This doxxing was full blown and took about 2 minutes just to scroll through.
Of course, as soon as it was discovered on AzzGab, he pulled everything down like a SCHOOLBOY.
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Is little Davey the baby in his family? The spoiled youngest child always begging for attention and demanding praise from everyone? We see you Davey.
You get that this right here is, like...
prima facie evidence of felony wire-stalking/harassment, right? I'd be fascinated if I hadn't seen these events unfolding in this identical way repeatedly for what is actually -years- now.
I am delighted to be, once again,
totesuninvited. Whew. It is my sincere hope that at least some of you will now throughly understand my persnickety attitude over this whole fiasco--"No, I didn't say
that, I said this, and here's
why, okay, go back to your gaslight script,
Maggot"--because while I do not know how much insulation still exists to cover my bare, exposed, extruded-candy-cane-frosting interior neurological wiring scheme is left--a fancier way of saying "my nerves are frayed" I likely couldn't come up with at this moment without resorting to the relentless, dreary tedium of interpretive dance--I do know that I don't really care one way or another whether either of you go to court or settle or make an auto-erotic-asphyxiation suicide pact, I mean, like,
whatever--just leave me out of it.
You don't bother me--your circumstance, in collective, depresses me. What an absurd waste of time and money for everyone, except for me! Everyone in Europe hates you except for me! Now, listen: this song, is the best song ever written.
How can I say that? Rhetorically, which I consider to be a tool of the literary weak, but this one time, I will allow it without feeling down on myself.
Okay? Great. Now, spread the word that I am not interested in participating in a scavenger hunt for fake, bullshit evidence, and you all got played, punked, and phuckin'
stung. Please think of alerting me when you re-schedule your upcoming sham wedding, as I would be more than happy to bake you a wedding cake with a nail file embedded in it. Two! Two files! Ha! Ha! Ha!
Remember to take a picture and then instantly claim it was a non-event so as to ensure that A Certain Someone gets instantly thrown under a bus... at first. By the way, that other guy, yeah, I took care of him too. You're welcome. Now, I really do think that is everything I have got that can be made available... for now.
I am prepared to be mistaken. Similarly, I am prepared to believe that I am somehow going to have to pay the power bill, but as I have done due diligence on that issue ("Hey, dude, the lights in your house are blazing? Whose idea was that?") and gotten zero signal back, I can pretty easily piece together a coherent picture.
Even without the smell of desperation in the air. It is the condition of the soul without faith. And it is readily detectable in the atmosphere here, for while my nose isn't perfect yet, there really is no more desperate notion than a gang of thieves slinking away from a perfectly good house in the dead of night without saying a word--except for one.
"
Nevermore Emergency."
ALL TOGETHER NOW
"WHO'S EMERGENCY WAS IT?"
Now,
that's gifting. And every day after--for me--has been yet another, and then some. Every day is goddam Christmas. AND IT'S SPRING.
Hey, anybody wanna go house shopping? Oh, wait, I can't ask here. That wouldn't be secure. There's obviously demons. Are you recording this? Are you sure? Let me get on Zoooooooooooooom.
he pulled everything down like a SCHOOLBOY.
If someone would like to find out who was involved in having one of my YouTube content dumps knocked offline with a no-warning instaban... on Christmas, while I was in custody, that would be great, because I would love to know who thought that my content was any threat to anyone, as well as, how they managed to get such an instantly timely response on that.
Obvious incriminating flattery is obvious, so, I am pretty sure I am clear what went on there. It's amazing what can happen when someone really puts their mind to making a positive result.
And, I did. Seriously, there is basically one thing I want out of that house, and it's not like I haven't wanted it for a long, long time. Sure, five more weeks, then trials, then the house stays empty and abandoned and off-limits the whole time... sure! Why not? It means nothing to me. And if she found anything that meant anything to me and didn't burn it or stab it with a knife, I'll be stunned. I am expecting nothing more than what I arrived at: a smoking ruin worth half a million bucks. It was -never- my house.
It was for them, for my benefit. Don't we all feel benefited now? I know I do. Really bored. You know, they say, there are no boring people, only people who have nothing else to do and are prevented from doing it by racist bullies. No, that's not it. How does that go again? I forget, but it ends with "and your mother is a whore."
I'm glad you both got to keep access to the other four properties that I totes knew nothing about. Yawn. I'll say this about wasting my life on my stupid little podcast and my meaningless walls of babble text that no one but worthless Bellgab trolls read... at least it makes doing my taxes a breeze.
