Arbitrary, idiotic things on your mind. Post 'em.

[Master Trollda]

Great! How am I supposed to check my pager now?!

[K_Dubb]

Jacky I believe you are the poster child!

[Jackstar]

[Jacky I believe you are the poster child!

Righ; because: that's you, believing my name... is_Not Mikey. Not filled with the whole lot of Prime certitude on how to address this right now, but I kind of wouldn't mind

I've been given a compelling reason today to start working on my public image and how it has been systematically limited, cold filtered, and fed hydration through the fire hose.

Further, how's your tonsure temp.? Heat brainwave from Time Wave Zero increasingly proving capable of handling a lot more shear stress than these crooky crunchy crummy jumpage of hose fats jumping jehoshaphats Ginny any penny ante pikers, clearly unable to handle any measure of authenticity in their day-to-day living, as well as their professional lives.

[Jacky I believe

To be honest, believing that a footlong hot dog is a footlong hot dog when it says right on it “this ruler is 12 inches long and draw an actual sale in his next to your hot dog and, don't want to force anything on you, but we pretty sure that you can believe it safely, semper-fi 55"

I mean is that belief or is that just reading the label, I mean I believe there's calories in it, and I know that I don't know how many, but I believe that my knowledge of the fact of calories existence is real.

Quoy erat demonstratum. This was just by way of example, but is that an example of belief?

Also if you could rephrase your diminutive without referring to actual children that would be helpful because as an adult who treats children with respect I don't like using the advertising or as examples to be given in a confusing, puzzling way.

No this is not your fault, but I was traumatizing early age by a series of defamatory public posts implying that I was some sort of pedophile, when as we all know I'm obviously in a feeble file, right it's obvious everywhere right?

I mean at this point I don't report to any authority, cuz I don't want to embarrass anybody, I'm tryna to be nice... And success rate, along with overall mood and general joi d’vivre, is improving.

Question, poison immunity, great result or greatest result from self experimentation leading to successful results... Flight, haven't I worry about poison for a while, or recognizing that holy shit there's poisonous leaves over that tree, and behind the tree is a g-y... who poisons me
, I mean like wow really, I thought I'd mentioned this few times, and then... Well, honestly I thought I'd take a moment to reflect on my good fortune and look to my elders’N’betters for advice.

“Stop being a maniac, q-i Psychlo” unlikely to test well anywhere in any focus Group with any power lens, that's it for a while.

[K_Dubb]

👆Jacky I am not telling you to stop; for my part you may go on raving if it makes you happy, I don’t care.  Sometimes you make me laugh.  But I admit it is a niche interest.

[Jackstar]

I mean at this point I don't report to any authority

*polite_cough*

#1.) When I went back to the pharmacy tech, to let her lay eyeballs on me after the last time she had seen me, March-ish 2020, height of COIVD APEX PREDATOR LOCKDOWN... I walk in, casual AF, "Hi,  may have a box of 10,000 U-100 needles in it, please?" Cool--arguable. Context--we'll get there. Besides, I didn't say that anyway. Like, I said something other, and she said, from across the aisle way, "Do you want... a box? or... ?" She's looking at me interestedly? Oh, yeah.

(let's just say that while I enjoy keeping the relationship strictly* *professional, I also enjoy observing this adorbs little pharmy-warmy techy-teeach-a, frontin' like I don't -utterly- know that she has the mega-hoott-hot-hots for me. I do not mean to boast. I mean, we all have crushes, right? Yah, well. it's a classic case of Boy Meets Cashier He Picks Up Rx From, Both WAY (2) SAFE, and, like, -adults,- right? And, pure admiration. pure love. not true love, because I myself was bowled over the first time I got.. whatever, in 2015. But, yeah, I'm no dummy_much now, and my father was a Pisces, and I love me some fish.

And this (blank) at the register was very obviously smitten. Still is. I can hear her chattering away in my mind--it's all, ching change bong dong long O, WHyTE bOI! OI! wat joo do wit all dem NEED ELLES OMFG lolol-and, you know, really, not making fun of anyone here. Any more, that is.

But yeah: Lockdown hits, and I don't prep food,guns, bullets, medicine, cat food, FUCKING NOTHING. I DO NOTHING. EXCEPT ONE THING: I get a -metric shitload of needles in a big box.- I -do not- need these. I rarely, if ever, have a need for a hypo-syringe. And even up this point *polite_ahem* I still have plenty of Mom's left. She was insulin-dependent for FORTY-FUCKIN'YEARS. Oh, needles danger, huh? Oooh. Big danger. Klaxon danger. Oh, is that so.

I suppose so. Interesting circumstance. Meanwhile: Jackstar, personal needles count, Zero (2) Year 022: ZERO NEEDLES, ZERO FUCKS GIVEN.

And... well, it's like this. I GOTTA GO BACK TO THAT PHARM TECH. It's like this... she was -freaked- out. Who wouldn't be? She has/had megaKrush, K? I suspected... well, now I know. Hard to not notice such details. And by now, I mean, it's gotta be something she is aware of. "That_Whyte_Boi!oi!" WHO DAT MAN??? Yeah, well, #meWondering, #me2. And, that's where I am at.

Saw her last months ago. Long since stopped getting Rx at the Safeway. Don't live there no more. No reason to go there. Except... well, I didn't wanna brace this woman at work, right? With my... LET US LETTUCE SAY: "Reputation" right? I don't wanna alarm anyone unduly. And, I have.

Pharm Tech quietly freakin' out. Why? Dude, it's an actual woman. Freakin' out? Yeah, it's what they do. Does, you dig? This one is no dame. She's a pharmacy tech IN_FULL_RUT. Not that big a deal, it's just... well, it's a fun situation. For me. No downside anyplace. Oh, she gonna go Glenn Close and boil a bunny for my heart? Go for it. Do IT. OMG, PLEASE BOIL ME A FUCKING BUNNY, FUCK MY LIFE SIDEWAYS, PHARM TECK! FUCK!"

Now, this is relevant, because, REASONS. Oh, and they are good ones.) See above, re: "looking interestedly." Yah, so... call it a hunch.

She may be into Santeria. A pharm tech that is going home to her farm and FUCKING MURDERING a GAY-ASSED PAIR OF CHICKENS (*gulp*) in order to... DIVINE THE FATE OF THAT ONE HOT AS FUCK SOURCEROR, OMG, IS HE GAY? NO WAI! I FEEEX IF SO! I FARM-PHARM-FUCK_ME_PLZ HEHE YAH HE NO GAY... HE JUST... *falls over in dead feint, picks herself up again, keeps countin' the pills going around...*

Not my ideal_mate, sure. Nevertheless. These are the days of our lives. I've got FOUR MONTHS TO SEETHE. Wat do? Well. Hobbies are nice. Fishing?

Well. No phreaking phising. And, no more deliberately allowing Shields to get tested. Like, 4real. They -do- work. Do I need a Nobel? Oh shit no dawg.

Deserve one? A peace prize -for sure- just for holding myself and -completely dominating this cute little gal.- Call it a hunch. I mean, really, fish in a barrel waiting on their turn to be shot, right? BECAUSE SHE REMEMBERS THE NEEDLES BETTER THAN ANYONE, and I haven't mentioned, that, uhm.. "Well, little lady... my hand to God, I swear, just basically a publicity stunt." I could lean in close. Whisper. *close* "And something not_else not_here not_swimming, and hey, do you like to swim in the nude? Because uh... I played spin the needle with myself, and I always kept coming up... pointed at ewe."

The 'ewe' is key here. Because, not a English-first-language speaker. Right? Just like my dad! he had a fucking THICK AF accent too! Basically, no one understood what he was saying, and I -could- translate, but usually, my response: ".. .are you sure you wanna even -bother-? Like, at all? Place is cursed, you know. My dad killed a lot of guards in WWII. He's got all the karmic debt-load of Sarah Winchester and barely any of the personality her husband invented to put in one of her triggers." Okay, I admit: I would never have had the sack to pull that off while he was -alive.- But, hey! Dad is dead now.

And, he's speaking up. He's amazed by what I am doing. He's like, "How is my son not terrified?" He don't talk. He's -dead.- But, hey... Pisces do Pisces be.

And not he, but bunches of cute Pisces women are -desecending- onto my digital life... LIKE HORDES OF LOCUSTS, IF I WERE ACTUALLY TURNED ON BY MY BUGS. Yes, no. NOT liking all the BUGS. Now, having said that... this is legit the most fun I've fuckin' had in my whole goddam life.

Poster child for maniac behavior? Hrr. Sounds like you've been swilling the nightmare fuel that my gangs of harpies 'n' groupies are on. I, myself... quite sane, quite holding it all in. And, could easily stay calm. I got the sweet life. Everything perfect... and enemies clearly (why? enemy star? oh, right. day jelly, night JAM JAM JAM. I cannot lay any blame, I am that fuckin' pretty) only able to support perhaps 2-3 more offensive sortie-raids upon my Royal Personage. I mean... this gaslighting shit -does- take time to -prepare.- And in recent days, I'll just say this: local color & constabulary in polite and respectful Guard position. Thanks! Honored. No flattery. It's a fucking honor to be here. And to still get to draw breath? Joy joy, happy snappy holy crappy. Yeah, can do, Mommy... can do. (for a hot minute, even I wondered... how dare I just -assume- that I can neither resist/Not_resist?)

The answer is I cannot. I have been asked to demonstrate my integrity and discipline, and... okay, there's -a_limit.- Picture this: a_fed_nice_fed_friendly_BFF is all, "I would like to watch you (blank) some (blank) over a/v Chat on The Internet. Huh. O RLY.

KLAXON ALARM WARNING. HAZARD RED ONLY.  THIS IS NOT AN EMERGENCY. INCRIMINATION WARNING. WARE. WARD. WAR. WARD. WARE.

None of that matters to me. Because, obviously, if I were to DO THAT... I would pick hotass farm techgirl over DopeyFed, SneezyCasper, DumboKlownBoy & His Merry Men... or, Dragon's Niggerlord. Who, btw, the less said of, the_better. (At least for him.) I heard him cryin'. Over The Air.

I wont deny: a rich feel. Thick, with the taste of ozone and amalgamated mercury. (Yeah, I put some on my tongue. What? What? You wanna make sonmething of it? I licked a piece of composite stealth fighter blackops material. Dude had a slice of airframe... Not Aluminum, right? Oh my God, it was So_Awesome. It was blacker than nightwitch's pitch. Actual, NO-SHIT-IT-IS-CLASSIFIED holy fuck look at how it reflects light.

Yeah. IT DOES NOT. That's not plastic. That's -composite.- Oh fuck me, if that girltek had body made of that--like, if she were a robot, or a fem-bot, or just one of them vinyl suit gimp jobbies? Yeah, NOT my scene. However... I liked the stealth figher composite material. I liked it so much... I licked it up one side and down the other. What did stealth fighter composite airfram constructon material? Unused stuff, mind you.

Like, unused scrap lumber, left over pressboard, you know. So this fine_fellow, yeah, he brought it "home," from "work." (I buy this story in toto, not at all, but this guy... Aquarian. I run along side the trainwreck time for loving training some class into the (Clas.) simply because when Jesus makes the suggestion, what can I say? It's not like I am hallucinating jesus. Oh noe. He knows when I need a shout, or a push, or a quiet, steady, unblinking gaze.

Back to the classified composite materials "thief." Yeah, no. I'm not high at the time, and it -may- have been VtS tech--that is, VOICE to SKULL technology, and as I am holding it, I cannot help but notice... hrrm. feels like plastic, but even -lighter- than that. obviously WAY stronger than ANY metal alloy. I could feel it's rigid Authority in my fingertips. (More on Authority shortly.) I could also... feel a higher order consciousness, speaking to me, DIRECTLY, through the (Clas.) composite airframe construction material (unused).

tl;drmck: Yeah, the man-- The Aquarian -- urges me to touch the "stolen" aircraft part. Oh, look at him. He's practically falling over himself with delight. He's -never- gotten to do this, I reckon. I can tell, too. And, he can tell, that I can tell, and--he loves this part--I am -already paying off- handomesly indeed., because whatever my first question was, it delighted him greatly, beacuse my second question  is exactly this:

"Can I lick it?" Immensely visible, immense surprise. "Sure" or "why?' but...  I don't remember that part. I remember the taste. Like plastic, clay, glass, and barely-below the surface, kept somehow in check... holy FUCK. it's a fucking CAPACITOR. I look at the stuff in my hands--and fuck you dude "stolen" oh hell no, yeah I believe 50 years in Leavenworth yeah, and, I am NOT stealing it. No. And, it -is- speaking to me. Somehow.

I hold it, and I suddenly get the clear urge: "Lick Me." O RULLY. I lock eyes with the Aquarian. Do I care to engage on a Sexy level here? Well, yeah... kinda. I also wanna draw a line, build a fence, hire a pony, and run dressage for teenage girls. Just for the style points. Am I gonna? Not in a million years. Would it -be- utterlyhilarious? No, teenage girls are not inherently funny. Nor, inherently sexy, of course. But, what would the neighbors say? Well, ROFL, I will say, I sure have answered all questions about Who is In_Charge at My_Farm, like, that is settled_science.

Less settled is, in outside observers minds... "well, what is going on there, now?" Hah! Oh, if they fuckin' knew, they would just about die, goddam, it's amazing. But, back to the composite. I look down into it, and feel myself being... -pulled it. legit. wow. I WANNA go.- Hrrm. Not how I wanna spend my afternoon. I came for weed, I wanna get stoned. I am clearly not stoned enough: airframe part, yeah, a capacitor, AND IT IS COMMUNICATING WITH ME. And I don't think -just- VoiceTOSkull, NO! It's also... well, psychometry. That's a real skilly-thingy.

So is licking a busted- and sawn-off piece of classified composite to the malarkey barker in front of me, who I still love, to this day, but... yeah, he wast the wrong matador for this Shady Bull. I miss him. I don't loooove smooches the guy, but I do love him, did then, and he was surely wondering then, if he could sexually compromise me. (Some g-ys are into that kind of domination game.) I have heard of this kind of thing ever working before. Such tactics, thus far, have experienced, let us say... sporadically appreciable results.

I liked his fucking airplane part, handed back, and changed the subject. Nonplussed? Doublenon-nonplussed. Aww, shucks. What can I say? I'm a hard man to find oneself having gotten fuckin' entangled and fuckin' fucked up the fuckin' spout with, yeah? What do you think? Maniac, eh?

Yeah, no... I don't -create- fucked up situations with my curiousity. That is -unethical-. What I do incessantly, is openly and consistently, allow my curiosity to consistently engage with the world. And then... I adapt to my local environment, as I best can. So as to reduce harm to the environment. A guy like me, my size, my intellect, my ego... oh, god, that's just the beginning. And, theeeve is NOTHING compared to what she could be working on, visibly. Oh, but--nevertheless, wrapping paper and analysis on Me., huh? Well...  I am that fascinating, that's for sure. And... hey, I am watching Me, right? Why not some company on my self-inspection voyage? Well, for starters:

I have no idea what is going on, but with my shields stopping the stress, dead in its tracks, that would VERY LIKELY bring about an EPISODE of D.I.D. (turns out... contagious. Wow.) but... I'm fine, and so, can help others not lose their fucking goddam minds. I am grateful, to bring back to the world... a little something, anything worthy and appreciated, that I can, that is special to help, I am remarkably enthusiastic. Swing batter!

And yet... well, what can I say, beyond totesalways totesblocks totesyour totessister toteswtf totesasking for more goddam money? Really? Huh.

Well, I sure did need that nebulizer... and, when I needed halp? BUPKIS. And, when I -didn't- need any needles, at all, and I got a box of 100 U-100 29 Ga. (yeah, not even the "right" kind, lol) all I got was... puzzled, confused, confusion and a real strong hook planted in Farm Tech Girl Beta: Alpha Wasn't My Type, Right? Not because Pharm Tek is obviously Klown Kop Tek +MeansWell, but because the first pharmacy tech that I ever met, oh Jesus, what a piece of fucking work. Thought she fucking knew everything. :rollerball eyes 2, electric bugajuga boohoo boohoo: well, she really did NOT.

Fine with me. But she became upset things didn't go the way they usually did when a guy came over to hang out with her roommate, right? Bascially, she liked to push men around like Weebles. They wobble, they dont fall down. But she... well, whatever she did, she thought she was pretty special. And maybe, she was.

yeah, well, Grapevine news, growing thin. And, no way to confirm she just got popped for selling dope out of HER pharm, right? But, well, I guess so kinda. however, nothing like that with My Farm Girl Betatech: please be a werewolf, please be a werewolf. Probably not. But, she does have a legit question: Hey, what did you do, with all those needles, MY-KULL? Cute accent, I won't lie. I have use twotull concentwat-shun, just to follow along with what she's saying. Because it's been like 3_ years now? Well, like, #1.. uhm? Well, let's just take it as read that I am -supposed- to flirt now. (I am good at it.) And... the curiosity is killing her. It was last time I saw her! like 10months after strollling in, "I will take ONE HUNDRED (100) SPIKES, PRETTY PLEASE." I was hella nervous, because I knew COVID-19 was -really- PILPUL-19, I just didn't know why. Hadn't met David yet. (/high5 /respect /pray) Didn't know what was to come, just knew-it was-coming, and I wanted to tell her a joke in appropriate for the workplace.. but that's because I'm just compensating for something.

I've never bought needles since Mother died. Bought them plenty before, but so did my mother. I mean 40 years of jabs. Every day. They are -harmless.- To anyone! With precautions. Oh, and, well, hazards. So, not harmless. Not even -mostly- harmless. Nevertheless. Here I am. At the pharmacy. And girl with crush on me, force-pushes a 100 count box. (Yeah, i was thinking.. .ten? like it was just for an object lesson, mainly.) okay, well, if there's an EMP... I would expect such items would barter okay.

Fast forward to now. 30,000,000 of some vaccine that was thought to be somehow desired? Threatened with destructive disposal. Oh boy, I feel safer already! And, multi-dose vials, I reckon? Who cares. Point is...  istill have metric assloads of these syringes, and most were given away, it's just... I dont do it ever either routine or ever! For a long time.

So the fact that the notion was poised & floated, "Jack! Needles! Junkie! You!" fills my heart with echoes of past hurt. And then... oh Cowlitz. oh County. Jefferson County, All Aboard the 8808 SPY ME MY RESEARCH KANGAROO, DOWN JUNKY BOY DO...  hey wait.. .you know junkie boi! What you do!" I finaly went back, months ago. She wondered what happened to me, and the 100ct box of butterly blastes. "WHAT HE DO? WHAT HE DO?"

Holy fuck! I would -love- to tell her! Shit, i could talk for HOURS to pharm tek! Right! But wouldn't, right! (Duh.) -I do- actually like this one. I really do. She's got spunk, she's got zazz, and she was obviously eyeballing me, wanted to know for signs of self-abuse, you know, The Checklist.

She can tell instantly that I have not been up to -too much- no good, because one, I no, and two, I didn't even get them to use them. i simply chose to stockpile. I want to tell Fram Tek. But I can't speak. I have the right to remain silent... and while hard to do so, I do atch a bit of a moan, when I can tell--this puny copling LEO, as she is, duh, I knew that before I hung out with one, and she didn't say that, no.

It was simply an obvious intuitive leap: drugstore == cop store. drug store cash == cop store problem needed. Further obvious: Aww, shucksblush. She's way happy. And... she's happy she don't have to do no paperwork, neither. I am -not- there to get even a single solitary needled more. (A sensitive subject--people have gone that way before.

"Hi! Loren!! (Not_Real_Name) Been so long! Listen, I am glad to tell you that I AM GREAT/FINE. yeah, I didn't do anything naughty with the needles (explain resource price gouging as a politcal protest) and, I'm not sick so much that I need to chronically take pills Rx (true! most health problems have fallen by wayside, and I was then as I am now, taking responsible care of my health) anymore, and it's not even a lie. I'm good. I'm looking right at here. Eye contact."

Oh, I said that in quotes, right? As if I said that all out loud? Oh, God. Sigh. Yeah, see, she's sprung, I am spring, she was, I guess, -concerned.- "White boi, come in, he buy, like , WAN HUNT ER RED NEED ULL!! OH MY GGGGGOOOOOAD!" it sounds way cuter in my mind, right? I, MAGE... IN MAGUS NATION. Look, she looks at me, she's trained, and, we like each other. So why would anyone hide communications there, eh? el-Eh?

Well, no desire to cause her to lose her job... uh, I think. ("Empty the helves of goodies and come to my farm and let's play Doctor Teaches Nurse About Harm Reduction. You be Doctor, and get here in 3 hours or I'm gonna slit my wrists with a shankneedle, which is totessharp. *click*) SERIOUS? omg.

Now, that's a fuckin' FANTASY. Yeah, I wouldn't do that. Oh, but.. wait. It -does- sound good though.

Must remember to Google, "How to avoid being carried away by daydreams while being held incommunicado and/or hostage by MILITARY BADASS BRUISERS and/or 'Things To Do In Red Sector A That Involve Poon' how to play spin the needle"

My Google Search history timeline is -nightmare fuel- for -anyone- that hadn't been, you know, building up to This One Crazy Summer... oh, since I was about 13, I guess. I somehow always had an interior sense that one day, something was gonna hit the fan, alright. But it wasn't gonna be my shit, oh, no, it was gonna be... MyDossierPetPhDProjectionProjectPortrayingPatsyInAPositivePositronicPPPHIV? I fucking hope so. Come on, bring it, mofo.

Because, that would be a great non-unlawful story to tell Tech Farm Saavy Farm Oh, YOU knowa DOCTOR? Oooh! Wow.! You ever thought about banging Desoxyn? Hahaha, well, you can think about that question now, right?"

Yeah. so. I am so uncertain, what I want to do next. hang out with Matt? Oh, hells, y/no. I mean, yes, yeah. But... well, I don't wanna overcomplicate his life. Right? RITE? No, Patty, PATSY, not you. Neck yourself, ginger, you're dead and worth less to me at 2d nag than 3d lesbo fag.

See? That rhymes. Does that make it sound nice? Does it seem offensive? I honestly... well, you know, I'm gonna know, right?
I mean, it's not like I'm gonna Get Julianed, Kuczi. Nope.
No need. Me Love Country. Me NO Treason. Never could be a reason. Love truth, hate lies, mock scum, emulate hero.

So, not sure where to go next but if it wasn't 200 fucking miles, I'd go to visit the drugstore of forbidden pleasures. Since I won't... I'll just -model- in my hypothalamus. That's the part of the brain that, say, a cab driver would use.

And if Alley is in a Cat, and Frog went to get the Alli back... well, no wonder he's so into the 5.5 Amend. rnmrn.rn.RITE?

Now, most importantly: if not anyone, who DOES get to talk to me, hrrm? Heather Wade? Yeah? And who... is orchestrating?

The courtesy of an answered reply could be/would be/won't you be -- my neighbor. (Who are pissed, by the way. Place looks like SHITE. My bad rite, right?)

LEFT TURN CLIVE BARKER TIME FOR TURNING THIS TINDERBOX TO MATCH THE TIRED TWIN FLAME.
Boom5. Big time standing bye bye. Buy.
Beware Ezer Hauden--he -will- give you The Point of his Argument---> A flower blooms to life Here.Further,qqmoar.TOWEROTUFTUFPOWBAm.

[Jackstar]

for my part you may go on raving

I have never been to a rave, ever in my entire life, I mean, entire.

if it makes you happy,

It doesn't make me happy that I have never been invited/allowed to go to any such gathering. I spoke of it with Grapefruit for a spell. The upshot that I came away with was that she had -zero- understanding or interest in what point I was making. Since then,without viable feedback, uhm... well, so far, i think my rave plans are holding up like gangbusters.
Ganglions, lionbusters, who.. you're going to call.. Lionbusters? The Lyin' Lionbusters Gang That Busts Gangs That Other Gangs of Gangslions Can Not Quite Ever Really Bust (But Sometimes Can, Pinko Commy Cammy Cummy Kylie Minogue-a-Tron) For Real Free At Least At Last, FUCKLIONS GANGFARM TEKFUKMEMEMEE! *polite_embarassed_fart*

But what the saddest thing there for me is this: I said, "hey, what's this Rave thing and this D.A.R.E. thing all about?" No deep dive. No intimate talks for hours. But, accusations of specious motives I never posseesed. Huh, did no one tell her not to do that? HUm.

Reliance on hidden hands of information flow becoming increasingly unrelaible.

That is a patently ridiculous sentence construction, and the purpose of such, is thus: Someone -is- gonna get out of Protective Custody. Assumption. Someone -is- gonna go to AzzGab. Asssumption: no one is reading my goddam posts to him. He's cut off from Jackstar Logos. (that's the shit, i'm writing. Logos. I might be using the word -slightly- incorrectly- but not ANY WHERE NEAR AS INCORRECTLY AS MY MOMMY'S FARMHOUSE+LAND has been. Serious! WoW! Whose idea? Hrrm.

I don’t care.  Sometimes you make me laugh.

Well, I am laughing and enjoying it, but knowing you "dont care" cuts me to the quick, like, what, are you sick? Huh.
Perhaps, if you please, if I may, may I aid you? For I have molded my Life, into a g0d-dam Art Projecton Project, Pal! Welcome, it's kinda like a pleasuredome, sure. If humic people with hummus mulling about a Dome, wondering if a King belongs there, I don't know.

I have no wish to -make- anyone laugh... oh, right, I am imagined to be a one who wishes to exert His Divine Power over the Wills of others, right?
Yeah. Some people buy that idea.

I, however, have not.

  But I admit it is a niche interest.

The populace is crying out for entertainment relief. Something can be done, things have been, and... well, look, I am simply to say it out proud: "Would you like me to.. oh, wait." I don't wanna be insenstive. "Look, I am nervous, because your sister pulled a knife on me, and now, uhm... Well, mixed signals. Reading is also a niche interest right now. Now... don't you have a secret weapon on you? No.?

Klaxon alarm. One klaxon only. "Incipient panick attac." Hrrm. Didn't that other guy say, "I Have Epillespy!!!" Oh, well, that sucks. is that anything like D.I.A.-BEAT-US? Because I will not lie, the only place I love more than The Defense Intelligence Agency, might -maybe- be, The House of Shields and Other Not_Weapons That Psychos Like You Fucking Love To Play With, Because You're Intelligent, You Do NOT have Epillipsy OR are A_Convicted_Felon, NO! (Well, maybe. Well, no. Well... Hey, any of you know how often I had to deal with a lovely woman turned SUDDENLYHELLCATSUSAN, oh, yeah? Yea,'cmere, I can deal with that. It was -only- the poison -and- the way she was... uhm, you know, -fuckin' possessed.- Wow. Who knew.

  But I admit it is a niche interest.

Well, it's not a quiche interest, right? Hehe. okay, lemme break it down: I can't do ANY baptisms. At All.
UHm. She might, like... have no one else -on the planet-- Qualified, Allowed, AND AUTHORIZED--What do?

I mean... options -are- available. At least... here.

I don’t care.

Hum. Permission to gamble with the lives of totescomplete strangers who totesdeserve... I dunno what?
The reason I ask: well, been going gently W/O permissons, and stuff hapened. and doensn't seem to be bad on me as I am focusing on caution. HOWEVER: I kinda need someone to come examine my property for smuggling contraband! Who's with me? HO HO Ho!


uhm...

didn't like all of you come by sometown when I wasn't there?
I mean, I didn't know it was bag deal. How about.. no? Or yes. Actually, since I am legit terrified, I get to qualifies for advice. Well... obvious first question: should I brace the girl at the SAFEWAY who counts pills and idl fantasizes about me at night? SHE PROBABLY READS THIS MAYBE. (Wyld.) How would I know? How could I know? How will I feel if she really wants to rip my clothes off and deliver a 100-hickeys windmillfury of furious blows? Well, a good first indication is that I hadn't thought about this yet, and... well, that was the first thing that came to mind.

Secondly... Jesus, is there really nothing better I can do with my time? Huhl oh. WOW. Oh, kokay. Hi.Yeah, Jesus says this is the top of my life for the next few weeks.

Humiliate uniformed bigots. Praise Piggies. (Start with the Miss.) Piggy! You're back to 5 letters To Inmates Wearing Shock Collars with A. Simple Pig + Frog... that is... uh, Piggy... *mournful eyes raise into baleful frog-on-pig-eye-blues staredown* YOU DO WISH TO TWERK??? Still- Piggy.. uh.. Pig?

RAWR! (The once formidable Miss Piggy tears off into the night. She is now Tres w/o/A.Trace Formidable: The 3-tailed Curly-Que-Sue of The True North + Mags. Now, felines are involved. Transport accident? We get two a week now. Never before. What happened? Her FUCKING PIGLETS-HOGLETS-CUTLETS fucking tHE FUCK happened, okay? Shit. Word on the street is... it's like some kind of -alien invasion- thing. Pigs and piglets and... wait, how much does anyone know about -Miss- as in.. fail to hit, eh? el-eh? Okay, this is what we know so far: a focus on unarmed hand-to-hand combat... and a toteslack of any notable restraint to wield any such power. Now, that may be -brave,- sure... but, is it perhaps, pretty-petty and procine-centric? To detemine that, we need measurements of this hog, and her brood, and... we can't get co-operation. This pig moves under cover of blank ETs. We shit you not. This wiggy piggy be a biggy pork-chop player in the parcheesi + pringle logistics chain. We've been oinking this watcher. Trust us. It's scary!! (From the back: seems like she's, uh... just a pig.) "hA! JUST a pig. Do you know what a PIG ON SWEET ICE TEA could really have the potential to even do? Well we don't either. And the more we look at Mr. Green and Mr. White....  the more we realize... we really don't know anything at all."

Explain? I can't. I'm just... The Bear. I was -sleeping.- All I know for sure--saying that, I'm certain, mind you--Miss Piggy. I have known her for years, and yes, I would be the first, or amongst the first, "You know what, Piggy? Have you ever heard of Crystal Singing'n'Chopping in The Shower?" I'd preer to not be around, right? But, yeah, we are in show business, we do a show, you are watching it, and do they... know what they're doing? Because it seems obvious that they're all holding out on the pig iron. For the pig. Who clearly has no clue. Or does she possess some kind of -hidden cognitive capacity?-

Now, look at Kermit. He just spun -on a dime.-- Doesn't that ... you know, creep you out? Like, what do we know about this frog? Okay, number one: He's loaded. he's rich. HE OWNS REAL ESTATE DOWNTOWN, FOR CHRIST'S SAKE! Seriously, people: HE'S an amphibian. He's not even pocketed. Does he have a soul? JESUS CHRIST, we still don't even know about Ginger's for sure, other than, they're goddam damned, right? Still. No idea if in or out.

(*Sax played bad plays. Sax drops an octave.*)

I hope that -made- you laugh. I don't know, though, see... I never-sought-this as an outcome.

Oh boy! She's gone! t's all mine! Uhm, not. Witthout people this place is drat, and without that one in particular, I need to find her. And oso... uhm.

Oso. Like Oslo, right. Yeah.
Probably deserved? Yeah, well, checked.

And now, meantime, I am standing on booby trapped land, guarded by ancient spirits that I am not even related too, and, I don't know such basic things as, "where do they sleep at night." Here's one report: female disrobes and disappears.

So... a portal? The clothes were all that kept her intact?

Okay, letme explain: I wans' there and when is the next tpay hcek. You oughtto know. Thus concludes: Pork Cracklins For Algernon's Cousin, He's a bit smarter, but hella fat, goddam. We gonna try to sponge him down. We peer pressured him, he said once while the camera was on him.--ONCE--so, we're golden. GERONIMO! (Pigs with wings boil out of their hives in the hills and the cliffs, and then, at the river's mouth... dive into the sea. Each pig's destiny... to find their own see_a_frog.

Thoughts and prayers and blessed be to the Divine. This must be happening for reasons, and it can't be the mustard. it's been gone for months. And mustard was once the happiest sign we saw between white and green and must have tard yellow all over. This story demands FULL ANSWERS. Now, I'm taking this to The Governor. FUCKING GET TO WORK! TIME IS TICKING! Container ships keep docking and ifwe don't unlock this mystery before flooding season... we have no idea aabout the frogs' legs. Don't you hear what I am saying? MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!

Sw.at. teams file out of the bilding as the FDA come in to check food prep areas. yep, the whole building. "Food" Well, because we eat The Muppets now, I guess. (blank) grosse Michel point (blank). FUCK!

[K_Dubb]

☝️ No you do try to exert your will over others, that is the whole point of aggressively snowing people with your own verbose reality whose rules are known only to you in which you are the arbiter and they are kept constantly off balance with insults and palm-reader tricks. Textbook gaslighting. You're just not very good at it.

[Jackstar]

Textbook gaslighting.  You're just not very good at it.

I obviously would not wish to be. You just skewered yourself inn your own foot. I assume that this is a faint to pick up ground fight. "You are not good at being a chode." Well, that's true. I suppose I could try, but I was respecting you. It is clear that you're opposed to making up any ground here. Do you know why that is?

I assume it's because you are being bossed around by someone with an investment.

"verbose reality whose rules are known only to you"

What makes you thinky there are any rules at all?

Dubb, Lubb, it's like this. you hate me for reasons. You got them all from a man who rapes you, rapes your sister, and rapes my girltfriend from 30 years back. he's a fucking stalking fucko. You mention I am not good at gaslighting.

[Jackstar]

☝️ No you do try to exert your will over others

Do you really think this is worth it, in the long aggregate run? For one thing, that's really just your opinion.

First, there is "no try". tell you what. meet suit. you are embarrassing. ayoyou sohuld be emabarsssing.

[Robert Mugabe]

☝️ No you do try to exert your will over others, that is the whole point of aggressively snowing people with your own verbose reality whose rules are known only to you in which you are the arbiter and they are kept constantly off balance with insults and palm-reader tricks.  Textbook gaslighting.  You're just not very good at it.

You're the one who lives near him, you're really obligated to seek out his sordid griefhole and talk to him like a Norwegian Dutch uncle. We need to put a stop to this and I'm not ruling out a can of gasoline and a lighted match. I'd like to borrow my uncle's scimitar and split this fool from the nave to the chops.

[Jackstar]

☝️ No you do try to exert your will over others

It isn't immediate obvious --to me-- that you are meaning this completely in jest, given that it has seemed of late to have been estimating my character in the worst possible ways. Mystifying. I rather don't see what the takeaway is or would be in any such circumstance.

Oh yeah and another thing, I  forgot  --TO TRY TO EXERT MY WILL OVER YOU.

Hey! Reminder: I just found out that I have been accused of a "secret identity" as a "closet gay basher." No matter how sacrificial your lamb, You're not going to have Me beat it up. I'm just not thy trip for that I give up on whatever you're doing to emulate. there's probably some oils down there. 

Nothing has horrified me more than seeing myself autopay lada as a violence thug would to frighten or intimidate louds, how that would feel or sook I wasn't sure until I came across ADM

Take that, bitches ! ! !

We need to put a stop to this

Clever repartee for you, claims of a demento ego and a craving to exercise power in a struggle for dominance.


I've decided that your collective ostracism is too hw

[K_Dubb]

You're the one who lives near him, you're really obligated to seek out his sordid griefhole and talk to him like a Norwegian Dutch uncle. We need to put a stop to this and I'm not ruling out a can of gasoline and a lighted match. I'd like to borrow my uncle's scimitar and split this fool from the nave to the chops.

Haha he’d probably try to follow me home and never shut up.

[K_Dubb]

👆No you did try to control me, first by pretending you can see me or read my mind or had secret knowledge about how I am really mind-controlled or something like that, then by craving adulation for your Art Project (“read for subtext!”) and when I made it clear that the subtext was mental illness you didn’t like it, inferred that I wanted you to go away despite repeated assurances that I did not, in fact want you to go away, and now are whining about ostracism when all I have given you is sincere appraisal.

You beg for interaction but will only accept admiration and wonderment, all else is automatically hostile.  It’s a selection mechanism for supplicants, not peers or simple onlookers.

In truth I identify you as a person living with mental illness more like I might say “look, a flamingo!” with the hope that such an exotic creature has a keeper, a warm nest, or at least a heat lamp, it’s cold out there.

[Jackstar]

👆No you did try to control me

Actual know: I don't even know what I would control you to do, or over. No context. No crown. No inkling of what you're considering here in as “Control.” In any case consider this resentment rescinded; each day I seek to control myself and rarely, it ever, hit a/ny target. I had a great bombing run today, fire balloons landing 2x4 dead center on a patch of scorched Earth that, ultimately, left no real result other than the already extant scorching becoming a little less capitalized upon, and there are a few more shreds of more balloons left over for their next joyous milestone moment; Earthworm Jim’s Birthday & Open Balloon (but not) Recycling, Open Bouncy (but no toll) House, and “Cookie’s breaking your balls, Buster Brown” Event. (RISE + HEAL, BIRCHWOOD WITCH. Damn dam actually works. ACTUAL. She likes my actual beard, Tex. Get ready to say, “Hi!” for awhile, apparently someone's been missed for even longer than me/I, if perhaps by not so/quite so many) & as soon as I'm done crying into the pillow we can plan a car crash party, and I got a head start. (These hazing/dazing Daisy Duke rituals are a sincere_bitch to translate & transform, I must tell you... and also, this is a pretty good gov’t job, I must thank you, and I must have the donation donated to The Don -after- I tell Dad which orphan screw to break off with a hammer. (County/Mountie obsolete-yet-still-strictly-maintained by-laws an important-not-ancillary Apostille function/fuck-you-son for Sum3 Certain People. Seriously, Lassie come home. How bad could it fucking be? Sure, I'm presently naked, full-on & anally screaming into the wrecked angle, rocking Darth Vaper in one hand and my Darknight Mare in the other (it might sound romantic, but I doubt it is pairing well with the Bartlett Pears, Barndoor Horses, & Batshit‘n’Krazy-Eyed Split-Eyed Peasoup Chef, Iron Chef Judgy-Event 4/Judges PAINPANALPANEL Panel, currently keeping abreast and keeping charge of/at My greatwork Boardwalk, somehow through sat/phone link/fuck-up somewhere/no/where), I haven't taken a shower in 7 weeks (and—boy howdy!—if you haven't fucking smelled filthy fucking Hungarian before, you haven't even fucking tried—crack a local window, it would be likely to bowl & bull you over at about any star’s distance), and I honestly don't know if I have the clap or not. (plz,jugular,plz) So, yeah, sure, yes, absolutely, I will stand up and throw you a bone while salutaneously making an obsequious bow and then drop right dead then‘n’there (I1literally nothing left to live 4/5boo6hoo7), and the amount of mainframe time they're using in Belarus to figure out how it's even conceivable let alone possible, that you haven't found your car keys yet, would power enough cryptomines to buy all the cryptotesteak in kart-o’–grafic Kcshina. (2bspec: fic, that's a lot of Do ge.) Of course you can't pay me in that, I actually do have to find my taxes first, which have been paid but not filed and they are currently stored but not done in my office that's not a garage. (It's a fucking three ring circus sideshow shitshow pig's-blood-in-a-bucket Hellshed Whores’ Shack. I haven't touched a single fucking thing in the whole damned place in 6 months, Corporeal Klingon Klinger, and I will not have done so in another 6 months n/either, and you can count on that to take Itself to take that to the bank. Or a casino. Hey, I just had a great idea, why don't they put Banks...  inside Casinos? It might be time to save some time.

Failure to close improperly closed parentheticals are intended implementation errors, and should be ignored when attempting to compile this document. It won't compile, it won't even shit the bed. Also, there's a cat 7 mi away that wants a new home—pretty fucking badly,  by the looks of things—and Fiona is waiting for somebody, but Fiona.A’s not waiting for Fiona.B’. (Yeah, you two more-on fucks really can go & can do more than just fuck‘n’yourselves—you can fucking go do it in fucking stereo. Why contain it? Go fuck in some schools & churches too. In the end, they’ll beg us to tell them where the faeries and the eagles landed.

The best part is, we've already got telemetry lock. We’ve all been Home for some time already. Really, it's Home. No no, don't take a picture: this one's going to last you forever. Okay, you can take a picture now. (Did I just make one or two or three? I need to know for my belt, soon to be no longer notchless.) Now, can somebody let this go? Because this striker is no longer working for The Beneficiary, the staker is no longer vampyr (welcome back, Kotter/TonkaTruckWithTonOfClay/Potter), and a careful, astute reader will note that, while these changes are momentous in their scope and sweeping in their nature, as well as slowly strangulating and choking the lights out and kniveslifeout of my heart, well, while we're celebrating, there is still an ongoing STRIKE; I am on it, and I'm not all that fucking happy about it. I bet you aren't either. What did you think was going to happen? I'm pretty sure I'm not in trouble with G-d for already doing what you do every goddam night, I don't think I'm going to get in trouble with G-d for doing what you already do every goddam morning (although as per usual disciplinary custom, I will check prior routine), and while I was wondering when I went to bed what the fuck is going on and I woke up wondering the same fucking thing, by now it's kind of apparent —to me, I'm saying— what is going on right now: somebody's asking c/Clergy for a rhubarb check/cheque. Ho ho! I know what that means, somebody's old ho just got her wings Capitalized, and that means two more hos have to come out of the hopper. (Because, WIANAL, I'm still w.et behind my ears, & I really don't know how quantum/4in entanglements/4all work... or do I /don’t eye/EIEIO?  Because there's not a bloody chance and bloody hell that I have anything from the one woman that I fucked in the last 7 years, except for prairie mange — and that testing positive, renders all other positive tests to be totesrendered quite irrelevant. (I'll have to be put on the mange/no range/no fly list, but I won't lie, at this point that's a fine, rare, & deserved homor/honour/augur. Worth it too for sure, especially since it turns out that if I get this qualification certificated before 2025, I don't have to get the mandatory menagerie multipass barcode along with it.

I have seen the future, and it sucks. I don't know how far forward it was, but not totally far out, as I were clearly still on Trust land. I saw a citizen having to expose her bare shoulder to the LIDAR scan of a hovering helicopter. She was wearing a blouse with an open neck, and I guess some of the stitching was bunched up which made it hard for the Borg tech to get a read on the RFID signal. And as I saw her doing this, I realized that the person in front of me had gone through the same motions, and done the same procedure, exactly like IBM's forearm tattoo numbers were checked many times. It was the visible exertion of muscle memory, combined with a faintly annoyed facial expression that is the hallmark of one who is presently putting up with an inexpressibly tedious process that nevertheless must had to be maintained in the balance of. (It was fucking chilling, as not only have I seen the future, I have also seen books... and I've read some of them, too, not only that, but some of them twice, which combined with the proof of my survival of prairie mage/redskin mange infection, pretty much makes me the most dangerous man alive in this County, or at the very least, the most mysterious. By now, I have told enough people here, “I am inoculated,” that The Bright Folk around these parts are wondering where/why/HOW? I got one. I'm wondering if anyone will ever ask.) and didn't particularly want to do it in front of me because it was obvious that I was watching her but as I didn't ask questions and I pretended I didn't hear the instructions from the pilot and the helicopter talking to her through her bonephone – as I was intently, shockingly to find myself as furious while doing it eavesdropping, I figured to be polite as possible I'd him a few bars to Tchaikovsky's Overture Helen Keller And Also Echolocation Assistance For Vampire Fruit Bars That Can’t Not See Very Well Due To Workplace Shrieking Hearing & Heart Damage, which until recently was a lesser known triumph of his works, although I'll bet you're all around here now and you'll get a copy now for Her Birthday now won't you?

(Parentheses lost. Parenthetical profession is no longer life. Returning to backup, and retaining forward progress subject to delousing. The audience, not the author.)

To which I suppose, these descriptors are signs that these Events and Events Like Them are/is already in progress, it is certainly not in my area nor in my bailiwick to say; given that I have already broken my own balls at least thrice this year, I don't know if we can count on mad Hungarian to stay glad, I'm on the fucking thin ice edge of going all-in on a cement pond, as you are of going Vlad. Goru bears! Goru home! Goru shit in the woods, you can kill all the root plants there too. Fuckin’ ‘roo manure is fuckin’ gonna (HALF) to fuckin’ make (1Mi/2Ma) to/a fucking do/ah. So we're gonna be using the earthworms as birthday candles. Now, that's what I call a faghot. (“What are we even doing here? Is this actual actually gay?“ “I don't know either, but, we better just keep bouncing.”) Now I know you don't know what all that means, and I don't n/either, but at least it looks prettypetty and you don't need a good beat to dance to it — you can just break the ground into a fuckin’ jig right now. I believe it will also pair well with square, line, & “Wagon” dancing. (New school name; old focus group testing. OLDE. Lions, Jesus, talk about fuckin’ salte, these fuckers are hacking me in_real_time all the way up to my 5th pinkie’s 3rd hangman’s twice-removed hangnail. I don't know what the fuck they're feeding T/these Pee/people, but it's clearly overdriven, overcharged, and drenched in low-grade peanut oil‘n’gravy, with “olde mustarde powder” added for color. AND IT'S BUG POWDER FOR CHRIST'S SAKE.)

(Get real jobs you fucking losers. Just because this house is almost empty and I'm completely empty while/st everlastingshitting into this job application submission box, doesn't mean we're not totes fucking full, Tower Hairshirt Control. WE ARE, MAGGOT(S)). I imagine that there are those who believe that since I'm in control of my own shit, I must be in control of lots of other shit too! Look, look, you all read the reading, I just talked about hiring Gardiners! That must mean I'm hiring every/any/Anniebody! (NO FUCKING STUPID, SOUPY FUCKING SALES.) Christ, I prefer Your Savages unbloodied than I do to these silly-slutty watch&clock&watch tower hand polishers, who don't even polish by hand, fuck, all they have is Waldoes. Literally nothing but Waldo’s Waldoes all the way down. Whole thing's a joke. They haven't got shit. Literally... they don't even have that. Yeah I could use a beer. In place of my piss for a sample. Other than proving to the whole goddam world how fucking amazing I am this has been a complete and abject waste of time/money/resources and every little bit of my soul that still rightly clings to what's left behind of what used to be my goat's beard hanging from my t‘aint. (By the way, if any of you ever wonder how anybody can ever be dumb enough to fall for this shit, know that the target doesn't have to be dumb at all, but they do have to be willing to put up with a dumbwaiter who thinks he's a smart butler and thinks he's in so much deep enough shit, not only is he going to have to get out of the mine by the stairs, he's gone have to prove his way out. Uphill! Both (2) ways! I suppose h/t actually is pretty cute-I guess?bet the not_knowing the totestruth is what's killin’ ‘im. Can I let the dog do it? Promise IT I'll name IT “Ohio” after the mine’s webby bi-Nanna’s spider finishes implanting its’ eggs in The Host. (Not the State’s name... the battleship. That boy is a monster.)

Now, having got all that out of the way, research is currently ongoing for tasteful, soft-focus names for a new school of magic. “Mon Stir: M” being the current odds on favorite, should tell you how hard this process actually isn’t, but I'm a styckler for stile, and I don't see any hurry, since I don't even know if qyasiwife uses needles or not. All those fucking tattoos just might be a giveaway/homage to dead men walking everywhere, and not even Fleetwood Mac knows her current identity, at any age, in any timeline.

It will heavily depend on where somebody parked the station wagons, especially since I ditched the Gift of God and switched to a big black mauler/hauler truck with a very particular pair of red and white witch’s winches with no switches. I still got the plastic frame too. (ACTUAL CHECK MATE FOR TICKS.-Q) Far superior to a Memento From Tiffany's, even more suitable for unwrapping & re-wrapping like-minded fish/no_fish—that's actually Hungarian Pennzoil, which actually isn't the best kind but, if the Catholics can transsubstantiate with a dead jew, I can transubstantiate with the best of all those dead dinosaurs. Also it beats The Hell out of Folgers’ Crystal any day of the week. And that's no joke. Somebody's literally, beautifully, beating The Fuckin’ Hell out of him, and that was My Fucking Idea, and undoubtedly my favorite idea this year... But not my execution, favorite, favored, favor a bull, or otherwise. I don't have the kind of cognitive capacity required to handle the strict recalibrations of a broken moral compass that Authority would need to authorize actual executions or a Thunderdome beatdown or even a good ol’ fashioned whippin’ with a witches’ switch, but on the bright side, I know how to make one of those, and I do have a perfectly functional for fucking on morels moral compass, which so far after 49 years in this planet, both seem to be on pretty rare supply, albeit on prominent display as on sale at finer establishments with the finest going out of business sales everywhere. This is a fine time; time for panick buying—it's not time for panick magick yet. Soon I'll be ready to capitalize, and then... I'm going to need a nap. Tired!

first by pretending you can see me (don't know which one you are, not looking to find out) or read my mind (I do not believe I can read minds) or had secret knowledge about how I am really mind-controlled or something like that,

This really doesn't sound like me. I have no information on your legit life, your actual lifestyle, or your laundry list of imagined beliefs that I possess. I would like to think and believe that you are skillfully self-controlled, I don't see any signs to the contrary, and from the looks of things the only source of your perception as to how I view you are my posts that have been interpreted and misinterpreted in ways that have lead you to believe that saving the world from “mind control” is on my mind. (Your world is fine, but your mindshake sucks. Not enough shaking; too much pickling in mind. Why knot a millshake? At this point, that doesn't even sound stupid, which is gross.)

I could care less. (Freedom!) People are going to believe what they believe, I have no illusions of/on the nature of my ability to uproot the mind of Man. At most I may upend, upset, or upgrade someone's apple cart from time to time, but it's been a long time since I've been willfully destructive just for the sake of some more pictures on my Instagram of my Will in action. (I have shitloads in my reserve archive, +plus 2weeks of shitups & followloads—and why yes I am as hungry as a nigger (w/bigger Dick) but I prefer that you call me whatever matches my qurrent-wife’s current shade, accords. 2telemetry, 3any: Forest, Money, Greenve. “Bruce Dickus!!!” Ladies, hey now, that is a nice name, now/here, can you really make it pop on a banner for amateur hour down at the club later tonight? No, probably not; a signed voicepost ten minutes behind me read, “Patsy party canceled, your perfect prostitute tookstolets all the peppermints and left nothing but horse patties. We're b/ponies.” Pretty close for a Puny, even if she's totally not a whore. A One could be excused for judging by the perfy-footy-hoofy ground-bellow DOOMPRINTS. (Don't try. Just go. DO IT. DO NOT TRY, I HAVE ABSOLUTELY NO HEADACHE. Go get laid, late Spartan. Try a Julie/Jewel/hoor you are married 2 1. You know — spice things up. A little or a lot, idfc, ABCDEFU.)

I think the lenses that you view me through could use some polish. From where I sit, I imagine you imagining me desperately wrenching on the pipe of fools’ and their firemen’s narrative flow, so as to manipulate my reach towards a yearning to grasp an imagined ideal outcome.

Know that there is no pressure on my plumbing here. There were a lot of pipe dreams that could have easily manifested into actual results—progress has occurred, and could be & could have easily continued to occur. (My schedule is wide open, I have nothing going on, I have nowhere to go, & I have literally zero blueprint or ambition to accomplish any movement to any goal—even if I were to make two posts on either side, there's not even a ball to kick through them.) What has happened is that everything was upended by a passing transit to Uranus and everything here has ended up getting flushed. (Also the CIA shit in the toilet tank. Savages.) This place is a fucking slow-motion train-wreck, and I'll always, I suppose, remember the glee in my throat that rose as I re-planted myself in my home with my name on it, all that really remains here to crow about is a raw, pre-baked potato left placed vaguely in a food prep area, festooned with eyes staring balefully at a steak knife left placed right nearby that could have accompanied it, oh, somehow, perhaps on one of these dining plates stuck somewhere in a box under a blanket next to some broken-down appliance — sure there's plates in one of the cupboards, I got plates galore. I've got plates in every room of the house, this three bedroom house, suitable for framing dinner plates with potato eyes on them or wrapping staked vampires in aluminum foil.

I'm sure you can imagine which one comes first. I was supposed to have the water heater replaced by now. I wasn't supposed to have mown my own lawn, but I could have found a mowing plumber along with my pick of replacement landscapers. I even have my own mower. I could have removed my pistol from my temple, holsters at dawn, Sir, and replaced one gardener (eat shit, oddball) with another (mind the daisies, Simpleton) twice a week for several months before running through all the local color, long before local constabulary would have been any the wiser.

wasn't supposed to have been here by now,

You beg for interaction
then by craving adulation

Oh, I get it now, you literally are just incapable of believing that I actually like you, and that it is not something else. I can understand that considering there's been a long time inaccurate baseline, and it was only until maybe yesterday that I stopped thinking of you as a greasy shit bag god dam liar, which I dare say has never been true in your life, however I didn't actually recognize that you have been flagged into that category until I looked just now, and then I noticed that it was an obsolete code, sir, but it did still check you out of the Blue ribbon race for most honest (blank) wo/man who can still spell Oslo with his eyes closed and point/walk there race/election across the finish line without having to resort to frog market/marching it/IT.


,God's my witness, if I were doing that I would have got into a fucking outcome months ago

then by craving adulation for your Art Project (“read for subtext!”) and when I made it clear that the subtext was mental illness you didn’t like it, inferred that I wanted you to go away despite repeated assurances that I did not, in fact want you to go away, and now are whining about ostracism when all I have given you is sincere appraisal.

You beg for interaction but will only accept admiration and wonderment, all else is automatically hostile.  It’s a selection mechanism for supplicants, not peers or simple onlookers.

In truth I identify you as a person living with mental illness more like I might say “look, a flamingo!” with the hope that such an exotic creature has a keeper, a warm nest, or at least a heat lamp, it’s cold out there.

I'M LEGITIMATELY TOO TIRED RIGHT NOW TO FINISH THIS BECAUSE IT'S 1:30 IN THE MORNING WHAT THE FUCK, YEAH I'M NOT TAKING DRUGS TO DO THIS SHIT, AS MUCH AS I WOULD LIKE TO, IT'S JUST NOT WORTH IT COME BACK AND FINISH THE LAST PART IN THE MORNING, BUT YOU GO AHEAD FINISH THAT BEAT DOWN, HE'S GOT TWO MORE SCHEDULED TOMORROW MORNING BEFORE DAWN AND THEN ANOTHER THREE BEFORE NOON.

A LOT OF PEOPLE WANT THEIR LICKS IN THAT ON THAT GUY/GAY/GOY, AND BY THE WAY THANKS FOR YOUR HELP IN CLEARING MY NAME.

HOW THE FUCK ANYBODY MISTOOK THAT GUY FOR ME IS A MYSTERY TO MYSELF, AS WELL AS TO ANYBODY WHO EVER SPENT AS LITTLE AS 5 MINUTES TALKING TO EACH OF US ABOUT CHEMISTRY CALLERS AND MR STEVE SNUFFLEUPAGUS AND HIS RETARDED LITTLE BROTHER, WHO I NEVER THOUGHT WAS ALL THAT RETARDED, I THINK HE WAS JUST COMPARED TO STEVE, AND THEN JUST GOT A BAD BASELINE. THAT SHIT HAPPENS WHEN YOU GET A BAD BASELINE AND DON'T DISCOVER THAT UNTIL ONE NIGHT YOU FIND YOURSELF BASES LOADED TWO OUTS THREE STRIKES THREE BOWLS AND ONE FOUL GOOSE IN YOUR HANDS INSTEAD OF A STOLEN STEEL-NECK GUITAR ANNIE OAKLEY, SEE? SO, ARE YOU GOING TO HONK THEM TO DEATH OR ARE YOU JUST GOING TO STRANGULATE THAT GOOSE UNTIL IT SHITS OUT ALL MY YOUR BAGS AND ALL YOUR ACUPUNCTURE NEEDLES ON THE FLOOR?

TAKE YOUR PIC? GO ON DO IT. I CAN HANDLE BOTH KINDS OF CATS HERE, SPIRIT KLINGONS AND CORPOREAL KLINGONS, IT'S FINE BY ME EITHER WAY. PEOPLE OUT THERE REALLY LOVE ME, ESPECIALLY NOW THAT THEY KNOW WHO I AM, AS WELL AS WHO I HAVE BEEN/NOT_BEEN THE WHOLE TIME.

Q/NOT_Q
MY_CULL/MY_COOZE
LIGHTSTAR/DEATH REIGN
JACKSTAR/DEATH_STAR
(Now you're fully operational.)

THIS IS MIKE. DAVE'S NOT HERE, JOHN PETERS/TITOR/TEETER & HIS SIDEKICK TODD/Not_TODD WAS JUST HERE. YOU JUST MISSED HIM. NO, REALLY.

KNOW: I actually figured out you were looking for The King & I Quite a while ago but... Revelations like these have to be arranged a little bit more advanced than you might imagine and they aren't easy to arrange. For you. For me, this is pretty much a walk in the park, although knowing I'm not going to get anything out of it, not even laid, does somewhat dampen my ambitious spirits.


(I know some of you are/were mad that I had to give up this ghost now, but I assure you it was not going to go very well for anybody to keep on hanging on this. Also, Dickless over there shut down the protection grid without even asking first, and it was only a matter of time before Iceland blew up, because at that point: too late for apologies. I mean they're nice, I appreciate them but, an apology isn't going to bring back Ire/Iceland.

But, I will. And for those of you who ever heard that Jack started to be punished for anything, I assure you this is my penance, cuz I actually feel like I'm actually dying, but I happen to know that it's not going to get that bad, it's not actually that bad, and telling you this is not going to make Him hurry up one bit sooner; it's all just going to take time.


I heard five weeks. Don't know if that's anything relevant, but apparently that's how long it'll take for my toilet to start killing my tulpas to trigger themselves into killing themselves, themselves—and frankly that sounds like a cool trick to watch, so if you don't mind— I don't.

* Jackstar gestures at a box of Calgon on the floor.

Somebody go wake up Hicks, seriously what are you waiting on, Christmas? Yeah she hasn't taken a bath since then either, so obviously I can wait, and if you fuck heads hadn't gotten in the goddam way, I would have been done by now, and you never would have even noticed... and still—it would all have been for My Benefit if not eventotesmoretoteson totesso THERE TOWER THERE

 a

👆No you did try to control me, first by pretending you can see me or read my mind or had secret knowledge about how I am really mind-controlled or something like that, then by craving adulation for your Art Project (“read for subtext!”) and when I made it clear that the subtext was mental illness you didn’t like it, inferred that I wanted you to go away despite repeated assurances that I did not, in fact want you to go away, and now are whining about ostracism when all I have given you is sincere appraisal.

You beg for interaction but will only accept admiration and wonderment, all else is automatically hostile.  It’s a selection mechanism for supplicants, not peers or simple onlookers.

In truth I identify you as a person living with mental illness more like I might say “look, a flamingo!” with the hope that such an exotic creature has a keeper, a warm nest, or at least a heat lamp, it’s cold out there.

[Laser]

How bad could it fucking be? Sure, I'm presently naked, full-on & anally screaming into the wrecked angle, rocking Darth Vaper in one hand and my Darknight Mare in the other (it might sound romantic, but I doubt it is pairing well with the Bartlett Pears, Barndoor Horses, & Batshit‘n’Krazy-Eyed Split-Eyed Peasoup Chef, Iron Chef Judgy-Event 4/Judges PAINPANALPANEL Panel, currently keeping abreast and keeping charge of/at My greatwork Boardwalk, somehow through sat/phone link/fuck-up somewhere/no/where), I haven't taken a shower in 7 weeks (and—boy howdy!—if you haven't fucking smelled filthy fucking Hungarian before, you haven't even fucking tried—crack a local window, it would be likely to bowl & bull you over at about any star’s distance), and I honestly don't know if I have the clap or not. (plz,jugular,plz) So, yeah, sure, yes, absolutely, I will stand up and throw you a bone while salutaneously making an obsequious bow and then drop right dead then‘n’there (I1literally nothing left to live 4/5boo6hoo7), and the amount of mainframe time they're using in Belarus to figure out how it's even conceivable let alone possible, that you haven't found your car keys yet, would power enough cryptomines to buy all the cryptotesteak in kart-o’–grafic Kcshina. (2bspec: fic, that's a lot of Do ge.) Of course you can't pay me in that, I actually do have to find my taxes first, which have been paid but not filed and they are currently stored but not done in my office that's not a garage. (It's a fucking three ring circus sideshow shitshow pig's-blood-in-a-bucket Hellshed Whores’ Shack. I haven't touched a single fucking thing in the whole damned place in 6 months, Corporeal Klingon Klinger, and I will not have done so in another 6 months n/either, and you can count on that to take Itself to take that to the bank. Or a casino. Hey, I just had a great idea, why don't they put Banks...  inside Casinos? It might be time to save some time.

How often do they make wellness checks in Cowlitz anyway? Only a matter of time before you get swamped in a mountain of filth. Does your lawyer/guardian/minder keep tabs? Someone should be looking out for you.