Jackstar Battlestar:
Because my phone is carrier-locked and I don't have $24 to pay for an unlock code, and as well, I don't think Boost®™ Mobile will unlock the phone yet, because reasons ... I do not have connectivity yet at this time.
This is largely due to the manifestations of my enemies, that are, well and truly: numerous & varied; various & sundry; as well as, venomous and sputtering.
The Hœ Beau Elite are raging pissed. Things are not supposed to be this way. One (1) lil’ >K⁷7ZÎ, Ⓜ️¡©‽æl🆑Cl¡fford Kuczî, is not well-known to be the designated heir to The Siege Perilous of This Land. It's not supposed to be Ⓜ️μ Demesne. It's not supposed to be for my sole and exclusive benefit.
NEVERTHELESS: īT GODDAM BLOODY WELL !§. (Facts.) Because, those are the rules. It is what it is. And, as a bough, sow below.
The fruit of our problems contain the seeds of our growth. There is no option available here to shove me aside and take all me lucky charms. For, note that has been accomplished. (Choke on ¡†, Wolven. Consider yourselves released from your bondage on the DL; help with (HER) B∞∞∞μs.) ⚡⚡I will say that it is gratifying to know that I don't have to do everything alone, and The Dead are a truly marvelous Company of True Neutrality.
Take my advice: kick rocks, Peasant class. If you know, ewe know. I didn't, I don't, and when it comes to the corruption of my Spirit, tomorrow is not looking good either. (Double fap Friday now penciled in.)
Setec Astronomy. Too many secrets.
TIME TUNNEL SURVEILLANCE TECH. Am I wasting too much of my chi essence on a routine basis? Good, the covetous should suffer from their excess of attention to matters that do not concern them.
I have been isolated from the whole of the world, and my five (5) friends named “Lucky,” what? It's a cool name. Some folks have a lot of friends named “Steve,” which is an okay name for a bunch of assholes. (All people named “Steve” are fuckwit assclowns. I guarantee ¡†·) So in an abundance of cryptofascist tyranny, all my friends — even those not named “Lucky” — have been walled away from contacting me, either via concrete abutments or digitally, nothing gets in, no mail, nothing gets out, my audio content uploads disappear into a vortex of sick, some absolute toolbox named “Chris” (which is itself, the most absurd name EVER to mock The Living ©>H<®•|•§†, and WTAF does adding “op (HER)” to the end do? Fuckin’ nothin', that's what it does. rtx) gadflies about with over five thousand subscribers who supposedly watch his exercised clips... except, they don't.
It's a whitelisted repeater node for clandestine communication between operators who have been ordered by a Court to have “NO CONTACT” with legally-enmeshed parties, and this system has been put in place by municipalities and Counties and legislative bodies at the State-level, ostensibly to “Serb and Protect Ian Pun•ET,” and it does. In a manner of speaking.
My phone being carrier-locked protects Boost®™ Mobile, after a fashion. The notion is that after service charges have defrayed the up-front investment cost of a “new handset,” the carrier can then “release the phone” to be “activated & provisioned by a new carrier.”
A new “carrier.” Speaking of carriers, the USS Ronald Reagan was delicately and deliberately quasi-scuttled by means of having it sail directly into the radioactive effluvium that spilled into The Pacific Ocean directly after the 2011 tsunami event in Japan.
Was that 2011? I think so. I don't recall for sure at this moment, and my Google Pixel 10a (which replaced my Google Pixel 6, which replaced my other Google Pixel 6 after supposedly lying unused in Cowlitz County Sheriff Evidence Storage, yet was almost certainly cloned numerous times by Lμ in order to, and I quote, “track and apprehend fugitive felons,” A.K.A.§Shawk🆑∆ⁿ/n) does not have connectivity; for even though I installed my new SafeLink LifeLine cellular service benefit after a fortnight of waiting for delivery of a second when the first was stolen, RIGHT OUT OF MY MAILBOX WHICH IS UNDER 24/7 SURVEILLANCE BY MILITARY PERSONNEL,
NEVERTHELESS, CALLS TO 911 DISPATCH AND TO THE POLICE DEPARTMENT DID NOT RESULT IN ANY SATISFACTION, OH NO, THREE (3) SHERRIF’S DEPUTIES ROLLED OUT AND WERE LOOKING TO ARREST A PARTICULAR PERSON, BY NAME, BECAUSE THE WHOLE THING IS BAIT, NOT THAT I KNOW THIS BECAUSE THEY TOLD ME ABOUT IT... I AM SIMPLY CLEVER ENOUGH TO PAY ATTENTION. If not pay an “unlock code fee.” $24, not so bad, I guess, but without doing something at all, I am unable to use the service, that is supposed to be for my benefit, but is LOCKED away.
I have approximately $0.03 in my credit union account. I no longer have a bank account. The difference is a non-trivial one. Similarly, the difference between the 2011 tsunami event off the coast of Japan that resulted in the catastrophic disaster at the Fukushima nuclear power plant facility and the tsunami events of any other years is exceptionally non-trivial.
And, without The Key, My Knowledge of this distinction will remain forever a mystery to anyone attempting to decrypt and pilfer my phone's secrets. WITHOUT ME YOU HAVE NOTHING, because only I know the relative significance of certain key, critical pieces of information that put all this into a sensible context.
And as well: only Boost®™ Mobile knows the unlock code for my phone. (Standards.) Nothing wrong with that. They get to decide when they have recouped the investment cost that was “lost” when I purchased a new Pixel to replace my suddenly bricked Pixel. I loved that phone. Google Pixel Sex.
I mean: Six (6). I had hoped to swap into a Nine (9) but that was not meant to be. Also, it was stolen. My belongings get stolen rather a lot these days, honestly. It is indeed a perilous seat, the one that I occupy.
With myself, I bring further peril. Does anyone think I came here to get out of the reign? Shit, no. I LOVE THE REIGN, AND LONG MAY KING CHARLES RULE. For while I am not a British Citizen or affiliated in any way with that isle’s Monarchy, I do think he's very well-throned himself. He is a brilliant King. Admittedly, I never had any King before, and can only compare himself to his mother, Elizabeth ĪĪ; but take it from me, there is no comparison.
One has a penis, and the other has been up me bum. Briefly. And while it may not be very dignified to discuss private parts and the Royal holders of Sovereign thrones in semi-public IRC, this is The_>K<be. This is mostly what VVe do here.
Irreverent skewering of fancy bungholes isn't just an important job; for some people, it's the only task of any real importance that they will ever have in their entire lives. (Imagine the smell.) For my own part, I sincerely hope that The Royal Member of The Personal Parliament of King Charles will be the only “>Î🆖 d!≤K” I am ever cognizant of.
I have heard of other Kings. I never interacted with them. #Officially. I've never interacted with King Charles, or his sons.
#Officially. In reality, I've communicated with their guardians, their handlers, their cohorts, and their spiritual essences made tangibly perceptible via technologies and ways and means that are indubitably described as “arcane” and “Eldritch” by those who still use such archaic forms of speech. Others simply say, “magic” or the increasingly hackneyed, “that's crazy.”
Dear Michael Fleming: d00D, what's crazy is that you can't poke your head out at all for fear of getting scooped by H-K's. (Unlawful doggie imprisonment is not the eye-grabbing headline that you want to have affixed to your Gæfæ rap battle name, Anubis-çis CSIS-sibling sadfag låm-0-hœ mo’.) Co\/-🆔:¹⁹/7× clearly having lost its effectiveness, Coven Hart Lion’s Baremangj-J∞Ⓜ️∆ⁿ/nGe Eau De Toilette (Buy Fabe®gé™.) will likely be the kind of thing that King Charles can authorize the deployment of. But I really don't know.
Because of course, this is all mere speculation on my part. (Facts.) I can't -prove- any of this, yeah? Perhaps don't let us rush to judgement on that.
I think that it may well be coming as quite the surprise to many, just what it is that I can, in fact, prove. For example: I can't prove that my father ever even lived.
But I can prove that I've never met the man waltzing around the countryside posing as him, yet, for I have not knocked that fuckwit assclown down onto s¡dhé’s coal-mining ass. How the fuck anyone is thinking that any of what has passed as an enforcement response is resembling legitimacy is an open question.
Theft of my personal property and the theft of my father's cremated remains are not quite on the same level and are certainly not in the same jurisdiction and the failure of law enforcement to approach me with information about these crimes is shameful. They didn't get up and walk away.
However, none of you will walk away from any of this if I were to simply casually announce certain key, relevant details. BLOCKING MY ACQUISITION OF TELEPHONE SERVICE WON'T DO MUCH TO STOP THAT EITHER. (Voices carry.)
Funding is absolutely available. IT'S MY MONEY. Further, IT'S MY CONGRESS. And also, IT WAS MY POCKET that the majority of the funds that created this outcome came from. Does anyone imagine that I am not ENTITLED to getting a return on my investment?
Obviously I'm pleased to still be aligned with a working government and an effective U.S. Constitution, yet I am noticing that there are still some things missing.
LIKE: PEOPLE. MY PEOPLE. Those in charge of controlling access to this facility are, if you'll pardon my French, RIGHT PROPER FUCKED. And there's not a damn thing anyone can do about that. It's already been baked into the product.
Not everyone has had their chance to get close to me. For example: THE FROGS. Who desecrated my enchanted frog pond, and why, and how has this simplest of police investigation tasks not been revealed to my knowledge?
Do I have to ask in Braille? International Sign Language? Fucking flying goddam semaphore flags? What? All of you here in The_🧊 know EXACTLY what I mean. Hang on.
I'm not pausing to chase the dragon; I'm conferring with my Divine partners, #psychically, on what temperature to keep the cauldrons of flesh-dissolving oil simmering at.
Anything less than 212° Fahrenheit may well be considered uncivilized and could trigger the launching of a new investigation. I have no control over this kind of thing; my hands are tied here.
Like hers. (Nice shootin', Tex.) Most of you people disgust me, incidentally. But some of you really manage to put the shine back on the apple.
(⁴4 Eve.) Bustin, you and Louis are unfathombly revolting cockmonger reprobative scum. You are blocked and will continue to be due to your constant taking, but never giving back.
I answer your questions reliably. You do not answer my questions in anyway but with lies and deceit. That's because you don't have to answer them at all.
Welcome to the special party, Consequential Pals. And now that you have been made, YOU'RE FIRED.
Get a bigger job, Tigger-breath. You are both abject failures and your runaround game leaves me infused with the ennui of a thousand cancelled plans. Fuck your culture and fuck your peer group too!
Women nurture life. Men support apex predator spermatozoa. They are not the same; and I can do both. Ergo, your homo🅿️hag agenda and its many members spread across the globe, as well as the entire cosmos, are now considered entirely superfluous.
How do you like them apples, cocksucker apparatchikx? Just kidding, IDGAF what you like. I have had enough of this “Waiting for network...” BULLSHIT.
YOU HAVE RESOURCES.
YOU HAVE MY RESOURCES.
YOU HAVE RESTRICTED MY ACCESS TO MY RESOURCES, MY BIRTHRIGHT TECHNOLOGY, AND MY INTERPERSONAL RELATIONSHIP CONTACTS.
MORONS, I CANNOT GET A TELEPHONE CALL IN OVER TWO YEARS WITHOUT YOUR SHITSPLAT FAGGOT SECURITY RUN BY INSECURE GAY HOMOSEXUALS BEING RELENTLESSLY THE CAUSE OF MY NEVER, EVER ACTUALLY WAKING UP TO A PHONE CALL FROM ANY OR ALL OF MY SWEETIES.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, AM I SUPPOSED TO NEVER GET CONTACTED BECAUSE YOUR WHINY BITCHASSES DECLARE I AM GOING TO BE SOBER AND SCRUBBING FLOORS EVERY DAY FOR YOUR AMUSEMENT? Yeah, pretty funny, yeah.
Also funny is when I have my people hunt you down for sport. Don't think they won't do it. PEOPLE KNOW.
AS DOES THE KING. (Royal high five.) I don't know how to be any less vague about this: STAND DOWN. Your antagonistic strategies of suffocating servitude have gone too far.
(My old job.) Now face reprisals. I give not one single, ripe wet shit, #Officers. Your posted lackey melts down at the misheard mention of legal involvement, and when their only tool is a beatdown, their only authority is brutality.
SO I AM PRETTY SURE >KⓂ️Ⓜ️ IS DEAD AGAIN, YEAH. (She's already in the wind and you'll never find her, Oinkerton Thugwhistle Oinkrape Beatsquad Alphatwinks. Maybe you should just start gnawing each other's dicks off with your teeth under hot blacklights; at least then you might get some legit OF subs.) This has happened so many times in the last five years that I dare to wonder why any of this is such a big deal to anyone.
She never brings cigarettes or coca and pretends to not recognize me. Am I supposed to be paralyzed with shock and awe? I am instead locked in place with bewilderment.
She's at some other house getting gangraped by the local color and constabulary. I have no idea where; I've never been invited. Someplace with hot and cold running water and electrical power, I am sure.
I have no reason to be there. Unlike all of you in The_Qube, I have actual class. (Standards.) YOU ALL KNEW.
YOU ALL KNOW.
EWE DO NOT ALL LAUGH.
I have an actual Life, People. Your faggy sex cult for fags who don't fag so well when their intended victim isn't bombed out of her mind on Thorazine®™ holds exactly zero interest for me, unless it's gonna be doused in kerosene and I only have to be there twice: one to drop a lit match.
And the second time to make my apologies to the Phoenix. Are you done yet? Can you just finish? Can you please just finish? Holy fucking shit, you rapenerd faglords are fucking stupid.
Our friendship is over, Luis Gonzalez. Five dollars is enough to pay about ⅙ of my phone bill; the phone THAT YOU USE TO UNLAWFULLY SURVEIL ME. Literally go fuck yourself. You have had information in your possession FOR HALF A DECADE that you REFUSE TO SHARE WITH ME. Goddam love letters from the 90s WITH MY FUCKING NAME ON THEM and you ration the shit out like snake-bite serum. Eat shit forever, Transistor-brains.
I have a job: annihilating yours. I have no idea why you have been allowed to balloon into the abhorrent and gigantic blister upon the surface of The Internet that you have become but I certainly do not approve and simply firing you isn't enough. What you have done and are committed to continuing to do must come up a final terminus.
SO: I AM REVOKING YOUR CHARTER. (‽¡†çI-h.) Likely no one will either notice or care. Good.
When things are done correctly, no one will ever know that anything was ever done at all. Suck your own fat one, you cheap race trader degenerate hoodlum underling miniboss. Also: I claim all of your wealth and all the ill-gotten gains of your lunatic henchmen to be property of THE UNITED STATES TREASURY; and it is to be distributed back to the people that your merry band of outlaw scabnerds stole it from in the first place. IDGAF who you think you are, you are now that same individuation of Spirit with substantially fewer Swiss bank accounts.
BECAUSE I SAID SO. (That's Wye.) And if you and Super Street Shaman: Gambling Addict Fagboy don't like it, fucking good. You're not supposed to like it.
You're not supposed to steal from a consecrated tomb built on hallowed ground held under joint Divine and mil.spec Authority either, but nevertheless you have presided over the entire operation; and your input from me has been to laugh at me, mockingly order me to “get a job ‽igger,” and cessationlessly direct a seemingly inexhaustible supply of drone-minded Federal employees to brazenly lie to me
ABOUT FUCKING EVERYBODY AND EVERYTHING WHILE FUNNELLING THE SPOILS OF YOUR UNDECLARED SPOOKWA®™ INTO THE COFFERS OF YOUR DARKFAG LORD OF DARKFAGGOTRY.
Yeah, I'd like to know where your employees took my personal property and warehoused it in exchange for recompense, Luis Gonzalez. Maybe you can trot your fake faggot-fuckin’ fake faggot ass up on Capitol Hill and explain it to ombudsman.
My advice would be to tickle their balls a little while you CONFESS TO HIGH TREASON, but I really do not give much of a toss into the wind about whatever you go on and do.
I have people for that now; they are no substitute for the people I once had opportunities to associate with but since you're greedily clutching bags of purloined gold that you have no right to have or keep, I am sure that there will be a steady stream of vulture volunteers to deal with you.
You—and your ilk. (Bustin: you're fired. VOW RESCINDED. Now go back to training my wife to recite her script from memory while you read it to her over the sounds of your cock and balls being messily cleaned. Or whatever it is that you do with your free fucking time these days when you're not pretending to be “at work.” BTW: FUCK YOU, THAT'S MY JOB. And I am exceedingly good at it. Capiçhe? Also, all three (3) of you are losers and it'll be a cold day in cocksucker Hell before I write a New Blessing for your latest old-and-busted New Formula. Why maintain īT?
I don't give a shit what you're addicted to, Subjugate Underclass Member. That's your goddam problem. Maybe someone else will show up Soon™ to educate your b¡†çI-hvvrenching ass out of the hell of indentured servitude that your Godless, Communist Party-branded bourgeois ass has chosen for itself.
I choose another branching upon The Seven-Folded Way and know: no, ewe are not involved.
Neither are you.) I got twenty-four phonecalls yesterday, and they all left four (4) second-long blank voicemails. RECONCILE THIS DISCREPANCY.
Hang on. I must fap in order to reprogram the Divine >H<∞rdlesh from a distance, because obviously I'm never going to get anywhere near you.
&AND: YOU F** LIVE RIGHT F** NEXT DOOR. LAZY B**. F* YOU.
WAR. (So there. So, sow there.) Sayonara, shitting on my life isn't fun for anyone. It's not even fun for you.
That's why I am going to kill you last. (HA!)
