Shout-outs to yesterday's operations team who were absolutely brilliant at their tradecraft yesterday. They seemed a little surprised that I wasn't hating and cursing on their sudden but inevitable betrayal; but they're all SpookL¡fe royalty, and it's their job to, among other things, clandestinely set targets up for prison — without being at all obvious about it. As I am still living the dream on the daily without any necessity to break any laws, 🤞, ultimately it was an unexpected but immensely educational and entertaining three-hour-tour for me, and a cavalcade of showmanship and drug-dealer drossage that imperceptibly built to a climax that saw about nine officers and four patrol SUVs, an F.D. ambulance with a crisis response team, an actual fire truck, at least two different flavors of Feds, Sheriff's deputies, three stealth paramedics and a big black big boy big truck caboose for the blow-off.
It was the first time a friend of mine and I had gone off the res alone together, and although I had imagined going to get cigarettes and some laundry done, it became an absolute carnival. Absolutely, an act of God. My friend seemed a bit surprised at the arrival of all the hardware and cheerful badger brutes and chuters, but as I have explained to many skeptics over the years, I am a pretty goddam big deal around here.
I am an exceptionally fortunate person to have been given the opportunities and made the absolute most for myself possible out of them as I have done. Very few people have accomplished what I have done and the great majority of them have wisely kept their shenanigans on the surreptitiously subtle side. Not me though. Brazen! Balls-out, but barely a breath of blarney! Because, B¡†CÎ-hvvīTCīī-īīES of BallGrab, if I am afraid of disturbing the peace, I may as well give myself a frontal lobotomy with a pair of pinking shears and a ball-peen hammer.
That's no stretch goal. That's a seppuku way to end a State-sponsored secret investigation into the suspicious suspicions of some serrated-wimged seraph who slid on in to sneer snidely at how shady we were presenting the basic facts of our even more basic existence... high AF, bold-ass mega-gijnger broads and our personal bowdlerization of some background in battlespace bridge warfare. Everyone assigned to this project in any capacity is at the top of their game and they didn't win a fully fresh ewe, llll you ñlllll™.
I knew it was a test from Divine when she started slipping and skiing of into a detour with no known purpose other than to stop and wait to be ambushed by to him, and then he'll know that is necessary because of a woman in comfy comfortable shoes who ended up getting rather a lot of scrutiny white I went to the closest Fred Meye®™ to score needles and sulfa drugs. Just kidding.
It was a Chevron. I wasn't being detained, and I -do- hold a special military rank, and have an object that represents this. (In addition to penis.) One of the fire department paramedics was beyond past the point of equilibrium and was clearly happy that the stories being spread were accurate. It's not a trick. It's the law.
I follow it. You fear it. She loves Me³! She was perfect. She was also working. Not there was much to do but everyone wanted a sunshine breather and whomever is Perp Prime has the legal right to defend themselves by claiming that I did it, I did it, I fooled ewe, can I fooled you, I got all pig ire end, I got all pigs' ironz.
Without being at all obvious about it, but with God, anything is possible. (Melissa: shave.) Be of good cheer.
Be (Her). 🤞 GrapefrüīT7⁷∆_🅿️HA!🅿️rirn can follow orders, good, and I can't follow every vadge with a badge I come across. That would come across as creepy. This ruins the fantasy. Hang on.
* Jackstar chose the psycho nut life.
No shame in it. No money either but I can probably rifle through Mel’s pockets after she loses consciousness and the mandate of Heaven. Hold on.
Because this is going to hurt *lick* men.
