There was a lot to unpack today.
#1) The headline is the trusty f***** up and transferred ownership of the house legally in a way that did not involve telling me that he was going to do that and I guess he didn't figure that he had to but he actually did because the spirits that watch over this demeanor of mine are not really happy with the b******* that's going on cuz they see everything. They just don't know what to do about it and when they do know it do about it, they generally do it without telling me as well. But they oftentimes do tell me because the telepathy from dead Spirits that wander this land is more reliable than the voicemail from the trustee who's been breaking the law up and down. I left right and sideways for his whole f****** life. I guess because I guess he didn't figure that there would be a problem with doing this without telling me, when they're f****** very well was. Long story short, they've spirits have decided to do another cycle of identity identification, which is involving a whole bunch of karmic puzzles and other s*** that Masons love. More on that. Later in days to come I'm sure.
#2) Allison is back. ACTUAL. You ain't gonna find her.
#3) Chefist is back. ACTUAL, I ARRESTED HIM ACTUAL. You are going to find him, most likely in a Raspberry PI built to hold five (5) BIG FAT FUK LYING LION CLANDO FUKS. I suppose it didn't look like it did in The Real Ghostbusters mostly because I am much cuter and far more intelligent than Egon Spengler, and I have my burial and superhuman ability. Enabled collection of spores molds and fungus between my toes. Between my eyebrows too if you want to be technical about it.
#4) The Trustee, Michael Franciscan Fran ©o. Grab-Gone-Istan-🐂 has committed what is, while not necessarily a crime per se, has flagrantly and (in my view) visciously BROKEN TRUST WITH THE BENEFICIARY (I don't have time to call and talk to the media and set up a press release, would you mind doing that for me dear? Thanks sweetheart.) AND IS VERY LIKELY TO END UP BEING DISBARRED. If this beetle Bailey reject was really a lawyer in the first place. University of America alumni. I bet you. In an uncharacteristic, yet stunning toward a force and in a surprise, move that telegraphs my my very likely inclusion into the future Hall of Fame for whoever keeps track of dual U.S./Galactic Citizens who really piss off the Space Corps lawyers, I'm not going to describe exactly in detail what he did to break trust with The Beneficiary, other than to say he sure as fuck did since he probably told the guy who's pretending to be me, more than that later, told them that they were selling the house, but then they didn't tell me and that's largely... because... Large Lē¡g!... Oh shit, he didn't actually break trust with me. Because I'm The Beneficiary. (I'm going to assume for the record that just in time Revelations of data that are perfectly timed to make everything work out perfect count as “keeping T rustμ”.) And whomsoever “bought” the house is just “The Patsy.” (Awkwardly, I know both Alfred & Bruce this time. Sexually. Awkward sex Ω Alli.) Or the Khaaaaaan neé Ace Sepultura. Hence, someone has just... LAUNCHED A NEW INVESTIGATION!!!
#5) Today is my real friend's fake birthday, and even though all of her funds that she expected to be getting unfrozen soon are now going to continue to be frozen. There is likely some kind of yesterday's sloppy seconds left over in an oven mitt tossed on a credenza if I were to stroll down there; I'm not strolling down there. I have actual work to do, People. Also, That_Woman hasn't answered my calls or called me back, EVER. (My R.👑BFF says it's not him that told her to blank me this time; but he reserves the right to have me ostracized from anyone by Royal Edict by virtue of Divine Right anytime he so chooses because, and I quote, I am “a real asshole.” He's a really insightful King. LONG MAY HE REIGN.) She's probably not real happy that I'm... on top of things here. However, good news, everyone! NOW HERE'S G.W.E.N. WITH THE WEATHER!!!
#6) As of about a week ago, I found myself starting to mention to select individuals during my various select conversations that still retain the ability for me to both improvise in and poop on, the time I met G.W.E.N. in the city of Castle Rock. It was not a very long meeting, the first time. But enough excitement happened that a great story is capable of being had. Speaking of being “had,” G.W.E.N. now looks like KSB, KSB now looks like someone else who does long-form soliloquy-centric talk on YouTube™ when it's convenient for them, and I don't know when the world's going to find out how YouTube™ makes it its personalities possible. So you had probably better assume that you're going to be nice to me, since I'm not going to talk about it and then someone's going to eventually. And then when they do you're going to have a public relations problem that's going to be significant, cuz I'm not going to explain to you why it's okay because I don't know that it is. I know it's very high-tech. Oh, so, so so high tech.
#7) The corn dogs in the freezer and the empty chocolate ice cream container in the firepit and the fake police parked in the very real mild-mannered RV in my front driveway are indications that Duper's Delight is not just a passing fad but a down home homie quaint tradition. (>Kudos.) Because let me see (*Sounds of Jackstar pointing at his head are heard.*) what's going to happen in the future: you're going to do this all over again. Maybe without the use of racial epithets and ethinc slurs. MAYBE.
#8) There's a flight capable car with nanotech powerative blade of armor parked in my driveway and I don't have the keys. I believe it's the TootsieMobile™ and she sure as shit doesn't have cancer. She has something else. And I have the cure. (That'll be $19,500 trillion dollars please. Trillion with a T, and dollars with cash. In advance. That's enough to buy you a bag of good coca, right? Haha just kidding. It's definitely not enough for a bag of good coca.) Now I don't know if any of you are capable of jacking a flying car with nanotech power to blade of armor, but if you want to give it a shot come on down to jackstar's used car auction, 1 mile west of I-5 off of exit 52, that's not area 52. It's just an exit 52 and then the area is down the road where I'm standing walking back and forth and pretty f****** fed the f****** with all this f****** b*******. F*** you Bellgab.
#9) It doesn't seem to matter too much to me if I get late or not, but apparently it matters to some extent who I'm actually married to and since there's some problems with that at the moment, more on that later, I don't know exactly what people we're going to do about it, but I'm going to work on trying to figure out how I'm going to explain how I'm going to handle 25 hotties lining up like The Rockettes every damn day for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I'm not really good enough, but I'm definitely smart enough and I hear they can do amazing things with cock pills these days. Amazing things. Maybe I could trade half of them to Albino Bob Ross for some Jeri Curl. It'd have to be a lifetime supply though, I think I'd only use it for lube, for the long-handled spoon to gag me to death with. That's about what would be preferable to foreplay at this point, for reasons, I'm going to leave murky for the time being. (Standards.)
#10) some a****** with an iPhone has been running around pretending to be me and the illusion is pretty decent because somebody who thinks that they've had sex with me and wants to continue having sex with me and thinks that I'm their wife is convinced that when they talk to me that I'm talking to them as if I am them and they're very confused and most likely about to lose their f****** mind when they discover that they haven't been talking to a wife at all. It was just an illusion in the first place, and I have nothing to do with it. I'm I'm once again the primary victim, another crime, and they're probably going to be really sad where they discover that they've been cheated out of a great deal of money and self-respect by deciding to make assumptions about me. Like that I'm stupid, or that I actually give a s*** about needle sex, or that I have anything to do with they what they think I have to do with, or that I'm going to fall for the simplest tricks in the world, or that tricking people and getting away with it is actually not a crime if you don't get caught. No, it's still a crime, dingbat.
#11):(11#
I'm still married and you're all UNFATHOMABLY SCREWED UP THE CREEK, and I don't think my secret Clan Dœ wife is going to let you use my d!≤K‽ as a paddle. That's HER d!≤K‽
There are more stunning revelations to be had, but right now I have to go get high again, because that's what I do, you know. Just constant getting high and whining about things and stuff on the Internet. That's all I do. That's my job. I'm not doing anything important. I'm totally f****** lying.
Reminder: CRIME DOESN'T PAY. Getting away with crime pays. Get the picture. I know you did. Lucky, lucky ewe.
