Check the timestamp. Target destroyed.
I'm gonna get blasted now. (I don't have to wait, but I don't have to do it, either. I simply have... permission. Imagine how good the masturbation feels with permission too! lol)
I did not get blasted. (Why even bother? Besides, communist flounder makes an excellent complement to beets and beet-like vegetables.)
In any event -- I thought I may as well post this here, so no one important misses out -- for the hour of Actual_Doom is at hand.
I could explain, but, is there even any point to posting here? Everyone who knows to come here, already knows. It has become increasingly obvious --especially in recent hours-- that everyone who is anyone knows exactly what is happening here.
What has been at hand, of course... is proving it. And this is a fairly important matter, because here is what happens if this is *not* proven... no prosecution can commence (Prosecutors do NOT file a case and then just *hope* and try to *wing it* and then go home from work and sit around hoping they're going to win, no! No! As per Sun-Tzu, "seek not to win a war; instead, first win the war, and then attack,") and with no prosecution, the case is stalled, and then a New Investigation is launched... hopefully with more resources available, to hire Crown Agents, or Pinkertons, or whatever the hell kind of Lawful Fury the relevant planar dimensions can see fit to bring to bear.
The wheels of Justice grind slowly... AND YET THEY GRIND TO DUST. All that grinding doesn't come cheap. Lights, cameras, models, guest lists... shit can add up quickly.
Especially in a case like this... one? Hahaha, "just one case." There are SEVERAL tied up in this ratfuckline of ratline ratfuckers, and it's way, way, way bigger than just me. It is a COLOSSAL DEAL.
This is why, in spite of literally dozens of dorkfags and naughtybailifs and ti-ki-rikki-ponds, sewage treatement ponds... there is no engagement, promotion, or coverage available to my stupid little "debrief."
It's evidence, you see. Can't really promote evidence. Can't really give state monies to chumps who are, for lack of any other way to put it, "innocent until proven guilty." Can't get involved, oh no. That would tainting the meat. That would be poisoning "the fruit of the tainted tree." If that happens... well...
Let's put it this way: that WILL NOT happen in this matter, because THE GUILTY PARTIES ARE CAUGHT, INFLAGRANTE DELECTO. And some of these vile cretins -- yours truly excluded -- are wanted ALL OVER THIS LAND. They got some real heavies on the hook here. Even heavier than... ah, no.
What am I saying, lol. NO ONE is heavier than Dave "Mustang V-8 engine" (PROT), who, to be honest, I can't remember his name, right? No really, I can't. It may well have been his "real" name that he gave me, back in the day--but I don't remember it, and I don't -want- to remember it, and... oh, damn, I forgot that big bag of weed again. Awww, shucks.
It's amazing, the lengths a person will go to in order to track down a
legitimate grudge, is it not?
Now, I could not for the life of me, figure out why... I couldn't find ANYONE that I used to know, BUT, I kept on "coincidentally" running into people who... strangely resembled them. They, or others. It was like they were... like, reborn into another human body, right? Like it was their past life self that I knew, and they had died, and then they come down from a higher plane of reality, you dig? And they'd act like they didn't know me, right? Or, they'd act like they knew something I didn't. Like, BIG TIME.
"Big time," of course, that being what Dave is gonna get, or David, or both, or (PROT), or (PROT-D), or (PROT-M), or... well, you get the idea. It's gonna be massive. Truly massive.
In fact, for some, it has already happened. They've been fuckin' incinerated on some worlds, and they die, and their private version of Hell, is to be forced to come to Earth again and figure out how to stop these crazy bastards, Jane... because the only way to do that, is to exonerate me at trial.
And, they CANNOT win against me on that charge. They have shitloads of exculpatory evidence. ACTUAL LOADS OF SHIT. (/blush) Because as it turns out... I saw a lot of this coming.
My email in the cloud is practically a goddam roadmap to the stars. IT IS SICK. What am I gonna do with it?
/shrug
Fuck if I know. I guess I'll just sit around and drink craft beers (or at least pretend to, lol) and get high whenever I feel like it (meh) and find out what happens next.. for a Rubicon has at last been crossed.
At some point, it was entirely pointless to kill me--for even if I was vanished, I had something to live for... I mean, no, wait, I mean the other thing. I had *nothing* to live for. Once Grapefruit_Actual was replaced with a series of Grapefruit_Tulpas, at first I thought, "huh, that's weird."
It's gone pretty fuckin' far past "huh that's weird." She's basically become an evolved being that isn't even human anymore. Now, 10/10 for style, but when it comes to hanging out and chilling... uh, yeah, I don't think that's gonna work out. (Bi-bitch is smokin' hot, but... what am I gonna do, let Grandpa Cooper possess my consciousness? Yeah, not just "no" but FUCK NO.) Besides, Tribal Council already ruled--ain't gonna happen. Soooo... she's still as lovely as ever, but am I gonna "date" a married woman?
NO. I AM NOT. THAT'S WHY: a great many things many people have assumed to be the case to be true, are simply not true, not at all.
I haven't seen my GF--the one who liked my sandwich ("best ever!" I was told, and she meant it), the one who.... oh, never mind. I don't really want to think about it. The broad who jumped into the taxi at 4AM while some douchebag on the phone was yammering on about "Google Analytics," yeah, well, that wasn't even her anymore then.
Different pilot, very slightly different meet-suit, and exact same Soul. And across the highway, at an entirely different ESA, that was where Grapefruit was. Because they were swapped. It was necessary to get me in the picture somehow, and when I suddenly stood to my feet, strode from the room, and went to my "home" in LFP, which we had abandoned when all the appliances failed... which no one wanted to fix, because hey, guess what, I WAS READY TO LEAVE THE FUCKING PLACE LONG BEFORE I EVER MET A. F. S.
So, why did the woman with a billion friends and access to plenty of capital and financing and knowledge to make something happen, be completely unable to do so? And instead, wanted me to meet her at a specific location with a specific set of people to engage in a specific activity? And why did she get so pissed when I said, "No," and "I'm not really comfortable with dragging my cat all over the place, and I was just out there 5 days ago, and now you want me to come back again? That's some pretty saucy timing, Babe," and oh, let me tell you, that was the beginning of the slippery slope.
That woman was not always the Brainiac that you all know her to be. She used to be even
smarter. And that's when she knew--not just suspect! she KNEW it! "Jackstar is a cop!!"
I've even got a badge. It's the cover of Pink Floyd's "Animals."
It has become no longer possible to live a normal life under these circumstances. Nevertheless, the privilege of my life has been the greatest possible ever thus far. Service to Life Itself. That service shall continue.
A few days ago, I met a woman who had been brutally raped two days before my birthday, this year. She was... telling the truth. She was pleased that I was willing to "help" her, and I think the majority of that "help" rested firmly in the domain of, "could hang out with her and keep my hands off her." She was cute. She -is- cute, probably. I don't know, I haven't seen her again, and she may well have already gone back to Home. Or, Base. Whatever the fuck it's called. How should I know?
I'm just a Patsy (scion). Speaking of dear old mum, do any of you have any fucking idea what's going on with that? Because, as one might guess... I've heard a rumour or two.
Far be it from me to spoil any surprises.
I have lots more to reveal, but, you know what? Anywhere but here... to anyone but Ewe.
(Gross, trifling, right?) RITE.PITpitSPITFIRE
LADYJUSTIRE.
p.s.: hey fuck-0s, if you ever see me get angry, you will know it from the deja vu, and a sudden, inexplicable desire to run away. I've seen it. It looks weird. "Why are you running away?" Oh, btw--jazz hands. Anyway, now that I've passed APONT, take my advice... if you see me IRL and think I start to look... different? Don't try to comfort me, or calm me down, or panic, or even run. Just get behind me.
AND
FLEE.
