Must be a pigment
No, it's not like that, it's more like, I know that you're 4-5 people and I don't care to name them all off, explain how I know, nor reveal you to be a
gestalt forum presence, especially when it's done for reasons of personal security, which, in your case, is totes called for.
Frankly it would be simpler if life were more like Animal Farm, but it's not. However, in my experience, anyone who gets their nose out of joint by overuse of the "pig" adjective in this context really needs to lighten the fuck up already, that's for sure--or, alternately, really does not know me well enough to make an assumptions based on such overuse.
Essentially what I'm saying here is that, for whatever reason, I've had to talk to LEOs a lot, and unlike most people who do so, I typically enjoyed the experience, given that I was typically getting blamed for everything at an extremely young age. Honestly I think it was probably something they all got merit badges for... I don't know who knows this, but let's just say: I grew up in the wrong neck of the woods for a chap of my paritcular genome, but my dad didn't know this when he got the deal for the house. He just thought it was fancy so that meant better.
Careful, astute readers of my "work" will recall that my father grew up in a peasant village until the Soviet Red Army came and raped his mother, killed his father, and took him for infantry for three years before he saw my grandmother Mary (or was it Marie? well, whatever, I met her twice and... no, just once. Anyway, I would say Marie but my aunt was named that, and the less positive things I can say about that snooty robber baron the better. Here's something positive, I'm glad she must be dead by now. See? Positive.) again, and so I doubt he was aware that Lake Forest Park is shit city run by shit people who based their principles on shit teachings. There's a D.U.M.B. beneath the mall. My hand to God. How do I know this? I fucking grew up there. I never thought about how it was built funny, the mall that is. Until one day I thought, "Wow, no one would suspect if they had them Nike sites (three of them within 5 miles of my house, former sites, that is) just moved underneath the Ross Dress For Less! I'm gonna go look around." Sure enough, within twenty minutes of wandering around, I realize that there's obviously something important happening with some metal hatch in the back parking lot, because it has it's own little sign, "Please Do Not Park On This Hatch." Uh-huh. So, I stand on it.
Within five minutes, no joke, an officer comes out to talk to me. He doesn't bother to tell me details. He sees me grinning my ass off and knows exactly what happened: I'm a fucking genius and I don't care who knows it. I'm completely prepared to explain my reasoning to him--I don't recognize this guy, but it's not like they hadn't heard of me there--but he's not gonna listen, he' s got one job.... send me along without telling me more than absolutely necessary.
Not many pigs in my old city. That detective who ended up getting my father killed? Total pig. Wow, did he think he was being helpful. What a douche. Anyway, I'm over using the word "pig" because I'm thinking about Jim Henson's unpleasant death a lot, do you mind? Wow, why so sensitive? Good lord. Don't say "pig," don't say "cow," holy fuckin' shit, it's like if I say the wrong word, someone is going to show up with a metal club and wail on me with it.
(Officers do get to do that. It's one of their special privileges. Especially if they think their lives are in danger--whether it really is or not, if they -think- they're in mortal peril, they get to throw lasagne. It's in the rules. If they're in Italy, they also get to throw eggplant.)
So, what am I getting at here? Oh, yeah, no, I'm not being piggy here, nor do I think (or even care) if you're an Enforcer. Like... I'm -totesevolved- beyond that kind of thing now. And besides... I -like- police. It's cute the way they think they know things. Sometimes.
Also, just because you don't like how I'm smart enough to figure things out lickety-split, and you're willing to make vague, ill-formed threats of gloom and doom in order to "encourage" me to change my thinking... haha, well, it's no one's fault that doesn't work that way on me anymore. No more family, nothing to lose... some people, all they know how to do to even get a date is to be all rough and ready and rabble-rabble-rabble.
The notion of just walking up to someone and telling the truth, like: "OMFG YOU SCARE ME I THOUGHT I WAS SUBTLE" is a hard one to bear. Besides, I'm not always so cleverly insightful. Sometimes I'm just lucky.
of your imagination.
The land striker of my imagination is either an orbiting laser cannon or an elephant that tramples the shit out of people who go out of their way to deliberately hurt my feelings. Ho ho ho; joke's on them, going out of ones' way for any reason at all where I am concerned is more attention than I get, on average, on every birthday for my entire life. So the elephant is really the gentlest of all possible re-educative techniques. No, wait, no, sending a baker's dozen of thugs in borrowed Deputy uniforms to surround my house in a brazen show of force on Christmas Eve is really the most gentle. Don't I look re-educated? I know I feel like they've been too. Probably without the ree. (I don't think having
Besides, having seen your ass, I know it's not that big and who else would be so concerned? Oh, Jesus, never mind, if I'm wrong I'm a derpy dope and if I'm right I'm just so rude. No wonder First Contact is taking so goddam long on this serious set of rocks and golden arches. Y'all are basically all lunatics without enough Luna to go around. Basically a reminder to me--you know, the g*y who was sexually harassed and doxxed by some fruit loop dope fiend, I need to be reminded that personal privacy is serious business.
Gosh I don't know how I got the idea that it was totally okay, or that I totally need to get even with someone and--oh okay, you'll do!!--or that I appear to be someone that reacts well to quite quiet, quiet subtle hints... well, perhaps, but not so much -today.-
Okay so now I can't rememeber who you are at all, I'm not even wearing my The One (1) Ring (I think it's kinda tacky, if you want me to tell the truth about it), and that thing about multiple people using one account? On AzzGab? Well, I -never-. Where are my pearls? I must give rimjobs to the establishment now while acting a Charles Rocket homage!!
Must be a pigment of your imagination.
Now, that's
some certitude gettin' fronted. Hang on, let me call up Elon and we'll kidnap Daddy Warbucks and play with his checkbook while we take turns railing him, I mean a rich bald old fuck who adopts minor redheaded children with a vaj who can sing, must be a creeper, right? I mean he didn't even have a beard as a battleaxe, now did he? And speaking of bearded battleaxes, holy cow, young ladies who think they're being subtle sure don't like it when you make them right in front of everyone and then talk more shit about them on the web, now do they? Oh, but if I blame it on "my boyfriend who posted this to Tumbler without my knowledge and now we've broken up sorry I can't do nuttin'," that would be okay, right? Even if it isn't true as long as I am a woman, with or without children, as long as I don't have a penis, I can slander and defame all the live long day, right?
Meanwhile I no longer get -overt- threats from thugs telling me to "toe the line" or whatever the hip lingo of the day is, but the fact remains: Standards doubled are not standards at all, and while I am largely unaffected by such societal shenanigans... the fact remains that it is embarassing to realize just how backward you people on this planet really are.
And you, you--making "pig" into "a bad word." Sigh. Let me explain: they schemed and conspired for months in order to teach me a lesson, take my shit, break my heart, and drive me to actual suicide. Instead: fuck all y'all, I got my house, you should see some of these awesome SMS i've shared with UC folk (apparently some people were burned/fired this year who didn't expect that, aww shucks), I've learned things I wouldn't have learned any other way, and... I don't even mind. I didn't like being categorized as "an idiot who is better left ignorant," because, as you can see... I AM NOT.
Not only am I keenly aware of the practice, I can totespell "civil asset forfeiture," and on top of that, I was in fact hoping something like this would happen someday, and now that it has, great: their success can serve as a warning to the rest. Think I don't deserve what I have, or that I cannot hang on to it? Well, fuckin' think again.
Slow and steady wins the race, and since when did my life become about a race? Oh, right, people think I'm a degenerate pinko/negro/abos/slacker/criminal/welfare scam artist/what-the-fuck-ever. In actual truth:
I am your Emperor walking your streets as a beggar. How many times have I mentioned Diogenes? Oh, 3 times. At least. Now, how many of you have followed up on that?
Well, none, because none of you -ever- follow up with me... you just wander around the edges of the quicksand bog, looking for Ol' Nessie to poke his head out. Oh, and now you got surveillance footage! Would you like to know why I have enjoyed striding around my house, naked as a jaybird, exposing my utterly not-turned-on manhood to total Library of Congress archival?
Because was curious who, a) was getting any video, and b) had clearly been lied to by others, because that is exactly how large it needs to be in that circumstance. I was in my 30s before I found out there's a name for it, which I do not recall, because I have a very bad memory for penile-related facts.
I am told that, by some, a flaccid penis that is long and thick is something to be proud of? I don't see why. It's inconvenient enough as it is. So it never... retracts into one's body? That must make swimming difficult. Is this some kind of a cult thing? Look, I really don't care--especially right now, all things considered.
Nevertheless... supposedly I'm supposed to be concerned about my Mike Rowe's penis. Well, number one, I'm sure he's more concerned than I am--#Respect. Secondly, not many people have ever seen me aroused. And, since my nose has been identified and (mostly) repaired... only one ONE person has seen me fully aroused and erect. And THAT person, after being cut off from sex by me (she threatened to, I doubled down and explained that I wouldn't be withholding in retaliation... I just thought that making the threat was really low class, and apparenlty no one had ever cut her off from sex before, and found it simpler to just have me thrown in jail to steal my house rather than to, you know... discuss the issue. (Yes, i love this woman, shut up.) Well, no doubt, things will never go back to the way they were, and thank God for that, her secret boyfriends and actual_real friends were all petty assholes, from what I was told. I wonder how many of them are left?
Is she even still alive? Do I care? I must, yeah--I'm ordered to stay away from her, so if she's a corpse... well... anyway, I shouldn't even mention her, but what with Hunter Biden taking the lead, maybe I won't be thrown in jail for daring to talk about my personal relationship that I spent 5 years on. Maybe?
(Yeah, I would prefer to not go to jail. No contact in person, sure, no contact by phone... hum, well, why? Oh, because she thought I was trying to kill her, huh? I can see how feeding into a mentally disabled woman's delusions and leaving her to be the plaything of a mewling coterie of drooling, mewling sycophants was just the kind of thing she needed... well, maybe it was? She was, after all, not honest with me. Maybe she could roll around in the slop with her non-piggish, totally legit and ultra-ubermensch comrades for a few months and she's in great shape now, and she can tell me directly--or have one of her studmuffins say it to me live--that she'd prefer to not have a relationship with me at all if I'm just gonna appreciate her for her attitude and bon vivant spirit, and not just that I wanted to fuck her all day. Not being a sex addict, I can actually -choose- to withhold gratification, and wow, I bet that blew her mind if she had only known compulsion, craving, and quiet contemplation of the distinct change in size that my penis goes through, routinely, like it was nothing at all.
So most people don't have one that goes from maybe more than an inch to 6-7 inches, huh? Look, it takes a lot of blood, I'm not going to lie, but I find it convenient that it still works at all after having been mutilated. So someone looking to hurt my esteem... uhm, well, I am on strike, so it should be small, right? Why would I want it big? Is it because I am supposed to want it big? I see. And I guess the only person since oxygen restoration and the people from before then haven't compared notes? Interesting. I've heard about this kind of thing before. No one wants to let anyone know what treasures I actually have... once someone notices that they've been wholly underestimating me.
Because I do that. I'm a Virgo. Rising. Look, it's not complicated, let's just say, someone watching my surveillance video--who has this? shrug, I literally don't care--is not only observing my lack of visible potency, it's assumed that I would want to show off for nameless, faceless, who knows who surveillers, most of whom... yeah, I'm probably not going to be aroused -in that way- for. (Speaking of which, some guy sent me a cock picture the other day. Jesus, that was big. Was I supposed to be impressed? Uhm... yeah. I am impressed. now more by my own. I mean seriously it just sucks itself up back into my body. Isn't that obviously more efficient? Look, I don't even know why this is coming up as a subject.) Now, having said that, there are aspects that I am disappointed by... and rest assured, even after five years, Mrs. Hawaii-Five-D'oh likely has no idea what they are, and if I ever talk to her again, well, she can ask if she's so interested.
I don't need her to be. Let me explain: I -still- don't know what happened, and neither does she, because I doubt she thinks most days about how I explained that I found her behavior boorish, unconscionable, and unsupportable, and if she kept it up, I doubt she would like the results. I stand by this statement.
But at least I never heard her tell me that my penis was not big enough. (She in fact complained that it was too large, and since she was "secretly" an MK-ULTRA covert asset programmed to be a full on misandrist (oh yeah, big time, the one that liked me, she was reassigned within a year), all she wanted from me was to subtly humiliate me in ways I was supposed to not really notice, or if I did notice them, I was supposed to enjoy being humiliated, and I was supposed to cough up money and feel just so gosh-darn-lucky to be allowed to be there at all!) She did tell me that I needed to turn her on, and if I didn't, she would find someone else to turn her on, and then I indicated that I had no idea that was an available option, bon voyage!
Let me tell you: after her friend killed my cat and her other friend admitted that they were basically married and her other friend... look, I'll just cut to the chase: things got weird when she started doing shitloads of drugs and having sex with other men and not telling me about it. Makes sense, right? I couldn't figure out if she thought I didn't know, or couldn't tell, or it didn't matter, or what! And it's not like I thought it was just a phase, but really it was hard to say at the time... hey, is she just getting straight up coercively raped and doesn't know how to say it, or is this just all she has ever had to do to break up with some rando?
Well, it was both and it was hard to believe that she had "never been in love before" but the more I think back, the more I think it is true. I'm not mad or upset at all, and I don't need to "get back together" with her at all... like, what for? Did she want to continue acting like I needed her for sex? I don't need sex--period. I enjoy it, I don't need it. She, on the other hand, surely believed that she did need it. Well, maybe she still does! How the fuck should I know? I don't care! Maybe I'll be in prison, right? Why the huge push in the agenda to get me to make a hot-headed decision without even talking to her? How do I even know she's alive? For that matter, how does she know I'm still alive?
Oh, well, yeah, telepathy, but let's pretend that's not real. (Ed: You are such a goddam asshole.) See? I'm just imagining that. Anyway, my point is... i am perfectly happy to see what the story is from the other -relevant- perspective, and in the meantime, should I be displaying a huge penis to surveillance teams? Well... no, I don't think so. (Maybe she thinks I need to show off so she has a reason to justify why she still thinks fondly of me? Jesus, holy fucking shit: GET SOME FUCKING THERAPY, MAYBE GO COMMANDEER A SHORT BUS WITH PADDING. I MEAN, HOLY FUCK, RIGHT? Now, all that being said, love is love, and i will always love the 3-17 people she may or may not be, some more than others, and whatever the real situation is, I am perfectly happy to find out what the truth is, because once she stops fucking and sucking and taking drugs WITH EVERYONE IN THE WORLD BESIDES ME, who knows how aroused I might get? There's no way for me to know, nor her!
Meanwhile it's a pretty safe bet that everyone else in the entire world thinks that it would be great if I disappeared forever, but... well, maybe I will and maybe i won't, but what won't happen is meeting the thug who is gonna just snarl and watch me scatter. I mean, there's a protocol, here. I'm supposed to be offered money, or recompense, or something... because otherwise, if I just vanish, any woman will wonder, "hey, what happened?" And if the answer is, "your father paid me a shit load of money to leave you and never return, so I'm just going to say good by and tell you that, adios!," I don't think the money is fairly traded there. Right? I mean... I can be really annoying. If I wanted to break someone's hart, and someone conveniently wanted to pay me money to do it? I don't know. I might. It would depend.
I know that I've broken lots of hearts by accident, on purpose, and as part of a tactical plan to achieve total domination... but that didn't happen in this case. What happened was, she spent years with me while not really telling me what she was doing, and then eventually, she asked me for help with something... and now, she's been helped. I do hope she's doing better, but I am sure she has to be, compared to back when she was forced (under duress, coercively, it looked like) to ask ME for "help." oh, really. Suddenly I am asked to play shortstop, huh? Wow, that's such a lucky break for me. I wonder how that happened.
Like, did they want her to realize that she was an ignorant island country bumpkin? Because that certainly happened, and did they want her to get all pissed off and fly off the handle and engage in all kinds of extra-risky behaviors? Well, let's face it... we all wanted that. Especially her. But, these things have to be cco-ordinated organically, or, they just dont work right.
Similarly, for example: I find it more pleasant to consider how much less trouble it is to just simply never have sex and obtain my pleasure from the stabbing little thrills of joy that run through my heart when I think... she called the police, the courts have forbidden me from talking to ANYONE at ALL, and she's had at least 1, maybe 3, depending on how it's counted, anyway, dudes I barely know have called me and told me to forget about her, move on, "dude, it's over! she has a new boyfriend," (I was like, yeah, so what else is new?) and all this other horseshit, none of which fazed me, because no one really understood... I was fucking FED the fuck UP with this bullshit. And I came to Christmas with that on my mind, realistically, only that, and while I wouldn't have minded getting laid again, it's not like I thought it likely... and after recent events that had come to light, ewww, never again, gross. I have since, had several changes of opinion. For one thing, I'm not gonna lie, knowing that she's either unaware or--even better--has had to tell other men, "Hey, I'm too chickenshit to get rid of this guy who thinks he loves me, haha what a loser, right? So let's do these hot rails, and then you call him and be a thug while I listen and get aroused at listening to what a -real- man sounds like." God, that's not verbatim, is it? I'm just imaginging this out of thin air. No one has ever had me dump their lover for them. No one has had to -repeatedly- tell me to move on from a woman... that I was going to move on from, right? But first, she threw food, pulled a knife, screamed various names, and started a fight that she had planned for months in advance. Like... that was legal to do? Huh. Well then.
Also legal was to let them sit there for a few months so I could figure out what the fuck was going on, and having a backup plan to kick them all out square on their coal-mining asses--also legal. Like, I didn't want this, but I knew going in, "I think I'll start dating a honeypot from Lifelog, what's the worst that could happen?" Fucking Diego Garcia, that's the fucking worst. Not getting laid and being humiliated, hell, that was first date First Love shit. Rejection is an old friend. And speaking of whom... well, let's see, is it a violation of NO CONTACT to announce who her friends here were, and how she totally lied her ass off to me about this place? "Bellgab? Never heard of it." Ooookay. She can lie to me, but I can't lie to her, sound familiar to anyone?
I swear, I wished to teach that lesson as gently as possible, as I couldn't believe she hadn't run across someone like me before in this regard. "Hi, there are special consequences for lying to me." *she totally lies more just to see what happens* "Are you... look, are you serious?" *shoves her children at me way too early* "I need help with these mongrels, I stopped drinking and now they are horrible to me!" With no apparent sense of irony.
And that was, like, month three. And I'm not still hanging around to watch her suffer... oh no. I'm hanging around to see how effective the things I taught her--that she asked for help with--to be better at, well, is she better? Well, she really did seem that way... until, once again, sex and drugs with other men who didn't want me around, and surely were part of an ongoing efffort to get rid of me... but to keep my parent's money. That is... MY money.
So anyway, it's worked out pretty good so far. Now, knowing this person as I do, if I were having tons of sex and laughing it up, either in secret or in the open, this would hurt her feelings. Special rules for her, but not for me? Oh, well, yes! Of course! After all... I have Special Needs too.
So yeah, I bet if I actually had sex with another person even once, she'd be super pissed! And then... well, she'd either stay pissed, or come to realize, hey, this might be a bit unfair.... except IT IS NOT. Because this was already discussed. She just never thought I was serious. I never thought she was too. "Okay, let me get this straight: you don't want marriage, but you want a serious committed relationship that leads to co-habitation, with your two children from two other men both of whom you are still in contact with and cagey about the details with, is that right?" Slow, steady nodding. "And... why?" And, there was the whole nutshell deal.
"I need help raising my children." Oh, well, see? She can't be -that- dumb, right? And she did. She really did. Probably still does? Dunno. No contact cor seven months. For all i know, she needs a geiger counter more than anything. What problem is it of mine? I already helped. Then, she called the police. And, they "helped" too.
Last I heard, they still have no case but are perhaps tracking down an actual rapist--details are of course sketchy, because of course I am not likely to help as well as before they threw me in jail on Christmas. I mean, they had no choice, right? God, whatever. Anyway, to me, this is all water under the bridge.
However, to police and their police families and their sudden realization that lying to Clergy may not have been the best way to impress Tribal Council Elders... wait, who? They have those? You bet your goddam sweet ass they do. None of you people here have any fucking idea how big this whole fucking thing really actually is, do ya? I know this, because so-and-so sometimes says to me, "How can you talk to (PROT) when s/he/they... raped your girlfriend, Jack?" Bald face hanging out. Totesinnocent tone, yet still demanding the infos, in that pentrating Geraldo Rivera style that he gets out with. Hell, in Africa, Geraldo is probably as big a cultural hero as Paul Bunyan. And the empty vault? At least he was allowed to check. You know how them cracka's be.
So anyway, the question has not come up lately, but I'll give a complete answer here, mostly to counter-program agaisnt hunter's laptop drop, yeah? See? I'm a helper. So anyway, number one, I will talk to any goddam person I wish to talk to for any motherfuckin' reason I may so see fit to do so... and I have, and I do, and the reason why I have a court order in regards to, *polite cough* CASEY GWENDOLYN KENNEDY, is because someone pissed me off one too many times, crying about how I must have some secret woman on the side (I didn't) because... well, because she had secret things on the side, and it made it awkward for her to enjoy being a turboslut and still demanding money from me, if I wasn't also getting laid, not because of fairness, but because... well it just sounds wierd. For one thing... isn't slutty bad?
No, it really isn't, because if I ever did marry that woman, her days of free-wheeling without me were gonna end. And I never started out wanting to get married, a family, committment, none of that. "I'm irritated for reasons I won't need to divulge. I think i'll go to Facebook and see what happens if I actually behave like I really am." I found her within like 25 minutes, she had sent me a message six years before, i sent one back, she didn't follow up, I noticed that, and simply forgot. Did I even click on her profile then? No, why bother? I knew it wasn't gonna go anywhere then.
I'm not kidding. I decided, then *snap* being honest for half an hour and it was like she had known me my whole life, because she had, it felt like destiny, because it was. And this... THIS is what I'm going to obey the ham-handed barky bark and the barky bunch's dipshit low-vibe commandments about? Now, remember.. I wanted to split up and go fuck someone else THAT NIGHT. Instead, a fake fight and a fake call and, hooray, you lost a lover but gained a house! Cue musical interlude!
It was at that point that I started to take things seriously. For one thing, wow, what an entourage. No wonder she thinks she can't tell me. Surprise!
She could have. Well, now she knows. Now, what entourage? Well, she called the police on herself and them... I, for one, can hardly wait to see who shows up. And do I really wish to antagonize a person who literally lied to 911 dispatch? I mean, shit... what if she lies again?
What if they -all- lie again? Omg! What if the jury doesn't... okay, now, stop it. Just stop. THERE AIN'T GONNA BE NO FUCKING JURY TRIAL. Voir dire? Really? Oh, sure, that's just what they want to give me for a birthday present. -I have never gotten to enjoy voir dire.- Shit, that's like -the most fun- part of being a lawyer? Do you people even know how the real world works??
Oh, yeah, I remind myself. Y'all thought Bell wasn't gonna fake his death and get away with it. I mean, duh. (The twist was, at least on two timelines, is that he didn't "fake" it for very long.) Look, I don't like those kinds of things, so that's why I pulled back from the forum while you all collectively pig-piled on (Redacted). I mean, for one thing, hot damn, for another, she probably deserved it, for a third, hey, she was Art's pick, and I liked her for it, and NONE of you did. Wow, tough crowd, huh? And where did that loud, mouthy fuck go off to, the one I got hella drunk and argued with for like 11 fucking hours after the first "test" show, where's that guy, and what happened to that chat transcript? Oh, right.
"Lost." Massive rolleyes. Look, I love you people--you literally are the only family I have and compared to my "real" one you actually are a huge upgrade, just consider that being true, because for me, it is--but I am under no illusions here: you're all barely qualified for steerage class on the Golgafrinchan 'B'-Ark on a good day. At -best.- YOU EVEN USED TO HAVE A FIGUREHEAD WHO MADE PRONOUNCEMENTS FROM HIS BATHTUB. RUBBER DUCKIES HAVE BEEN A THING HERE. Look, I'm not blind, right? I'm just discreet.
I'm also in telepathic contact with multiple people whenever I wanna get all thinky about things, which not being a natural born psychic, I am reluctant to do, also, Ramona is -super naughty-. So mostly, I stick to rationalland. I don't have to. That's part of The Kuczi Advantage. I can cut loose and have fun.
None of you can, nerds. Jobs? Careers? Families? Offspring you're embarrassed to show the real you to? Actually a human/ET hybrid like Kevin (who is no joke, he's so shy he don't even wanna let me know things direct, but of course I do) and being paid to keep things actually quiet, instead of just repressed? Well, whatever the reason, I possess something that none of you have at all in any measure... that being, a complete and total lack of shame.
So. I have a small penis? Really? No, it's actually fucking gigantic and apparently -someone- didn't want that news being shared out. So, that's interesting right there. Let's see, what shall I extrapolate? Well, for one thing... I can go back to the cock doctor and explain my weird situation. (I was being coy before, and they get all kinds of people at the cock doctor.) I didn't want to before, as I didn't wish to embarass anyone. Now...? Well... who the fuck am I gonna embarass?
Every other man on the planet who can't imagine going without sex for over a year just to prove a point? I am pretty fucking stubborn and I had 4 years of plenty fine before then... and it was an important matter, so, it's been relatively easy to be--once again, A VIRGO. THE SIGN OF THE VIRGIN. AND NOT NATIVELY VIRGINAL, LIKE HER SHITHEAD MOM (she's fine but has a reputation as "mean," haha, cute, she's way nicer than my bitchass whorebag of an aunt, that's for sure) THAT'S RIGHT I SAID SHITHEAD MOTHER (just wondering if I'll get some more death threats after hitting Post, everyone who isn't some thuggy nosy enforcement Karen "just tryna help" knows prefectly goddam well that I admire that woman and if it isn't obvious by now, well, it's like this.... this is NOT "Contact," by my understanding, and if it is, well... drop me an email. Send me a pm? Say, "Hey, this makes me uncomfortable, please address my legitimate concerns on the following basis," and, wow! I am MISTER COMPLIANT.
However, push me around and bark at me like I'm your fucking dog and you're the goddam dogcatcher, well, that's what this is, perhaps? I don't know. I do know that it just seemed like too fucking much effort to tiptoe around the fact that I might be hurting the feelings of a bunch of fucking arrogant shitbag fuckheads who freely hurt my feelings for years, you know? But supposedly... they get to do that, and I have to tolerate it, even though, I have things of my own that I 'get' to do, and because they don't agree--you know, in their mob rule judgy judgement--that I can, say, PROCURE WINE FOR COMMUNION DURING PROHIBITION, just an example, right? Because, fuck communion and fuck Catholicism in general, I think Paul was evil and the differences between Catholicism and Christianity -are profound.- Like, I would looooove to date a Catholic woman, if I were gonna date, anyway.
I wanna be the reason a woman has to have arrangements made to make her confessional booth totesextra totessecure. I want the chap she confesses her sins to, have to go immediately confess his sins, not because of a rule or a bounty, but because... he feels fucking filthy after hearing them. I want my Catholic girlfriend--were I to have such a one, I'm not gonna, but fuck it, i get paid by the word, you know? to have to confess shit like, "I instantly thought he was a liar when he told me that he had taken a vow of poverty, and it was at least ten minutes of silent, gnashing agony that I held within my heart... or was it my breast? Father, I'm confused, do I hold my silent, gnashing agony in my heart, or in my breast, or.. is it both breasts -and- my heart? I feel like I have that much gnashing agony, and oh my goodness! They say confession is good for the soul, but it's also great for my heart and my breasts because I just have to get this gnashing agony off my chest somehow, and confession to you, Father, is good, because the truth is... it isn't agony with this man, it started that way, but now... I feel that it hurts more when I am not silently enduring this extistential torment. Now, Father, how many Our Fathers and Hail Marys should I say? Father? Are you... oh my God! Father! You're not... no! You can't... die... oh. Well! I guess you can. I mean, he is that impressive, honestly."
And then, right there, in that moment--the priest is just kinda dazed, you see, like just a real fast stroke coming on while he's listening to this hypothetical woman talk openly about how it enrages her that I can't be easily dismissed, forgotten, thrown under a bus, argued with, reasoned with, cajoled, bribed, bought, or even bent a few degrees to the right, if I feel like I am right to be left, you know what? I once hollered at a woman because I was made that she was willing to buy something expensive and impractical as a gift, rather than just tell me why she was such a basket case. (I was young.) Like, whose side was I on? Well, hers, I thought, but I knew nothing about life and women then. Not like I know much more now, but at least now I know why she wans't telling me anything that made any fucking sense at all. She wasn't lying... she was just incapable of acknowledging her own bullshit because no one had ever told her that kind of shit could even happen for real.
Priests dying while listening to confession? Fuck yeah, all the time. If you could resurrect yourself and were shackled to an organization as corrupt as The Catholic Church, you'd probably kill yourself as often as possible. i mean, I know I do... which is to say, exactly never.
However, if I really did want to kill myself, I think a fine way would be to actually be impressed by some spooky thuggy bully, on the pone, telling me that it was "time to move on" and "stop thinking about" the gal I've known for 5 years, and had been totally ready to just downgrade myself to "friend that you don't fuck and your mewling coterie of slutpuppies that you didn't want to talk about, but, you're a Sadge, face it, you have a harem," look, this isn't making direct contact, right? Honestly, I thought it was cute. I'm nearly fifty fucking years old and she thinks that I'm the one who needs to have no competition. Yeah okay sure, I'm insecure, wink.
It was the best damn appetizer to courtship I've ever experienced. Most of the five years was just regular run-of-the-mill love of a life time, but there were enough legit badassery to fully inform me, wow, I can totally see myself not having sex with her anymore and letting someone else do that, holy shit, maybe they can feed and clothe the brats while I do something else than be bottom bitch, and I was maybe heading towards that, except... well, i guess all her other dudes took a vote and decided I just should be "moving on." See? Now when I put it that way, it completely makes sense why a fucked off middle-aged cheer captain facing a ginormous existential crisis might decide to just call the police... and when she was disarmed for the very first time--maybe in her life, to be honest, she acted like I had taken her left eyeball, an eyebrow, and both her ovaries with one swift motion, and no, I simply was done pretending that she scared me with it. at all. I was more afraid she would hurt herself with it. Then, I took it outside to bury it in the raw dirt behind her birdcage, you see? Partially to "bury the hatchet" (wasn't a hatchet, but still) but also to, very much deliberately so, HUMILIATE THE PISS OUT OF A PERSON WHO HONESTLY THOUGHT THAT 8 MONTHS OF KNIVE WAVING, COUNSELING REFUSING, AND SECRET CONCLAVES WITH NAMELESS, FACELESS MEN WHO FED HER DRUGS AND FUCK HER WITHOUT BEING HONEST ABOUT IT, OH, THAT'S OKAY FOR YOU, BUT I'M SUPPOSED TO... WHAT? PRETEND NEEDLES ARE DANGEROUS WHEN I WATCHED MY MOTHER USE 3 A DAY EVERY DAY OF HER LIFE FOR FORTY FUCKING YEARS? ALL OF A SUDDEN, "NEEDLES BAD!" AND WHERE WAS THIS STATEMENT DURING EARLY DATES? WHEN DID THIS SUDDEN CONCERN COME ABOUT? OH LET'S TALK ABOUT THAT WITH A THERAPIST, WITH A COUNSELOUR, WITH A JURY... YES, LET'S.
NOW... IS THAT "DIRECT CONTACT"? I fucking doubt it, and if anyone out there has the time to haul me off to jail for publishing this on an obscure forum dedicated to the backchannel intricacies of an exceptionally niche field of communication--albeit an important one--but seriously, this is like the most rareified message board on the planet. And I fucking like it that way.
And remember, she says to me this: "Bellgab? Never heard of it." And pulling a knife on me was something she just thought... that she was gonna get away with forever. Because who had ever dared challenge her supremacy before? (Hint: no one either living or living for long if she had her way until right before I came along... and could I have taught her much more than I did? Oh yeah, no question. But first, she asked me for help with the children. So, I helped her by teaching her children than I am Quetzalcoatl. (Technically, I'm the herald of Azura Mahzda but, fuck it, I have a coat with a peacock on it, and the woman ended up buying peacocks, so, what are they gonna do? Argue? With me? Okay, bring it, yeah, you wanna call the police too? Cool, have them take you to a place where someone can tell you whatever you mother won't understand either, then I can explain with all three of you watching me at once, that will save me time. Remember: not so much lazy, more like, always conserving oxygen for potential teachable moments and their swift exploitation.) I'm not sure what she thought she had in mind... did she want me to babysit? Well... wait, what? What exactly did these people think they were gettting?
Oh.... a -weaker- Austrian. Oh no no. I'm no better than an Austrian automatically. They just don't have any sustain, and in my experience, rather than demonstrate strengths and counter-strengths, and Austrian will typically just find it simpler to sweep all the Hungarians away. Out of sight, out of mind, unless something requires someone to be blamed. Seriously, this is the Austrian mindset. Dont' ask me how I know this so well. I don't wanna say "racial memory" because that's bullshit. Here's what it is: Austrians care about their reputations with others, how they are perceived. Hungarians care more about what they actually are. And on the surface, the only baby daddy of Grapefruit's that I was -knowingly- allowed to meet, well... I love his kid, and the kid loves his dad--fierce, it's cute--so, ergo, I love the dad too. (Plus the longer he sticks around, the longer I can say shit like, "I don't know, go ask your real dad" and "I'm not your uncle. I'm not your father. I'm not your friend. I'm the guy who gives your mother what your father couldn't, so trust me, the less you know the better. You may address me as "Anonymous Hungarian Drill Sergeant." None of you want to know how much of that was actually spoken at one point, but I will tell you this: Grapefruit eventually devolved into calling me "Sourceror Nigger Husband," and thought that was funny, and I thought it was funny too, what was gonna one day happen to whomever these brave heroes were who didn't want to reveal themselves to me. Picture this: "My friends don't think you're doing the right things right." Me: "Oh, well, who are they, and why don't they call me and tell me themselves?" Silence. Seriously. This was supposed to be compelling? It wasn't. "Okay, tell you what, the next time you're socializing, and I'm not there, and my name comes up, instantly call me on your phone as soon as you hear my name, and let me talk to that person."
This never happened once. But what did happen was a bunch of shitheads conspiring through backchannels to take my house, take my money, and rape me in prison. Not everyone may have been willing to go that far, but I can think of at least 3 who would have said, "Fuck yeah, if he's that stupid, he deserved it!" And one of those saying that would have been me. You know why? Because if I really were as stupid as I was looking by that point, I would deserve way, way worse. But as it turns out, I wasn't stupid at all, now was i?
And I was right: she experienced special consequences for lying to Clergy. (I've seen this kind of thing before.) Now, I don't mean to boast. For example, did you know, that one experiences "special consequences" for knowingly lying to credentialled law enforcement? Oh yeah. "Civilians" aren't allowed to do that, and even I have to have a good reason to do such a thing. "Yes, some jewish nuns came by earlier, but I happen to know jews can't be nuns, so I sent them away!" (I know no such thing but i can guarantee you, I'd be giving a gang of jewish nuns all kinds of study... I mean obviously another one of their Semitic language tricks, which I am always looking to learn more about, right?) Now, is that ever going to happen again? Well, frankly, no possible way.
She and I would argue because I could tell there was something inauthentic happening... AND SHE WAS LYING HER GODDAM ASS OFF FOR FIVE FUCKING YEARS. EVERY DAY. WITHOUT FAIL. LIES OF OMISSION. LIES OF SUSPICION. CONSTANT GNAWING AWAY AT HER SENSE OF SELF-IDENTITY, ALL WHILE BEING GANGSTALKED BY A SEPARATE AUTONOMOUSLY OPERATING PSYOP STRIKE TEAM WORKING TOGETHER WITH THE FUCK-0-RAMA THAT SHE, BY HER OWN ADMISSION, KNEW NOTHING ABOUT BECAUSE SHE TOTALLY HAD NEVER HEARD FO BELLGAB BEFORE.
So after a few years, come on, enough is enough, right? Except not for her, enough never meant enough, because I would just... not... ever.. accept her horseshit lies, you dig? Never ever. it got pretty bad. I mean, I guess no one had ever relentlessly called her on every-single-gaslighting ploy that came out of her freshly whorishly lying mouth, right? Because I guess most men she had been allowed to meet were more interested in maintaining their chances at sex than at maintaining their integrity. Meanwhile, picture this: I never lied to her even once, and didn't even bother running a backrground check or even asking Jesus if I should be doing this, I just went fully all in after about... an hour and three-quarters. I mean, why not, right?
Was someone else going to show up at my door and say, "Hi, I think you're really interesting?" Oh, hell no. That didn't happen until the day the house was sold to a Texas-based real estate conglomerate holding company that sent a pair of... Asians (look, no offense, but: standard Han Chinese. Hey, the realtor was half-Japanese though, and he was cool, and no one seemed to know who was responsible for giving The Dragonlord the contract for "helping me" get the fuck out, right? Like, to this day, I don't know who picked that guy to show to be useful. Do I care? No.) and some smarmy guy who had a white Gladiator and his name was "Mike" on day one and "wasn't" the next day... and I'm observing this happening and I'm thinking, "None of these people know what "special social class status" means, do they? They just think "Special Needs" is a tax dodge, huh?" Okay dis gonna be gud." And you know what? It has been, especially for me.
Now, obviously, I am in no hurry to "win back the heart of my lady love, I miss her so terribly." No, fuck that, she lied to the goddam police--not to Colombo with his smarmy questions, SHE LIED TO DISPATCH. Or... did she? was it code? Who the fuck knows! I haven't seen her since? Was that even her??? I have ZERO awareness. And you know what? That's fine with me.
Not because I have my house back, but that sure does help. Was she under coercive force? Under duress? Following a script? One big joke? On hallucinaogens? Brainwashed? I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA!!! And... it's an EMERGENCY worth keeping me ignorant, if I dare approach her personage or anyone she knows to ask questions, I WILL BE JAILED FOR A YEAR, WE HAVE HAD IT WITH YOUR QUESTIONS, NOSY HUNGARIAN SCUM, AND BECAUSE OF THE GREAT DANGER TO SOCIETY... YOU WILL HAVE YOUR CIVIL RIGHTS IGNORED AND YOUR CONNECTION TO REALITY SEVERED AND LEFT TO FESTER... UNTIL THE DAY AFTER YOUR BIRTHDAY. WE OBVIOUSLY DON'T WANT TO RUIN IT. AND THEN, ON THAT DAY... WE WILL, UH... OH, HE'S NOT THE RAPEY CREEPY ONE? HOW DO YOU KNOW? SOMETIMES YOU CAN'T TELL. OH, YOU WATCHED HIM FOR THE LAST FIVE MONTHS AND HE OPENLY MOCKED ALL YOUR UC/IC WITHOUT BEING TOO MUCH OF A DICK ABOUT IT WHILE THE ALLEGED VICTIM GOT BLASTED AND CONSORTED WITH PEOPLE SHE USED TO TELL HIM SHE NEEDED PROTECTION FROM? OKAY, BUT, DO YOU HAVE ANY -REAL- EVIDENCE? OH, YEAH, THEY'RE DOING HEROIN IN HIS LIVING ROOM, BUT HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT YET UNTIL MONTHS LATER WHEN HE FINDS WHAT COULD JUST BE STAGED ANYWAY. COME ON. HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY BE SO SURE THAT THIS GUY HASN'T JUST BEEN DEVOTING HIS WHOLE LIFE TO HER FOR FIVE YEARS AS PART OF SOME KIND OF ELABORATE ANTI-LEO LONG CON? OH, BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT SHE'S BEEN DOING WITH THE ADDED WRINKLES OF BEING VIOLENTLY PHYSICALLY, MENTALLY, VERBALLY, AND SEXUALLY ABUSIVE AS WELL AS CONCEALING MULTIPLE SEX PARTNERS FROM HIM, WHILE HE JUST SAT AROUND PATIENTLY OBSERVING THIS BULLSHIT UNTIL ONE DAY... HE WAS ACTIVATED? ACTIVATED TO DO WHAT? HELP? HELP WHAT?
OH, SHE ASKED FOR HELP AND THEN SHE HAD TO CALL THE POLICE, HUH? THAT DOESN'T SOUNDS SO HELPFUL... OH, HE DIDN'T, UH? OH THAT IS HARD TO EXPLAIN. SO HE WOULD HAVE, BUT BECAUSE IT WAS POLICE... WAIT, DOES HE EVEN KNOW THAT WE'VE BEEN COPS THE WHOLE FUCKING TIME? OH, SHE SAID THAT SHE TOLD HIM? OKAY, WELL THAT'S GOOD ENOUGH FOR US. CAN WE GET 13 GUYS TO THE HOUSE IN REAL UNIFORMS FOR CHRISTMAS? I DON'T WANT TO HAVE SOME GUYS IN ZOOT SUITS AND PJS LIKE LAST TIME, NO ONE FOUND THAT CREDIBLE DOWN AT THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN OYSTER BAR WHEN I WAS TELLING CHESTING PUFFING STORIES WITH MY HOMIES. LISTEN, IS 13 GUYS GOING TO BE ENOUGH? THIS GUY LOOKS LIKE HE MIGHT BE DUMB ENOUGH TO... HEH HEH "RESIST ARREST" HEHEHE. SO ANYWAY, HE DIDN'T KNOW WE ARE ALL COPS--HOW WOULD HE KNOW UNLESS SHE TOLD HIM, RIGHT? AND THEN HE SOMEHOW MYSTERIOUSLY DIDN'T WANT TO GO ALONG WITH THE DEAL OF A LIFETIME: TEN YEARS IN PRISON AND NO MORE SEX FOREVER ALL FOR THE SAKE OF A WOMAN WHO IS FUCKING LIKE FIVE OTHER GUYS, DOING HELLA DRUGS WITHOUT HIM WHILE PRETENDING HE'S DOING EVEN MORE, AND ROUTINELY CALLS HIM A NIGGER. OH AND HER KIDS HATE HIM. ARE WE SURE HE DIDN'T JUST CIRCLE AROUND BACK AND BUY THE DRUGS LATER? OH, THAT'S THESE DRUGS WE'RE DOING RIGHT NOW? WELL, THIS IS PRETTY BAD DOPE, OBVIOUSLY NONE OF US LIKED HIM, BUT HE'S A WORTHLESS REPORBATE DRUG ADDICT, IT SAYS SO RIGHT HERE ON HIS LINKED IN PAGE. IT WAS DRUGS HE SHOULD HAVE JUST AUTOMATICALLY WALKED INTO THE SLAUGHTERHOUSE AND SLIT HIS OWN JUGULAR FOR US, BECAUSE HE SAYS HE LOVES HER, WELL, WE'RE ALL COPS, HE SHOULD LOVE US ALL TOO. CAN WE JUST BOOK THIS GUY WITH A DRONE ALREADY?
No... actually, no, not this time, and here's why: I couldn't believe what I was witnessing, and I still to this day know there must have been something else going on. Because... I asked on serveral occasions. "Do you have a fucking handler or something? What the fuck are you doing?" And the answer was always, "oh no, I'm not a Fed. i'm not setting you up. I never went to Quantico." Et cetera. What is the truth? I really do not know. Except for one thing:
I also don't know what happened to the first girl, and when I started to notice actual -whole body and person- swaps, and not just 'slightly different personality facets," I mean shit like, "holy chao, that is not the same person, but... it is, wow," and instead of asking, I just simply... acted nonchalant.
I wonder if she thought I was stupid? Well, yes, she did, but did she think iwas just actually stupid, or did it occur to anyone that I was simply immune to glamour? Well, whatever. See, now... this is the kind of stuff that I am supposed to have long, long ago, given up, and moved on from, I'm never going to be with her again, NEVER! GIVE UP! GO AWAY!
BUTT OUT, JACK!! I mean, okay... but that seems abrupt. How do I know you're not abucting her so Mike Pence can de-gay her and then breed her? BUTT OUT JACK!! See, that doesn't answer--SHUT UP! JUST STOP THINKING ABOUT HER!!! Seriously I got to that point somehow. I forget when. But those words were spoken. Like the guy was doing me a favor. Like I just couldn't help myself. (Apparently sex addiction is a common occupational hazard for thuggy piggy spooks who spend 5 years not telling the truth to Clergy. Hey, what if I lied to the FBI? Oh, well then it would be a Congressional matter. Pfft.)
"Jack, listen... you're in the way, you're not helping anyone, and you're never going to be with her again. So you need to... STOP THINKING ABOUT GRAPEFRUIT!!!" Dude sounded frustrated. Infuriated. Livid. Out of control... but trying to keep that part, like, on the d-l. (Great job, too.) Like... he just couldn't figure out how I wasn't figuring it out... I was being given AN ORDER. And, uhm... okay, yeah, so? Hi, I'm Clergy. I outrank you.
And... why can't she just tell me herself? Well... okay, sure, the lasagna. That was a fated event. But how about... no phone call? "Hi Jack, I think your breath is really bad and I don't understand why you stopped brushing your teeth after I started sucking some other guy's dick and didn't tell you the truth." Yeah, me neither, but I think it might have had something to do with me wondering just how much denial you can generate before meltdown critical mass. (About ten months, for the record.) Also, sex was never the draw for me. And, it wasn't for her, either... until some douchebag hooked her up with drugs while I wasn't around. Gee, I wonder why I wasn't invited.
So, even if I really do never "get involved with Grapefruit again," and that's a distinct possibility... uhm, I'm not jealous. I'm not demanding that she stop anything, other than expecting me to enable her lies. Like, who did she think she was fooling? Exactly no one. She was being groomed by a team of fuckheads who co-ordinatted their efforts to squeeze me out, use her in every way they could, and typically, well... I think a guy is supposed to do something about that, right?
Well, I did something about it. It's called, "suffer the consequences." It's an old favorite from an old friend, and I have no reason to be mad at her for what happened, no matter what happened. What do I hav eto be mad at? I was right and she proved it. I don't need to have sex with her, and I don't need to be exclusive with her, and I can love her just fine (chlidren too!) without having sex at all, not just with her. This has confused the former cheer captain. Because... well, if she never loved me at all, why is she getting free rent? Well, that's just the thing-- SHE IS NOT.
My housing situation was never meant to be what it is now. Becuase now it is EXACTLY what I had up in Seattle... except without a cracked foundation and being in the middle of Seattle. I'm in the middle of The Valley of The Six Rivers. I live in a fishbowl. And absolutely everyone around here, has heard of me... but doesn't know jack or shit about why I am still here. Shouldn't I be... you know, moving on?
Well.. to where? The last time I saw the only woman I ever really loved: here. The last time I saw an Archangel: here. The last time I moved every thing I owned: was to here, 9 months ago, and I wouln'dt wanna move again so soon anyway. I just got here. Why do I have to move? What makes her so fucking special?
Well... she is that pretty, but it can't be that. Anyway, I am perfectly happy to wait until after trial. But supposedly, she is so ready to move on that she needs to both, not tell me in person, or through a letter, but she's gotta tell some thuggy bully to call me up and tell me how he knows what I need to do better than I do--unlikely, but let's run with the idea, and he knows that not only is it not enough to just not be within 500 ft of her... I ALSO need to stop thinking about her. AT LEAST. obviously it would be great (for them) if I were to "cheat" on her, but... technically i'm cheating by waiting until later, because that's not for her benefit. That's for mine. Also, the matter of... the blood test.
Yes, i am supposed to forget all about her, then find a new lover, then fuck them as soon as possible--I mean they don't have all day, right? but whatever, they just need to be able to say, "Jack doens't love you, see here's all these photos from a PI that shows him totally walking with another woman into a building together... and they're almost close enough to perhaps jostle one another while carrying objects. Look! Here he is opening the door for her! (I'm polite.) You know what that means.... don't you? (It means absolutely nothing but it would make her insanely jealous anyway BECAUSE THIS WOMAN IS MENTALLY DISABLED AND ROUTINELY SUBJECTED TO THUGGISH MANIPULATION ACCOMPANIED BY HIGHLY SOPHISTICATED AND SPECIFICALLY TARGETED FORMULA BASED ON SET, CIRCUMSTANCE, AND SETTING, AND by the way, Audience, i've already been scoped twice. And by "scoped" I mean, "doesed unknowingly with what had to have been scopoloamine," because all I remember was coming to my sneses and hvaing no idea what had just happened for about the last twenty minutes. ALSO, on like or second or third date, they happened to have a bush that produces leaves and such that could, it just so happened, be sued to extract/synthesize scopolamine. She didn't actually say she was gonna do that, of course.
But how hard could it be? Gauchos in Colombia do it to tourists for sport. My mother and I went and saw The Serpent And The Rainbow on opening day, and we liked it so much (as well as didn't understand it all) that we watched it twice. Together. Me and my mom. So yeah, I was happy to see what being scoped felt like.
Now after all that... is it any wonder that I am not having sex all the damn time? Holy Jesus shitballs. And so... really? My penis is small, huh? We're laughing at that? Oh, well... okay... look, this is getting pretty fucking complicated for just being my own personal recollections, right?
I mean, do I have a single fucking fact that can back any of this up? Well... do I fucking need to?
Because I'm not the one engaged in this weird power struggle, and I don't have to enable any of it any longer than I so choose. Because this is not EMERGENCY LIVES ARE AT STAKE, this is "omg I'm so embarrassed, is there anyway we can make him into a patsy? well fucking TRY GODDAMMIT MY KIDS ARE GOING TO FIND OUT AND THEN THEY WILL NEVER RESPECT ME AGAIN." (Trust me, Fam--your kids already don't respect you, and you know why? because y'all are being mean to me and no one is exactly sure why, certainly not me.) Also, speaking of embarrassed... I am mortified that all this that i am writing is going into The Court record (trust me: teams are watching me write, I do after all type so goddam fast it's impossible to keep up, qq, so sad, sorry) on the day after Hunter Biden should be A1A prime news, right? I mean, maybe I am just a spotlight hog? I mean, pig? Am I spotlight pig?
I'll let her be the judge and I'll remind you that you are not under oath. Now... is ANYONE not -COMPLETELY- aware, that my penis is simply too large for this broad? Seriously. She's got hip problems, she's just built in a petite form anyway, she's like fucking Melanie from Gone With The Wind--the babies they hypnotized her into believing are "hers," could have been full on implants and were taken out through a marsupial pouch. Now, I'm not saying they aren't related--they all share the same character and flavor of -relentless- self-absorption, but... look, I'll put it this way: it's none of my business, not my kids, not my decisions, and not my interest... AT ALL, and the matter is ENTIRELY up to
ladyjudge anyway. Her Word Here Is Law.
I'm sure Grapefruit loves that. Nevertheless, she called the fucking police, that means, you get the fucking police. Now, for my own part, I find this all -relentlessly- fascinating. I'm a fifty year old man. I am a Virgo Rising. I am watching a psychodrama play out that would have been Hector the green apple quickstep and I am largely unmoved by it all. I did not want to spent a year exploring the finer points of The Julian Assange Experience, however, at least I am not being physically beaten and assaulted and lied to by a selfish self-absorbed, pathological liar and totesnarcisistic douchebag, right? Or at least if I am, this one can at least get better dope... for her and her "partners," that is.
You could have knocked me over with a feather and packed my up like Han Solo in carbonite, the day I found out... not only did she have multiple stash bags that she -clearly- was frontin' like she didn't want to share with me, but also... what she was keeping for herself, was waaaaaaaaaay better.
And this was stuff I didn't pick as my favorite anyway. I would have prefered... hey, let's smoke some weed? No? Oh, right, it makes it harder to conceal information during conversation. (Imagine the pillow talk? This WAS the pillow talk.) Anyway, point being was that it became apparent that while she had described herself as something of an innocent when we first met, well, number one, that person, I haven't seen in MONTHS (don't ask), and this person I'm describing here, while still 'the same person," clearly not quite as honest as one would expect a person to be. Or whatever. Wow, I bet she's going to love reading this. Does this count as "stop thinking about her," Spooky Thuggy Dude? Well, too fucking bad, why don't you come to MY house and be persuasive? Anyway, too long, didn't read... except, yeah you did, you all fucking love this story, and the reason why I get to tell it like this is very simple:
#1) There is legal precedent that allows me to do so, because the longer a liar is allowed to lie to themselves, and thereby the whole world with them, they more they damage not only everyone around them, but also themselves. And so in this case, in my best discernment, it is my civic and moral duty to lay out exactly what the truth was and will be, as I see it... so that she can read it and realize just how badly her "friends" and her family and The Family (not gonna lie, not a member but I do love a good omelette, let's break some fuckin' eggs, mother fuckers, and do you know why those eggs are in my fridge? to find out how long it would take you to mouth off about how I wasn't using them. FOR REAL.) have been totally mishandling her this whole time.
I am not seeking contact. I am making "indirect" contact at best. I'm not even doing that. I'm describing myself. If I were mailing this to people and trying to drum up attention, perhaps a point could be made. In this case, well, let's put it this way: I have considered the ramifications of this situation before.
So the days when I am pretending to be afraid of her knives (respect is not fear) or wracked with guilty emotional pain because I was too afraid to sing The Grapefruit Song (I was too afraid I'd accidentally say my daughter's fruit name instead of Grape, awkward) are liable to come again, because for any of this to be a struggle for me is too farcical a notion to be believed. Did I mention? When she found out that I really was intelligent, she became upset... as the plan has always been for Her People to take the land from conquerors. I am doing the same.
She just didn't realize that I really am on her side. I don't really care. She's a woman struggling with a legendary case of PTSD. She barely knows how to function when she isn't in love. Now that she's met me and knows what she's been missing? Oh, of course her "friends" have loaded her up with dope. Okay, great, not having to lie about that shuld probably help. Now, about the whole thing where I am the p
