Had I have known that the Narcissist was doing drugs,
And yet, all it takes is someone to make the merest mention of my name--either of them, including the two or more that you outright stole from my lineage--and then you're suddenly capable of pinpointing with laser-like precision as to knowing whether or not I (or her, remember, I could be the impostor, because I'm an opportunist, and I want to take everything you ever had or are ever gonna go and get, and then give it to your daughter) am "doing drugs," not sure if that's doggie-missionary style or missionary-doggie style, and, yes, yes it's true:
I'm deep throating David's man-meat long before I put up with Heather's shit-splattered proto-beard for even one minute more. I've made my assessment. I simply don't care for what alcohol does to people, least of all me--but I have never seen alcohol grant anyone a style bonus.
Final disrespect tabulation complete. Drinking alcohol leads to a person being charged with a DUI. Amphetamines are given to FIGHTER JET PILOTS. I could really not give any more shits about what any of you have experienced in your lives.
It's legal for me to behave responsibility. It's -not legal- for you moron bigotmongers to traipse around using *worse* compounds--and at that, irresponsibly--and simultaneously trumpeting your Paradigm of Hate alongside each daily list of "Bust 'Em!!!" quotas... I'm really just sick to fucking death of your relentless hypocrisy and narrowly striated value judgements about what other people do... especially when every moan, every whining bleat, and every miserable epithet hurled at the children, playing on the lawn, who may or may not have had an extra Adderall that mornings, or you know what? Sure, maybe they're slamming the shooter dope. What the fuck do any of you care?
Only insofar as you get to feel good for "saving" someone from the consequences of the actions they chose, and, of course: the loathsome and vile machine of black budgetary finance that you are all, each of you, a slave to.
I've been studying this matter for a long while. Of course you think I'm making this asseesment of the global logistic situation one the basis of "he just wants to get high!" No, you overpriveleged pork brat: you just want to get high, and get a paycheck for pushing people around too. It's like two jobs for the price of four paychecks! AND you get to rape and pillage the vilagers! AND YOU HAVE PROTECTIONS AGAINST LOSING YOUR JOBS, FOR ANY REASON!
You can fucking kill a guy--"whoops, he didn't see that my safety was off because he was too black, bummer, take his weed"--and it's 100%, circle the wagons, no questions asked, oh, hey buddy/comrade, you accidentally killed your wife's sister while "cleaning" your "gun," huh? Well if she'd been sucking on your weapon, that would not have happened.
Girl you know it's true. You're all useless bloody lunatics. While I certainly won't need to be demonstration competence in my handling of my shit, you can just assume that I'll be high AF as much as I fucking feel like, as I choose, responsibly, as is to be expected for a Sourceror of my rank, dignity, stature, and lengthy list of authentic commitments--like, seriously, duh. It's fucking magick, duh.
Properly arranged, it can be used literally forever in a thaumaturgical cycle. This is how a One can travel through The Eye of Infinity (pretend it's like a line dance, except I'll be alone and appearing a little less whorish than Friday night at Good Ol' Boy's Meat Market down by the river, and I'll be, allegedly, committing some kind of felony blah-blah yadda-yadda) and not have to break concentration to do certain things like, poop, or sit down, or spend nine months nattering around on the floor tidying up after a loathsome ungrateful parasite with no more interest in the needs and concerns of an adult than they have as to where that message noise is coming from---
Because it's like I'm dead and someone left their phone here and I can't answer it. It just keeps ringing on, looking for someone who is not available. I'm not sure who that is, because the people who would have to help by volunteering access to their private domain in order to search, just to make sure a woman wasn't being hidden behind the spare sofa cushions behind the legionnaire's drapes, like seriously, that's why they make them that way, Wye. (She's fine. Dome's remember a thing she says. I'm sure she doesn't. Remembers me too.
Although it is apparently a matter of some great concern that I'm reluctant to respond to interrogatives over the phones and thus compromise national sercurity. Again, that's okay for me to do, right? Since everyone just KNOWS that I am guily of something, because you all FREAK OUT whenever you have to pretend to believe it's all auto-bad, when you goddam know well it isn't, and then claim that anyone who isn't paying a 9,000% mark up is a corporate thief, it is obvious to me that we are at that fabled point of no return:
Sleeves and Jolly Rogers go up; points and cocks and lip junk goes down. I'm not kidding now, and I wasn't kidding before, a year ago, when I said, "Time for a drug binge!" I haven't even gotten started.
And that's all 100% lawful. I even get to fly the flag of piracy--and internationally recognized covenant that extends it's area of concern from Geneva to goddam Camelot... it's my responsibility. It's an unjust law. I'm gonna do as I think best. I'm gonna continue to not provide access to dangerous chemical compounds that may or may not be used as spell components, unless I feel like making money off of them through exploitation and I'm gonna start hauling coke. I should be able to make shitloads of money, as I literally have nothing better to do than to haul freight all night and listen to George Norry croak out his patter of tedious tedium.
Speaking of tedium, someone is making my computer make a shitload of noise, as if millions of Telegram users were industriously and dutifully sending texts with little hearts and clouds drawn on them to Obi-wan all at once to let him know that Princess Leia is going trans by slicing only one of the buns off her head. "Left or right? ooh, let's Instagram about it." It's learned helplessness in action.
Your rag-tag gang of old school OG Rebel Turks have turned me into a person who, quite frankly, doesn't really care if all these message beeps were each a beauty twat to can carry one conversation, and also, I don't really care that I will never find out. I know enough.
It's messages sent by the psyop team to each other, and while not everyone know what MV would take down, certainlny he wasoul living in eiither Korea and if one isn't living there, one, truly, one has not truly lived.
p.s.: The truck was a gift of bait, as I always said, and it looks like: the package has been secured. Enjoy relaxing times and the thought of them... drink Santori Times.
p.p.s.: Don't worry about it. They'll go insane first. And his dick will fall off within two earth days. Earth-1 or -2, fucki I forget, anyway just go with the penis the standard pastry ingredient for now.
p.p.p.s.: DEADEYEJEDI:
One hundred percent legal. Don't discriminate against my religious beliefs--totes--and just dump the food down my food hole, don't bother dredging up five pickle chips and charge me $14.95 for them, I just don't know what to do other than mildly hitch up my suspenders and think about harmless, innocuous legal methods of selling coke to all the Sherriff's daughters. (Becuase all that coke goes somewhere, and let me assure you: I donl't go to those kinds of gatherings at all.) Think I'm kidding? It's BUSINESES. I can even give CPR without having to go mouth-to-mouth, not even to prime the pump, and a lot of men, well, they wouldn't mostly be able to help themselves. They'd find themselves taking liberties a misplaced thumb here, an oldly rotated collarbone there, oops, I just railed us up and we've been boinking coitus for 7 hours straight, whoops, I better drink some water, right? because it's so easy to forget something that isn't, strictly speaking, 100% necessary.
Oh, but wait, I forgot, you all know everything to know when Jackstar knows nothing. Right. Hang on.
https://vocaroo.com/1j6vXPbmondx
Pulitzer. I may as well just clock out now and never look back--this apex won't be ever topped again. (Note that as I am unable to assist in the creation of any work product or proprietary publishing release, because it would make it hard to intimdate an employee while I was anywhere close by to laugh at such antics, I'm simply not welcome around these parts. In other words, in a nutshell, I'll never work in this town, point blank period, and if I ever do, people simply won't believe that I never knew where she was and that she had no interest in talking to me, because obviously, and as above: they could never be winning that Pulitzer if I had been involved in anyway at all, because of my traditional, laid-back views. (I'm stodgy. Moo.)
Sounds boring. I do whatever I choose, and I do it within the boundaries of Law, and it is not that hard to follow the Law.
I don't care to restrict myself from certain types of experiences just because Nixon signed some horseshit back in the 70s.
Sorry if I'm tone deaf and I'm responding too harsh--I got arrested on Christmas Eve by someone who had been manipulated by thuggy bullying brutes who thought that would be funny, and I guess it was.
I haven't seen her in 13 months, last I heard she was abducted from police custody and ended up enslaved as a prostitute in the Middle East. Probably dead by now as I found an Ai representing her consciousness on some YouTube server.
https://twitter.com/_n_Jack/status/1624179837530419201?s=20&t=JF1gJ8Q3niMAEYrhjVIjXQIn case you were wondering if you were ever going to forget, I have taken steps to ensure otherwise, Bumper Carz'n'Romper Room For Thugs Who Don't Romp Around So Good When They've All Been Stung, biggest sting in goddam history I'll say... if there's a single whiny little bitch still carrying a badge and a dry eye in the whole of the continental U.S., Punchy Brewski-Stir isn't thuggin' hard enough.
Get out there and fucking earn, Sista. What do you think your job is around here? Oh, right, you don't think you even need a job.
When I saw you eating her alive in the months after she returned from Dallas, I knew I would never see her again, that she was never going to recover, and you dipshit twerps here and there were just going to blame me for everything, "Oh Jack, you asshole, if only you had a job so we could explain the BILLIONS OF DOLLARS OF MONEY WE ARE LAUNDERING THROUGH YOUR NAME, but you're "just lazy" so we can't, damn you to hell, we shall now undertake a decades-campaign of targeted cyberharrassment against you and destroy your entire life with the specific goal in mind of denying any happiness pleasure to you, because, we think we can get away with it and we think you are worthless, inhuman scum.
I almost, but not really, wish there were anything left for me to do, so I could assure you that feeling creeping up on you isn't any threat of mine, but you're not feeling that, and if there's any love in God for this world left, you're all beginning to feel shame, or, you should be.
Everything has already been done. The future has been set--y'all done made the only future possible to make from this point forward.
Because I'm not going to call a lawyer and ask for representation. I'm going to call one and figure out a way to say "nigger cunt" as many times as possible without him becoming deliberately offended. (Unless he actually is upset about something to do with me, in which case, out comes the "ABBOCUNT.") I don't think you people here understand how completely fucked this all is.
Believe it, you did it to yourselves. Beyond totesrape lies your fate....
THUNDERFUCKED.