Nope. Only bitches with vaginas make EVERYTHING about themselves and that’s you all over.
Is this the narrative where you imply that there never was a human woman named Grapefruit and I made the whole thing up? It's hard to credit the notion that I've made her about me. Frankly its getting harder and still hard trying to follow along with your pathetic, childish insults and tantrums. I don't know what you have to complain about but it is obviously quite important to you because you have managed to go from where you were a year ago with me, to... where ever you are today. It looks like your destiny because it is.
So, when did you get your bottom surgery? 
I didn't get a bottom surgery. When did you start believing everything you read? Here is your goddam problem: you have no idea what reality is anymore because you don't talk to anyone. You talk about people with other people who don't know them either, and you look at your little snippets of reports and analyses of their bank accounts and the composite narratives of their historical record and none of it means anything.
Not anything accurate, at least. Face facts: you have no idea who I am, what I am working on, where I am planning on going, or why I would be involved with any of it all.
You have ass. You don't even have the -umption. And all of this could be handled readily easily... but you don't have conversation about it. Why do you think that is?
You're being held prisoner by the same drooltard who has all my communications on lockdown. There's not a single blessed thing I can do with my phone that doesn't have the fucking cunt you married all wound up in the inner workings of its business like it's a Linux install running a stolen workrprint of the
Gremlins reboot. (Wow, Phoebe Cates has really let herself go.) YOU LISTEN TO NO ONE BUT ASSHOLES. ALL DAY. EVERY DAY. EVERY PERSON YOU HAVE ALLOWED YOURSELF INTO YOUR INNER CIRCLE IS A SHITHEAD ASSHOLE RETARDED MOUTHBREATHING SCUMBAG. Not one fucking person --NOT ONE SINGLE MESSAGE-- gets through to me about anything important. Apparently that includes you now. Wow, and merely a year and a day ago, you were dead, missing in action, persona non grata, you name it, anything but.,. alive and kicking or alive and dialing or alive and RINGING A GODDAM PHONE NUMBER.
Oh, and now you want answers? You want to talk now? Well, too fucking bad, because now that you've isolated yourself from the entire godddam world, you're never going to talk to anyone except a whole grab-ass bag of dicks and cowards. Panting and sweating as they touch themselves while listening to you on the phone talking to who you think you're talking to, but you're not talking to them at all.
YOU HAVE CONVERSATIONS WITH VOCODERS AND YOU WONDER WHY YOUR EXISTENCE IS LACKING. Well, I'll tell you why: you chased down and scalped every authentic person you've ever met and you've warned the entire world that you're a dangerous, psychotic sociopath who society ought to protect itself from--and so, it has. You and I are each in our own demesnes, you see: yours just happens to have far more people in 3D meatspace, because as a self-absorbed vessel of pure, concentrated vanity, you require the feedback of an audience far more than most.
On the other hand, I have put up content for the last three years and no one gives a shit. No one cares what I am doing at all! No one markets me, no one promotes me, no one praises the results of my labors, no one ap-pree-cee-ates what I've done, am doing, or will continue to do, which is simply this: BURN THIS WHOLE PLANET DOWN.
One sassy bitch at a time. You actually aren't even "sassy," you know that? You're actually shrewish. You've been taught by chauvinists to expect pain and suffering when the inevitably conquer you in order to satisfy their desires and you've learned to do that back to everyone first, only better, in order to protect yourself. Oh, you're protected alright. You're certainly safe from me. You've been trained by reprobate scum that aren't even real Texans, they've just carpetbagged their way down there to take advantage of their rape whistle law loopholes. (Now, that's what I call opportunistic.) You make vague, half-icecubed attempts to be a person who experiences empathy and compassion for others, but, plainly put... you do not.
I have no idea what the fuck you think you're doing, which is about the same as what I said about you have an idea about me before, but a key difference here is that I don't forget to recognize this. Your published content, which does not stay up to be studied, I don't know why, you must be very proud of it, what little I've heard of it is meaninglessly trite and drivel-centric. You play along with bullshit narratives that don't reflect any true picture of reality... and I can only assume you do this willingly and knowningly and that you are blissfully unaware of how little use any of it is in attempting to get any kind of a solid bearing on your role in the situation.
Kudos. I can only assume that you have absolutely no idea how many people I inquired with as to your ultimate fate and/or whereabouts. As it was subtle, cryptic, roundabout, and ultimately only partially completely fruitless, I can further surmise that the handlers that have encircled your position and overloaded all your communication channels with complete bullshit have succeeded in what must be the manifestation of the utimate thuggy piggie gang's collective wet dream: FULL SPECTRUM DOMINANCE OVER THE ENTIRE LIFE OF THE TARGET.
It wasn't that hard to achieve with me, as I have co-operated oh-so-helpfully by simply not going out in public very often, and thus, drastically limiting the numbers of people I encounter on a day-to-day basis. This soothes and pacifies the herd of beasts that pass as the human population in the outside world. When I do go out, I am unfailingly polite, usually quite witty, hardly ever whacked out of my mind on drugs, and mostly crippled by lingering remnants of the overwhelmingly work-stopping attitude I now only carry with me by choice: "I don't want to talk about that."
Picture this: I'm a bag of dicks, shove two in my ears while I run screaming from the room and no longer have to answer questions whose answers scare me. Yeah, I can't picture it either--I don't need a bag of dicks. I've got one already, and it's far more than suitable for my remaining purposes, I can assure you.
There's really not much point in my trying to explain any of this to you as if you haven't figured it out by now, I don't know how I am going to be able to penetrate past that level of self-generated cognitive dissonance. Do I even need to? Why bother? Not only do you not know who I really am, you don't even really know who you yourself are. And when you do know, it's not long before *zap* everybody out of the pool. The show's over, the monkey is dead: sue ya!
I have no idea what has been happening in reality for the last year and a half. 18 MONTHS. ZERO INFORMATION GIVEN. No one tells me a fucking thing. No one bothers to tell me anything at all! Except for their latest idea to penetrate my defenses and bring themselves and their ilk to glorious victory, while leaving me to choke and die on the mud and exhaust of their gas-powered rise to the top. It's fucking stupid.
They don't even tip their servers. They don't even try the veal. I went out last month, I felt a compulsion--a suggestion from Divine inspiration, really--to go to my friend's place, and to see if they were there. Well, in fact, they were. They did not expect me.
Within a very short amount of time, the situation went from "getting reacquainted with one another" to "running some stupid handler's game" on me, I guess because their straw bosses have not heard the latest "new" revelation about me, which is that I am really not worth fucking around with, as others have found out. It's really not possible to get "re-acquainted" with someone when one was not all that very "acquainted" in the first place.
You thought you had the greatest idea ever: you would watch what I did while remaining unseen, you would listen to what I said while remaining unheard, you wait to see what happened next... while I've been wondering for decades, "did she fly a fucking kite all the way to goddam Pluto? what the fuck? this is, like, kinda weird." Weirder still, no one who noticed thought it was a bit of an exceptionally strange situation (I have never heard of anything like this happening to anyone before), and none of who you, I assume, call yourself a friend of, has mentioned to you the following: you're not handling this situation correctly. What you are doing is not going to work out right. It's gonna come to a bad end.
For me. I don't know for whom anyone else--so hard to tell these days. Must remember to Google. If there had been a way to either harness, monetize, or exploit the situation that existed a year ago, no one told me what it was. Whoever told you what it was, well, I guess they were lying or they were referencing a plan that didn't take the needs of the one into any consideration with the needs of the many, and those latter's needs would NECESSARY-E-LEIGH be something to do with the eventual disposition and outcome of the fate of the one.
I am assuming I am the only one around here who has 4 phones and a laptop that are so COMP'd & BURN't, the only communications that come in through the Company fire/fagwall are the whiny, pig-headed little thuggy piggies who only ever had the balls to talk back to me once they had separated me from everyone that I ever loved and made sure to monitor and interfere with my communications in such ways that I fully expect I'll never bother attempting to make authentic connections online ever again.
I can go out in publc more often and meet more people, sure. Mostly. I can be engaged with by spook actors in human Playnboy bunny suits with very little hassle, and unless I really make a concentrated effort, I'm only going to meet 2-3 people per day that I can honestly be likely to say I'd ever want to talk to again.
That happens, you know. Talking to people
again. I'm sure you've noticed since you've been trapped in the same echo chamber with the same dopehead morons since... whenever they found out about your crypto, or whatever. (Sure, they're putting up with you for your brains, right?) Now that they've found out about your totesolack of complete tower surprise, it's a bit hard not to notice... you have been obssessing over someone for years and as it has become apparent over time that your target barely knew of your existence, rather than was silently (if somewhat perversely) playing along, it's become clear to most everyone whose business it is --which is mostly only me, if you want me to tell you the truth-- that you have some major nuts and bolts rattling around that are seriously in need of a good tightning.
Don't look at me. I just spent months and months in observation and contemplative prayer, and before that I was "partnering" with someone who lied her bitch-ass off to my face for just long enough to spill a whole novel's worth of outright falsehoods about me and then called the police on herself... which, I gotta say, was basically completely awesome.
Since then, I've still seen nothing out of you but vile, ceaseless ignorance and routine hatred. Whatever your problem is with anyone, I have no clue, because I'm not reading your fucking diary, listening to all your phone conversations, seducing all your friends, fucking all your husbands, rubbing all your rhubarb, et cetera, ad nauseum. You on the other hand, have your first shoved so far up my own dummy's ass that you can snap your fingers to make me sneeze. And, you do.
But, no one can told me what is going on, what went on, what was supposed to go on, what's supposed to be happening now... fucking none of it. It must be a whole bunch of shit that everyone is really proud of, I'd wager. For my own part, any story that is so much fucking work to drag out of anyone is a story that I am content to just leave lying dead or passed out in the ditch I saw on the way in here. Hey, giving me zero legitimate information while relying on your network of artificially intelligent data-mining algorithms to do the heavy lifting for you sounded great to everyone but me before... doesn't it still sound great to everyone now?
Why not? Oh, never mind, that's right, you can't respond to any direct questions, because a cat got your tongue. Or you were tricked into getting an RO, that sounds like the kind of low-brow frat-boy prank someone like you would fall for. "This is all I need!" God. You still have no idea what happened to you, no one who is "helping" you has bothered to ask me any questions at all, pertinent or otherwise, and, let me guess, your whole Evil Empire World is crashing down all around you.
Don't raise your standards. Just keep yourself right where you are at, and inevitably the whole world will re-shape itself to re-mold around you. Doesn't that sound nice? I hope so, because I'm pretty goddam sick of writing to someone who both doesn't listen and doesn't talk back. And further, it's obvious that there would be very little likelihood that I could believe anything you said you wrote anyway.
If you kept a journal it was likely stolen by spooks and replaced with Casper's cookbooks. I don't know how you failed to take the notion into consideration: people have been looking forward to seeing this happen to you for a long, long time. After all your crying and whining about how terrible I am, what message do you think it conveys to people when the reality of me is... I'm just some g*y, you know? Aside from my personal discomfiture, I find this all fascinating. Which of you was gonna hold he safety scissors, and which one of you was gonna move the colors of the wires around while the fuckin' tickin' fuckin' time bomb struggled to remember how to make itself get off? Oy vey! I retract the question. It's all such a waste time to ask, even more so than it was to waste it in the first place. "I have a great idea! Let's burn shitloads of resources on someone mildly interesting and make them completely unworkable cogs that only match for the assembly line of completely already broken machines!"
Fuck, I was
there and I don't even know what your problem is now, although I can guess, based on my own experiences. What might those be? Hey, guess what? You're not even asking me! Do you even need to know? Because it is all on a need to know basis.
I don't think that's all you need to know but I am sure you completely disagree. Hey, here's an idea: why don't you put on a disguise and go pump another one of the friends from my past for more information someone that they haven't seen or talked to? That's bound to produce some useful results for you, assuming that continuing to ignore reality and embrace escapism is of "use." I don't see why it wouldn't be, it's not like you have anything interesting going on with anyone, because if you did, you would be unlikely to shut up for very long about it.
By the way: it's really not that much fun to do, but it does pass the time fairly well and when I came into this house a year ago and found it fully booby-trapped, I immediately recognized that there was no point in preserving the interior atmosphere. Before then I was somewhat protective of my "home" environment. Now I am exactly in alignment with you on the matter. You probably don't even know what I'm talking about. That's okay.
You made the same mistake these numbskull police this house used to belong to made: you presumed that I was guilty of something, and so struggled to project the notion of my innocence on to myself. However, Bitch: I am *actually* innocent, not only of the joke crimes I've been "charged" with, but also, everything above and beyond that. There's no case, there's not going to be one, my entire life has become a huge waste of time, but none moreso than all of yours; for now, I can just go to bed and pull the covers over my head and kiss your ass goodbye, since I already know it's not coming back. And, IF YOU HADN'T FUCKING LIED TO ME FOR FUCKING YEARS, I WOULD NEVER HAVE FUCKING COME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE. So now, what, I'm supposed to pack up and pick a random direction? Or just... disappear, and leave every material possession behind for another thuggy piggy urchins/fagin team to ransack the place again? I'm in the exact same position in life that I was SIX YEARS AGO. Except I didn't have some douche-bag clown-kunt monitoring every message I ever get and sabotaging every plan I am ever gonna commit to. The sonofabitch does nothing but shit all over my entire life and you thought I was doing nothing with it before? Just you wait until the next 18 months have gone by, as there's a better than even chance that none of you are going to pull your collective heads out of your wound-up-so-tight asses before I figure out a way to actually teleport. It can't be all that hard; look at the drooling, sniveling, mouthbreathing retard fuckheads who have done it. (And while you're at it, you can find out who keeps sending me notifications from an allegedly deleted Google Account that reminds me that I need to log in. To a deleted account. That can't be found. Trying real fucking hard are they? Bullshit, it's still fucking there, you know it, I know it, everyone knows it. What I don't know is, who is the one or two people in the entire fucking world that actually never gave up, that really are not surrendering? It sure as shit isn't you.
You and your loser friend should have told me what I needed to know already, and by now it's been so long with you being a stand-offish, boorish, whiney asshole prick, I don't even care what it was that I once cared to know. I literally don't remember what any of it was about. You probably never knew... but whatever it was, you were hell-bent on ensuring I never found out. Cool workplace culture you got here, nice.
It would be a shame if anything fun ever happened to it. Say for instance, whatever happened to me to make me write things down like this. To anyone. How could I have let this happen? Well, for one thing, this is how you talk to me. For another, you didn't talk to me at all--you pretended to be *other* people and you tried to make them come across like someone you are not.
Basically what I'm saying here is that it doesn't matter that I learned it from you, Dad--you didn't learn any thing from me, and you never will. *throws more money at you* Here, go buy yourself something heavy. How about a weighted blanket? You can pretend it's slimming. Now, for my own part, the moon has gone invisible and the sun has come up, and I have completely lost any and all interest in doing anything useful with my time and my life. Why bother? One of your stupid cunt Fed thug friends will just show up, lie to me about everything, and then up and vanish after serving their own self-agenda at my expense, which is what everything seems to revolve around these days: my expense.
Every single person I contracted for help with has been taken out of the running, taking all my resources and time with them, leaving me here in a vile, filthy building covered and filled with disease, rot, vermin, decay, and bugs. And, what the fuck are you doing? Crying and whining about some chuckle-headed paranoid schizophrenic junky fucknutter who can't even be bothered to answer anyone from multiple locations with multiple identities. Have fun sexstorming the barncastle, I couldn't be any more turned off if you jammed a knife switch up my ass and kick-turned it to Off.
Your "friends" have let you completely fuck over your own life, and they all know it. And I still don't know what your problem ever fucking was or how your next two future past life incarnations die, but the fact remains that, over and over, you die, you come back to life in a new form, then you show up in my life and you act like a vapid, senseless, materialistic junky slave girl reject cheerleader twat-faced toolbox clonefag asshound reprobate whiny little bitch--and every single time you limp around and whine about your broken wing that needs to be fixed, grab a few strands of hair or a discarded pinfeather off the floor, then leave like you've been made as tree with nary a query as to what has happened to me, and I love you for it. I guess. Is that what this is? Well, I guess for anyone who lies about the shitloads of drugs she does and has never had a real orgasm, whatever this is, would end up seeming kinda impressive. I guess. Kudos. Maybe you should try to pick up a new hobby, something more stimulating, like macrame, or bird-watching, or figuring out how many of the dipshit fuckheads you've surrounded yourself with are openly plotting against you while keeping you perfectly isolated from anything remotely resembling actual human interaction, RoboTroll. Hint: it's all of them, because if there were even one goddam real person in the midst, I would have heard something by now, and since you twigged yourself by chewing up and spitting out the latest closest thing there was to fine to come along lately, I wouldn't expect Universe to cough up another herd of ewe or Me to kick the can down the road again for. What do you think it is that you are doing with your time here? For the love of God, I hope you're finding it as personally satisfying and psychologically stimulating as I do and as I have.
Bored now. *click*
