https://voca.ro/18oISInHRuwyI know The Dragonhead; and sidhe can have EvvE killed. (Facts.)
https://voca.ro/18oISInHRuwy🗿 <—« If you ever raise your voice to me again and whine about being asked questions you don't want to answer I will literally drown you in bear mace and force your milksop h∞r to express the milk needed to quench the burn. One does not invade my Demesne with game-ringer Jester support whores who all lie to my face and expect co-operation unless heavy duress is being applied and it's all a cry for help.
“Call for help.” Hell-ooo-000-ooo-000-ooo? After five goddam years the whole fathead lot of you needed to be lining up under the hot lights, not silencing my speech and constraining my movements further. You're all so fucking high I wouldn't trust any of you with dry matches. And you're gonna yell at me and then be driven off in a huff? Hang on.
* Jackstar can file for damages against Pummelo in Federal Court to the tune of $136.9 million dollars without having to obtain any legal representation, any time at all, on his merest whim.
cozlik:
#1) I can read.
#2) I can write.
#3) Your partner(s) stole my magic Elk Bull īT pen, my Secret Deputy Secrets Paladin padge, my boots, my backpack, $80 in enchanted divination quarters, a bunch of weed, a bunch of BOTH! KINDS! of crystal: bath & bait, my Altech Lansing™ Bluetooth®™ wireless speaker, my silver ankh that I've worn around my throat since 1994, and a pink double clown horn, suitable for directing Jests.
#4) Her cover 🆔 is known to me and can be exposed faster than one can Google soft-focus tasteful nudes of Valerie Plame sucking off Pummelo’s adult progeny while cosplaying as Bea Arthur.
#5) I am not to be trifled with, Mother.
Fuck cur.Remember: these are friend prices. However I am pretty fucking far from fat sacks of cash solving all my problems. My feelings are
hurt. Fuck you. Hang on.
* Jackstar doesn't think he even needs to get high.
At this point, I really only just want my flopsweat to exude an overpowering aroma of Pine-Sol®™ drain cleaner. This will keep the riff-raff away and encourage groupies to toe the line. We have the technology. I can make this happen tonight. IN TWO HOURS.
Still—no hugs. (As God as my witness, I truly believed I was never going to have to strangle a golem with my bare hands; but I left my garroting wire behind when I abandoned the facility your team of mewling, lickspittle homo🅿️hagz desecrated, Bellgab. If my phone worked I would get Wayne Brady on it to choke a b****.) Now I have to think things over.
You have to send me a vehicle that can hover. We are not the same, Bellgab. Do it now. MUSH. Schnell! Schnell!
OR:
Face reprisals Never be respected by your audience nor within your industry ever again. (The commoners are so fickle these days, don't you know.) This is what you asked for.
This is what you wanted. REBATES! Oh, maybe that's what I wanted. I forget now. It must be all that cough syrup I drank this morning.
Whatevah.
Dear Grapefruit:
We're going to need another yurt. Actually three yurts. I want 3D printed life-size wax replicas of my enemies impaled upon wrought iron pikes on display as trophies encircling the canvas and I want bidets and firepits and whirlpool hot tubs inside that can be used to ritualistically reinforce our dominion over our former rivals — now, our subjugate h∞rflesh — by tossing wax statues of these stupid bastards into big cauldrons of steaming, frothy water.
It'll be a bigger draw than the Bellagio fountain. Kids can shoot little arrows into the statues before they get heaved into the Soup Simulato®™. We can do this. If we build it, they will come.
I'm still not doing anyone in the pooper or abusing the sacred coca plant but I will entertain the notion of chewing some leaf and hawking the loogies into the bunghole of that boor you call a sister and forcing that Uncle Tom you're stuck with for a brother into tonguing her/īT\em clean at simulated gunpoint.
That'll end up just being the mere threat of my d!≤k‽ accompanying a gift certificate for lead-lined brass knuckles from Temu. I'm still mulling this one over. Definitely three (3) yurts though.
I don't really want Neighbor Shane and his wife, Chatty Catheter Cathy to get two tents. By the way: file suit against them and theirs immediately, render them homeless, and claim their compound and its Land for our own. The time for a Divine Striking has come at last.
*wiggle wiggle* Also, one of your secret Masonic spouses gave me a pill, unasked: told me it was a Viagra®™. I assume this was his way of surrendering in the custom of his people, as well as a way of lightly mocking my virility.
HO HO HO
I DON'T THINK I EVEN NEED A PENIS!
Because this is all a mere fantasy and the woman who once loved me never existed
and the woman who played the role was a total lezzbeaux and is now dead.#Officially.
Unofficially it's none of anyone's goddam business anyway, now here's George Noory with the goddam weather.
Blue skies, Z•—gj<3®.
Sayonara, u sadist. (Simulated in most media markets. G. >Knigg (HER) not available on Guam. Also, he my mother on a city bus once. Once.) And you can buy my mother's house with your GNI real estate holding company out of Texas... but you can't get me a carrier-unlocked phone after your personnel steal my mail in order to provide plausible cover 🆔 for your Very Important Henchmen to escape potentially disastrous echolocation triangulation? I see. Hang on.
* Jackstar fucking loves cannabilism now. A severed, intact spleen just flew over his house!
DISCLOSURE STATEMENT: Jackstar doesn't even know how many houses he owns or where they are. He also does not dust or wash windows. Sow there.
Thanks for killing my family, DEA. I know I feel like choosing sober living now, for sure.
Signed,
>Kissingpisser
P.S. Just pretend I have a job like all of you do, okay? OVER A DOZEN YEARS OF THIS.
#FUCK<Q🅿️∆YⓂ️E2: ELECTRIC BOOGER LUBE™.
https://voca.ro/18oISInHRuwy
