RubiniGab ... Now defunct

[Laser]

The rare case when the lack of an invitation is as acceptable as it is lawfully mandated. Speaking of which, I have angered the Gods of Earth Law, and as they are firmly convinced that I am excited to have anything useful to my life happen on any day that I am allowed audience to a judge, but especially a ladyjudge... they laughed at me and mocked me and pretended I didn't know exactly what they were going to do no matter what I said, since I had decided the day before to not hire any representation at all, at this time, and just ride along with the X-military badass that they forced on me in the first place, made a nice impression and I asked him how I could just pay him, then I never saw him again until days later after I found out how to game the system, so I gamed it, which in this case meant not having any money, requesting a lawyer, then getting a bunch of money deposited, then spending crap tons of it, then getting my next appointment delayed, then spending large sums of money on my (blank), then getting another appointment delayed, then spending everything down so far that I actually get overdrawn (sometimes network servers take a day off, you know?), and then finally discovering that after being bounced around, I'm back with the guy that I liked in the first place, who seems slightly non-plussed, and the reason why is, I accidentally sent one of my signature bomb emails to... uh, the guy above him, because the page is formatted such that JGoodman appeared closest to the name of the gentleman. So I giggled explosively, of course, and sent my life story so far to... uh, the totally wrong lawyer, in charge of a different area of law entirely, which I do not realize until many days later. When I recognize that this has happened quite inadvertently and innocently, I am relieved, because I would imagine that Civil Tort Law has something to do with actual 2-4 unnamed yet fiercely clever full doubloon shitheads trying to steal my goddam house... AGAIN. And I'm reasonably confident that if I were really were pulling all these shenanigans while merely pretending to be innocent, well, it's amazing how people will line up to get a chance at part-time pallbearing rally patrol. Those fuckers who hide money while claiming, "I need a free lawyer! Do this now! I am being oppressed!" Oh, God... I hate that, and I'm not even a lawyer, I just like to have lots of alcohol available.

See, when I write it all down like that, it seems completely insane, right? Nevertheless: every word is fundamentally true, and honestly, have you ever tried to email a lawyer from jail? Believe me, they want you to give up even thinking of doing it, which is a very compelling notion even if only ever done once. However, I haven't given up thinking of linking every single goddam *gab in my email .sig. I mean, all I got is time now, so I might as well spend it... studying thoughts.

Now, while this may seem a lengthy amount of intel for a terminally concluded thread such as this... I can't go home, Rubini can't go to his forum, but I could send The Dragonlord... because even though I instructed The Trustee to evict him, #1) That guy is busy and is quite chagrined that he didn't take my emails fully seriously any sooner; #2) He did live there and his stuff is still there in a trailer in the driveway, so even if there is an eviction notice (I wouldn't know), he can just blow past it, knock on the door if he feels like it (oh he had a key, I don't think I confiscated it because this bear can shit open locks while whittling keys from tree bark; and I don't give a single solitary shit how many times 911 numbers are programmed into the speed dial, if that were the scenario, jawbones would be broken. Call it a hunch. I was always referring to the magickal item fetish known as such--if you weren't so square, you never would have thought I meant punching someone myself, obviously I would never date a female pacifist--but at this time, if I actually summoned him and actually needed help, oh yeah, he'd be on it. He wouldn't care. He already ransacked the first house, let me haul it all down while casing the joint ahead of me, that would be the second house, and if I called and he picked up, it wouldn't be long before he'd be all making jokes about the motel I'm at, because of course after 7 weeks, he's probably a bit miffed I haven't already called him up and invited him to make himself at home. I mean, it's a motel room, of course there are two beds.

I haven't contacted him because I am honestly scared of what that would do to the situation. Already today I've experienced a disturbing amount of instant feedback, simply by casually sending a simple message to spark a conversation that finds me suddenly sharing fine, intricate details of the ongoing Narrative that I suddenly realize... "Wow, I wish someone would have asked me that before, but maybe I wouldn't have had the same context."

For example, when I mention that my last appearance in court mostly consisted of them telling me that they had decided to make me wait another two weeks, I mentioned, "Oh, well, my opinion is you ought to just get rid of the whole thing!!" they of course laughed and mocked and informed me that, oh no, no sir, you will continue to stay alone in that motel and NO CONTACT hopefully anyone until we tell you what is going to happen! Leave the courtroom!"

The judge was selling it. I am pretty sure when I decided out loud that I wasn't going to spend $9,000 on a lawyer that would certainly end up needing to go to trial--and those costs can add up for a variety of reasons an innocent man would likely not know anything about--I am pretty sure that I was not misinterpreted. I think I said something like, "I would rather find 3 homeless men and enhance their penes in exchange for their promise that if it ever became possible to do a four-way with a Court Clerk half an hour before her shift starts, it would be more worth it to me than to just pay one dick who's just going to stand there and flirt with her while my garage slowly rusts. Fuck these people. This is all a slow, tedious, relentless drain on the dough I was going to buy her lingerie with right after she started answering some straight questions for the first goddam time in about a year and a half."

I am not kidding. The money this panic attack + epic timing shitshow has burned through more cash than I had been planning to drop on a goddam hottub outdoors. Couldn't just tell me what the fuck was going on and patiently work together, oh no, I wasn't there when I was expected to be--yeah, I know what that's like--and as I recall, when I got a text asking me where I was, I responded with "call & ask", to which I got, "fuck you."

As it would appear to me now that one person was meant to be whisked away to the windowless dressing room adjacent to the Hall of Justice with a rear entrance to the speedboat dock--seriously, the law administration building? Right on the river. It's that kind of town, I fucking love it--and then another person was meant to be left alone, at "home," Christmas Eve, cleaning up a Garfield nightmare that must have taken someone else easily an entire day... and probably be in the midst of when all of a sudden, surprise!

"Oh hi, are you alone in the home? Hey, is that your furnace grate? Oh, it's The Trusts grate, haha, yeah, well, hey, look at this *click* okay how do you explain this bag with your fingerprints that we have photographic evidence of you demonstrating control over? No, that's not the same picture with an edited timestamp, see, the alligator on the shirt is a different color. *sniff* what's that smell? Are you high, boy? Why else would you be cleaning all day? Okay, fuck this, I'm shutting this down, you're going to the hole."

I am reasonably confident that was considered to be the optimum gameplan for the day, seven weeks ago, when instead of doing the expected, the mundane, the usual when I am not around--what even happens there? I AM NEVER INFORMED OF ANYTHING--I was brought to an awareness of a man who has had enough of pretending a knife-wielding cheerleader with the bends is an actual threat to be dignified with any amount of fear... because it's hard to pretend. Because it's amazing how reflexes work sometimes. So previously, I would just express calm surprise while constantly having a plan ready to halt any inadvertent damage to shoes, pillows, palms of the hands, you know, one time I dropped a knife, and it was a serious blade, and it was more like thrown, and I legit almost drove the blade right into Jewel's belly. It stuck in the mattress about an inch away. She gave zero shits. She knew knives, and she knew they worked mostly on legs. She just thought I was showing off, if she realized I almost accidentally killed her because I am a dumbass, well, fair warning.

Yeah, so, anyway, I didn't do anything unacceptable, I thought, other than, you know, not be a complete idiot like some people have been, but mysteriously, being anointed gives a little bit of an edge when it comes to seeing the danger coming. So I left like I thought I should, I went where I thought I should, because I agreed to, and then I took the long way home, and then I took a nap in front of my old house, and then I couldn't charge my phones they were all dead and I was ready for a nap and a happy talk and then IMMEDIATELY

Still not sure why. Getting a few glimmers. I'm guessing that someone found out something somehow through casual conversation that they weren't too impressed by, because I sure did, but I wasn't ready to fly the Jolly Roger to slit throats just yet, you dig? But someone sure was ready to ruin naptime with a full plane load of shattered glass and ricotta cheese.

And then, I buried the hatchet... after taking it, and that has made all the difference. Jesus! I hope I get to see the crime scene photos soon. It was INSANE. Like, she called the police, then barricaded the door right after making three utterly false statements in rapid succession--as if rehearsed--and then she goes to the other front door, that's marked "PLEASE USE OTHER ENTRANCE."

Now, as an aside, one of the mildly positive aspects of not giving a legal team a $9,000 check--paper, because obviously I would want to photocopy that for use a napkin pattern--is that after they tell you not to run your mouth off in public, if you do, they can't just up and quit on you without a refund. Because that's in the rules. Client too annoying? Evidence includes 82,317 commanding emails? Fuck that, hard pass. Their time is valuable. Yours is irrelevant--they have the money.

On the other hand, the downside is, they get real annoyed, because they then usually have to do more work, for no additional money. Take it or leave it. A public defender is usually there by obligation, all the lawyers chip in to donate hours of their time, because sometimes, sometimes something really interesting is worth the extra look. Just to learn what kind of crazy shitballs people stuff up themselves, you boof?

And you know what? Sometimes a complicated issue can uncover previously undetected fundages, that can often be deemed surrenderable if it turns out someone was, you know, like, complicit, premeditative, AN ACCOMPLICE BEFORE OR AFTER THE FACT, wait, is one who is automatically complicit, also an accomplice? Every time?

See, this isn't quite my area--so I will perhaps write a concise, terse, densely useful question on various legal definitions of the terms... and then, oh so casually, just drop a link to this post. "Azzgab"? What's that? And there, right there: that's The Hook.

Get a grip, man.

This whole life cycle is absurd, creating as much shit for yourself as you can, then making things worse every step of the way. If you like this kind of slow motion descent into HELL, you are well down the path. But you can still use a good editor.

[Innerreach]

After allowing me to banish the weakest link (for them), I was then banished myself. Now it would seem--confirmation is a challenge--upon realizing that this has perhaps lead to some small, non-trivial amount of security loss--totes--it would appear through the observance of entangled Brownian particles, that the decision has been made to relocate from the place where I was, to a place I know nothing of...*click* Blah Blah Fucking Blah.

I'm Jacko, and I'm gay.🌈🤡

What exactly are you trying to convey here?

Is there an ill-informed concept of who you are amongst us (here) that we need to understand, that we can’t quite pin down?

Everything you talk about seems to be about you, be it directly or indirectly.

You know what they say about the loudest guy in the room, right?

Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt.

The subject matter of your expression is quantifiably so much about you that nobody else could possibly be of importance.

Wait, I take that back. If someone gushes over you enough, you tend to allot them some reciprocation of (Hey, now you have my full attention!) attention.

Also, this is an essential form of my self-expression.🖕Mainly because I don’t give a fuck what you or anyone else thinks about me unless I’m acting like a douche.

Of course, one would only come to realize how intolerable they could be if they themselves had appreciation and interest in other people's insight and opinions.

You couldn't possibly be scanning this text at this point for any other reason than to gauge your next move.

🥱

BTW, I'm not speaking to you. I'm talking about you. 😉

#HappyFuckingDay

[Jackstar]

Get a grip, man.

My hands are totes secure.

This whole life cycle is absurd, creating as much shit for yourself as you can, then making things worse every step of the way.

I had noticed that for myself already quite precisely not too many decades ago. As I saw myself carefully plodding my way forward in life, towards the inevitable moment of inflection in picking up and moving My.Whole.Three.D-Life from it's 4-plus-decade-ensconscement in the side of a gently sloping hill, tucked into the middle of the elbow between uphill and down Hell.

It was and is a goddam castle. If my dad hadn't let the cornerstone damage go after he slammed his vehicles into the back garage wall 3 or four times over the years, or if there hadn't been five or six earthquakes from time to time... I would have never left the place. I could have rented out the place to a rotating caravan wheel of every vagabond square up and down the coast, living in the tree branches that arched over the highway beneath, dangling from a hammock like a badass urban orangutang. That was Dragonlord's plan, and if he hadn't been such a careless, irresponsible, reprobate & gruesome junkie wretch... I might have allowed it. Maybe. COVID-19 was the last straw for sure.

Go fig: like 3 months after I make the final decision to fully abandon The Hood... the whole world shuts down and it was improbably complex to do anything. Tens and tens of weeks, sitting around, thumb twiddling, like, what do? Same thing we do every night, Brain. Head down, shoulders forward, how does one teach an elephant to tap dance?

One toe at a time. So I'm finally done, right? Here I am, new Castle, yeah? WELCOME HOME. *slam*

If you like this kind of slow motion descent into HELL,

Not exceptionally, but from my perspective, it's been a steadily positive, relentlessly upward trend for the last 10 years, non-stop. The various Turn Stiles Of Hell that I blow through with the bow wake of the Shields simply crumble and fall over, around, and are laid waste behind me, yeah, it looks bad from out there, yeah? Heh. Yeah, it's cute these days. SEEN WORSE. SEEN SO WORSE.

WEDNESDAY. What a fucking nightmare. Still, wrong turns inevitably teach right. Now--today--things look great from here! Ever onward--ever upwards.

you are well down the path. But you can still use a good editor.

Once the remaining half-dozen-odd Slanderettes are finished with their clearly necessitated courses of electroconvulsive therapy, everyone is all gonna be right as rain and this is all gonna be the best shaggy-wedding doggy-toast story ever. I'm giddy every goddam morning. I just can't believe it. A trial. AN ACTUAL TRIAL. For... Me.

Just you wait. You'll just see. The real Me... once they get a load, I swear, as G-d as my witness... I'm never gonna get another speeding ticket again.

Last time I got on the 5, I was coming off the on-ramp getting ready to take vanguard point on some rag-tag wolfpack, I'm hitting 90 going past the four or five in front doing about 80, the speed "limit" is 70... which is very reasonable, but I am not a commercial driver.

I cannot be limited. My discipline is self-augmented. Trust Me: I know how to drive. So I'm breaking 88 easy, about to hit the lead... I look to my left and I see as I pass Point Lead, because of early morning sunglare... I do not notice that I'm barrelling past Washington State Patrol, windows down, music BLASTING... just the radio, some decent throwaway tune, and I'll never remember what it was, as soon as I see myself about to accidently brace dominance on a Statie... I of course-respectfully-brake acceleration, so as not too pass. On the right. Did I mention? I come off the on-ramp and hit 88 as I pass the on-line as close as possible, every time... you know, just for fun. 321 GERONIMO! Oh, shit, I guess coming up fast on his starboard blindspot and then suddenly flat stopping right up next to him... I mean, it got his attention.

I imagine my gaping and wide-eyed surprise of expression and mischievous glee was somewhat less heart-stopping for me than was his own. Like, I just realized thinking about this event... I mean, I would never, but if I had wanted to just, you know, take him out on the way by, there was only two windows between us. Any decent sawed-off could have taken him right the fuck OUT, and while murder never does sound fun to me, what young adult has not ever imagined pulling out the finger pistols and silently mouthing, *bang-bang*?

So, I mean, yeah: I'll just start pulling over now. I'm giggling and figuring out how I'm going to correctly apologize without seeming too mirthful about it... I mean, I actually wasn't breaking any laws, but essentially it was my responsibilty not to scare the shit out of the legitimately present Lead Authority, and had I known it was one of them Thuggy Wolfy Piggy Packs... I never would have passed him. I would have been happy to follow along. Caboose is best pole position for my money anyway. The anticipation builds as one gazes ahead, ready for any excuse to floor it and blow past everyone if a tunnel to 111 opens up.

My speedometer goes to 125. I still haven't pegged it--oh, but I wanna, I so wanna. I love my car. I got a beastly black pickup truck--of course--and I thought I was gonna sell-down the Shipstar, but do not tell me that I would not always regret it, V6 with a manual transmission is basically an unbeatable combo when it comes to pure piloting pleasure.

I'll just say this: the car looks like shit. It is not named Christine. The windshield is cracked more than Walt's Aztec, like no shit, the upper right quad is like Charlotte left a Post-It note and the main break is at the bottom center, and just so happens to look exactly like a fork of lightning in reverse, and a new windshield is cheap enough, I can afford it--T--but, no need as yet, as I know the law.

It's legal. I've been driving this thing around ever since (PROT) lied to a Clergical receptionist while riding shotgun one day, we just so happened to be passing under an overpass on another highway, another day months ago, she answers the phone and goes, "Oh, Hi! I remember, I meant to call you back earlier!"

I mean, yeah, I know her pretty well. She is obviously not enthusiastic, and is being largely polite, and as I overhear the response from the caller to her little white fib, I figure it might be a little less little and/or white than an eavesdropper--is it still eavesdropping when I'm driving? Debatable--because right as she moves into the part of the convo that goes, "let me call you later!"

SUDDDEN WHAM CRACK! A rock. Or something. Enough inertia to put a reverse wishbone from left to right, and I know already, the impact point is close enough to the edge that it's not gonna be an easy fix, not a chance: Safelite repair? No, (PROT)fruit fix.

So, long story short, I give the best apology of my life, my last words are, "Thank you officer; I do believe I deserve this ticket! Bye!" He's come up from behind on my right, he's looking at me in through the passenger window rolled down, I'm all about the eye-contact with cops, lemme tell ya... so he never gets up far enough past the A-pillar that my busted ass Kirilian-cracked windshield even comes up in the conversation. The Staties waves me good-bye and I'm back up to 88 and seeing him trudge back to his PAT-ROLL-S.U.V. Land Whale, and his fuckin' door probably weighs more than my whole car, but probably not my dick.

I toss the ticket over on the seat and see at a glance: $137. Jesus, is there anything I am guilty of? Fuck no. Sure, I'll give them extra too, $150? I pretty much flush that every time I crack back a piss. Totally worth it for the rush of wondering if that Trooper is gonna just go back to a sedate 80--yeah, the cop I did -not- speed past to pass was -also- speeding, so FUCK YOU JUDGE, I legit will say that if he decides my story isn't good enough; "Here you go, I brought you a hundred and fifty $2 bills, buy yourself a new gavel--*click*"

We can get away with this now. Just throw a wad of bills into the air, hold gaze on the camera for beat as they rain down around my head and shoulders in the background, then just click Leave Zoom. Here you go, Toll-Taker. Do you take Paypal? 'Course yo do, Servant.

I swear to God, if there is a single Judge in any jurisdiction anywhere on the surface of the planet by now that doesn't know me by sight as well as--aboviously--by name, lemme have a blind date with any one of his daughters. His choice. His ruling. He'll remember me the next morning, that's for sure.

An Ajudicator Emertius outranks them all--even off-duty. I even have robes. Like, for real. I am LEGIT. And I am clearly, unfailingly polite. I wouldn't have made it past age 30 if I really were -this big- of an asshole, come on. Don't buy the hype, Kids. Hunter Thompson here, Fred Thompson out there. Both of them got my pants as hand-me-downs-flex.

And I get my mail in Vader from an Angel. My hand to G-d; every word of this story is as true as Life. So anyway, I guess I made R-Level. I'll tell you what, I want a bookcase that slides aside, I want firepoles leading down, I want a waterbed, I want a fireplace, I want a yacht... and I'm gonna burn that fuckin' yacht in that fuckin' fireplace while reading every drop of water in that ocean sea floor bed.


David had nothing to do with Me. Seriously, I literally only just met him on that first phone call. "Hi, uh... who are you? You seem like..." Seriously. I was here the whole time. Just me. .o7. Remember Fourth of July? God, I barely do, but that was one of the best blow-outs of all fuckin' time, and it did take awhile, but I do in fact miss The Pud. (Say "uncle." Say it one goddam time and I give the whole fucking cornucoppia to the A.S.P.C.A. TONIGHT.) I know it seems too fantastic to be at all believed.


Yeah, well--deal with it. That's Art for ya. Now, if you'll excuse me, I won't proof this; I gotta go take a ride with some mail. I don't click "post."

I CLICK SUBMIT--*click*

[Laser]

Rubini is now up from the count, bloodied but unbowed.

[Worthauger]

Rubini is now up from the count, bloodied but unbowed.

He's still BLOCKED. I'm not risking him blowing up my phone while I concentrate my attention on One (1) /\/\s. \/\/ade.

He can apologize any time. We're men. MEN. I'm not gonna lie: some of you out there may not even have met a real live one before.

Heather is getting better by the minute. I wish Sourceror powers could make microwave popcorn palatable.

[Bugsby Crackleford]

RubiniGab is now up

[AZZERAE]

An Error Has Occurred!

Sorry Guest, you are banned from using this forum!

FROM THE DESK OF THE COMMANDER
Until you act like a man versus a jelly little boy,
We refuse to grant you further access.
You are not fair, honest, kind or cool.
You're a little bitch.
Someday your 4 ft 10 inch pussyass will
be dismembered by

This ban is not set to expire.

PUSSY IS AS PUSSY DOES.

[Laser]

An Error Has Occurred!

Sorry Guest, you are banned from using this forum!

FROM THE DESK OF THE COMMANDER
Until you act like a man versus a jelly little boy,
We refuse to grant you further access.
You are not fair, honest, kind or cool.
You're a little bitch.
Someday your 4 ft 10 inch pussyass will
be dismembered by

This ban is not set to expire.

So butt hurt after all these years.

take screen shot

[Jackstar]

He's still BLOCKED.

Small Dickstar syndrome. The only thing that must be more of a pain in the ass than circling all these wagons every time Hector has to piss, is, having to watch Hector piss. Nevertheless the job has got to be done; you might not think it likely, but if you take your eye off him for even a split-second, he's going to run right off with it.

I'll have an announcement to make later. I'll do it on my own Network, obviously some tasks are best left to someone who still has a sense of prisoner courtesy, business professionalism, and biowarfare ethics.

He can apologize any time. We're men. MEN. I'm not gonna lie: some of you out there may not even have met a real live [...] H.E.A.T.E.R. B-4

I understand from Elden Evans that the train in Spain falls magically into the plane now that the flux capacitor has been stolen. I mean, installed. Mutilated. Whatever.

Code: [Select]

An Error Has Occurred!

Liches who steal nanotek get sticky crême fraiche.”

Nope, that's not it either. You going to try this one all day bunyip? Look, look, read, read... it is knot my fault—you blew your chance to make the authorization code happen. That's how things like this get started:

BUST A DEAL: FACE THE WHEEL.

[Jackstar]

What exactly are you trying to convey here?

The exact and precise amount of backdoor tantrum & T.N.T. data on yellowfish tuna ARISE, AND BE HEALED spawn migration PATTERN DELTA FOXTROT... kiss my goddam grits HORSE DUMP WHEY.


One_Name commands all attention. Hi, I'm Jackstar. No, that's not me commanding youGR attention, that's me commanding myself to stop commanding my own attention inadequately and then *click*-BUZZ


1) No drone flying from motel.
2) No drone flying from cross-river-flat.
3) No drone--don't know nothing about that.
4) No crave, no rave: NO FOUL. Hey, remember when you were young enough to consider "do I have enough room in the budget" and "is there enough to make it all the way on the allowance?" Seriously, Old Timer: when you read my pearls of life wisdom, when your cognition fully flash melts to a third less high marker... of course it sounds like gibberish and nonsense.

Here, is The Why.
How the letters are bricked up
on the page to be broken up
are exceptionally elementary.


Yes, please clap indeed. I think he's here. Twinkle fingers? Twingling. Srsly, I wouldn't know him wrong from Adam 50-Ly Deep-TAY Beautyrang; and I have to come find, the more silly the little titles get, rhyming lining up and across in Steps Across America's Army EMER: NANOTAKEN.


It does seem pretentious, as is surely a lot more by design




*snip*




Fuck that guy. I mean, yeah, sure, hi, guy, gal, vag, dicks GET OUT. Where you been? Obviously, they flew from the site of you: The Biggest Clitoris In Minnesota. No, that's not your grave, look 'bout 54 downleft. And you know what was funny? Someone says "needles"...

Oh? You died? You think. Oh. Hrrm. Well, here, try this sippy cup, if it keeps slipping through your hands, Baby Doll Angel WTFWYT, wow, really, I didn't know you could die from trying to "smoke math" that way. Oh, you didn't know? Well, that's not too surprising, you basically full-on br0... *wheeze*


Hi hi, I was gonna put a *snip* or something, I'm experimenting.

[...]


Huggles

[Jackstar]

1) No drone flying from motel.
2) No drone flying from cross-river-flat.
3) No drone--don't know nothing about that.
4) No crave, no rave: NO FOUL. Hey, remember when you were young enough to consider "do I have enough room in the budget" and "is there enough to make it all the way on the allowance?" Seriously, Old Timer: when you read my pearls of life wisdom, when your cognition fully flash melts to a third less high marker... of course it sounds like gibberish and nonsense.

Here, is The Why.
How the letters are bricked up
on the page to be broken up
are exceptionally elementary.


Yes, please clap indeed. I think he's here.

Thankfully, this is all going to come out in the wash. I thought it would, ordinarily, be best to let sleeping dogs lie, however, circumstances present themselves, and here- we- go.

Except I don't wanna leave the state, and I don't wanna bounce a comsat, and I don't wanna go to the hole, so.... options, people. Options. I'll be back later.


I'm spent. Some of you know what that means. Others don't even remember how to eat Amber or what she even looked like. Yeesh.

[Innerreach]

.......

[Jackstar]

.......

Let me explain: You're fucked, Cowboy.

[Master Trollda]

Let me explain: You're fucked, Cowboy.

Tomacco!

[Jackstar]

Tomacco!

I can't use your name yet, cuz she hasn't called me, and I don't know why, because she maybe doesn't know it or hasn't heard that I've called about 8 million times or wrote about 10 million emails I guess she hasn't gotten those I wonder if somebody's intercepted them and if they have and I can prove that to court a law I'm not going to do Jack or shit about it because that stuff is personal.


Like someone's vaccine status. Like someone's blood test status. Like someone's fucked off dick status. God, that was annoying. “You forced me to get hard!” “go to the police alone and report things,” "find me an extension cord," "how long will it take you to pack up and leave if we leave now?"


I'm actually still there. You want to know why? She is too. I don't know how long the singular is going to go on, but I've called a bunch of people over and over not at all, I've been calling new ones every day which is a different paradigm, and it's been quite a few days, it's an amazing how many people just can't seem to get my messages!

Does anybody know a good definition of attorney? He's right now I'm thinking about the slanderrtte’s threats and I'm thinking about going solicitor.

“you have to go to therapy alone, they don't take couples” I called Beulah by the way, sounds like a totally different person, and if I could bet so right, how many wrongs can I leverage against your cock?

No, cook. Your cook. Well, nevermind. I'm just triggered, I'm just teasing, that's what happens when I get triggered I just incessantly tease people with terrible jokes that nobody else understands, which is way better than throwing sticks out of her fucking punch him in the goddamn face or perjury oneself, or bringing an unauthorized electronic surveillance device into a Kylie classified military base and not asking command for permission first, oh what kind of things are treason?

Not giving my number out. That's for starters. Because seriously one before the other. Try me. I don't need the parents to be alive, they can die off, she can wait 20-30 years, we could go wrong, I can chop my own dick off, what are you going to do then?


FREEDOM IS NO SMALL THING, EXECUTIVE PRODUCING PRODUCER’S SLAVE


NO, DON'T KEEP MY DRY CLEANING 100, ALTHOUGH I DO THANK YOU FOR ASKING. SHIT WAIT WHO AM I TALKING TO, ABORT ABORT ABORT RETREAT