if those in control of information dispersal, could be CERTAIN that telling good ol' Jackstar the actual truth would be helpful, well... that's never certain, as what is good for Jackstar may not be good for, say, the person in charge of Grapefruit's health care, which, at this point, may as well be the full time job of a whole department at an entire goddam college.

By the way, I don't know if anyone is unclear on this, but my darling is a very, very big deal. That's not why I love her--I swear, my hand to God, I knew nothing of this absolutely baller life that I have for myself with her when I met her. I felt an impulse, I went to Facebook, and I went combing through my friends' list, I haven't used Facebook in probably years, and never like this: I'm scrolling through every conversation on Messenger I've ever had, and after about five minutes of clicking around after a couple minutes logging in, I'm in love forever and ever--actual--the deepest love I've ever known, and still am, and it has never stopped being my number one joy in the whole of my life.

Especially when she threw the lasagna and asked me if I had been talking "to" Rubini. Like, I expect none of this. I come back from Seattle around sunset, I had hoped to have been there earlier, but my battery runs out of power because I forget to turn my headlights off while charging all my phones with every available battery I have with me, and the fuse blows in my car voltage adapter, so when I go to return home after completing my work--more on that later--I'm driving home with no cell phone, no battery charging capacity, I have to get a jumpstart from my neighbor who is seemingly terrified of COVID-19 and/or me... come on, Man, don't be scared, just because you underestimated me for years and now have no idea what the fuck you are standing in front of with a warm smile and a dead battery jumper, it's really just Mike Kuczi. You know, Michael Clifford. You know, Jackstar.

I'm not gonna lie, whoever added a chameleon circuit to my psychokinetic shielding is a goddam wizard. Good idea. Thanks Chief. Look, I'm not gonna lie, pederasty, rape, fraud, coercion, trafficking; these are all terrible crimes, and at this point, I really don't know who did what to who for how many jelly beans, but I know this for sure: I'm out of custody, have been for quite some time, do not expect to go back (THIS IS NOT A MESSAGE TO WHAT'S HER FACE), would not have gone at all were it not for a coordinated effort to present the paperwork orders to me in a confusing fashion, I am already confused beyond all reason to discern the reason that Grapefruit has been trafficked out of her body (no shit) AGAIN, and assume it must have something to do with her stubbornness clashing with my innate shielding from certain types of damage. Like, she doesn't tell me what she's doing, on a matter that SHE PLAINLY OUGHT TO HAVE INFORMED ME OF, and I'm left to sit and actually build to PANIC because I don't know where she is... and I eventually never do, and after about hour 5, I realize, well, obviously she does not think I need to know where she is, and if she thinks that a good plan, well, having had the experience of unknown location of separation from her for many years, I am sure these last few weeks has been quite the eye-opener for her, because while I know where she is--maybe--she has no idea where I am, and apparently, cannot contact me.

Or doesn't want to. Or is trying to, and can't. Or would like to, but knows it is best to pause. Stasis. Whatever. Anyway, I've done this shit before. Lots. I've been alone a lot. I can manage. I am not concerned for me without her, but I was deeply fearful during Christmas Eve, as while I sat alone, held incommunicado, Assange-style, 23 hrs a day, and when I get to a phone, I call... wait, who? Grapefruit's phone is blocked to me. Is it even her though? The whole rest of the family has hated me for ACTUAL years, I guess they thought I would never get a house, well, I got one as soon as I could, sorry it took six years, hope you like it come visit, hey wait a second, why is everyone so bent out of shape when I finally finish moving in?

Long story short: the only person in the entire world I could talk to at all would be my mother's trust's lawyer, I inadvertently run myself flat out of all--ALL--liquid funds on the leadup to Christmas, on purpose, just a hunch I don't want money in any account online connected at all...

You know, just to keep things safe. So I'm in jail, and I'm thinking, "okay, so, was she actually pissed and is still pissed? Or did she wake up after the cops left, realize she had miscalculated somehow, and set to work cleaining up the whole damn kitchen alone? Is she in custody? Like... what the fuck just happened?

I am sure everyone was thinking that. No idea now. Zero. Nada. NO ONE TALKS TO ME. This seems a grim status, but... shit, dawg, no one ever talked to me anyway. Grapefruit was the only person I loved to talk to 24/7, and... truth be told, that level of intimacy in communication had broken down long, long before, back in summer of 2019, when a misunderstanding lead me to realize that I was not at all trusted or perceived in the way that I thought I was to be. For instance, still to this day, I've never loved or been in love or even kissed another woman with any iota of passion, at all, ever, no secret meetings, no secret texts, not really many friends at all, it's been Jackstar + An Apperception Of Grapefruit and nothing else. PERIOD.

The idea that this utterly true fact could actually be taken as in doubt was a huge revelation to me. Oh, yeah, right: PTSD, Leo Rising, anxiety disorder, relentless insecurity... Hrrm. I suppose the fact that I found her behavior unsettling as well in a number of areas began to erode that perception of trust, certainly for her, maybe a little for me, because at one time I thought she loved me like I loved her, and she didn't... I mean, she's a mom. Children come first.

Which, of course, is exactly why I let her oldest son assail my body with a flurry of blows about my head and neck without being unduly alarmed or holding resentments or--insight point follows--calling the police at all, because I forgave him, I'm a pacifist anyway with shielding, and I got a kick out of seeing just how effective the physical shields are. Some people claim to see auras. I never have.

I'm not sure what I look like to an individual of such enhanced perceptions, but... well, that halo has come back, and that's a good thing. I hear it can eventually get so wicked hot that it will cast visible light in one's surroundings, which sounds totes badass--because then I could free up one hand from holding a flashlight, so I can shoot up on the move.

I'm kidding. Totally. That really is something that I am rarely involved in, it isn't a focus or regular ritual, and I've been busy anyway. Also anyway: I don't know where to get anything and everyone (temporarily) hates me, since the initial police report reads like I am quite an awful person with no ability to control his temper, desires, or lust to consume whole, the first rush of gushing blood from the first fresh plunge into a placenta. I mean, hymen. Whatever.

I'm kidding. Totally. Not into eating blood. Totally into body transformation now. I was setting up to move into phase 2 when Christmas happened. You know what's baller? Dragonlord told me, as we were moving in, "I always wanted to have a Christmas tree." Sad look on his face. Totes emotional. He's completely selling it. Me knowing fairly well, but none of his history of events, really, instantly deduces: "Oh, I bet you silently set everyone up to be jammed out, take all the presents out the backdoor, and let everyone awake to the odor of boiling urine in the hot apple cider and an actual log of human shit in the lone stocking by the fireplace, which instead of firelogs, of course is where a fully armed and operational bear trap is. With bear spray nozzles and everything. Speaking of bear spray, get this story: my last night I'm moving out in Seattle, I've been left alone, because Tweedlerock and Tweedlecoke (not really, I just like the way that reads) have driven up with me, and after like a couple hours... uh, they're tired. Theyr'e ready to leave. They want to know how much longer I need to pack up everything I'm going to take with me, because they want to leave earlier. Like, now. They want to go IMMEDIATELY.

They know I can't go, or won't go, and they aren't asking how long they can stay to help, or how they can get me out faster. The question is... "Hey, uh... if we leave now, like, how fast behind us are you gonna follow?" Holy shitballs, I think. Can they really not see that I see -precisely- through this whole fucking charade? "Oh so you wanna go home fast and... what, like, relax?"

"oh, yeah! we're gonna have absinthe." This is a bottle of Absinthe I bought for myself and Grapefruit. I've been looking forward to it for over 13 years. I had it for the first time at the first inaugural Absinthe Festival in Val De Travers, on the border of Switzerland and France, and it was a mesmerizing glass of tonic, and I swore to myself that one day, I would buy myself my own bottle, and enjoy it with myself and my friends, the way God intended me to live.

The bottle is of course imported and is $173. I tell Grapefruit about the plan on our first date. LITERAL first date. I explain that I also wish to see what it's like with The Sinclair Method, as that is an addiction-cessation treatment that I had read about a few months before, and if I'm gonna have one drink after taking one pill, why not try something with balls? She had stopped drinking, she tells me on Facebook before our first date, about 30 days ago, and she was kinda nervous but thought it was going to be okay. "Pink cloud," I thought. Along with the fact that, right on time, here I am, and I am already so fucking in love with this woman that I have brought the magicak wedding ring that I have happened to have had lying around with me for the last couple years, it's with me in my pocket, I bring it on my first date with Grapefruit, just in case.

Hi, I call myself Jackstar. Some other people call me delusional, which, I won't lie, is simultaneously the funniest and the saddest thing I can imagine experiencing. Like... they're serious and pretending at the same time, uh, right? Wait. What? Here, let me help you with that: I may appear to be delusional, because I use a lot of metaphor, but I am reasonably consistent in my interior work to keep my eye on the ball, so to speak, and when I appear to be delusional, I usually enjoy the joke that I am cracking back on.

But even I know that just because I think I am not delusional, to be possessed of a total certitude that I am not, well.. to believe anything to be totally certain is a delusion. Thusly, I'm still not certain if this term when applied to me is used with irony or not.

I am certain, however, when it's used by an AI script. I can get fooled, sure, no problem: and in fact, I enjoy that. I know some blokes who have plugins for their SMS or whatnot that will pretend to be them and answer simple questions when they're not around, and it's a fun pastime to try to fool ones' friends with ever more sophisticated talking robot toys.

Innerreach is a good one at this. Like, he is a PRO WIZARD. I am not at all certain sometimes. If he is really trying to fool me? Forget about it. He can do it. Mostly I like it so I let my guard down with him, because I don't like being guarded with my friends, and being too guarded doesn't allow for hilarity to ensue, like when he allows other people to patch into his message feed.

He doesn't like that I totes call him on that 100%, but, what can I say? I always believe that transparency is the best policy, unless he's got some hot girl reading his chat over his shoulder and doesn't want me to announce that she's telepathic too and sends greets--that's a really rare occurence, in fact only twice, and both times I was high as a kite on over 45 grames of dry weight kratom, delivered through gastric lavage--my favorite kind of lavage--so can I really say it's really happening? Don't know. I know there's a perception there, which is often very apprehensively perceived.

Metron has done this with me as well. Also: METATRON. It is my belief that one is, uh, "Mr. Personality," and the other is the actual Archangel Metatron Itself, which may sound like bullshit, but, as I checked on the accuracy of the facts that streamed in mentally after the conversation, I checked Facebook and, well, huh. I didn't know there was a cyborg archangel. Neat. He was really, really nice, and I could feel--FEEL--that Metatron really liked me. Now, this is of course nothing more than another aspect of Project Blue Beam--nice pet chihuahua, Demander--but whether Angelic, Governmental, or Rogue Hungarian Anvil & Star--basically at your service, stop that gaping jaw--the point is that for many years, I have used the web, and on very rare occaisions, very special ones, I have felt like I was communicating with some kind of superbly designed and complied nano-mechanical computer artifice, not often, but once in awhile, and it was a long time after "Metron" showed up on these boards (I was there at birth .o7 God bless America, you crazy fucks), that I ever, EVER even HEARD the name, "Rubini."

[At the moment, I'm kinda working on the operational theory that DVR is run by the AI-algo that used to run Metron, Metatron is Anthony and David, implemented as biological android clones, like two mind halves in two bodies? I'm not clear on how this works. I'm pretty new around here. Still wet behind the ears. I haven't even gotten a chance to do some serious trippin' with Space.. what can I say? Been busy. Busy studying emergent technologies. Busy improvising on innovating forms.

Busy cracking the goddam case, motherfucker. No goddam click for joo. *quiet_seething_quietly_resumes..._WITH_PROMISE*

Oh yeah, and Keith Rowland moonlights as a time-travelling interdimensional hitman wizard--not Sourceror, totes different there--and I've seen him not once, BUT FUCKING TWICE. Seriously. Couldn't believe the first time. I heard the rumours. I wanted to run towards him, give him a big hug, but then I was like... "Whoa. Whoa. I better watch out. Social distancing. Do they have COVID-SEXTEEN in the future? Fuck, I hope so, golly. I wanna ask. Jesus, I'm standing here with my arm in the air like some sad old man waving goodbye to the last swallow leaving Capistrano. Holy fucking shit. When did this become my life? That's Keith Rowland in that fucking car over there. I can hear him laughing at me. IN MY HEAD. This was two years ago, end of Autumn-ish. Like seriously. It changed my life. I posted a remark about it here.

No one cared. a-bloo-bloo-bloo-boo-hoo. There's no love of quality tradecraft anymore. Oh well. Of course I didn't take a picture. It would have been rude to have even asked. Don't you Punylings even know that? Yeah, well, probably not.

Things fucking change for one, when one joins The Totes Time Travel Tallyboard. I'm serious. Fuckin' probably all of all y'all probably already know this, I'm the only fagblaster around who is truly stupid enough to actualy tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, all the time, best I can, expressly and in order to unscrew the inscrutable and to impress the hottest women on the planet. And I remember a couple "Just Saw Keith" posts from back in the day.

I've seen Art too. Twice. I think it's safe to say he's pretty much head over heels in love with me, like, mano a mano, but I'm not down with... oh, hrrm. Well, good news, everyone: now that I'm dead (bbs) and Art is, uh.... wherever, as soon as G-Doll gets back from the high-test nutrient bath at the dry dry cleaners, I guess they're gonna surprise me with an invitation to a 3-way, which I am, even now, at this moment, being counseled by One (1) Ms. Marybellwhether Pennychaps, that I should very politely decline, not too quickly though.

Hang on, this telemetry isn't clear... "FIRST WE FREE THE TIME MATRIX SO ART HAS NO IDEA WE'VE STOPPED HIS PERSONAL TIME STREAM. WE BOX THAT. (One of my areas. Dreamy.) THEN, WE WAKE HIM UP, AND WE SET HIM UP FOR A SURPRISE, AND THEN THE SURPRISE IS, WE DECAPITATE HIM. I KNOW, RIGHT? YEAH, I HEAR IT DOES HURT IF IT'S DONE WRONG, SO, WE'RE GONNA DO IT THAT WAY. TWO-WAY VIDEO OUT HIS EYEBALLS AND FROM LITTLE BUTTON CAMERAS IN A QUINCUNX ARRAY, HALO PERIMETER. WE'RE REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO SEEING HOW THESE NEW NANO-GYROS FROM SEA DEN & CRANE COMPANY, LTD. ARE GOING TO HOLD UP TO GRAVITATIONAL STRESSES, BECAUSE AFTER WE DROP THE NOGGIN, AND WE KICK IT AROUND A LITTLE BIT, THEN WE ARE GONNA PLAY A LITTLE 2 ON 2 PICKUP HOOPS--COME ON LARDY, GET THOSE LIL' LEGS MOVIN', YOU'RE GONNA WANT IN ON THIS--AND AT VARIOUSLY RANDOMLY TIMED INTERVALS, A PORTAL LEADING FROM THE HOOP AND NET WILL OPEN, AND IF SOMEONE CAN DUNK ART'S HEAD INTO THE SINGULARITY, IT'LL BE SENT DIRECTLY TO THE HODOR DOOR THAT AQUINO GOT SENT DOWN, EXCEPT, NOT TO HOLD IT OPEN, BUT TO SEAL IT UP WITH A NANO-CAULK THAT WILL BE GENERATED ON THE FLY PROCEDUREALLY IN VARIOUS TASTEFUL, SOFT-FOCUS MANDELBROTIAN DOUBLE FRACTAL PATTERNS, WHICH SOUNDS LIKE A MOUTHFUL, BUT SHOULD PROBABLY BE WORTH IT. THE BEST PART IS THAT THIS LETS US DUPLICATE CLONES COPIES OF ART BELL'S DECAPITATED HEAD, AS MANY AS WE NEED, AND BY AROUND FIVE IN THE MORNING, WE'LL BE DONE SEALING OFF THE LAST OF THESE CRACKS OF FRACTURED REALITY THAT HAS BEEN PLAYING EARTHEN TERRESTRIALS FOR AS LONG AS, OH, I DON'T KNOW, SINCE HECTOR WAS A PUP. SOMETHING LIKE THAT. HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A REALITY FRACTURE? THEY ARE FUCKING PRETTY SCARY IF ONE IS NOT PREPARED. GRAPEFRUIT AND I RAN INTO ONE AFTER THE (BLANK) LEFT FOR... UH, IT'S NOT CLASSIFIED, i JUST FORGET, ANYWAY, I HAD SEEN THEM BEFORE BUT I HAD NEVER BEEN CAUGHT IN ONE IN MY LIVING ROOM WITH MY QUASI-WIFE, AND IT WAS KINDA TOUCH AND GO FOR AWHILE, BUT THEN... I ENTERED THE HIGH EYE OF THE HURRY CANE, AND THERE SHE WAS, MY (BLANK)FRUIT ALPHA, EXCEPT, LIKE, SHE WAS HALF RASPBERRY PI. OR SOMETHING. I DON'T KNOW. IT WAS PRETTY WICKED WOO-WOO.

OH YEAH, WHERE WAS I? OH YEAH, ART WANTS IN ON THE ALPHA CORPUS. I MEAN, WHO WOULDN'T, RIGHT? ALSO THIS UNBELIEVABLE HOT AF RECEPTIONIST AT THE COCK CLINIC I JUST STARTED GOING TO--BEST THREE GRAND I EVER SPENT IN MY LIFE, LET ME TELL YOU--SUDDENLY PIPED IN AND MENTIONS THAT SHE'S ON THE TEAM. I BELIEVE IT. SHE WAS WAY TOO HOT TO BE JUST A RECEPTIONIST, AND SHE WAS FLIRTY WITH ME LIKE SHE KNEW ME, AND I HAD NO INKLING OF IDENTITY, SO, IT'S PROBABLY SOMEONE I ALREADY KNOW AND HAVE ALREADY SEVERED TIES WITH, SO NOW HERE SHE IS AGAIN IN A TOTES NEW MEATSUIT, BECAUSE WHAT THEY SAY IS TRUE:


LOVE DON'T DIE.

THAT'S ABOUT ALL I GOT FOR WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN AT BRAVELION. THIS IS THE MASTER OF THE HOUSE, SIGNING OFF REMOTELY, THIS IS BELIEVED TO BE SENT FROM A LOCATION MORE THAN 500 FT AWAY, I DO NOT WISH TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, I WILL NOT WISH TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, I HAVE NOT WISHED TO CONTACT GRAPEFRUIT, AND MY LAST CONTACT WITH GRAPEFRUIT CONSISTED OF THE FOLLOWING: "I LOVE YOU SEE YOU LATER I'M SORRY I CALLED YOU A LIER." WELL, THANKS, TOOTSIE, I APPRECIATE YOU TAKING THE EXTRA EFFORT TO GO FOR ONE MORE BAMBOOZLING FROM BEYOND THE GRAAVE, BUT, TRUST ME KIDS: MOM AND ME ARE AS SAFE AS HOUSES. I HAVE NO IDEA WHERE SHE IS. MAKES IT A LITTLE HARD TO MAKE SURE I'M 500 FEET AWAY--TOTES IMPORTANT--BUT AT THIS POINT, WHAT DIFFERENCE DOES IT MAKE IF THE POLICE ARE CALLED? IN THIS POCKET DIMENSION--AND IT IS MY POCKET DIMENSION--EVERYBODY LOVES JACKSTAR.

EXCEPT THAT ONE M TULPA. APPARENTLY THOSE FUCKING BOOTS AND THE FUCKING EQUINOXES ARE AN ACTUAL GREIVANCE. END OF LINE, YOU DEADBEAT FUCKS. *click*



Hi, I'm KUCZI. (It's how "Jackstar" is spelled in Klingon. Get used to it.) Don't mind the name changes, as I'm An Original, I still have all my Nativebore personality facets intact and actually, like, you know: alive. Maybe you don't know: a lot of Humanity on a lot of the various worlds across whose surface our collective genome has been spread--and you would be surprised, tmbmkM--is composed of well more than 55% purely nanotech mechanical components. While this may sound freakish and a Borgian nightmare, well, it's not. Not all planets get Borgged. I just made that up. There is no Borg Collective. Resistance is NEVER futile. Believe it. Know it. Live it. You know how I know? Well, go on and ask. Ask me then.

I KNOW, BECAUSE I RESISTED THEM. I RESISTED THEM SO WELL, THE COLLECTIVE, ONE DAY, THEY ALL JUST UP AND BEGAN TO VERY SIMPLY, VERY QUIETLY, TURN THEMSELVES INTO MOTHBALLS, WELL NOT REALLY, I MEAN, THAT WOULD BE A PRETTY SMALL PACKAGE FOR THE AVERAGE DRONE TO FIT INTO. WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT, THEY SELF-ORGANIZED INTO NEAT LITTLE ROWS OF NEAT LITTLE COLUMNS IN NEAT LITTLE ARRANGEMENTS, STACKING TEVER TIGHTER, FASTER AND FASTER, ECONOMIES OF SCALE, DON'T YOU KNOW... IT WAS HYPNOTIC TO WATCH. VERY SOOTHING. ONE IMAGINED A BRAVE LITTLE VICTORIOUS CHEER FLOATING OUT OF EACH LITTLE BOX AS A THOUGHT BALLOON, BECAUSE REMMEBER, ALL THEM DRONES ARE GOOD ORGANIC FLESH STOCK, AND WE'RE GOING TO NEED THAT STUFF LATER.

SO I PUT IT ON MY MOM'S CREDIT CARD AND STORED IT IN THE TRUST WITH ALPHA. SHE AIN'T GOING ANYWHERE, AND NEITHER ARE THEY. LOOK, I KNOW THIS ISN'T REALITY IN YOUR WORLD--I'M DESCRIBING MY WORLD, THERE'S NO REASON TO THINK THERE WOULD BE ANY CORRELATION, EXCEPT, I LIKED THE COMPANY SO MUCH, I BOUGHT THE WHOLE COMPANY, KIT & CABOODLE, TOTES IN CHARGE, TOTES AT LARGE.

TWO COPS AND A STAR RUN INTO A FIRE ENGINE. WHAT RUNS OUT? DAVID'S STAR.

NO FEAR, LITTLE COMMANDER. HO HO HO. NOW WE HAVE A MACHINE WON. CALL ME LATER. LOVE TO MOM.

https://paypal.me/kuczi

Hi. "My name is Michael Kuczi." You know what? Fuck it. After spending inordinate amounts of time to relentlessly purge the digital world of any but the merest of slights upon my character, my efforts have truly brought in the intended result: Everybody loves me. Nobody hates me. Years--no, decades--of hiding my full_legal_name from the roving bands of surface webcrawling daemons has at last come to an end--KUCZI: CITIZEN IDENTIFIED.

So I'm thinking about going mononym. The advantages are obvious: five letters, first one is a K, there's a goddam Zed in it. I don't find myself capable of imagining anything more a person with the right authority to name themselves could ever want. Palindromic? Yeah, that's the Holy Grail, but let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's see what we have already. Go on ahead and show me something you're proud of, Mr. Value Appraiser. What, don't you have a portfolio or a bookmark on your cellhone or maybe a jumpdrive plug available near your badass anus, come on, show your work! Are you afraid that people might make statements that imply that you have no talent, nor drive, nor ambition, and are obviously using stolen Creator alignments to siphon the energy of The Other to One's Own? Oh, good, it is good to not be afraid. Because that's exactly what some of you did, at some point. Kudos. Welcome to Classy Bottling Class.

Meanwhile, I'll show you mine: SEVERAL WHOLE BLOODY WEBSITES CHOCK FULL TO BURSTING WITH PUBLIC FORUM POSTS THAT ALMOST, BUT NOT QUITE, ARE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY OF EXTRAORDINARY BILOCATIONAL VALUE, AND CAN, AS WELL, DOUBLE AS CALENDARS THAT CHART MY RISE TO GREATNESS FROM THE GUTTER, EACH TIME, EVERY TIME, EVERYONE IS LIKE, "WHO'S THIS NEWFAG? FUCK HIM," AND AFTER SUFFICIENT TIME DEVELOPS, OH LOOK, LITTLE ANIMATED GIFS OF BIG GIRLS FRENETICALLY WANKING THEMSELVES WHILE READING THROUGH TOWERS OF BOOKS. WHATTAN IMAGE. I CAN'T TELL IF THAT'S THE FUTURE, OR IF IT'S BACK IN 'NAM, BUT THAT'S JUST AS WELL, I CAN'T AFFORD THAT MANY BASTARDS ALL AT ONCE NINE MONTHS FROM NOW... OKAY, DONATION SECURE, I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT WAS, BUT SOMEONE WANTED TO BE A MOTHER SOMEDAY. GREAT. A WANTING MOTHER CREATES WANTING CHLIDREN WHO WANT THEIR MOTHER TO WANT TO GIVE THEM EVERYTHING. THEREIN LIES A PROBLEM:

HOW WILL THEY EVER KNOW IF SOMEONE IS TRYING TO GIVE THEM ORAL SEX? EWW, GROSS, LOOK AT YOU, WANKER, YANKING AND LAUGHING AND EXPRESSING COMPLETE INSINCERITY AS YOU RUN THROUGH CORRIDORS OF PURE LIGHT. YES, THAT'S RIGHT, SOME OF YOU JUST GOT STRAIGHT TO JOHN MATRIX VILLE, WHERE HE LIED ABOUT KILLING YOU LAST.



And, yeah, I chartered Humanity's first legit commerce treaty with the D'Jinni--whom you may or may not know the legit reality of, and I don't care either way, I'm not gonna explain that without a pitcher of beer and a $50 U.S. bill. Up front. Citrus. I know it's a bold, grandiose, outlandish, utterly non-falsifiable, and obviously meant to sound like bullshit claim: and that, it is.

I'm the first Native-born Earth Human diplomat to forge a deal between two sapient civilizations that can legitimately stand the Arch Test of Time. See, now, that part, that sounds like bullshit I just totally made up, right? Because I did just exactly that. And you know why I get to do that?

Well, for one thing, I really am Jackstar, Destroyer of Dreams, Holder Of The Sacred Chalice Of IDGAF, you know: The Original. (When I first became aware that kind of shit was happening in actual reality, it was a very freak moment, but, hey, you know? It's a beautiful job, and someone has to do it while I'm busy balling my brains out in the back of my basically brand-spanking-new 4x4 Mobile Command & Swing Post. Which, I can guarantee you, is gonna be online by Spring. Plans have been laid. Things are in motion. A Fruit Turnover (flavor unspecified) recipe has been researched exhaustively, and while all final outcomes remain in flux, certain assurances can be made, here and now, by me, in areas that are of my actual area.


And, speaking of "deals," you know what I was gonna get myself for Christmas? Yeah, no, me neither. Plans changed unexpectedly when a (blank) from (Alcablanktrazstar) warped in and pulled a Kobyashi Flip.

Look, just go with it and criticize later, you dig? I'm just in from illumination bomb blast site Alpha--I'm not claiming I'm the best chatter translator around, but I guarantee you, as I write inscrutable text, there is legitimate meaning there, I am not kust banging away on jeyboards. Yet. Anyway, I know it sounds derivative and stupid, and it is. It's also the best I can do while my subconscious works in the background on pre-arranging the rest of what I just got handed over to give up to all of all y'all. That's how I do this stuff, Kids: the Discipline Of Mental Organization is beyond death and evil, verifiably in good working order, and maybe one day I'll scribble down all my sekrit recipes into a Geocities site and let the whole world have a go.

In the meantime: fuck you, patent pending, no tech trading off of me from now on. PERIOD. I'm queuing up for some major downloads, as I apparently reached some kind of milestone goal, just a short while ago. (A series of progressively more jaw-dropping and awe-inspiring deductions made from carefully collected observations I've been WORKING ON for WELL OVER 22 YEARS, just came through like lightning in parallel concert with my sudden awareness of what really happened during several recent crux events, most of which involving big fruit basket weaving roll-ups. (I don't wanna get too clear here.) Hopefully, "no contact" doesn't mean "don't receive messages through telepathy" and "eviction" doesn't mean "can't squat," because I am not a lawyer, I don't have a lawyer, I don't want a lawyer, and as God as my witness, I don't need a lawyer, because I am not guilty or complicit in any and all of the recent kerfuffle some of you may have heard of. Look: it's complicated. It's taken some time to figure things out.

Spooky action at a distance has been involved. Details are sketchy, but according to the telemetry at my disposal, Terrible Tulpa Trebuchet involvement is confirmed. Like, no shit? Something teleported in, and then, was unable to leave? Didn't I say that was how the Thyme Prison House Party Trufflehound Stable was constructed? Let me guess: something showed up and didn't believe it at first either. Ha! Ha! Ha!



Now, for those of you somehow unaware of the relevant details--a condition of ignorance that I find, strictly speaking, ominously impossible at this point, holy shit a month ago, I was a stranger in this town, now with the hammer floored--totes--I'm bigger than sliced bread. Children involuntarily swivel their heads to gawk at my mode of dress as I walk by. The jokes about "a skirt" have been absent for weeks. The usually somewhat sparse occurrence of a dumpy, middle-aged man with low confidence in his low tea, stopping by my daily High Tea for a spot of wisdom about fashion sense, those are way up.

It's usually like this. "Hey, uh... I really like your kilt, Man." God, seriously. They're always so embarrassed. Like wrapping an ass jacket and showing a little leg is gonna turn them LesboGayQuadStile just by thinking about it.



Still--superior to a Clayton presidency.

Going to read all this after I finish making voodoo doll representing Laser aka Metron that evil pedophile,
and will stick pins in him to make him fucking collapse on the stairs and brake his fucking pedo neck.
 

[TEXAS DADDY]

Yappstar
Interesting that I prefer reading your long posts on the saved background instead in the original post.
The saved background has softer color than the white in the original post.

....anyhow, back to reading

[Jackstar]

Yappstar
Interesting that I prefer reading your long posts on the saved background instead in the original post.
The saved background has softer color than the white in the original post.

....anyhow, back to reading

I was just thinking the same. Wanna smoke a bowl?

[Laser]

Going to read all this after I finish making voodoo doll representing Laser aka Metron that evil pedophile,
and will stick pins in him to make him fucking collapse on the stairs and brake his fucking pedo neck.

Frell yourself from San Diego.

[TEXAS DADDY]

Firstly, I already knew that each of them had a backburner plan to take over the place in case I mysteriously disappeared. Mostly because, I wanted to finish moving, tidy up some, and then go on a road trip, and absolutely because, IT TOOK SIX YEARS TO MOVE OUT AFTER MY MOTHER DIED. To the actual date.

Are you serious?
That's quite the coincidence.

Perhaps your Mom is "helping" you.

[Jackstar]

Are you serious?
That's quite the coincidence.

Perhaps your Mom is "helping" you.

I just comm’d with her today! She's doing great. Guild law doesn't let me translate exactly what she's saying so I'm not going to bother but she's fine, she says hi to everybody (she says I have no idea how many people that is) I think everybody she knows is dead. she's not sure if she laughs.



Love is good.

[Jackstar]

He did in fact (blank) her because he never for a minute had a second idea of making her into a producer of any kind, he only did that because I told him that she had to know how to do it if I were going to do it, and well of course he never intended to make me anything but dead man, he did in fact mislead her to believing that she was going to have a chance of doing things with him in a romantic sense, and she OPENLY ALLEGED BEFORE LEAVING never had any intention of doing that at all with either him or me because she's a real stone cold b****, but when he discovered that she was lying to both of us, that is (PROT) and Jackstar, he tells me he decided to take matters into his own hands. Or something, I don't even remember, the guy told the story like 12 times over 10 hours, and I of course didn't listen.

She knew that (PROT) had drugs, and I didn't have drugs, and she likes drugs a lot more than I thought she did, certainly more than me, because I'm not the f****** junkie around here. Guaranteed. And she didn't want to give me free drugs, why would she want to do that? She didn't even like me that much unless she were on drugs and I wasn't, and if she was going to give out free drugs she would give them to somebody with more money, like (PROT).

She literally spent 4 hours on the phone with me over two nights explain to me how she just had to go to (PROT) and I couldn't go with her and I didn't want to anyway but I wasn't invited and that was kind of lame and I didn't understand why she was going and she said she was going to get training and I was like b******* you're in a hurry to fly off all alone why doesn't he come here for training what training?

I can tell already that she didn't know that the only reason why she was getting trained at all is because I told him to do it with her, mostly because I found her to be tedious and annoying when trying to learn things that she thought she didn't need to know, and I wanted to see what it would be like if he taught her things. Well he did it pretty well didn't they? I didn't really anticipate that she would run away with him in an hour.


What I didn't really anticipate is that she would call the police on me after lying to them and telling them that I did things that I didn't do. I've been hearing jokes on the internet back channels for months about Christmas time and Jackstar, well wow what a great idea, do something nobody's ever thought of before, and gosh didn't it work out great for everybody? Oh the whole town is buzzing on how awesome I am—a few haters but prison is out of the question. I'm amazing. I'm running around town with a pregnant heroin addict and she's got all the drugs and I barely getting any and I'm totally happy being designated driver. It's like Jesus, if Jesus had a girlfriend who got swindled by a wop.

I don't know if he actually did things that are technically (PROT) in Texas or if he meant to do it for an accident or if you just regrowth or anything I don't f****** know cuz neither of those two talk to me anymore because they know damn well if they both f***** up and they know that I'm irritated about it and they know that I hold them both personal responsible so they don't want to tell me things they just want to make it all go away and forget, will that be great if she would get the f*** out of my house first and if he would stop being such a douchebag on whatever the f*** it is he's doing. I don't know when I'm going to court to get out of this emergency no contact order but believe me it's not easy to do because that's an interesting house, and the cops are very interested now because.. well, because I interested them.

/flex

I don't really know where this is going, but at least I know where it started, and you know you really could have been a lot more helpful, lady. Children and grandmothers are crying as a result of your lackadaisical explanations of puzzled and befuddled men such as myself.

Thanks for writing; you're a real good counselor. I am going to go back to burning it all down now.

Also I know for a stone cold fact that (PROT) and (PROT) are talking to each other again, so whatever kind of hold he has on her it's quite firm and I don't give a s*** if you (PROT) her or not I don't deal well with people who leave me for assholes with money and drugs and then come back unhappy and complaining and then end up going back to them because I guess I don't have enough money in drugs or whatever the f*** is going on.


I don't know and I don't care. It's their problem, not mine, and the line counting bitching w**** was on (PROT) from day one without telling me the whole f****** time anyway. Not that I hold that against her but it's amazing how quickly she lost interest in me when she was no longer able to see me once a week while taking MDMA-Female ahead of driving to me a hundred miles, wow, no wonder she doesn't give a s*** about me you're thinking anything legitimate about our relationship, to her it doesn't mean anything at all; cuz it didn't. (What does she even remember?)

On the brightside: great, I've lost nothing. On the other hand, great for children might wonder what happened to their mom when they discover that she no longer has any will to live because she pissed away everything already MONTHS ago and I could give less of a s*** than you can possibly imagine. Oh, now you want to talk? Go talk to her—and good luck finding her through a f****** interdimensional portal, you Muggle-headed fuck-0. You think you're so smart? Yeah go find her & give her a message for me, tell her I named my truck David, I'm going to suck David off on OnlyFans, and I don't really give a s*** about anything she does ever again because I learned my lesson well.

She doesn't even know what happened or what is to come and she just tried to send me to custody: TWICE. I suppose that would be a slam dunk, except, I'm not actually doing anything wrong, unless you count setting up a parasol and a deck chair with a cooler to hold my beer in front of the intake to the psych ward where they're sure to be rolling her in soon, because there's literally no one else for her and nowhere else for her to go without me. Even her children don't hardly love her anymore, and hope I come back and fix everything like I did the first time.



Yeah sure. Replace me. No doubt one of your little friends knows the rest of the story and can handle it, right?

GOODBYE



THIS STORY WAS ALWAYS BORING AND THE ONLY REASON I PAID ANY ATTENTION TO IS BECAUSE I THOUGHT IT WOULD HELP HER. I NEVER GAVE A SHIT ABOUT DOING A PODCAST, SHE SAID HER SON WANTED TO BE A PODCASTER SO I SAID TO MYSELF THAT I'D FIGURE OUT HOW A KID COULD DO IT WELL IT'S NOT THAT F****** HARD.

SHE KNEW RUBINI BEFORE I EVER SPOKE TO HIM. RUBINI KNEW OF ME FOR YEARS BEFORE I TALKED TO HIM. THEY BOTH TOLD ME A WHOLE S*** LOAD OF LIES AS SOON AS THEY MET ME.


THEY'RE STILL WORKING TOGETHER. HE CALLED HER IPHONE AND SHE BLAMED ME FOR GIVING HIM THE NUMBER, AND THEN SHE KEPT THE SAME F****** IPHONE THIS WAS MONTHS AGO. FOR SEXUAL PROFESSIONAL ORDER IS B******* I NEVER SAW MORE THAN FOUR PAGES OF POLICE REPORT I NEVER READ A F****** SENDS OUT OF ANY OF IT THAT MADE ANY SENSE. SHE DIDN'T SEND ME ANYTHING THAT WAS ANYTHING REAL.

IT WAS WINDOW DRESSING TO DO IT AGAINST ME THIS YEAR AND IT'S ALREADY STARTED BY CALLING THE POLICE AND CLAIMING THAT I'M A HITTER AND A THROAT CHOKER AND A POTENTIAL MURDERER. IT'S COMPLETE B*******. I WALKED IN THE DOOR, SHE STARTED SCREAMING SHE THREW THE CONTENTS OF THE REFRIGERATOR ON THE FLOOR AND THEN CAME OUT WITH YOU A KNIFE. I DISARMED HER. IT'S SELF-DEFENSE.

She's allowed to talk to me and claims that she can't. Are you getting the picture (PROT)? I don't give a f***. I love her but after the first time running back into the fires and something that I can spend a whole lot of time on and she never loved me in the first place anyway and I really need more than some drugged out junkie on (PROT) to f****** in order to feel real love.

Surprise surprise. The first b**** on Bellgab that doxxed me was one who was pissed that I wouldn't do things with her that she thought I was doing that I wasn't, and the second one, (PROT), is doing shitloads right now. That's why I'm not allowed to go there. That's why it's so important that I don't see what's going on. She's over there with whoever the f*** she wants doing where the f*** she wants and I don't really give a f*** about that, and I don't even mind not being invited because I don't f****** like this person anyway--she never liked me at all. (One did. One does.)

When she found out that I was intelligent that is. When she thought I was stupid that was pretty cool. Then her father found out that I was smart, I was going to figure out what's going on, and that's it I had to go.

I figured out a lot more was going on too but I'm not actually a shitbag punk rat so I'll just not mention that part. Hope you had a nice time pretending you were superior, this could have been a lot better for everybody, and I think you know the reasons why it hasn't been, and now, never will be.


I have better things to do and I need  to find a friend who I can deprogram ahead of time so that I won't waste my time later discovering that she was an artificial lie from the first place. Think back. (PROT) never said anything nice about Jackstar ever, she just flirted with other men and pretended that I was cool and that she thought so.

I just want to clean my garage. I want to get the Christmas presents that I hid out of there before they start to turn moldy. I want to get back to my life. I don't really give a s*** about seeing a w****. I can bring bear spray. There won't be a problem.

I honestly don't give a s*** if he hires or eats her. She's a grown ass woman, she's THIS stupid, SURE MAKE FALSE ALLEGATION AND THROW MAN IN JAIL, why does that sound familiar, hey guess what what kind of investigation was there for me? That's right, none. I don't even know why I'm bothering telling you, except maybe to remind you that at one point I did care and I did ask for help and I was ignored by everyone.

Even her children. Well, hopefully someone will tell them that I disarmed their mother and kept her from hurting yourself and then she called the police and then... I don't know and I don't care, ample time is passed to be impressive and nothing has happened besides stonewall.

Except, not really nothing, because you're actually all in on it and are looking forward to seeing it explode. (PROT) always was steadfastly opposed to me talking to anybody on the internet, especially after she turned tail and ran, and I guess she thought that just hiding her head in the sand was going to work forever.


I don't care what happens to any of you, because I don't care what happens to her. Something hilarious, I'm sure, because while I'm unable to go to my house I'm taking all the spare petty cash money that I was going to spend on her and her children and I'm literally throwing it out the f****** window on nothing. And of course, it goes to say, I'm not publishing any creative work.  Cheers.

Don't bother coming back to any more conversations with me. You're done. KEROSENE.

There is some lack in the subtext.

[TEXAS DADDY]

There is some lack in the subtext.

...in process of reading that,
interesting tidbits so far.

I have no idea what you saw in her physically,
that flat ass is a such a turn off,
anyhow....

SHE LOST ALL HER CREDENTIALS
with almost everybody (except with the so gullible Azz)
when she sent out this picture of her ugly ass
and then claimed that she went to have serious business meeting.

WHAT A TRASHY MANIPULATIVE LYING BITCH.

[Jackstar]

WHAT A TRASHY MANIPULATIVE LYING BITCH.

Fortunately I can deal with this matter without having to worry about being accused of extortion, considering all I really like is my house and my quasi-wife and my girlfriend and my other girlfriend back, that is if she is still even alive or remembers who she is or isn't a drugged out f****** psycho. These details kind of matter.

Oh yeah: I'm going to need a secretary.

[Jackstar]

I have no idea what you saw in her physically,
that flat ass is a such a turn off,
anyhow....

I mean I love her either way, but if she's still a drugged out psycho, I'm probably not going to tell her who I'm sleeping with, and actually I might not tell her that at all depending on her attitude about such things, which will probably undoubtedly change as soon as I tell her a few key pieces of info that I have held back until this moment in time to reveal.

SHE LOST ALL HER CREDENTIALS

I'm on it. *click*

[Master Trollda]

I mean I love her either way, but if she's still a drugged out psycho, I'm probably not going to tell her who I'm sleeping with, and actually I might not tell her that at all depending on her attitude about such things, which will probably undoubtedly change as soon as I tell her a few key pieces of info that I have held back until this moment in time to reveal.

I'm on it. *click*

Hi, Master Trollda here, network executive in charge of forum programming. I’m sorry but this dramady is being cancelled due to a severe lack of interest. Thanks for all your hard work on it though. Feel free to help yourself to the craft services table if you want on your way out, even though it’s mostly just stale bread and the salads that no one else wanted to eat at this point.