https://youtu.be/ZLKKFfr9Sw4?is=BHjJ_nJcDy2WLL3WKey takeaways:
#1) Copyright Magic Castle LLC.
#2) I was confused when someone who had ample time in the previous several years to do so, suddenly whipped out a weird family tree sketched out in ball point pen, that appeared at first glance to be, and accompanied by a strained explanation about the difference between an Archangel, a Human Being, and a Punyling™. Now, it entirely makes sense: they were driven by a combination of factors including post-hypnotic suggestion, illicit mind control drugs, and blind, sheer egoism to accomplish what would seem to me to be an obviously bad idea: trifle with Jackstar, and be at all obvious about having done so successfully. And earlier today, I wrote:
that's just so wildly implausible a statement so as to not be believable, n‘est-çe pas? Isn't it far more likely, if I may take the position of the Devil's advocate for a moment, that I was “a willing participant” in underage drinking, solicitation for sex and underworld gray-market drug trafficking, and all of my recent spamming on this website’s forum and in my video confessions of my incognizant associations with those salacious details of what I have alleged to be “crimes by corrupt elements of law enforcement in co-operation with rogue C.I.A. officers” over the last 4½ years, to be merely a result of my obvious desperate yearning for attention from the various people of the world — who are so enthusiastic about finding a new source of narcissistic supply of voyueristic... damn, what's that word? My mind is drawing a blank. Hang on.
* Jackstar is going to go into the bathroom in order to exclude the highly trained Special Agent currently attempting to remain nonchalant while more-or-less motionlessly lying in bed next to him from getting “high,” since it doesn't look to him like that individual was born that way either.
None of this was -ever- my idea.
https://youtu.be/MHsPaAci9xg?is=Aql4fHH8aoXY-U3R#3) It's one thing to rob me blind right in front of me while imagining that I am an idiot. It's quite another to keep going at it, for years.
YEARS. What the actual fuck? Who does this? The answer is simple: the right-hand executive officer bound by control dope and hypnotic suggestion to an absolutely degenerated karmic evil twin of someone who was surely quite persuasive in the first place. Which was probably about a dozen years ago. wew lads. Okay, let me guess: there was no way I was going to figure it out, much less, do anything about it, eh? Eh? How about a Fresca®™?
#4) I literally have no physical contact with someone for years, and then all of a sudden I am queried as to whether or not I've had anal sex with them or have talked to their father... at knifepoint on the Eve of a national religious holiday, and: this is amusing to anyone? Four and a half years later, and it's still a thighslapper? People literally run rip my entire life apart, stealing everything that that nailed down, burning evidence in a rusty oil barrel placed in my driveway, and somehow “shut the fuck up” is the go-to advice. I suppose my appeals to reason are somehow distracting from the day-to-day business of sex- and drug- addiction, which, of course that's
just me. That's
my problem. And being quiet about it, why, that's what's going to work. Sow, I didn't get to. Buh?
#5) To be fair, I suppose I could have succeeded at sounding an alarm in some other way, however it seemed to be pretty likely that would have resulted in becoming guilty of some crime myself; or becoming an even greater social pariah that I am now. (Reputation level reaching a new nadir as I write this; because, how dare I maintain a consistent, coherent, and compelling narrative in a way that has become an insurmountable
coup de grace against a global crime syndicate and its entire foundation upon which its existence clings to, like lichen on a rock? Like a monkey on the back? Like a wart on a d!≤K‽ How dare I? How dare Boss Hawg... trifle with mⓂ️Ē, Jackstar: Destroyer of Dimwits? Like, how much more “step off, mangj, you don't wanna mess with my mojo” could I have been? Honest and for true: I never imagined anyone could be this goddam clueless. “Cut his mic... again.” OK: reap the whirlwind. Again.) I'm not terribly happy about how this all looks at this point. But I am pretty delighted with how it
feels.
#6) I literally have no idea where to go or who to inform after the events of the last few days, but I'll figure something out. It would be different if I were on the run from The L∆vv, or if I had committed some horrific crime I needed to keep under wraps, or if all of you salty, crusty lot here were at all accomplished, career criminals... but you're not. You're a bunch of herpy-derpy entertainment industry turkey nerds. I already knew you couldn't fly. Now I know that you can't understand normal thinking, either. Okay, fine. I'll see what I can do. Or rather, I saw what I could have done today, and didn't. Instead, I simply lived what remains of the shattered remnants of my life to the fullest. TRUST THE PLAN. You're all glad I did. BTW: all your base belong to one of my subordinate henchpeople now. I have no fucking idea which one, or what that is going to look like to you when you all come down off of your collective walking dope coma, and I'm going to need people to keep track of the people that I have for that, and will continue to have an ongoing requirement to have for that. Seriously: y'all have screwed your last pooch. More pre-dumb than post-gab, Bell. You snobby fuckwits are D00Ⓜ️ŒD, I'm telling ya. Put a fork in yourselves. You're unfathomably done.
#7) I didn't choose to become a Divinely Ordained Magickal Being. SexPredGab: you all decided at some point that sex- and drug-addiction was an occupational hazard that wasn't
for you to be concerned with.
Au contraire, mes amis. We are not the same. Because all of you never saw this coming, and I have been steadily working towards this final outcome for twenty years and more. What was once yours... is now MINE. No, no-no: know no no-no. It's too late to apologize. Only tears now.
I'm gonna give it all right back, naturally. But first: NINETY DAYS IN THE COOLER. Hopefully you'll all be kept company by The Ghost of Bob Crane; whose fate I very sincerely hope in no way foreshadows any of yours. He fell harder than Icarus after a direct hit on a Divine windshield at Mach 10. Some days, that's what diplomacy is: a catastrophic collision into a columnade, killing everyone in a 500 yard radius as your antimatter containment fails.
Ye
were warned. Ye were
all warned. If one cannot handle lil' Michael Clifford >KUCZÎ, one cannot handle warp drive. And, all of all y'all did not handle īT. Ugh, just ugh.
I wish I could talk to you, but I can't. Goodbye. (*🆑–·¡<K‽*)
Signed,
Jackstar: a friend, dummies.
P.S. Maybe I'll talk to you if you suck my phat one, you cheap carnival circus sideshow pimps. In some media markets. If I goddam feel like it. Just kidding. I'll feel like it, alright. But you wont. #Officially. That's too bad.
P.P.S. At one point, I would have been happy with a hug. Now I want a Mercedes-Benz and a Jaguar with a lightsaber for a tail. Make that shit happen, NERDS! Or I'll
execute every last one of you decide I don't like you any more. So there.
P.P.P.S. FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, NEVER FORGET: I would prefer to not club♣baby🐬seals. EVER. (Standards.) Get a life, People. Penetrably, one that isn't
drop dead creepy. Ewwwwww,
gross.
My phone is unusable because of your DDoS shenanigans. FIX IT NOW. Final warning.
♊⚖️: INCOMING REPRISALS. (They won't be crowdpleasers. Heavy, heavy hammers.)
Adieu.
