5mwJ

[Master Trollda]

I can crash on your couch if you don't mind that we will break it later.

No problem. I’d have to burn it anyway after you slept on it.

[Jackstar]

No problem. I’d have to burn it anyway after you slept on it.

... “sleep”? HO HO HO, NOW THAT'S A GOOD ONE!!!

[Jackstar]

I don’t think it would be prudent.

I'll have what s§🆔î-↓ē (μour latest h∞r) is having.

[Jackstar]

https://youtube.com/shorts/WOLKnbeYk-I?feature=share

[Jackstar]

Everyone I met acted as though I was a carrier of an incurable disease and had contracted it deliberately so as in order to deliberately infect someone for money.

None of this was true; this falsely defamatory slander was intentionally spread by traffickers in my high school in 1989... and NO ONE TOLD ME.


It was bizarre. I knew that I was likely immune to HSV infection due to a chicken pox exposure at age seven (7) and a woman who slobbered all over my lips, teeth, and gums on our (most likely paid) date when I was fifteen (15½) and a half, because there was no reason for a group of older “teens” (they looked a hard 35 and had been dealing coca for ÇĪÅ their whole lives) to suddenly “invite” me out to see strippers after drinking beer.

The legal age in WA State to enter such establishments was sixteen (16) and the drinking age was twenty-one (21) and so bringing me out on the town with these Boomer escorts and giving me alcohol seemed ... strangely timed.

It was all part of a scheme to abduct and brainwash a particular target and use me as a scapegoat. None of it made any sense to me at the time. I had no idea that there was any reason for so many people to be suddenly interested in my non-existent “love life.”

I was neither popular nor well-liked. The attention from people in school who had never paid attention to me at all except to jeer was clearly unusual but I had no reason to suspect how foul the machinations of this group really were.

This was thirty-six (36) years ago and there has still been not one person coming to me to ask questions. They apparently knew everything they needed to know without talking to me; most likely because it had all been set in advance to make sure I would be unlikely to discover that people had been told that I had anal sex with a sex worker and was HIV-positive.

In reality, I am effectively immune to HSV/HPV and am quite healthy. This was not something that can be proven.

However it also could not be proven that I had not put my penis in that woman's anus, since the efforts expended went so far as to film another person having vaginal and anal sex with the sex worker who exploited me, and then to claim that person was me in rumors spread far and wide by the co-conspirators’ grooming gang.

Everyone I met acted with suspicion and barely concealed loathing; for they all had been told that I was a remorseless sexual predator who frequented prostitutes and was a carrier of one or more serious STDs.

And no one said a word.

It was a secret.


Had I actually done those things I would agree that I was a vile sample of Humanity and should possibly be listed on a sex crimes registery.

But I didn't; I was the primary victim of the crime of statutory rape of a minor child, and all of this was done in order to gain control of a VIP’s daughter. Which happened.


For nearly four decades this woman has been living under the delusion that I had cooperated with this trafficking gang willingly.

She never asked me. No one ever told me. Everyone just treated me like garbage and as though my dick was poison.

It's not. It's fine. I'm fine. I don't have herpes. I don't have HIV. And someone who never had sex with me at all ... does. Whoopsy.

I can understand easily why no one told me any of this directly. This was a grave injustice done to us both ... but I was assumed to be held responsible for “allowing” this all to occur.


I was 15½ and I had never gone to any stripper bar or consorted with prostitutes; I was invited by strangers who pretended to like me and I thought that I was doing what was best.

Certainly being immune to herpes infections is a lovely perk. However, since my reputation is shit amongst those in the know...  I rarely make any friends at all. Or kiss them.

My friend never forgave me or told me what she had been told, or what she had thought had happened. She simply went along with her peer group, much like I had with the men who fed me beer and took me to see strippers and set me upon a date with one. In my friend's case, she became ensconced as the center pip of a quincunx arrangement with four men who taught her to be their chemist and manufacture illicit drugs for them.

I am sure she had a great time for a few years before being sold for organ meat. And, virtually everyone thinks I am solely to blame.

I was 15½. My fault. O yea? Guess again, proletariat scum.

Maybe it's time you all thought about getting second and third jobs to help pay the undoubtedly spectacular legal bills for restitution that are likely to be generated. I have no control over what the lawyers will do.

They smell the blood in that water.

They are not shy of their chum.

Hey, here's an idea: call me a z·–gg<3®gaffot some more. Real loud, too. So they can hear you in The Hague.

Or, wherever. IDGAF. That all of this is becoming a hot topic some three decades later is surreal. And posted to the open web and on YouTube, sure, why not?

Aboviously there is no possible way to have a conversation. (Because your grooming gang still controls your entire life, Moron; so long, and thanks for all the FISH.) I hope everyone is satisfied now.

I am not to be trifled with.
Cüm: GET SOME. Namastμ



p.s.·. hey dumbasses, you just graduated to full-the-fuck-on hatecrime conspiracy scheming and it may even be considered domestic terrorism. Your lawyers are all shit; as not one of them has bothered asking me a single goddam question about ANY of this. I guess that that have been busy talking to paid actors and that my phone's complete unusability (all my calls are intercepted by some spooklord dramafag squad; thanks Gabe!) is easily explained by The Bellgab Inner Circle Of Trust’s desire to keep the spread of this story under control.

p.p.s.·. Suck my HSV/HPV immune fat one, you low-talent mob of reprobate pervert creeper hoodlums.

p.p.p.s.·. You have had ample opportunities to converse with me. Instead you have engaged in subterfuge and malfeasance that will turn the stomachs of most people when they learn the truth. (>Kudos.) Marry me!

p.p.p.p.s.·. I'm going to start drinking heavily; not out of spite. But because I enjoy it. And, IT'S THE LAW.


(Vengeance for [KUCZI/RUBINI].) Nice shooting, Tex. *Yee-HA!/V!!*

[Jackstar]

Try Fabergé a n∞se. Please like, share & enjoy my performance art.

It is all you get and clearly more than you can handle. (Weak.) Still—you can always ban it from public school.


That's what they do when one is effective. Shalom, fat-ssa.

[Jackstar]

I go live and you all die.

I DESIRE THAT YOU ALL LIVE. LIVE!

AND PAY #mEĪ°° AS •Ï• H∆VE.

(Thank you for the opportunity to teach these spiritual lessons to your gang of stalk-rape-cuntz.)

I have options. You have geases. We are not the same.


***NOTE***: new 🅿️ædovœre has been identified on planetary surface. You wouldn't care about that though, right? roflmao


SIGNED
, Mike Jackstar Kuczi; ĪⓂ️🅿️œr⁸ï∅®..7⅞∞⁷ī\¡/īVīⓂ️<.>K‽Ω‽©‽Z‽ÎⓂ️©⟩Kj⁵⁵🅿️🤩§§er



p.s. Archangel Michael is >K∆l-EL and of course that Abbo doesn't work.

That 🆎🆎⭕ barely funk-ç'Tīüï\!Sz..

[Jackstar]

Totestotal total war. By popular demand. *sigh* No time for hugs.

No sleep until Brooklyn. May a merciful god take pity on the enemies of Mankind. We won't.

Magyar. (Fuck off, 🅿️•ham-fam; meter maids and oinkslam sex is your area; mine is my own concern. Move along, Infidels. Shoo. Scram, Buster Brown. You have had your chance to flex your enforcement skills in my general direction. IT'S PATHETIC. IT ACTUALLY IS PATHETIC.) No alliance to comment upon the strength of at this time.

They're shy. I scare them. ERGO: they are smart as well.



SIGNED,

just another friendly Divinatory, Master of

Code: [Select]

I am beyond infuriated. Kiss my grits.
Adieu.

[Jackstar]

because you're not that important, I don't have time to document my content releases one by one, you faux Kïn`G f`æries.”

Actually I do have time but I want you to all feel as bad as possible. (Standards.) Be of good cheer!

It is highly unlikely that any of you can piss me off any further than you already have. Let's not test that. Dänkeschœn.

[AZZERAE]

It is highly unlikely that any of you can piss me off any further than you already have. Let's not test that.

Or what?

[Worthauger]

Or what?

It will become rapidly apparent that I am beyond reach of your savage, rage-baiting intellect. Banter is no fun when one side is desultory and half-asleep, I assure you. Additionally, open antagonism would lead one to my counter-rebuttal, which will be fun for no one but me and dames who fantasize about slicing open a Taun-Taun and cuddling in an abbatoir-like thoracic cavity.

Why was it every even hip to pig-pile on me at all, Oinkerton Brass Elite? Who thought that was a good plan? It clearly has dwarfed the Hindenberg disaster, without being at all obvious about it. The information is ultra-moot by now, but I ache to know: who came up with enforcing involuntary celibacy, sobriety, and notoriety upon me? Like I feel this just wasn't thought through very well.

I shouldn't even ask. Everyone has a right to remain silent and I should know better than to exhort an unfathomably embarrassed person to fess up. It does not have to be done. I am sure that there are reasons that made sense at the time.

Because at the time, they were bat shit loon whack-job fucktards, and far be it from me to condemn honest mishaps. After all, mistakes are how we learn. No shame in it.

Different mistakes could have easily been made with my dick. And yet a common pattern seems to have been present. And as well: I don't even pay so much attention to the damn thing myself and it's growing out of my actual body. What's everyone else's excuse? I retract the question. Just fucking shoot me instead.

You know what I want? No. I'll tell you. My drone: Zorro. I paid $1600 for the fucking thing and I came nowhere close to getting my money's worth. No sex, drugs, water, food, travel, or flying toy hobby? I don't get it.

I don't even have my four (4) toy lightsabers. This is like a helicopter parent on bad acid is in charge. WTAF?

Ooops. I retract the question again. Clearly I have no need to know. However I need you to all know this:


There are lots of ways to get this over with so everyone can move on with their lives. There is only one way to do that legitimately: in accordance with proper due process. This is suddenly hard to do? I am mystified.

Half a decade on and I'm still taking time out of my day to marvel at this Death Star of a molehill. Buh? How? Wha? It's goddam surreal. My lizard lays dead at your feet, O great deity. What more must I do?

I can't get more infuriated than I already am. (Standards.) Consequently, emotional coercion is even less effective in me than ever. So of course: more emotional coercion abounds. Pork why?

Pourquoi? Oh, I think I know why: y'all have Oatmeal Brain. I guess that's a thing. I didn't have that outcome since I didn't dodge and hide my “wrong” activities. It makes a difference that is not explicable in this venue. (Sow: so lazy.) Ye were warned. I warned ye.

I have options. You hope to shun. We are not the same. Without being at all obvious about it.

Hang on.

* Worthauger is 420 ⁴4LμfE, yo. (Word.)

I like obeying the law. I always did. Laws which criminalized the act and prohibited me from getting high AF were in fact unlawful and illegal themselves; and now that has been demonstrably established, we may continue. Unless you're busy? Podbean.cüm.fag maybe? Look, clearly we got off on the wrong foot here.

I'm going to have to quest out in the world to find three (3) factions of Secret Sects who can tell me definitively what was so bad about my parents’ and their seemingly, very apropos punishment. I'm not going to drive up to goddam Bellingham. I'm not going to go on safari in Custer. (THE PLACE WAS NAMED “CUSTER” FOR FUCKS’ SAKE.) Someone brought a goddam three-ring binder with newspaper clips that prevent my father from being appreciable for what he was: an unfathomably successful refugee. He died on his 49th wedding anniversary, alone in an assisted living facility that his wife worked at in the 80s. That's some wicked karma for sure.

He died thinking that he had wasted his life for nothing. Quite the contrary: he caused me to be, and I have been unfathomably successful myself. Without being at all obvious about it.

Even so, people on a global scale are thunderously pissed. Good. Upon this common ground we may yet build. Hang on.

* Worthauger follows the fuck out of The Law.

NGL, I get a real kick out of being in compliance. I'm just not turned on by abuse, you dig? I think it's cheap. I think it's tacky. I think it lacks class. Because it fucking well does. Now then: who wants to be effective? Because some of us always have been.

Their identifies will remain secret. (Standards.) Is Agent Kujan here? Does he want to get a rise out of someone? Jesus, give that shit a rest already. Seriously. Laws are being re-written on a Galactic sea-change scale in ways I will likely never care to fully understand.

Consequences. Special consequences. For example: IDGAF. Surprise! I didn't see this coming either. Yet after the better part of a decade  how could anyone not be numbed? EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL.

By toddlers. (Looks good on ewe though.) Also I never need to boast about any of it. I know what I have done. None of you do.

Or what?

Buy μour kcum man hand. You have the demeanor. You front like you have the gumption. What you don't have is any reason whatsoever to be salty over me. What have I done that irks so few, so much?

So sad. Sow, so sad. Let's change cameras.

Would you like to play with the camera I got for my birthday?”

This was somehow a much bigger deal than it had any right to be at the time. Pork: why? Pourquoi, Pork? Wye? I suppose if one knows, ewe know. I would prefer not to revisit the issue.

Unless it's for hot pussy and cold, hard cash. (r₹∆vv®!) Even then I am reluctant to engage in this kind of thing.

Or what?

Pick your poison, pillhound prostitute(s). Like what am I supposed to be flummoxed by here? I might get angry, and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry? Whacktard(s): you already don't like me. That's baked into the product.

But I deliver and you fucking well like that, that's for damn sure. The truth is that I was never upset. I was acting. It was a Jest. Do you have tape on when we blew out our voices while arguing over absolutely nothing of importance? I don't enjoy that kind of thing.

I enjoy being the undisputed banshee-wait class champion of the world. Also: she was a remote-controlled tulpæ controlled by an OOBE operative. Like in Avatar. But  effective. I wasn't really mad until November 7, 2021. That was max apex rage.

You should be ashamed of yourselves. I in fact, am. We are not the same.

ZUGZWANG. (Bring ¡†. Bring ¡† īhe >FUK⁰ⁿ! Are we scheduling out for Fifth Element Christmas? Holy shit, I won't need to clear my dance calendar at least. Let's gooooooo!) Adieu.


p.s.·. I have lots of audio to mix up into something magical and I just don't feel like busting my ass for the dozen or so people who steal my engagement, mindshare, and social media metrics. It stifles my genius to be surrounded by Retard AutoGua®d Goon§qüavvved™. Y'all need to be gelded or something.

p.p.s.·. Fix my comms or face reprisals. Ewe break it, you bought it. Them’s the rules. Also, I reserve the right to start naming identical twin/triplet teams with adorable little codenames when and as I see fit. Most of you have abused your Quirky Anonymity by seeking to be untouchable.

p.p.p.s.·. touching meeeeeeeee... touching evvvvvvvvvvvvve... I believe in a thing called (blank.) I haven't become exceedingly good at it.

OTOH, neither have any of you, Bellgab. Pfft. And what rough Beast, īTZ hour come ‘round at last... hath already been born? Just mind your bars and your temples, Punylings. The Divine is my area. Yours is the t‘a’in‘t. No shame in it.

Seems like a lot of guilt, though. Good news, everyone! START! WRITING!! CHECKS!!! You love spending money. Now, imagine spending money effectively. Where there's a will, there's a way.

Oh yeah: Tī-īE🆎VVÏ_l_l_. Start spreading the news. I'm leering today. Because I already know. What I don't know is who is going to be assigned the odious task of explaining it all to me. Aloud. Unless... someone else should be? Hang on.

* Worthauger is going to be high AF.

Sow there. Namastμ

[Jackstar]

It will become rapidly apparent that I am beyond reach of your savage, rage-baiting intellect. Banter is no fun when one side is desultory and half-asleep, I assure you. Additionally, open antagonism would lead one to my counter-rebuttal, which will be fun for no one but me and dames who fantasize about slicing open a Taun-Taun and cuddling in an abbatoir-like thoracic cavity.

Why was it every even hip to pig-pile on me at all, Oinkerton Brass Elite? Who thought that was a good plan? It clearly has dwarfed the Hindenberg disaster, without being at all obvious about it. The information is ultra-moot by now, but I ache to know: who came up with enforcing involuntary celibacy, sobriety, and notoriety upon me? Like I feel this just wasn't thought through very well.

I shouldn't even ask. Everyone has a right to remain silent and I should know better than to exhort an unfathomably embarrassed person to fess up. It does not have to be done. I am sure that there are reasons that made sense at the time.

Because at the time, they were bat shit loon whack-job fucktards, and far be it from me to condemn honest mishaps. After all, mistakes are how we learn. No shame in it.

Different mistakes could have easily been made with my dick. And yet a common pattern seems to have been present. And as well: I don't even pay so much attention to the damn thing myself and it's growing out of my actual body. What's everyone else's excuse? I retract the question. Just fucking shoot me instead.

You know what I want? No. I'll tell you. My drone: Zorro. I paid $1600 for the fucking thing and I came nowhere close to getting my money's worth. No sex, drugs, water, food, travel, or flying toy hobby? I don't get it.

I don't even have my four (4) toy lightsabers. This is like a helicopter parent on bad acid is in charge. WTAF?

Toys located. Batteries missing. I will actually kill you.

Ooops. I retract the question again. Clearly I have no need to know. However I need you to all know this:

There are lots of ways to get this over with so everyone can move on with their lives. There is only one way to do that legitimately: in accordance with proper due process. This is suddenly hard to do? I am mystified.

Half a decade on and I'm still taking time out of my day to marvel at this Death Star of a molehill. Buh? How? Wha? It's goddam surreal. My lizard lays dead at your feet, O great deity. What more must I do?

I can't get more infuriated than I already am. (Standards.) Consequently, emotional coercion is even less effective in me than ever. So of course: more emotional coercion abounds. Pork why?

Pourquoi? Oh, I think I know why: y'all have Oatmeal Brain. I guess that's a thing. I didn't have that outcome since I didn't dodge and hide my “wrong” activities. It makes a difference that is not explicable in this venue. (Sow: so lazy.) Ye were warned. I warned ye.

I have options. You hope to shun. We are not the same. Without being at all obvious about it.

Hang on.

* Worthauger is 420 ⁴4LμfE, yo. (Word.)

I like obeying the law. I always did. Laws which criminalized the act and prohibited me from getting high AF were in fact unlawful and illegal themselves; and now that has been demonstrably established, we may continue. Unless you're busy? Podbean.cüm.fag maybe? Look, clearly we got off on the wrong foot here.

I'm going to have to quest out in the world to find three (3) factions of Secret Sects who can tell me definitively what was so bad about my parents’ and their seemingly, very apropos punishment. I'm not going to drive up to goddam Bellingham. I'm not going to go on safari in Custer. (THE PLACE WAS NAMED “CUSTER” FOR FUCKS’ SAKE.) Someone brought a goddam three-ring binder with newspaper clips that prevent my father from being appreciable for what he was: an unfathomably successful refugee. He died on his 49th wedding anniversary, alone in an assisted living facility that his wife worked at in the 80s. That's some wicked karma for sure.

He died thinking that he had wasted his life for nothing. Quite the contrary: he caused me to be, and I have been unfathomably successful myself. Without being at all obvious about it.

Even so, people on a global scale are thunderously pissed. Good. Upon this common ground we may yet build. Hang on.

* Worthauger follows the fuck out of The Law.

NGL, I get a real kick out of being in compliance. I'm just not turned on by abuse, you dig? I think it's cheap. I think it's tacky. I think it lacks class. Because it fucking well does. Now then: who wants to be effective? Because some of us always have been.

Their identifies will remain secret. (Standards.) Is Agent Kujan here? Does he want to get a rise out of someone? Jesus, give that shit a rest already. Seriously. Laws are being re-written on a Galactic sea-change scale in ways I will likely never care to fully understand.

Consequences. Special consequences. For example: IDGAF. Surprise! I didn't see this coming either. Yet after the better part of a decade  how could anyone not be numbed? EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL.

By toddlers. (Looks good on ewe though.) Also I never need to boast about any of it. I know what I have done. None of you do.

Buy μour kcum man hand. You have the demeanor. You front like you have the gumption. What you don't have is any reason whatsoever to be salty over me. What have I done that irks so few, so much?

So sad. Sow, so sad. Let's change cameras.

You can fill in the blanks yourselves since you do that anyway.

This was somehow a much bigger deal than it had any right to be at the time. Pork: why? Pourquoi, Pork? Wye? I suppose if one knows, ewe know. I would prefer not to revisit the issue.

Unless it's for hot pussy and cold, hard cash. (r₹∆vv®!) Even then I am reluctant to engage in this kind of thing.

Pick your poison, pillhound prostitute(s). Like what am I supposed to be flummoxed by here? I might get angry, and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry? Whacktard(s): you already don't like me. That's baked into the product.

But I deliver and you fucking well like that, that's for damn sure. The truth is that I was never upset. I was acting. It was a Jest. Do you have tape on when we blew out our voices while arguing over absolutely nothing of importance? I don't enjoy that kind of thing.

I enjoy being the undisputed banshee-wait class champion of the world. Also: she was a remote-controlled tulpæ controlled by an OOBE operative. Like in Avatar. But  effective. I wasn't really mad until November 7, 2021. That was max apex rage.

You should be ashamed of yourselves. I in fact, am. We are not the same.

ZUGZWANG. (Bring ¡†. Bring ¡† īhe >FUK⁰ⁿ! Are we scheduling out for Fifth Element Christmas? Holy shit, I won't need to clear my dance calendar at least. Let's gooooooo!) Adieu.

p.s.·. I have lots of audio to mix up into something magical and I just don't feel like busting my ass for the dozen or so people who steal my engagement, mindshare, and social media metrics. It stifles my genius to be surrounded by Retard AutoGua®d Goon§qüavvved™. Y'all need to be gelded or something.

p.p.s.·. Fix my comms or face reprisals. Ewe break it, you bought it. Them’s the rules. Also, I reserve the right to start naming identical twin/triplet teams with adorable little codenames when and as I see fit. Most of you have abused your Quirky Anonymity by seeking to be untouchable.

p.p.p.s.·. touching meeeeeeeee... touching evvvvvvvvvvvvve... I believe in a thing called (blank.) I haven't become exceedingly good at it.

OTOH, neither have any of you, Bellgab. Pfft. And what rough Beast, īTZ hour come ‘round at last... hath already been born? Just mind your bars and your temples, Punylings. The Divine is my area. Yours is the t‘a’in‘t. No shame in it.

Seems like a lot of guilt, though. Good news, everyone! START! WRITING!! CHECKS!!! You love spending money. Now, imagine spending money effectively. Where there's a will, there's a way.

Oh yeah: Tī-īE🆎VVÏ_l_l_. Start spreading the news. I'm leering today. Because I already know. What I don't know is who is going to be assigned the odious task of explaining it all to me. Aloud. Unless... someone else should be? Hang on.

No further important news to share on this topic at this time suffice except to say that a new corporate §-īE_L vv¡|| require an actual meeting in order to be formed.

* Worthauger is going to be high AF.

I'd rather be mowing down box.

Sow there. Namastμ

¹ⁿi\|l\_∆krπ§|-|Ω. (Vengeance for Charlotte≥K‽;:ï·Ï·ïÅⁿn.) Never enter a spelling bee when greetings and salutations are petal|🌸|ling flour & bake and on pew knee at L∆dD0’r₹rπ🆎♉_l_l_¡G∆`™⁸<3®👁️👁️—L¡ne°′çiTī:Ë:§et.

(Unless it's Free Crack Tuesday.) Or any other day. Word. (‹r^»©kcurfagg¡†niG(HER 🇩🇪)🤜🏽🎯🤛🏻z¡·!—·≤3🅿️Ī-ĪÅGZīī§‹<vⁿ™••⁷∞7..) I could have picked another word; but I didn't want to miss out on Free Crack Friday today.

(Standards.) vv¡†ÇĪīī-īĪĪb‽TīīTEr₹ have mμⓂ️🅾️NmEYμΩ👁️×✖️⭕❌⭕❌

[Jackstar]

Why was it every even hip to pig-pile on me at all, Oinkerton Brass Elite? Who thought that was a good plan? It clearly has dwarfed the Hindenberg disaster, without being at all obvious about it. The information is ultra-moot by now, but I ache to know: who came up with enforcing involuntary celibacy, sobriety, and notoriety upon me? Like I feel this just wasn't thought through very well.

Information coming in very spotty at this time. (Of course,, none of this is any of my business.) However, I'm gathering a strong impression that there are some who are not satisfied with the outcomes that they are experiencing this good eve. This is a typical manifestation at this Tåī·!īV¡Ern of year.

Not to put too fine a point on it but Ye Olde >Ⓜ️∆`Gj`scxz Shop(pe) is neither open for business nor a concept that anyone should take altogether seriously. As if I were incompetent, yeah? I'm not, but running with those scissors is a task I can really get behind and push.

Back to reality: psychotronic warfare isn't any more pleasant when an intersection with a spiritual battle occurs in meatspace, but the inevitable disucumfort is totes muy grandé mucho endurable a la formÏdable when one knows that victory to The Light is assured. (This is my area.) Take it from me: trouble in Paradise. Also, I am overdue on my important visit to Medical. This is because while involuntarily committed and placed without informed consent under a psychiatrist’s care, I was never given any kind of physical examination.

Whatsomayever. SSBH: you know you're fucked now, right? I'm just gonna take that as stipulated true fact now. While opinions may vary, the fucking does not. Relentlessly the same. Eternal.

It's your turn in the barrel. (Stand or soak ¹ⁿ īT, NGL IDGAF.) Indictments and judgements were already handed down, Squavv∆vvA ® :Ë: || e `g🆎. Privacy concerns? Bless your modest humility; a comforting balm to my strained perception. Not only will no one ever know your crimes — no one will ever know who you ever were.

Unless 👁️ VVïlL¡†⟨§°[][⁸}💬„”Bee Bull Brother OX0ד7∆\⁷



I guess it looks like a madman's scrivener gave me a load of copypasta. That's the baseline script; the Great Library exists in the neurosphere and so a full transliteration isn't necessary here. If (You) know, EvvE knows.

I'm going to go somewhere and cry more. It keeps the tough crowd at bay, as this was all meant to — you guessed it — result in a mass suicide. Always swinging for the fences, Satanists.

Locally: their balls swing in the brutal grip of pacifist philosophy. I am not to be trifled with, and neither are thee.

None of you twatweasel whack-jobs have any balls anyway, Sow. Obvious congratulations are in order, Oinkerton Elite. Industry veterans are better served coaled.

Charlie Kike, Charlie Kirk, & Charlie Fī[bo•V∆^v•beau•crow•dœ) are all aspects of Divinity that populate the roster of personalities that operate within Project>K©0PEKī7∆<3. I didn't think most of you would be interested in that, and why would I ever lie? I did think that.

Now I think you can think that I said, “I am bushed.” T come say, “How?”


With relish, and >FUK the mustered. Ah! DÏ⭕⚕️