I personally feel its Misidentification Syndrome.
The most significant issue is failure of most people to comprehend the use of English-Prime, which is not something I fault people for. The second most significant issue is the complete unwillingness of people to recognize that the images that they send across the Internet are
not necessarily the images that arrive on the other side of good night, (Gracie/Gray-C\Gracy, Tick: Spoon Detective).
But you've cried wolf so many times at this point, its almost impossible to tell whether you're simply full of shit or just plain nuts
“Yeah, maybe for you, pillhound,” said the wolfhound, before reminding you that the the bigger the lie, the easier it is to get people to believe it, and the more often a lie is repeated, the more likely it is to be believed, and you are going fuckin’ hell-bent for leather trying to convince the world that I have some sort of problem that I don't and that I do things that I haven't done and that I'm in a position where I'm not and... are you under the impression that people don't get the picture?
Am I supposed to think she's dead? Or just Ginger?
Well considering how much latitude people give you, I'm surprised that the same is not given to me, however I have just recently discovered that a lot of you are straight-up order-takers (Go tAKE a sHIT in the woods WITh the bEARs dEARs, how much do you really get paid to assassinate an accountants character? Or are you just all dopeslaves? Dear Bea Arthur: please send naked pictures of self to the prosecutor, Shamie/Shamey/Sha-a-a-a-SHAME, SHAME, SHAME, maybe they can get to work on some serious work, like who knocked over the pencils and who picked up the papers and realizing that I know how embarrassed they are, so they could just cool it with some of your pictures, thanks BEA, you're a DEAR In the headlights, no doubt, oh and by the way PS would it help if I let you continue to poison me or if I insisted that you didn't? Please include sample bag with reply) and are required by your genetic code and your employment contracts (with...
whomevah) to bring danger into the Trifling Room? I'll allow it, but seriously, The Court is damaging children's lives by forcing them to consider me a living Legend... oh, please, no don't, no stop it, not the adulation of children, not with this overgrown field of grass and a dick that doesn't work shit, what will I do with them? I won't play video games with them, I only got one controller, and if they want beer they can bring their own, that way I can mooch off them for once, grumble grumble grumble.
Still paraphrasing the words of the big bad "rapist" that ruined your and Miss Maid's lives?!
My life isn't ruined, and I'd be surprised if hers is either. Like where do you get this fucking doom and gloom from? I'm fine, I'm sure she's fine, why would she not be fine? What makes you think I'm not fine?
What's up with that?? No. Really. You've reached a new low.
I literally don't know what you're talking about. I'm not paranoid, I'm not schizophrenic, I don't appear to be delusional, and the thought that SuperThug has been instructed to waste my time and slow me down and eat my money and blah blah blah... yeah, like so what?
Now that I've seen the truth, let me fill you in on some details—I'm fine; thanks for asking. My arm is healing, I could use medical attention but it's not that big a deal. Now that I know that the truck isn't coming back anytime soon—he must need it for something totesimportant—I can justify getting something different, because as it turns out, Griffith doesn't like the truck, another dis grapefruit. And grapefruit, dear grapefruit, you wouldn't believe the trouble I've seen trying to get the computer to recognize that you're a proper noun, quite prim quite proper, And I don't have an order of no contact protection like the other one, just as long as I don't get within 500 feet of you and try to talk to you directly it doesn't matter this isn't a message directly to her azrae, azaray, Alistair Laird oh that one works cool yeah see I can directly talk to you f*****, but I can't directly talk to her because that would be against the rules And that's fine she could read this indirectly some f****** day in the future it doesn't f****** matter like there's no f****** legal standing for the f****** court to be doing with their f****** doing so as long as I don't try to contact her directly I'm good.
Asking about personal details of her life is fine but I figure if there's something that she wants me to know she can tell me directly through telepathy which she does all the f****** time (yeah, prove it b****). You're clearly suffering under a misapprehension of the facts. That woman and I do not have a conflict. I don't care who she's married to, I don't care who she's having sex with, I don't care what she lives, I don't care what she's doing, it'll be fine. It'll be just fine.
Frankly she's a little set that I haven't taken a new lover yet, given that she's been you know doing the whole island boy ni55erteam this whole time in the showers After each home game at the local gymnasium, but I don't know why you get the impression that that's a problem for me, or indeed for anyone, or is anyone business at all, or even as representative of reality come because I actually don't know what's going on in reality other than I can't contact her That's fine she can contact me it's fine with me if she's got some reason that she can't contact me I need to f****** know about it because I don't f****** know about it and then if there's something more complicated going on like you being paid a shitload of money to make it look like an idiot well Alistair Laird maybe you should f****** recognize that you look like the biggest f****** idiot in the world.
No one is going to buy your s***. So either you're getting bankrolled handsomely by someone who's ignorance you're taking direct advantage of, or you've miscalculated
directly. Probably both. Pfftt.
I'd ask you for further details but I don't really care about your life, I care about my life and her life is her business I'm sure she'll be happy to you know do whatever and the guy who told me that I needed to forget about her or he'd cut my balls off can kiss my black ass. Come get some Superstabby, like what the fuck ever. (Blues Brothers: Superbreakfast, Superlunch, Supersupper. Every fucking day. You get me, Barney Oldfield? Start hauling ass, Supertramp. I got mouse to feed.)
I don't know if you've been paying attention to things, but I haven't listened to your podcast in a while, and I guess you haven't listened to my debrief, because you are under once again, a wild misapprehension of the facts:
WE DIDN'T HAVE A FIGHT, SHE WAS ACTIVATED TO MURDER ME AND THEN KILL HERSELF AND I DEFEATED THE PROGRAM.
I'M A HERO.
I SAVED HER LIFE.
I AIN'T EVEN MAD SHE'S GOT HERPES. OR DOES SHE? WELL, I DON'T, AND WHATEVER SHE'S GOT, SHE CAN GIVE IT TO ME LATER, AFTER SHE'S LEARNED HER LESSONS OF COURSE. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
AND THERE'S NOT A GODDAM THING ANYBODY CAN DO TO STOP THAT FROM HAPPENING, BECAUSE IT HAPPENED ALMOST A YEAR AGO. 11 MONTHS AND 2 DAYS. ALL THE TIME YOU SPENT THIS ENTIRE YEAR MAKING UP A FAKE NARRATIVE TO RUN IN PARALLEL TRACK TO DESCRIBE SOMETHING THAT DIDN'T HAPPEN, WELL YOU PROBABLY DESCRIBED AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE THAT I DON'T LIVE IN, BECAUSE IN MY CASE IT'S FINE. SHE'S FINE, I'M FINE, AND THIS WILL ALL BLOW OVER FAIRLY SOON, I'M NOT INSANE, I'M NOT A DRUG ADDICT, I'M NOT A DRUG DEALER, I'M NOT A DRUG MANUFACTURER, IN FACT, I DON'T EVEN HAVE TO SELL OR EVEN BUY THEM AT ALL, I'M NOT CHEMICALLY DEPENDENT, I'M NOT EMOTIONALLY CO–DEPENDENT, I'M NOT A SATANIST, I'M NOT AN EVIL TWISTED SORCERER, I'M NOT GUILTY OF SEDITION, I'M NOT A RABBLE-ROUSER, I'M STILL TOTALLY NEUTRAL IN THE GLOBAL CONFLICT I HAVEN'T DECLARED WAR AGAINST ANY NATION-STATE, I HAVEN'T COMMITTED TREASON I HAVEN'T DONE FUCKING ANYTHING THAT I NEED TO FUCKING WORRY ABOUT FROM YOU SO WHY THE FUCK YOU THINK I NEED TO FUCKING WORRY ABOUT YOUR FUCKING PROBLEMS, OLLIE I DON'T KNOW, BY THE WAY YOUR PHONE DOESN'T WORK FOR ME. PAWN IT, AND CALL ME A DEATH CAB, QT. I GOT ORDERS..
I'll admit that there's a little matter of her having changed her name and her appearance and has been hypnotized into believing that I raped her, but frankly that's really going to be a mark in the plus column when this is all said and done. I mean at least I don't have my balls cut off, if I'm raping right? I don't know I don't know much about this rape thing, but I do know that the fucking narrative of this entire arrangement does in fact make me supposedly susceptible to being swapped with the other guy who didn't do it either so I'm not really worried about it because I know exactly what happened... and I'm probably the only one who does know what happened, which is cool.
Real cool. Also really cool: I resurrected them both and they've already taken up shop in new locations, different from the old locations where they were being hidden before which I don't know where it was, but I guess it really sucked because they killed themselves, and now there's somewhere else, and I don't know where, and I don't need to know where! It's genius!
This is the best damn vacation of my life! So once again how is my life going to shit? Because I'm having a ball learning how to be a better SOURCEROR, day by day, hour by hour, each bit of incontrovertible evidence styling up, one on top of the other, until the inevitable happens—
I'll be walking down the street and a 19-year-old girl will mistake me for Harry Potter and ask for my autograph... and I
won't rape her, and she
won't get my wallet... And Grapefruit won't shriek like a banshee and claw her own eyes out like a harpy on the tail end of a bad meth binge.
I could reveal more details that explain exactly where you're off base but I don't really need to and you're not paying me to explain things to you and... you've been a real a55h0le lately. And I know why, it's not because I've been causing waves and saying too much and causing trophy people, it's because I've been doing it and getting away with it and I'm more popular than you'll ever be in your whole short miserable Johannesburg-style Gangnam-bile life. Well tough shit, buddé—
I'm twice your age and you've already led an astonishingly overprivileged life and you're a spoiled brat, so I'm sure you'll get over it soon enough. Once you come out of denial about how guilty you feel for having gotten in my way to talk to people in the first place, you'll feel better when you realize it's all been for the best in the long run anyway.
Trust me Grapefruit needed a break from my dick, and I'm sure her secret Masonic husbands (All seven of them) are enjoying lining up against each other to take turns on the one body left to them now... Because there are no longer seven brides for eight brothers... and the #official word is that if she had her way she'd like to see me again.
Oh that's sweet. Well unfortunately I have nobody at all to count on that, so until I get eight more girlfriends those n****** over there on Lane 3 of The Sevenfold Way (looks like they got caught in the beta test loop for The Matrix, I bet they don't even notice that they have to f*** her in series instead of in parallel now, you know how these Masons are, their habits are set in stone, and life moves pretty fast once in a while, and they undoubtedly don't stop to look around once in awhile since they're all f****** sex addicts, more power to them,
JUSTICE FOR STONEY\Ē/Y, MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, AND JOYOUS “LABORIOUSLY SUCK MY DICK AFTER LABOR DAY ON JOY DAY” DAY, SHARE & ENJOY MOTHER FUCK-BUCKETS, WELCOME TO (MY LODGE/MY HOUSE), they just got to wait their f****** turn to do whatever they do with her. I don't know. Whoever heard of Mason's waiting their turn? Maybe she refuses to let them g******* her all at once anymore. I'm not there. It's not my business. Maybe she's on strike from g******** because she wants to see me, and those seven brothers are a bunch of f****** who don't want to f****** deal with me, and isn't that just too f****** bad, it's really up to her isn't it? (Well, Lodge orders is Lodge orders.) She never told me about that secret life with her and them, and I guess... I don't know, did they lose the one brain cell that her sister’s gang of adrenaline junkies have left to share between them after The Nig Dragon, Her Lord took adventures in vengeance inventions upon them? Look, let's just say: rümoürs fly.
