Kid's Kid's kids, listen up. Wise up. I have got just about nuttin' at all to say under these circumstances. I AM A SOURCEROR.
I am also A SLAVE. Let me explain! Oh, wait, can't right now.
I -will- be happy to explain. -Later.- Right now is perhaps not the best time,
n'est-ce pas?Frankly I cannot believe the impertinent nature of some of the queries and inquiries I am getting. What am I, running for public office? (I am not.) I suppse I might hvae given the impressivone that I am smart enough t od o that, but the fact remains that I am NOT>DOING>SHIT> until I get a god-dam blood test.
Am I stuttering? Do they have a test for that? I had a lisp--now corrected--which sent me to a special class, back at {Brookside/*\Not_Cedarbrook} in grade... 4? not six. I think fourth. I was still pretty young. I didn't really see what the problem was, but it turned out that they explained it to me this way:
"A faggot like you will have problems later in life if you are allowed to speak with a lisp." Makes sense, right? I think so too. Now. What the actual frick is going on? I'm getting pretty sick and goddam tired of being treated like a person not \desperately/ in need of a legit alias identity, as well as a 2nd safehouse--since you and Vince and the rest of that MAGAessehole Krew (thanks for handing the country over to The Cartels in the future, great job with Japan too, I have seen this future, and this is NOT how it begins "White Russian Lasagne," that's for fucking goddam well sure) fucked up this one, then left me to flail about with zero logistical support, while in a fucking war zone with a goddam plague going down. There's some book I don't feel like plugging right now, it's about a time traveller who gets sent to the wrong time with monkeypox. What the fuck. Actual. Look, I'm just going to go buy more vape juice and The Craft beer (believe it, Mortals) and see what happens when I leave the house again. (*polite, 88%-hearted cheer*) I can do this shit all day. It'll last as long as it needs to, which isn't really all that long from now. I don't know what all the envy is over now. What's the fucking problem? Write me an email.
Now, I don't know what the rest of you primitive screw-heads want; I'm getting "blue plate special spaghetti at s-mart," which doesn't translate well at this juncture. Total snore. A wheeze-fest. You're supposed to, all of you, be doing something with your lives. Right? I was told I was the problem. Right?
Okay, well, get on it. Team Telephone Mrs. Paul/*\Pole has calls coming in, all day, every day. It's ridiculous. God forbid I have my own opinion.


Whatever is jappening, and I swear I have no idea, I'm just learning psychometry, prepare for saucer separation at your next tea party. Apparently someone at your pieblasting corporation cares enough to send the very best paladin who can still stand the sight of any of you--that's me.
I guess I am ranked well in the annals of esteem now, or some such shit. I don't even fucking know. Your central solar sun keeps mindwiping my Zorro's horse. No one has any idea where they are, what they're doing, etc. Sounds like a fun Spring break, honestly.
I still don't have wood in the right place. Winter is going to be a laugh and a half. FOR GOO.7.signed,IneedAtextbooK.
p.s. you know what to do,
Sex-Addict. Try doing it without me for awhile.